Well, we made it to the NewAdamB99 show at the Ulster Hall, Belfast. Rebecca is super excited but doing a sterling job supervising her father. Hope to survive and see you all on the other side.
I decided to pull out of the Belfast Marathon today. It would have been my tenth but I realised I was fighting a losing battle and was nowhere near ready for it, both physically and mentally. I’m disappointed with myself but I knew it could well have been an even bigger disappointment had I turned up on the day unprepared. Marathons are brutal. They will chew you up and spit you out if they see a chink in your armour.
The disappointment and frustration is also tinged with relief. I was dreading the prospect of long training runs on my own which would have eaten into the already limited time I have at the weekend. I’ve been without a running buddy for some time now and, while I largely enjoy running on my own, it’s tough plodding 20 miles along deserted country roads with nobody to keep you company and take your mind off the discomfort and pain.
I still plan to run the Omagh Half Marathon next Saturday. It’s my home town and I’ve already paid the entry fee so I’m determined not to miss out on it. There will be less pressure on me now and I’d be happy to complete the course in 2 hours. That’s almost 1/2 hour slower than my Personal Best but my days of killing myself to run faster and faster are long behind me. I’m 100% with my place further down the field these days.
Running, for me now, is about keeping fit and mentally healthy. It makes me a better husband, father and person. I’m not interested in strutting about adorned in medals and bragging about my exploits on social media. That was the old me. Which is why I love writing on WordPress. It’s me. Good days, bad days. What you see is what you get. Warts and all. 26.2 miles can wait for now.
Regular readers will know I’ve been struggling to locate my running mojo of late in the lead up to the Belfast Marathon in less than two months time. I’ve been restricted by illness and even then, I’ve found it hard to get motivated for this year’s event. Training runs have been missed and my diet has been all over the place. I’m two weeks behind where I need to be and my times and mileage reflect that.
I gave myself a good talking to at the weekend and resolved to get back on track this week. This coincided with atrocious weather conditions and runs yesterday and today have been completed in driving wind and rain. On both occasions I have resembled a drowned rat by the end of the run. The key word here is ‘completed.’ Despite the squall outside. I’ve went out and got the job done.
Mo Farah has no need to look over his shoulder yet. My times have been far from spectacular but every mile counts, and I’ve racked up 16 miles. I’ll rest tomorrow and then go again on Thursday, with the plan to fit in a 12 mile run somewhere before the end of the week. The Omagh Half Marathon has been booked for next month and I’ll be running to raise funds for SHINE Charity.
Some days are so meh you see no point in showing up and lacing your running shoes. But when you do go out there, even if it’s blowing a gale l, the endorphins kick in and it all becomes worthwhile. Temporary pain is necessary for long term gain. Here’s hoping these rainy runs are the gateway to a clear path to the starting line of the Belfast Marathon. I certainly hope so. I’ll continue to keep you all updated.
What temporary pain are you experiencing at present? Is it worth it?
I’m on the early train this morning. It’s half empty and I’ve two seats to myself. Normally I get a later train where there is no room to swing a cat. I could swing several cats on this one. Simultaneously. We could have a cat swinging contest. I doubt if I’d win though. I’m not a fan of cats. Give me a medium sized dog though and I’d be fine. I’d slaughter the opposition in a medium sized dog throwing competition.
This train isn’t an express which means it stops at every station on the way into Belfast. All 367 of them. Or so it feels. We call them ‘hole in the hedge’ trains. I’ve never climbed through a hole in a hedge and wonder if they reveal some Narnia-esque kingdom. This seems unlikely as, to date, no talking otters or fauns have boarded the 6:49 to Great Victoria Street. One can live in hope, though.
My monthly ticket runs out tomorrow. It clearly says that on said ticket. Yet, my mind works differently. I fret and worry that the conductor will say it runs out today and hauls me off the train into the arms of the waiting constabulary. My career and life in ruins, a social pariah all for the sake of a £9.60 return. This is how OCD works. Never mind mole hills. It turns flecks of dust into Everests of the subconscious.
The automated voice lady is earning her corn today. In seven years doing this journey, I’ve never been able to place her accent. It’s a not quite anything accent. Saying that, she always brings her A game and never gets a word wrong. I wonder who she is and how much she got paid for perfectly pronouncing every ‘hole in the hedge’ service between Newry and Bangor. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough.
I often imagine she is an out of work Shakespearean actor reduced to reading train timetables in order to keep the wolves from the door. How demeaning for her. I bet she does a mean Lady Macbeth and dreams of plunging a dagger into the heart of the agent who booked her this rubbish gig. Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble indeed. Thankfully I have yet to encounter the ghost of Banquo.
The train is starting to fill up now with ‘hole in the hedge people.’ Given they reside in fields and start their working days clambering through muddy ditches, they all look very presentable. Not a hair out of place, or a stray twig to be seen. Maybe it’s magic or possibly they have so perfected their morning routines they can slide effortlessly past thorn and bramble. It’s quite the achievement.
We are entering the suburbs now. The city is starting to stir and reality is beginning to settle on this magical train as it trundles through the murky morning. City types will be getting on at the next stop. There are no hedges on this section of the line. I will have to stop writing gibberish soon and don my grown up mask. I am entering the world of the grown ups. I don’t fit in here. I like to gibber.
Sometimes it helps to gibber. To just write, to free flow. To stop worrying about what you think other people want to read and just purge your head of all the nonsense floating around inside. I may gibber more in the future, I may not. Anyway I am nearing my final destination. There are no more stops. The day has started in earnest now. It’s time to smile and face the big, bad world. It’s time to play the game.
After two weeks out of action with a chest infection, I ventured back onto the roads again. I also lost three weeks over New Year with a virus so this really is my last chance at making the start line for the Belfast Marathon in early May. I’m already several weeks behind in my training programme so any more setbacks would realistically scupper my chances of being ready on time.
It was a beautiful morning, mild and dry with only a light breeze. I set out on a mostly flat 6.4 mile route which took me out of the village to the shores of Lough Neagh and then back again. I purposely set off at a slow pace as my target was to complete the run in one piece with no mishaps. There were no personal bests going to be set today. Such heroics can wait until I get a few more miles under my belt.
My only company on the outward journey was the occasional cyclist who whizzed past with a wave or greeting. Rural folk tend to always do this when we meet on the roads and there is a particular camaraderie between runners and cyclists. We are all in the one boat, using our spare time to exercise and enjoy the fresh air. City folk are less friendly, but I guess that is the same wherever you go.
At the turning point I stopped for a couple of moments to catch my breath. I was trialling a new smart watch Fionnuala bought me for Valentines Day and was still coming to terms with its various buttons and settings. It sure beat running with my phone, however, which I had been doing for several months in order to record my pace and mileage. In a way, it was liberating not to worry about mile splits and overall targets.
The return leg was slightly more uphill and I caught a stiffer breeze in several sections. I focused on keeping my legs and arms pumping and not stopping, no matter how tired I felt. Thankfully my stamina held out. I was slow but comfortable and my breathing was relaxed. There were no aches or niggles and as I entered the final mile I knew there were no concerns as to me making the distance.
I made the final turn towards the house and glanced at my watch to reveal a slow, but respectable, time given it was my first outing in a fortnight. I had risked running a bit further than I probably should but lived to tell the tale. The plan is to run again tomorrow provided there is no adverse reaction to today’s exertions. Another injury or illness is my worst nightmare. Here’s hoping it doesn’t happen.
Are you planning to get outdoors this weekend?
What are you up to?
Kirkwood Scott is looking for a home! As I continue to query literary agents with my first book – ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles: Skelly’s Square’ – I’m also on the outlook for any small, independent publishing houses who publish urban fantasy literature. Would they be interested in running with my tale of Kirkwood Scott, Meredith Starc and Harley Davidson as they battle an ancient supernatural evil on the back streets of Belfast?
The book is a fantasy adventure but addresses the very real issues of mental illness, addiction, disability and self harm as our three heroes battle their own internal demons while facing the external threat of Colonel Augustus Skelly and his Company, a ragtag ensemble of Waterloo dead who have returned to wreak havoc on the city and beyond. Only Kirkwood and his newfound allies stand in their way, aided by a wine sodden tramp, Cornelius Dobson, and Emily O’Hara, a tragic ghost girl from Meredith’s past.
At present the book is a 120K manuscript which has been through a beta reading exercise and is now being revised by a professional editor. It is anticipated that this will be complete within the next few weeks, whereupon I would be in a position to submit the completed manuscript to interested parties. The book leans heavily on my own experiences with mental illness and knowledge of the Belfast homeless community.
It tackles these issues head on, interlaced with a healthy dash of Belfast wit and humour. If you know of an agent or publisher who might be interested in my writing then please pass this post on to them. In the meantime I will keep blogging and working on book two in the series along with a number of standalone projects I am currently plotting. The writing never stops. Thank you!
Northern Ireland never fails to disappoint when it comes to the weather. The forecast is not good for the coming week so I was determined to get out for a run at some point today. I’m slowly building up my mileage after illness and my target for this week was 25 miles; which necessitated 5 miles today to reach that total. I decided at lunchtime to head out as conditions were chilly, windy but dry.
There was even a glimpse of blue sky. All that changed as ominous, dark clouds began to gather overhead. Blustery conditions turned into a full on gale and I soon was treading water into a strong headwind. Rain followed, and then snow as I battled on out of the village and into the bleak countryside. Thankfully the route I had chosen was circuitous so the wind was in my back on the return journey.
I was nearly lifted off my feet and carried Mary Poppins style back to the house. Mo Farah would have struggled to keep up with me as I barrelled back towards the house. I was frozen and bedraggled when it was all over, but Week 4 of my training for the Belfast Marathon was in the can. It’s been purposely slow, but steady, progress this year and I’m erring on the side of caution so that I reach the start line in decent shape.
Four seasons in one hour, never mind one day. But these are the hard, cold, wet miles that form the backbone of any marathoners training plan. Come the big day itself, when it’s warm and sunny, it will be runs like today’s which will keep me going when the going gets tough. Next week my long run will be 9 miles. Stay tuned for further progress updates and I head towards Marathon number 10.
The long awaited e-mail from my editor, Laura, arrived yesterday, giving me the green light to commence querying literary agents with the manuscript for my first novel, ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles: Skelly’s Square.’ Laura has worked wonders with the opening chapters of the book. Clunky prose now runs seamlessly from page to page. This is one rough diamond that has been well and truly polished.
While Laura has been editing, I’ve been researching agents online and have drawn up a shortlist of those who I feel would be the best fit for the book and selling it to publishers. I will be e-mailing them in the coming days with sample chapters, in addition to a query letter and book synopsis. Then it’s just a matter of sitting back, waiting and jumping three feet in the air every time I get an e-mail notification.
I’m hopeful, without being cocky. I recognise how competitive the market is out there and how tough it is to secure representation. Agents are flooded with hundreds of submissions every week. I just hope they see something in KSC that makes it stand out from the crowd. I’m prepared for rejection as well and have been busy thickening my skin for what may lie ahead. What will be, will be.
If all else fails, there is the self publishing route. But first I want to give the agents a shot. I may get invaluable feedback and at least I can say I’ve tried. The blog has recently passed 8500 followers so I must be doing something right. I’ll keep you all updated, of course, but if any of you know of any literary agents or smaller publishing houses interested in an urban fantasy set in modern day Belfast, then please let me know.
It’s my third week back running after illness and I completed a seven miler in wet and windy conditions this lunchtime. I’m still not feeling completely 100% but I was pleased to get this effort under my belt, especially given the grim conditions. I was also pleased with my pace which remained consistent, even into a strong headwind. My final mile was one of my quickest, indicating my fitness is slowly returning.
The plan is to run 25 miles this week, so another 10K or so over the weekend should cover that. Each week I will gradually up the mileage, as I work towards my ultimate target of the Belfast Marathon in early May. I hope to increase my long run by a mile each week. This means I should peak at 21 miles 2-3 weeks before the race, before tapering down again until the big day itself.
I’m on a road trip today. Not that I particularly want to, what with this current lurgy still afflicting me. The only trip I want to take these days is up the wooden hill to my bed. But, needs must, the hatchlings require feeding and Fionnuala has cushions to buy. So I’m off to London today with work. I return late tomorrow night with a busy schedule in between. I can hardly contain myself. Hmmm.
Fun fact. Northern Ireland has two main airports. Belfast International Airport and George Best Belfast City Airport. I’m flying out of the latter, named after one of the city’s legendary sons, the Manchester United footballer. Regarded by many as the greatest footballer of all time, including the legendary Pele no less. The Spanish media christened him ‘El Beatle’, such was his fame.
Best truly had the world at his feet, such were his silky footballing skills. But he succumbed to the glamour and the glitz and his incredible talent was stunted by alcoholism and a life of excess. He died prematurely of liver failure, the world never seeing his full potential. His burial was akin to a state funeral, with thousands lining the streets to pay homage to a sporting great.
His death was all the sadder, given this unrealised potential. A European Cup winner, he left United due to his chaotic lifestyle and followed a career path which meandered and then flatlined with a number of increasingly smaller clubs. It was a life of unfulfilled potential. He could have been so much more, he should have been so much more. His legacy was ‘what could have been.’
This is a question that intermittently haunts me as I navigate life. What could have been? Could I have done better? I know I could have? Could I have done more? Most definitely. Have I spurned countless opportunities? Absolutely. Have I fulfilled my potential? Probably not. Is there still a chance I can? YES! I may be 48 years old (but a strikingly young looking 48 years old at that) but I can.
Potential is such a subjective term. The good news is that there is plenty of it around. We all have it, by the bucketful. It’s coursing through our veins. Yet it, in itself, is not enough. It can only be realised through hard work and commitment. That is where so many of us fall away. We are beguiled by the earthly trinkets of this world which tempt and distract us from our true calling on this world.
There’s a famous story about George Best. He is in a five star hotel room, cavorting with his girlfriend, a current Miss World. He is sipping champagne and the bed is covered with banknotes. He is laughing, partying, the happiest man in the world. A hotel porter enters and looks around the room. He fixes Best with a sombre expression and asks ‘So, tell me Mr. Best. Where did it all go wrong?’
Best died a legend. They named an airport after him. His face appears on our banknotes and, yes, there is now a George Best Hotel in the city centre. But, to many, his legacy is one of failure and unfulfilled potential. He achieved so much on his God given talent, but there could have been so much more. To many, he is a hero, a role model. To me, he is a warning sign. I don’t want to be another George Best. Do you?
Are you fulfilling your potential?
What more can you do with your life?
A little book update for you all this morning. For it is morning in not so sunny Northern Ireland. Regular readers will know that I forwarded the 6th draft of ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square’ to my editor, Laura, before Christmas. She had the audacity to take a break over the festive period (shocking, I know) but is now fully back in harness and furiously polishing the very rough manuscript that I have spent the last year toiling over.
In the meantime I haven’t been resting on my laurels. I’ve drafted a query letter for prospective literary agents in addition to a two page book synopsis. I’m quite chuffed with how well the synopsis reads but how tough is it to summarise a book into two pages. Sheesh! I’ve also ventured back into the murky world of Twitter to research/stalk prospective agents who I believe are a good fit for Kirkwood.
After looking at in excess of 500, I’ve drawn up a shortlist who I will be submitting my query letter, synopsis and sample pages to, once Laura has worked her magic. Then it’s a case of wait and see. I’m hoping an agent will pick up on it, but if not I will consider self-publishing if there is no interest. It’s a highly competitive market and there is no shame in venturing down the latter route.
So….what is ‘Skelly’s Square’ all about? I thought I’d tantalise your taste buds a little. So here’s a snippet of the synopsis:
Many books have been written about the Battle of Waterloo. Some painstakingly researched by learned historians, others penned by those who were there and survived the horrors to tell the tale. Yet, despite the millions of words, there still remains an element of mystery as to what happened amidst the mud and the smoke. There are grey areas. Some stories have never been told. This is one such story. The story of a company of men, who fought and died as one, but whose valour and courage never saw the light of day. This is the story of ‘Skelly’s Square,’ the ‘Forgotten Regiment.’ For they have returned.
Modern day Belfast, Northern Ireland. Meet Kirkwood Scott. He’s having a bad day, no make that life. He’s stuck in a dead end job, his girlfriend has just dumped him and his family have emigrated to the other side of the world. Then there are the routines, the endless routines which haunt his every waking thought. Kirkwood has OCD, a mental disorder triggered in him as a young boy following the brutal murder of his father. A murder Kirkwood feels responsible for.
Responsibility brings consequences. Ever since that day, Kirkwood has paid the price via a series of tortuous routines, ‘The 49,’ which he must perform. Failure to do can lead to all sorts of bad stuff happening. Planes crash, tower blocks collapse. And it’s all his fault. Why? Because Skelly says so. Kirkwood believes it to be nothing more than an imaginary voice, created as a child when he innocently played with his toy soldiers. But we know better, don’t we? Skelly has returned to wreak his revenge on an ungrateful world which turned its back on him.
Kirkwood is resigned to a life of quiet torment until he meets a mysterious young homeless woman, Meredith Starc. Meredith has her own problems. Traumatised by the suicide of her best friend, Emily O’Hara, indifferent parents, and callous school bullies she flees her privileged upbringing to the streets of Belfast where she survives on her wits, only interested in where the next bottle of wine is coming from. Then there’s the graffiti where Emily appears to be communicating to her from beyond the grave. Not to mention the blood drenched dreams where she is pursued by a figure very familiar to Kirkwood.
Kirkwood and Meredith join forces, slowly gaining each other’s trust and discovering that beneath the gritty reality of Belfast’s streets, a brutal battle rages between supernatural forces of good and evil, with the future of the planet at stake. Guided by a kindly tramp, Cornelius Dobson, who is not all he seems and a wheelchair bound teenager, Harley Davison, they realise they hold the key to saving mankind from a new Dark Age. But can they survive long enough to figure it out, as Skelly unleashes his army of ghost soldiers on an unsuspecting city to hunt them down?
The above is only a snippet of the story and the KSC universe. But I’d be grateful for any feedback. Feel free to comment below.
Well, I did it. I survived yesterday’s run and took my first faltering steps towards the start line of the Belfast Marathon on 05 May. It was a flat route around the Titanic Quarter of the city, out over the River Lagan to the Titanic Museum and back. I had planned to run 3.5 miles but ended up doing a little more. Overall, I was pleased with my pace and stamina. I’ll rest today and then go again tomorrow, hopefully 5 miles.
I’m still not firing on all cylinders but it’s a marked improvement on how I felt over the Christmas period. I woke up this morning to take Adam to rugby training, with heavy legs but a happy heart. I know I’ve written about running two days in a row (yawn) but I just wanted to update all the well wishers from yesterday on how the run went. I really appreciate the support I received from you all.
What have you planned over the weekend?
I’ve been a bit under the weather of late, and unable to run, but it’s good to have targets so I thought I’d write about my main racing target for 2019 – the Belfast Marathon on 05 May. It seems a long way off at the minute, but for most people January marks the beginning of their marathon training programme for Belfast. Due to this sickness, I’m not quite there yet but I’m hopeful the situation will improve soon.
This will be my 4th Belfast Marathon and my 10th in total. Not bad for the out of shape wreck who first donned running shoes almost five years ago. There have also been a raft of half marathon and 10K runs for good measure. Like last year, my warm up race for Belfast will be my home town half marathon, in Omagh, on 06 April. As with Belfast, it will be my fourth time running this undulating route.
Belfast will be particularly exciting this year, as it is a new route starting at the iconic Stormont Parliament Buildings and winding its way through all parts of the city before finishing off in Ormeau Park. There are several sections of the route I’m looking forward to, areas of the city I have never run through before. What won’t be different will be the fantastic atmosphere and crowd support. Belfast is a special city.
I’m not running for a charity this year, I’m doing this one for myself. Collecting sponsorship brings its own pressures and I think I’ll have enough on my plate just getting to the start line in one piece. And as for time? Well, I’d be delighted with sub 4 hours having run the other three in 3:56, 3:33 and 3:51 respectively. I’ll have to research the new route to see if it’s as challenging as the original course was in sections.
You might be thinking to yourself, is he mad? Hasn’t he enough to be getting on with? Family life is exhausting at the best of times, not to mention work, blogging commitments and the small matter of writing and publishing a book. But I need to run, even if it’s slowly and way off the pace I’m accustomed to. That is frustrating, but nowhere near as frustrating as not running at all.
There are physical benefits of course. Running keeps me in shape and I’ve worked hard at my fitness these past few years. But more importantly, is my mental health. Running maintains me on an even keel, it detoxifies and purges a lot of the nonsense that rattles around my head on a daily basis. It focuses me. I don’t want to run, I need to run. It keeps the wolves from the door. For there are many of them.
I’m heading out for a lunchtime plod later. It won’t be pretty and I’ll not be setting any personal bests. But I’m feeling a little better and I can’t sit around on my bum any longer. The pain in my legs afterwards will be compensated by the sense of achievement. 26.2 miles seems a long, long way at the minute but I’m going to get there, one step at at time. I’ll keep you all updated as to my progress.
I’m a happy wannabe author today, having received final feedback from two of my loyal beta readers, Katie and Shae. To say I was pleased with their e-mails is probably the understatement of the decade. I would have jumped in the air and clicked my heels together, but I’m just back from a 7 1/2 mile run so thought better of it. I’ve ended up on my backside once already this week, thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a banana skin.
Both Katie and Shae have waded through all 88 chapters of ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square.’ They both deserve a medal or, at the very least, a round of applause. I really appreciate the time they have given up to read the book, and the care and detail they have taken in providing constructive and honest feedback. I intend to use it to fine tune KSC even more, before I begin querying literary agents in the New Year.
I was filled with trepidation when I first became aware of the beta reading process. The thought of giving up my labour of love to other people was deeply worrying. What if they hated it? What if my dream of becoming a published author was shot down in flames before it even got off the ground? Thankfully, that wasn’t to be and I can now blow a hearty sigh of relief and look ahead.
I struggle with self-belief, and the beta process has proven to me that the last year has been worthwhile. That KSC is not a heap of garbage, and my crazy tale of supernatural beings battling it out on the back streets of Belfast has some merit to it. My heroes are credible, especially Meredith Starc who quickly became the darling of my beta reading community.
I have also stumbled across a villain who drips evil, in the shape of the malignant Augustus Skelly. I have loved writing Skelly probably more than any other character in the book. I’ve only scratched the surface of what happened in the Square on that muddy, bloody afternoon over 200 years ago. There is much more to come and Skelly has plenty more tricks up his sleeve for Kirkwood and Co.
Then there’s Harley Davison, the youngest and bravest of my heroes. She may have the most unfortunate name of all time, but the ‘Rainbow Girl’ means so much to me, being based on my own teenage daughter, Hannah. Hannah has more courage and fight in her little finger than I have in my entire body. I only hope an iota of that comes across in the character of Harley.
The unsung hero is the city of Belfast, where the majority of the book is set. I walk it’s streets every week day and it is the sights and sounds of this beautiful, tragic city that I yearn to convey to you all via the pages of KSC. It’s murky bars and murkier alleys, the humour and resilience of its people. It is a city emerging from a very troubled past into a brighter future. But it still bears the scars.
KSC is currently with my editor, Laura. Another wrench for me, but I need her skilful eye to polish this rough gem into the finished article. I cannot stress enough to those of you setting out on the adventure of writing a book, the value of having it go through the beta process, and then be professionally edited. It’s frightening, but so worthwhile. Dreams do come true. Just ask Kirkwood, Meredith and Harley.
All comments regarding the above post are most welcome. Thank you.
I ran my fastest 10K in months today and finally feel I’m coming out of the running slump I underwent following the Causeway Coast Marathon, two months ago. I’ll not be setting Personal Bests any time soon, if ever, but it feels good to recover a little speed and be running at a reasonable pace again. The fact I haven’t ran beyond 10 miles since the marathon also helps.
I’m increasingly convinced my running improves in the cooler weather. The last two summers my form has tailed off, and only picked up again in the autumn. Maybe it’s my Northern Irish blood, but I don’t seem to appreciate warm conditions. Colder weather can be tough initially but, so long as you have sufficient base layers, you soon heat up after a mile or so.
My thighs are aching this evening but it’s a worthwhile pain. My long term target is the 2019 Belfast Marathon, my 10th. I’ll factor in a few half marathons in the New Year as prep races and start to build up my longer runs from after Christmas. Until then, it’s just a matter of keeping things ticking over. Running is my therapy and I’d recommend it to anyone looking to clear the cobwebs from their head.
I was out for my lunchtime run today, when I was literally stopped in my tracks by a new addition to the Belfast landscape. Outside a homeless centre I regularly run past, was a statue. At first glance, it appears fairly unremarkable. It’s a bronze sculpture of a man lying beneath a blanket on a park bench. What caught my eye, however, was the name of the sculpture – ‘Homeless Jesus.’
Behind the statue was a inscribed description of the piece. It was created by a Canadian sculptor, Timothy Schmalz, and depicts Jesus as a homeless person. His face and hands are obscured by the blanket, but the crucifixion wounds on his feet reveal his true identity. The sculpture is intended as a visual translation of the words Jesus gave to his followers in Matthew 25:45.
‘As you did it to one of the least of my brothers, you did it to me.’
Over the last couple of years I have built tentative relationships with a number of rough sleepers who I regularly pass in my travels around the city centre. I’ve blogged about them in the past and one of the main characters in the book I’m currently writing is homeless. I try to help these folk the best I can, by conversing with them, helping them where I can financially, and basically treating them as human beings.
I could do so much better though. When it’s been near the end of the month and the bank account is running low, I’ve been known to actively avoid my homeless friends as I cannot afford to buy them a cup of tea. Even though very few of them ask for money and often I have to force it upon them. They are proud young men and women and are loathe to be regarded as wasters and scroungers.
The statue stopped me dead today for it pricked my conscience. I once attended a suicide in the homeless centre outside where it is now located. A tragic end to a young life, but sadly no longer a rarity amongst our urban homeless communities. The underbelly of our society which we are quick to hurry past on our way to the office, or chuck a few coins in their direction and smugly feel we have met our social and moral obligations for the day.
I can do so much more. I call myself a Christian and like to view myself as a decent person. Yet, what would Jesus make of the behaviour I’ve described in the paragraphs above? Talking the talk and walking the walk, but only when it suits me. Even if I can’t give them the coins in my pocket, I can still afford them my time and prayers. I’m not perfect and I never will be. But I can do better. Much better. Can you?
What do you make of ‘Homeless Jesus’?
Do you do enough for the homeless people in your town or city?
This post was inspired by my recent visit to the Tivoli Barbers in Belfast city centre, for my quarterly shearing. Thankfully my genetic make up has blessed me with a full head of hair at this age in life but, that aside, these places fill me with fear and foreboding. The reason for that? Having to indulge in small talk with the barber, an almost mandatory obligation at such encounters. You see, I don’t do small talk.
I made a real effort this time, though. The Tivoli is bedecked with boxing promotional posters, one of the few sports I know nothing about. I was determined, however, to engage my barber in whatever topic he opened up with. Barbers love to talk. It’s all part of the hairdressing experience. And this time, I was going to venture beyond the normal monosyllabic responses and awkward silences.
If the weather came up, I was well versed in the cold snap presently gripping our fair island. If football, I knew I was on solid ground and could converse fluently in the current demise of Manchester United. And if it were boxing, then I was going with the non negotiable opening line of ‘What do think about Carl Frampton’s next opponent?’ I only know the names of around five boxers and he’s one of them.
I was shocked, therefore, when the conversation veered towards uncharted waters. My ever talkative barber began to bemoan the dwindling economy in the city centre and how several nearby businesses had either closed or relocated. Seeking to allay any concerns he had, I confidently reassured him that I would always frequent the Tivoli as they were reliable, quick and offered the cheapest hair cut in town. £6 no less.
‘I know,’ sighed my barber sadly, not the response I had been expecting at all. ‘We’ve been charging the same price for five years now. Which reminds me, I need to put our prices up.’ I instantly froze, my blood turning to ice as I felt the glares of the waiting customers behind me boring into the back of my head. Unwittingly, I fear I had just made their lunchtime visit to the Tivoli a slightly more expensive one.
When my locks were shorn, I sheepishly slipped my coat on and asked him how much I owed, while resolutely avoiding eye contact with all and sundry. ‘That will be £6 to you, mate,’ he replied, with a knowing wink. I handed him £7 and told him to keep the change, before beating a hasty retreat from the establishment. Once outside, I extracted my foot from my mouth, vowing never again to speak to a barber. Or anyone, for that matter.
My route to and from work, takes me past the Tivoli every day. I dread my next walk past it, to be greeted by a sign in the window announcing a price hike due to the prevailing economic climate. Forever carrying the secret shame, that I was personally responsible for the long haired gentlemen of Belfast having to dig a little deeper into their pockets for the ‘cheapest haircut in town.’
What do you talk to your barber/hairdresser about?
Have you ever said something inappropriate and immediately wished the ground would swallow you up?
Almost a year ago I took a week off work for the purpose of starting to write a book. The idea for it had been rattling around my head since the summer, but fear and self-doubt held me back from taking the plunge and putting pen to paper. Or rather, digits to keyboard. In the end, Fionnuala literally chained me to a desk and opened the laptop in from of me. Write, just write. And so, it began.
I had an idea, but no plan. No chapter by chapter breakdown, no detailed synopsis. I just wrote blindly, stumbling from page to page, usually with no idea where the story was taking me. At one surreal point, the characters took over and began to craft their own histories. I started to trust them and the path ahead formed, one step at a time. The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles were born.
Last night, I closed the lid of the laptop, having completed the fourth edit of ‘Skelly’s Square’ the first book in what I hope will be a series, charting the adventures of our eponymous hero and his friends, battling an ancient, malignant evil on the streets of modern day Belfast. The book is currently being critiqued by my trusty band of beta readers, who have provided invaluable feedback so far. You know who you are.
I know you never really finish a book. I need to digest the beta feedback and further tinker with the manuscript. But I’m now at the stage, where the cake is baked and I’m just applying the icing. It could be the worst book ever written, but it is written and they can never take that away from me, whoever ‘they’ are. I’ve already grasped the creative thread which is Part 2, and will be feeling my way into it when the dust settles from this one.
I’m increasingly tempted to research the self publishing route. The drain of completing a year’s work and then facing the gargantuan task of securing an agent and publisher might be a step too far. I don’t expect to sell millions or win awards. All I ever wanted to do was write and one day, hold a printed copy in my hand. It could take years, if ever, to achieve that via traditional publishing routes.
We will see but the horror stories coming from traditional publishing terrify me. I’m not sure I want to expose either Kirkwood or myself to that. I will mull it over in the weeks ahead as the beta feedback comes in. In the meantime I’m open to any suggestions anyone has to offer. As ever, I want to thank everyone who has supported and encouraged me on the journey. Kirkwood Scott has finally been born.
Would you read ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square’?
Publishing or Self-Publishing? Thoughts?
I’m hoping to announce some BIG news on the blog over the next few days regarding the fantasy novel I’ve been working on for the last year – ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square.’ But before then, I need some help from my fellow writers. Can you recommend any literary agents or publishers who are currently accepting submissions in the above genre? Below is a summary of the plot to help.
The book is set in modern day Belfast, Northern Ireland, and tells the story of our eponymous hero, a twenty something university graduate languishing in a dead end job, who has recently been dumped by the love of his life. He is also attempting to come to terms with a traumatic childhood experience and cope with crippling OCD which results in his life being controlled by a series of tortuous routines.
All that changes when he meets a mysterious homeless girl, Meredith Starc, who he believes holds the key to freeing him from the horrors of his past and present life. The two join forces and are hurled into an supernatural battle between ancient forces of good and evil, fighting for supremacy of the planet on the streets of Belfast. Kirkwood comes to realise that, in order to slay his own personal demons, he must first overcome an enemy whose power and cruelty the planet have never seen before….Colonel Augustus Skelly.
The book is part of a planned trilogy and is an urban fantasy primarily aimed at the young adult market, but accessible to anyone aged 13-103 and beyond. It’s a supernatural fantasy but firmly grounded in the urban setting of modern day Belfast where it tackles gritty themes of mental health, homelessness, addiction and self harm. It is largely character driven but contains dollops of action and adventure, topped with a sprinkling of Northern Irish humour.
Intrigued? Interested? Or not your cup of tea? Whatever your take on the above, any recommendations or suggestions will be gratefully received.
Well I did it. Eight glorious miles. Thanks for all the messages of support throughout the day.
As regular readers know, I’ve been struggling with my running of late. When I do run, my pace has been way off what I’m used to. That’s when I run. Many days, I have dug out my trainers fully intent on hitting the roads, only to sigh, shrug my shoulders and discard them. My motivation, mojo, whatever you wish to call it, has been missing. This weekend was a perfect example. Zero miles.
When I was marathon training it was tough but I always managed to get out there and get it done. One of the silver linings in that 26.2 mile cloud was that I could eat pretty much whatever I wanted, and I sure love my food. No matter how tough the conditions, there was always the prospect of a tasty treat at the end of the training session. This usually involved ice cream or chocolate. Preferably both.
The problem with my most recent blip is that, while marathon training has ground to a halt, the corresponding high calorie intake has not. If anything, it has increased, leaving me feeling sluggish and bolted. It’s an ever decreasing circle which I fear will lead nowhere but to an ever increasing waistline. The chubby schoolboy within is bursting to get out if I allow him to.
The solution to this self inflicted pity party starts this today. Although my days of marathon running may be numbered, there is no excuse for this recent malaise. So this lunchtime, I’ll be escaping the office and pounding the pavements of Belfast again. And you are all going to join me. I need to be accountable, motivated and driven when I’m out there battling the elements.
All messages of support and encouragement would be most appreciated between then and now. As my Garmin is playing up I’ll be timing the run on my phone so, in a way, you will be with me every step of the way. All eight miles of it for that’s what I’m aiming for. By documenting my runs on the blog, I know there will be no hiding place for me. Feel free to harass me if I haven’t posted a run in a while.
Running is not the most important thing in my life. Far from it. But it is important, as it assists my mental health in such a way that it overflows into so many other areas of it. Without running, I know I am more vulnerable to my ever vigilant OCD. Which nobody wants to see, believe me. So join me on my winter running adventures. I’ll post a run update later with regards today’s challenge.
Will you join me on my running challenge?
So, after three weeks of staring forlornly at it, I’m finally taking the plunge and starting work on my debut novel again – ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square.’ When I signed off last time, I had almost completed the fourth draft. I think another week of consistent editing will complete that process, maybe less if I get a good run at it. I’m off work today, so should be able to make some headway.
I’ll post further mini updates over the weekend. In the meantime, thanks to everyone who has supported me through this literary hiatus.
Today’s flash fiction challenge was inspired by a person with an eclectic palate. Sushi, Danish bread, French yoghurt and a traditional British snack pot. Who is the mysterious shopper who happened to feel a little peckish as they strolled along Belfast’s Royal Avenue yesterday? Well, I will leave that to your imagination. If previous challenges are anything to to go by, I’m sure you will come up with some interesting answers.
The usual lack of rules apply. All we ask is that you give A Fractured Faith a shout out if you decide to take part. Also, feel free to reblog this post if you think members of your own online community would be willing to participate. We will reblog some of our favourite stories, but please do not be offended if yours is not one of them. We are usually swamped with offerings. No Tesco employees were hurt in the making of this blog.
Good Morning. I have a busy, but exciting day, ahead. I’m on the 06:13 train to Belfast, a full 90 minutes before my normal one. The reason? I have a big meeting to attend this afternoon, so want to get in early to prepare for it. A three hour meeting, no less, where I will be bombarded with questions by our senior management team. I need to look smart and think smart. All prayers and kind thoughts would be much appreciated.
The 07:48 express to Belfast is normally standing room only, as we are crammed into carriages like claustrophobic sardines, thanks to the good people of Northern Ireland Translink who resolutely refuse to put on extra carriages as that would ‘cost too much.’ It reminds me of one of those trains, you see on the Indian sub-continent. Next thing they will be charging folk to sit on the roof.
The 06:13 is an entirely different experience. It was empty. I had my pick of the seats, indeed I almost had an entire carriage to myself. I’ve heard of the early bird catching the worm but this is ridiculous. It was a veritable ghost train, hurtling through the darkness towards the bright lights of Belfast. Getting up early was hard this morning, but I reaped the reward. It was worth the struggle and effort on my part.
Of late, my faith has been a little bit like my train experiences. For a long time, I’ve been lazy. Not physically, but rather spiritually. I’ve been quite content to go with the flow, and drift along with the masses. I’ve done the bare minimum with regards my prayer life and Bible reading. I’ve turned my back on Christian fellowship and run a mile from anything remotely resembling a church.
I’ve become a zombie. I walk, I talk, I breathe. On the exterior, I give all the signs of being a perfectly normal, functioning human being. But inside, I have been dead. My faith has shrivelled up, a dried husk desperately in need of hydration and cultivation. I have succumbed to old habits and allowed my OCD to read its ugly head once more. I have chosen wrong paths and made poor decisions. I have taken the easy option and boarded the wrong train.
You will never be short of company on the wrong train. For it’s where the majority of us, end up at some point in our lives. You might have been on it recently, or indeed are travelling on it as I write this now. It’s the easier option, but an altogether less pleasant alternative. It’s taking you to the same destination, but in a very different manner. Your legs ache and fellow commuters elbow you in the ribs. It sucks.
The ghost train involved a little more effort, but is worth it. You travel in more spacious surroundings. It’s the train you need to be on, the train that your loved ones need to be on. Yet, it’s virtually empty. I’m going to be making a greater effort in the future to consistently board the ghost train. You can even call it the Holy Ghost train….did you see what I did there. Sorry, got a bit carried away there.
What train are you boarding today? Are you taking the lazy option, are you switching off and backing down, when you need to be switching on and stepping up to the mark? I would encourage you to join me on the ghost train today. I could sure do with the company and I’ve saved you a seat. It sure beats spending your commute with your nose shoved into a stranger’s armpit.
What train are you boarding this morning?
What’s been your worst commute to work?
I’ve now reached the two third mark of my fourth edit of ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square,’ my first, and possibly only, novel. Progress has been slow, but steady, this week. As ever, real life has got in the way, and I haven’t been able to devote the time I would like to the project. It has simply been a case of chipping away at it, where and when I can. I’m fighting the urge to rush ahead and lose the quality.
The beta feedback continues to be excellent; positive and constructive. I made a point of selecting as diverse a range of test readers as possible; from teenagers to pensioners, and every decade in between. They all seem to be enjoying the story and Meredith Starc is emerging as the most loved character. Do I need to rename this ‘The Meredith Starc Chronicles?’
I hope not, as Kirkwood is very loosely based on yours truly when he was a struggling office worker in his early twenties; without the world saving potential of course. Some of the lesser, but still vital characters are also being introduced – Cornelius Dobson, Martim Rodriguez, Gunther von Steinbeck to name but a few. It has been fun creating their back stories, where my love of historical research has come to the fore.
Then there’s Colonel Augustus Skelly, himself. The villain of the piece. I’ve put a lot of effort into detailing his physical appearance and mannerisms. He is truly alive when I write about him and I hope that comes across to readers. My wish is that he evolves into that most delicious of characters – the bad guy you love to hate. There may even be a crumb of sympathy as to how he turned out the way he did….but not much.
There are still a few characters to be unveiled, including one largely based on our daughter, Hannah. This has proved a major challenge. How do you do justice to such a huge personality? I’m hoping she likes Harley, her alter ego in the KS universe, otherwise my life won’t be worth living. Harley is a crucial character and crashes into the story soon, driving the plot on to its conclusion.
Much of the early sections of the book concerned character introduction, development and back stories. This has been essential as both Kirkwood and Meredith have dark and troubled pasts, which the reader must understand in order to appreciate their actions and decisions in the present. Otherwise, the story doesn’t make sense. I hope I’ve penned heroes that you can relate to and empathise with.
Then there’s the real hero of the book, the city of Belfast. I’ve enjoyed describing the streets I walk most days, capturing the grime and the beauty in equal measure. Some locations are real, others I have based on reality but allowed myself a degree of artistic license. This is the Belfast of the Kirkwood Scott universe; gritty, but scratch beneath the surface and you will reveal its supernatural underbelly.
I hope to have this edit finished by the end of the month. Then it’s a case of mulling over the beta feedback, et voila it’s finished. I’ll then turn my attention towards researching potential agents and drafting query letters. As ever, I want to thank everyone who has supported me both in the ‘real world’ and the wonderful world of WordPress. Without you, none of this would be happening.
What do you make of the Kirkwood Scott universe?
Are you writing a book? Have you written a book? Are you thinking of writing one? Where are you on your writing journey?
Over the weekend I received a raft of feedback from beta readers regarding the first 15 chapters of my debut novel – ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles- Skelly’s Square.’ Its an urban fantasy aimed at the Young Adult/New Adult market. Set in modern day Belfast it tells the story of our eponymous hero, a twenty something underachiever ravaged by a mental illness which dominates every waking hour of his life.
All this changes over one bizarre pay day weekend when Kirkwood’s not so cosy, alcohol sodden existence is turned upside down by a chance encounter with a young homeless woman, Meredith Starc. He realises that she may hold the key to unlocking the traumatic experiences which scarred his childhood and now manifest themselves in the form of the malignant Augustus Skelly.
Skelly lives in Kirkwood’s head and controls his life via an intricate series of compulsive routines which Kirkwood must perform in order to keep at bay crushing feelings of guilt and anxiety. Put simply, bad things happen when Kirkwood fails a routine. Very bad things. The routine is everything and hangs on the roll of dice every morning.
It could be anything from a fifteen mile run to inane mental gymnastics involving question and answer sessions with a work colleague. It doesn’t matter, as long as it is completed to Skelly’s satisfaction. Meredith has her own problems. Living on the streets, since the death of her best friend, Emily, she spends her days at the bottom of a wine bottle, trying to avoid the many dangers that rough sleeping in Belfast entails.
Thrown together, Kirkwood and Meredith must become unlikely heroes in order to untangle the mystery that is Augustus Skelly. A figment of a damaged psyche or a more sinister figure preparing to unleash an ancient evil that threatens the world as we know it? They must overcome their own inner demons in order to triumph in a supernatural battle of good versus evil which has raged across the cosmos for countless millennia.
Well, I’ve been overwhelmed by the response from the beta readers. The initial feedback has been incredibly positive and helped calm this novice author’s frayed nerves. I never thought I’d hear the words ‘awesome’, ‘brilliant’ and ‘excellent’ used to describe my little story. If I dropped dead tomorrow, and hopefully I won’t, then I would die a happy man. The responses have validated the last eight months of writing, no matter what happens next.
The betas have truly risen to the mark and I want to thank them publicly for the time and effort they’ve put into their responses. It hasn’t been a total gush-fest and they’ve offered constructive and valid comments which I aim to implement in order to strengthen the structure and plot; in addition to spotting a shedload of punctuation and grammatical issues. I never knew commas and quotation marks could make such fascinating correspondence topics.
I’ll be sending out the next 15 chapters of the book to the betas later today, with more confidence now. I was apprehensive about this process but now see the benefits of throwing myself to the beta wolves. Even though we still have a long way to go, Kirkwood is a step closer to seeing the light of day. I will continue to blog daily and hope you keep popping over to follow his progress. Thank you everyone for your continued support.
Would the above book synopsis catch your eye?
What do you make of the world of Kirkwood Scott?
What have been your beta reader experiences?
Regular readers will know that I’m writing a book. I’ve been droning on about it for the better part of a year. It’s titled ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square’ and is the first part of Young Adult fantasy series based in Belfast. The hero of the piece is very loosely based on yours truly in his 20’s, except cooler and braver. Plus he talks to girls and battles supernatural beings. I don’t recall doing any of that either.
I’m now about a third of the way through the latest edit. Beta readers have been selected and I’m bracing myself for the first raft of feedback. Fionnuala is reading and formatting the draft as I go along and loves it. I have also allowed a good friend to have a look at it and, again the feedback has been very positive. But then you would expect them to say that. They have a personal connection with me.
Waiting for beta feedback is like waiting for exam results. You start off fairly confident but as time passes the voice in your head sows seeds of self-doubt. This snowballs into a Gordian knot of worry and anxiety. It is out of my hands, however. All I can do is chip away at the edit and hope that people like it when it finally sees the light of day. If nothing else, I will have fulfilled the lifelong ambition of writing a novel.
This edit has encouraged me though as, for the first time, the story has a fluidity and structure that was previously lacking. I’m equally pleased with the depth of, and interaction between, the characters. I’ve put a lot of thought into the development and I hope this comes across in the characters of Kirkwood Scott, Meredith Starc and Augustus Skelly. Minor characters have been fun to write as well.
I have decided to start off down the traditional publishing route. I know it’s a long shot but, if nothing else, it will provide me with experience of the process and provide some much needed skin toughening. Rejection letters are part of the experience and I will just have to get used to that. I’m already beginning to think about query letters, book synopsis and sample chapters in addition to ways I can broaden my social media presence.
People say that the real work only starts when the novel is written and I am starting to appreciate that now. I’m researching books on the publishing process and the work expected of a first time author in respect of marketing and self-promotion is immense. I’m learning all the time but it is a very steep learning curve. Reading posts from fellow bloggers on a similar journey also helps.
Beta Readers. Critique Partners. Editors. Agents. Publishers. The list is endless. So I’m reaching out to you today, my fellow WordPressers. If you can offer advice or guidance regarding any of the topics I’ve touched upon above then feel free to contact me and let’s talk. Likewise, if anyone can point me in the direction of any useful people in the industry then I’d love to hear from you.
This has been a bit of a rambling post today but I really wanted to update you and thank you for all the support you send my way on a daily basis. I’d also appreciate prayers from those of you with a faith. I know my own faltering faith has been greatly bolstered in recent times by a number of you whose prayers and Christian wisdom have been of great comfort to me. Hope you all have a wonderful day ahead.
After a busy week at work writing reports and battling to restock the office fridge with Diet Coke, I now have five days off to recharge. There will be training runs as my next marathon is just over three weeks away and we are also planning a few family outings, including a trip to Belfast Zoo. Rebecca will be reunited with all the other cheeky monkeys there and Hannah will be whizzing up and down the hills in her new motorised wheelchair.
I also intend to devote some time to the third draft of my first and possibly only novel – The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square. I’m currently at the stage where I am plugging some plot gaps and fine tuning the structure. Some chapters are being moved around, others trimmed down and others again chucked into the reject bin. It’s a slow and painful process but every day I know I’m inching a step closer towards the finished product.
I’m hoping to be in a position that by the end of September I will be in a position to start drip feeding a draft to my beta readers. I know it’s difficult to set a date in stone to finish a book as the creative process is so hard to channel and contain. Often I see it as a roaring line as I stand shaking before it with a chair and whip, fearing I’m about to be tossed about like a rag doll.
I will continue to blog over this period as I know you would all be devastated without your daily dose of Stephen but they will be shorter posts with a less heavy content. Perhaps another flash fiction challenge and certainly some photos from our trip to the zoo. I also have letters to respond to all those lovely people who took the time to write to us. Feel free to keep in touch by dropping a line below. I’m also happy to answer any questions you have about the book or my writing journey.
There was uproar in the office yesterday when ‘Fast’ Eddie, my colleague and proprietor of our charity tuck shop, returned from his lunch break with fresh supplies for the ravenous hordes I like to call ‘the team’. Tayto Cheese & Onion Crisps? Check. Double Decker chocolate bars? Double Check. But most importantly, cans of Diet Coke? Er….no. He produced a box of Pepsi Max and, looking very pleased with himself, announced that it had been offer and was too good an opportunity to miss out on.
Now call me a prima donna (and nobody wants to see these legs in a tutu) but I was at a very delicate stage of writing a complex, sensitive report that required total focus and concentration. In order to drag it kicking and screaming over the finish line I needed Diet Coke and lots of it. What was this Pepsi Max madness? I cautiously circled the office fridge, inspecting its contents dubiously while berating ‘Fast’ Eddie for his utter lack of respect for moi, his most loyal customer.
‘Doesn’t it all taste the same?’ was his response. It was like a red rag to a bull for a Coca-Cola connoisseur such as yours truly. ‘No it most certainly does not’ I spluttered in disbelief. ‘It’s like giving a new born mother somebody else’s child and saying It’s a baby. They all look the same anyway’. An uneasy ceasefire settled across the office interrupted by occasional sarcastic exchanges and thinly veiled threats to withdraw my custom from his business empire.
I mulled my options over. While I can quite happily run ten miles on my lunch break I am much too lazy to walk the five minutes it takes to go around the corner to the nearest shop to buy my own supplies. Plus it was now a matter of principle. To back down would be a sign of weakness and my principled stance would be in tatters. I decided to tough it out for the afternoon and settled down to scale the north west face of the report from Hell sans my favourite beverage.
This resilience lasted approximately 23 minutes before I cracked, flounced to the fridge and admitted defeat. As a decidedly smug ‘Fast’ Eddie looked on I flung open the fridge door and removed a can of this ever so second rate substitute. I opened it and took a very reluctant swig before retiring sheepishly to my desk. I spent the remainder of the afternoon sulking at my work station, only occasionally raising my head to mutter ‘It doesn’t taste the same’ and ‘This had better be a one-off.’
I had settled for second best. I wasn’t prepared to go the extra mile (or 100 yards in this case) to get what I truly wanted. I caved in and opted for the easier, less demanding option. The comfort zone of a spacious, air conditioned office tool precedence over trudging through the mean streets of Belfast in order to satiate my aspartame addiction. ‘Fast’ Eddie claimed the moral ground and the office hyenas roared their approval.
I have spent most of my life settling for second best. Traveling the safer, more well worn path as opposed to taking a risk and pursuing my dreams. My family deserve better than that. Heck, I deserve better than that. We get one chance and it is only this late in the day that I’m finally realising that. It involves a lot more hard work on my part but isn’t that what makes it all so worthwhile in the end?
This morning my on call week ends and the weekend begins. Fionnuala and the kids are picking me up after work and we are going to spend the evening at the seaside before watching a blood red moon set over the horizon. The old Stephen would have turned his nose up at this in the past as it would have eaten into his precious beer drinking time. But that was then and this is now. Why settle for less when what you really want is more?
I’m off to work now. But I’m stopping en route to purchase my Diet Coke supplies for the day.
Have you been settling for second best?
What path are you traveling at the moment?
What is holding you back from seeking a better life?
I wrote the other day about the comparisons between marathon running and writing a novel. Both are wars of attrition and many drop by the wayside, battered and beaten. Both culminate in glory and accolades but the path to the finish line is strewn with the collateral damage of the occupation; for every war has its casualties. Sacrifice and discipline are paramount. Without them you will fail, then fall and the dream will remain just that; discarded and shrivelled away.
I described where I am currently with my novel as like being at the 26 mile point of a marathon. The point where you feel you have created your personal Everest only to realise that you still have another .2 miles to go. Or 385 yards to be exact but, hey, who’s counting? Well I am to be honest. Every torrid step of the way. For after almost four hours of constant running you feel every stride and obsess over every step. It is one nearer the glory or the ignominy of stopping. Whichever comes first.
I’ve attempted to describe the agony and beauty of that moment but sometimes a picture speaks the volumes that my muted meanderings can never accomplish. Which is why I’ve dug out this photo. It’s me in the finishing straight at this year’s Belfast Marathon. No smiling, no soaking up the atmosphere and acknowledging the crowds. Just a world of pain as I contemplate nothing but the finish line, just ahead of me.
I could have posted photos of me smiling with my medal to describe the marathon experience but I feel this one captures its essence so much more accurately. It’s not pretty but it is real. Much like my writing style. I’ll post an equally unflattering image of my writing experience later today but, until then, never give up. Knuckle down and buckle up. For the finish line is within touching distance. Only 385 yards to go.
How close are you to your finish line?
Is the pain worth it?
Just thought I’d share some images of Bank Street, off Belfast City Centre, I took yesterday. This is my inspiration for the fictional location of Mulberry Square which is the backdrop for several of the key scenes in the novel I am currently working on – tentatively titled ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles: Part One – Skelly’s Square.’ I walk through this part of the city most days on my way to and from work.
It is a vibrant, thriving part of the city full of colour and laughter. It is steeped in history and includes an eclectic range of businesses and buildings – chapels next to bookmakers, traditional Irish pubs next to modern wine bars; fish and chip shops beside gourmet restaurants. It has a little bit of everything, including a darker side that features heavily in the novel.
Such locations continue to inspire me on this insane writing journey I have embarked upon. As do the people who inhabit them. I only hope my writing can do justice to the beautiful, brutal Belfast that is my second home. I’ll blog again later. A ‘flash fiction’ writing challenge for you all no less but, for now, apologies for the dodgy photography. Let’s hope the writing that follows isn’t quite so dodgy.
What parts of your local town or city inspire you to write?
Where is your ‘second home’?
What do you think ‘goes down’ in Mulberry Square?
Northern Ireland traditionally grinds to a halt this week for the 12th of July band parades as the Unionist community celebrate the Battle of the Boyne in 1690 where the army of King William defeated King James and so began over 300 years of political and religious hatred between the two communities. It’s a long, long story but suffice to say Fionnuala and I are seeking to raise our own kids to turn their backs on these cultures and traditions. We believe there is a better way.
We don’t need flute bands, bonfires and gallons of alcohol to have a good time. Nope, for today we took the kids to IKEA, the huge Swedish furniture and home fittings store just outside Belfast. Who needs DisneyLand or Universal Studios when you have fun factories like this on your doorstep. The kids were a tad underwhelmed but Fionnuala needed some raw materials for her crafts business so off we went.
No need for expensive rollercoaster rides when you can have your father career up and down the ramps of the largely deserted multi storey car park in a Fast & The Furious stylee. Even better was to follow when we got inside the store. The dual English/Swedish signage caused much mirth as the kids attempted to get their tongues around some of the more exotic Scandinavian pronunciations. IKEA also kindly place arrows and maps throughout the store so you cannot get lost. It was just like a huge treasure hunt. With walk in wardrobes!
The relief that we were not actually purchasing any of said flat bed furniture was a huge personal bonus. I can barely dress myself in the morning, never mind deciphering impenetrable instructions. The last wardrobe I assembled resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa and could barely survive a mild breeze, let alone two teenage wrecking balls and an eleven year old tornado. I’m more DOA than DIY when it comes to home improvement and any act requiring a semblance of hand to eye coordination is normally beyond me.
The highlight of the trip, however, was undoubtedly the visit to the IKEA bistro after the shopping was concluded. Hot dogs, Swedish meatballs and French fries for five people. For under a tenner! The tomato ketchup dispenser was a personal favourite. And as for the bottomless refills of diet soda. Well let’s just say if I hadn’t already got my money’s worth beforehand then I certainly did then. Four visits to the drinks machine later and I was fit to burst. Sorry, too much information I know.
We drove home a happy bunch. Well I say that. The kids were bickering in the back seat by the time we hit the motorway but that’s par for the course. The entire day cost very little money and all our needs were met. Fionnuala made her purchases, the kids were fed, watered and entertained and yours truly obtained more blogging ammunition. What’s not to like about IKEA and the Swedish? I could almost forgive their football team for their abject showing against England the previous weekend in the World Cup. Almost.
It’s the people you are with who make the memories as opposed to the lavish location or amount of money spent. It has taken me a good part of my life to realise that. I spent years down no end of rabbit holes seeking happiness when it was right before my eyes the whole time. As long as I have my loved ones around me then I have everything I need. Nothing else really matters in the end. There’s a lot to be said for cheap and cheerful.
Have you had any memorable day trips recently?
The second edit is complete, weighing in at a whopping 113K words. Since then I’ve done very little on it partly due to other commitments and partly because, well, the writing well was fairly empty. I had a very productive 3-4 weeks where I rattled through the draft tweaking and amending it to my hearts content. Then when I got to the end I just needed to put it away and mull over what the next phase was going to be.
That phase started last night when I began a more detailed plot synopsis. I’m hoping that it will allow me to get a better overview of the book as a whole and identify the no doubt many inconsistencies and gaps that require urgent attention. I’ve already decided to drop my original introduction and completely rewrite it from an entirely different perspective. I’m hoping that this will land a more impactive punch and lure the reader into the bizarre life and world of Kirkwood Scott.
It was a big deal for me disclosing the book’s title the other week. I was humbled by the interest fellow bloggers showed in it and the constructive feedback I received. This was a nerve wracking but necessary process. I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve and don’t have the thickest of skins so realise I need to toughen up in this regard. When the plot synopsis is complete I hope to dive straight into the third chapter which will be largely a matter of connecting all the various dots I have created to date.
After that I will be letting go of my precious project and releasing it to a carefully selected band of beta readers and critique partners. The latter group will be 2-3 fellow writers. I hope we will be able to grow and learn from each other during this important phase. I’m also leaning towards the self publishing route but again it’s very early days. The blog will remain my bread and butter and I’m hoping that from within it will come my core readership base.
So what do you need to do now? Well, nothing really. Just keep being you. Thank you as ever for your endless support and patience. I drone on about this book every week but not one of you yet has told me to shut up. For that I will always be grateful. This blog has grown beyond our wildest dreams and has restored my faith in humanity and the entire online experience. Kirkwood Scott would never have been born if it hadn’t been for you lot.
I’ve been posting some photos of Belfast which feature as locations in the book I am presently writing. It’s the first in a planned trilogy with the working title of ‘The Kirkwood Scott Khronicles’ although quite a few of you have suggested I drop the ‘K’ and go with ‘Chronicles’. It’s all great feedback which I’m very grateful for. Keep it coming! I won’t be offended by any of your suggestions.
Today’s location is The Monaco Bar, located in the city centre, just off High Street. I spent a lot of my late twenties and early thirties in this bar. Fionnuala and I had one of our first dates here. Wasn’t she a lucky girl? Winecellar Entry leads to an enclosed square bordered by The Monaco, and another bar, White’s Tavern, which claims to be the oldest pub in Belfast. I always preferred The Monaco though as the beer was cheaper and they screened the horse racing.
Separating the two bars is a bookmakers where I frittered away many an afternoon. And many a pay cheque. Thankfully my drinking and gambling days are behind me but several chapters of the book are based in a bar and bookmakers which are hybrids of several I used to frequent ‘back in the day’. Kirkwood Scott is a cooler, wittier, smarter, braver version of 25 year old Stephen Black.
I have several questions for you today as I’m fed up with having to do all the work on this blog. I’d be grateful for any advice you can provide. So here goes….
Khronicles or Chronicles? The debate rages on. Which do you prefer?
Should a trilogy be divided into parts, books,volumes? Something else?
‘Part One’ has a working sub title of ‘The Square’ or ‘Skelly’s Square’. Skelly is one of the bad guys in the story. Which do you prefer?
Earlier today I shared the title of the book I have been working on since last August. I’ve almost completed the second draft of it. It’s weighing in at a whopping 120K words at present. I also said I would share some of the Belfast locations which have inspired me and which feature in the story. This post focuses on the Grand Opera House on Great Victoria Street. It’s quite an impressive building isn’t it?
I walk past it every morning on my way from the train station to my office and the covered entrance to it often provides shelter for homeless people who are normally emerging from their sleeping bags as I pass. I’ve come to befriend a few of them this last year and we are now on first name terms. I have been amazed by their dignity, humility and politeness on every occasion I talk to them.
These conversations gave me the idea of a troubled office worker who meets and befriends a young, homeless woman. One of their first tentative, nervous conversations takes place outside the Opera House and that meeting throws them together in an unlikely alliance against a series of natural and supernatural foes who most definitely do not have their best interests at heart.
I’ll post the next location later this evening. Until then thanks for your continued support for The Kirkwood Scott Khronicles.
Good Morning. It’s the hottest day of the year so far in Northern Ireland with temperatures pushing 30 degrees celsius. How our pasty bodies are going to cope I have no idea but I thought I’d make the most of the beautiful weather to showcase some of the city scenes that have inspired me for the novel I’m writing at present. It’s an urban fantasy largely set in Belfast that I’ve been working on since last August.
I’ve decided that I can’t keep calling it the ‘novel’ or the ‘book’ any longer. It’s starting to drive me insane so goodness only knows what it is doing to you all. So…..drumroll please….I can exclusively reveal that the books (for I hope the story will cover several) will run under the banner of ‘The Kirkwood Scott Khronicles’. Gasp. I know. Stay tuned to the blog for further details as the day progresses and the opportunity to be a beta reader (guinea pig).
To kick off I thought I’d share some street art that I discovered in an alleyway off the city centre some months ago. This art gave me the idea for one of the book’s central characters and this particular piece of art and the alley where I found it are the backdrop for two of the pivotal chapters in the book. She has a name of course but I’ll keep that under wraps for now. Or maybe you can come up with a better one for her? I’m open to suggestion.
What would you name ‘graffiti girl’?
What do you think of the Kirkwood Scott Khronicles’ as a book title?
All constructive feedback welcome?
Northern Ireland is on the verge of mass hysteria.
Now don’t be worrying. Aliens have not landed. Godzilla is not lumbering out of Belfast Lough, bearing down upon a helpless city. And, least likely of all, our local politicians have not set aside their innumerable differences and agreed on something. No, it’s much more serious than that.
Today is going to be the hottest day of the year.
So what’s the big fuss I hear you cry? Enjoy it, revel in it, make the most of it while it lasts. But you don’t understand. We live on an island of driving rain, frozen fingers and permanent cloud cover. We wear more layers than the Inuit Nation. We don’t do heatwaves. Our tiny brains simply cannot compute with blue skies and that mysterious yellow orb which is hovering above us. Is it some kind of luminous, heat emitting mothership? Where’s Tom Cruise when you need him?
Social order will break down today. The population will go one of two ways. Firstly there will be the ‘taps aff’ brigade. Gangs of pasty, under nourished youths who will roam the city centre with their ‘taps’ (t shirts) tied round their waists. Flesh will be unnecessarily exposed and some of the worst tattoos known to mankind exposed. Sales of cheap cider will rocket and most of them will wake up tomorrow sunburnt and hungover in a police cell with no idea as to how they got there.
The girls are no better. Navels *gasp* will be exposed and several inches of fake tan and make up applied in order that they might drape themselves on the lawn outside City Hall for the passing world to admire/snigger at. Stare too long and they will greet you with their trademark screeched greeting – ‘Do ye (you) wanna (want to) a picture it lasts longer?’ littered with a few choice expletives. Stay classy, Belfast.
The other extreme are those of us who have no summer wardrobe. We dress like Wildlings the entire year round. The sun may be splitting the rocks outside but we’re no fools. This is Northern Ireland, it could be snowing by lunchtime. So we don our multiple layers and waddle out into the unknown. An uneasy standoff exists between these ‘Day After Tomorrow’ types and the ‘Taps Aff’ Brigade. They eye each other warily. It could all kick off at any moment.
And as for yours truly. Well believe it or not for a man who spends half of his life in running shorts, there’s more chance of Donald Trump tightening gun legislation than there is of me exposing my knees to the great unwashed of Belfast. The most I will accede to is possibly discarding my jacket on the commute to work today. And even then I will feel utterly exposed, convinced that the heavens will open at any moment and I will be shown up for the poor, deluded fool that I am.
It doesn’t stop there. Upon arriving at chez office ‘Air Con’ Wars will be in full flow as rival factions fight tooth and nail for control of the little red switch that offers two settings – Sierra Sauna or Arctic Wasteland. Words will be exchanged and fingers wagged. There might even be a tersely worded e-mail or two. It could end up like ‘Lord of the Flies.’ Except with middle aged men in suits.
This could be my last blog post if social order crumbles as predicted. The survivalists amongst us are already retiring to their bunkers with smug ‘I told you so’ expressions on their faces. If it is then thank you for your support and I’ll see you on the other side. The sun will rise again tomorrow but it could be dawning on a very different world. A world of peeling shoulders and embarrassing white bits. Don’t say I didn’t warn you?
Are you a ‘Taps Aff’ or ‘Day After Tomorrow’ type?
What do you wear during a heatwave?
When I decided I wanted to write a novel last summer I naively believed that it would be a reasonably straightforward affair. Get idea – Write Idea down – Send idea off to publishers – Get six figure advance and three book deal – The end. Oh what a silly boy I was. Ever since then I have been well and truly put in my place by just about everything I have read and heard about the first time in novelist.
You will never get an agent. If you get an agent you will never get a publisher. If you get a publisher nobody will buy it. And forget about the self publishing route because a) it’s too expensive b) you don’t have the time or experience to go down the road and c) did I mention that nobody will buy it because your idea is rubbish, your writing style is rubbish and er…..you’re just generally rubbish.
Well all of the above may be true but, if nothing else, this journey has taught me a lot about myself; what I’m good at and what I’m not so good at. It has also taught me a lot about other people. The good, the bad and the ever so slightly ugly. But most of all it’s taught me about how much of a writer’s life is spent not writing. Don’t believe me? Well here are a few examples for you to mull over.
There’s the thinking to start with. When I’m out running or commuting to and from work I’m thinking about characters, plot, structure, yadda, yadda, yadda. Fionnuala told me this morning that she would hate to spend one minute in my brain. Which I kind of took as a compliment. You need to think, rethink and then think some more before you even think about setting pen to paper or opening your laptop.
Next up is the reading. Why didn’t anyone tell me that writing a book would require so much reading. There’s the research for a start. The novel contains a number of scenes set in the early nineteenth century so I’ve had to research that period in order to add authenticity to those sections. I’ve also had to research modern day Belfast – the history of buildings I walk past every day; certain communities from within which one of my main characters comes from. The list is endless.
I’ve also sought to read as much of the genre that I’m writing about – urban fantasy. This has been daunting as every author I read seems infinitely more creative and eloquent than I am. Their stories flow effortlessly, their ideas spark off the page. It got to the point where I avoided such fiction as it was only depressing me. But I realised that in order to improve I need to learn from the best, no matter how painful and humbling an experience that is.
Then there’s the scene visits. Much of the novel is set in modern day Belfast. So I’ve found myself wandering round the city on my lunch breaks. Looking at buildings, really looking at them; buildings that I have walked past a thousand times before. Noticing details that I have never noticed before. Taking photographs and getting funny looks from passers by. It’s as if I’m seeing the city for the first time, or at least for the first time through the eyes of my characters.
I could write a dozen blogs on this subject but I’m going to stop for now. I’m nearing the summit every day and I’m hoping the view from the top will be spectacular when I get there. But that’s only half the story. Standing atop Everest is not what changes a person, it’s the journey to get there that does. I’m well on my way. There’s still some way to go. But I’m learning. Every step of the way.
How much of your writing process involves not writing?
Where are you on your creative journey?
Urban fantasy fiction in modern day Belfast with a twist of historical flashback? Yay or nay?
So it’s Monday lunchtime and I’m sitting outside the office in the square basking in the warm sunshine. They are predicting a heatwave this week and word has it that Thursday could be the hottest day on record in Northern Ireland. Like ever! All around me office workers are sitting eating their lunches while tourists amble in and out of the imposing St. Anne’s Cathedral just across the street.
I’ve spent the morning within the arctic confines of our open plan office researching the role of the British Army when first deployed in 1969 at the start of the Northern Ireland troubles. It was a brutal period marked by senseless sectarian murders, street riots, explosions and hijackings. It was a time of confusion and carnage. Belfast was the Beirut of Western Europe. The British Government referred to it as an internal security situation.
Who were they trying to kid, it was a war. I grew up in that world although I lived in a relatively quiet rural area and my parents did everything in their power to shelter me from the reality of what was going on in Belfast and other hot spots. Even then I was tainted by the hatred and violence that flooded into our living room every night on the television news. It was everywhere, you could not escape it.
I’m so glad our country is at peace now. Our children will not grow up in that environment. Belfast is a modern, cosmopolitan city now with a thriving tourist industry. Security barriers and bombed out buildings have been replaced by trendy bars and restaurants. You can freely stroll around the city without fear of being caught in the crossfire of a terrorist attack. Another innocent victim. Collateral damage. Today’s headlines, tomorrow’s fish and chip papers.
Belfast is a better place. I sit back and stare upwards at the clear blue skies. When I look back down three rough sleepers pass me by. One of them has no legs and is propelling himself along on a wooden skateboard that looks like it was built in the 1950’s. The last time I saw a disabled person use such a mode of transport was when I visited Eastern Africa several years ago. I had never seen such poverty and thought I never would again.
Yet here it is in 2018 on my own doorstep. I look away in dismay to see half a dozen young people at the other side of the square clearly involved in a drug deal. In broad daylight as the tour coaches pull up outside the cathedral and the camera toting hordes disembark. All in the square outside my comfortable office. All in front of my comfortable life. The same square where two teenage girls brawled viciously the other week, fuelled by copious amounts of cheap cider.
The same square where a young man was viciously raped on his way home from a nearby club. Beneath the shiny veneer this city still stinks. You only have to dig a little and it’s there, the nasty underbelly. How civilised are we really? When we can live in a world that is still overflowing with greed and violence; with poverty and despair. It would be unimaginable if it were not for the fact that it is happening right in front of us.
I want to contribute, I want to make a difference, I want to make this wretched world a better place. I see progress and I see potential. But some days you set eyes on sights that bring all your dreams and plans crashing to the ground. Some days you just want to turn your back on it all as you can’t stomach it anymore. Today was one of those days. And all it took was a lunch break in the dazzling sunshine.
Writing a book is a great leveller. Take this for example. Buried beneath the tonnes of insecurities and doubts that accompany setting out on such a venture I have always clung desperately to one tiny crumb of comfort – that I was an above average wordsmith and could express my thoughts and emotions eloquently in a manner that would entertain and enthral you – the people who read my daily ramblings with such patience and understanding.
Turns out that I’m not the next William Shakespeare after all. Although his endless toilet jokes and use of the phrase ‘Hey nonny nonny’ are not what I aspire to anyway. You see writing is hard work. Sometimes the words flow effortlessly and it’s as if my fingers are alive with passion and creativity as I merrily transmit the ideas and themes from my brain onto the screen of my laptop. Other times I stare at the screen with all the enthusiasm of a constipated caveman.
There are days I write garbage. There are days I write nonsense. There are days I write nothing at all so devoid am I of energy and inspiration. I write lazily, I write without structure or focus. I ramble, I prevaricate, I repeat myself over and over. I use the same infuriating words and despite repeatedly banging my head off the the wall saying I will not. Lazy, pointless words. Like ‘really’ and ‘though’ and ‘however’. Especially the last one. It has become the bane of my editing life.
I still cling to the flickering hope that one day this shambolic story will see the light of day. That hope is fuelled by this blog. Every day you lot loyally read my rants and post encouraging comments which never fail to bolster my flagging confidence. You push me forward on the days when all I want to do is throw the laptop in the river and pretend that I had never started the whole sorry process. You are my cheerleaders.
Without the short skirts, inane grins and pom poms you will be glad to hear.
My fear is this though. Gah! There I go again. Focus, Stephen. Focus! My average blog post is 500 words a day. I deliberately restrict myself to that as there is nothing more disheartening than beginning an interesting post only to discover that it is in fact ‘War and Peace’ for the twenty first century. I tend to drift off and rarely finish them. So I keep them short, snappy, succinct. Quality over quantity. That’s the plan anyway.
500 words. Anyone can endure 500 words of Stephen right? Plus it’s mostly life affirming content aimed at motivating and comforting people going through tough times. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Everyone’s a winner. And they all lived happily ever after. Etc Etc. But what about 120,000 words of Stephen as opposed to 500? 120,000 words of urban fantasy set on the reasonably mean streets of Belfast? How far can I test the resilience of you good, good people?
It’s the joy of the fledgling writer who aspires to be an author. Who will read this drivel? Did Lewis, Tolkien and King feel like this? Please: no J.K. Rowling anecdotes at this point. I’m not a Potter fan. A number of you have already kindly offered to be test readers for some chapters I will be releasing throughout the summer. I may never hear from them again. And if I do will their ‘constructive’ feedback send me screaming from the halls of WordPress never to darken it’s doors again?
At the end of the day there’s only one way to find out. Like the first time I stood on the start line of a marathon with knocking knees and churning stomach. 3 hours and 56 minutes later it was done. I was a marathon runner. This process is taking ever so slightly longer than that. It’s a marathon of marathons. But I’m getting there. One anxious step at a time. And I’ll always be grateful for the support and kindness you guys provided along the way.
Can you handle 120,000 words of Stephen?
Rowling v Tolkien? You decide.
Yes it’s your favourite time of the week when I update you on how the novel//project/bane of my life (depending upon my mood at any given moment) is coming along. Well, this week has seen significant progress and the word count on the second draft currently sits at just over 78K. I was off work quite a bit last week so had a couple of days when I could get well and truly stuck into edits and rewrites.
It’s becoming more and more noticeable to me how my story telling skills have improved as the writing process has continued. The early chapters read like short stories in isolation while there is much more of a flow and continuity to the second half of the story. I’m also pretty pleased as to how a couple of big set piece action scenes have panned out. Much better than I had originally thought.
I’m starting to warm to this editing lark as a) the first draft was not quite as horrific as I had anticipated b) it is helping me to spot gaps in the plot and character development and c) by chipping away at each line, paragraph and page I know I am edging towards an end product that I can be proud of. It’s slow, tedious work but I know it will be worthwhile in the end.
Equally slow and tedious has been the background historical research I have been carrying out relevant to the back story of several characters. At times I have been tempted to bin the research and just ‘wing’ the scene I have been working on it for. But when I sat down to write it earlier today the benefits of the donkey work was apparent. The scene really flowed and I was confident that, whilst fictional, the historical backdrop was accurate.
The life of an unpublished writer is a lonely and deeply paranoid one. I’m still highly reluctant to share my work with anyone and I rarely discuss it in the ‘real world’ due to the largely indifferent response I have got from most people I have mentioned it to; I have made a few tentative advances to potential test readers but then instantly regretted it and pretend the conversation never took place.
I have also been avoiding other fiction like the plague as I invariably compare the work of published and established authors to my own offerings and feel wholly inadequate. I know that is silliness personified but this huge slice of uncertainty still lodges in my gullet. I’m not going to be the next Tolkien or King overnight so why beat myself up over it. Small steps, Stephen. Small steps.
And don’t get me started on agents, publishers and marketing or I will run screaming from this post and jump into the nearest river. It seems like writing the blasted book is the easy part compared to what follows afterwards. If I can compare this to a marathon I feel like I’ve barely run a mile and have an awfully long way to go yet. But like when I race, I just have to break down the process into bite sized chunks.
On a more positive note the blog continues to prosper and the feedback and support from you lot has been fantastic as ever. You are the base, the foundation, the cornerstone of this project. Without the blog it would be little more than a middle aged pipe dream. It edges closer every day and, improbable though it may seem, I’m determined to give this everything I’ve got in order to make it a reality. For that I can only thank you all.
Would you like to be a test reader for ‘the project’? Or assist in promoting/marketing it?
What are your views on publishing vs self publishing?
Have you any tips on securing a literary agent or publisher?
After a nightmare run on Saturday where I had to walk after 3 miles it was with some trepidation that I started a 10 mile run this lunchtime with a work colleague. I made the decision not to run yesterday and was glad that I did as I’ve had a very busy weekend work wise. This morning was no different with my office line, work mobile and personal mobile ringing incessantly. It was challenging but a blessing in disguise as it took my mind off the forthcoming run.
Yesterday also allowed me to do some much needed work on the second draft of the book. Which is a marathon in itself. I also remembered to bring my Garmin along on this run as I went out without it on Saturday and think I may have messed up my pacing by setting out too quickly over the first two miles. I was determined to make the same mistake today. Preparation is half the battle.
We set off at a very steady pace. Like Saturday it was a warm, muggy day but the route was much flatter; through the city centre and onto the Lagan Embankment which eventually leads us past the Cutters Wharf Bar and onto the old towpath which leads to Lisburn. We turn at The Lock keepers Cafe and then head back into the city. The pace was steady and we were able to hold a conversation over the first 3 miles.
I kept expecting the jelly limbs to hit me but felt relatively comfortable and before I knew it we were at our turning point. After stopping for a quick glass of water we headed back. I have been troubled with blisters on both feet since the Belfast Marathon and experienced some discomfort in my left foot but it was minor and didn’t stop me from maintaining the pace. With each passing mile I grew more confident that there was to be no repeat performance of Saturday’s shambles.
I forged on over the last mile and finished the run soaked in sweat but satisfied, just under 3 minutes inside my 4 hour marathon pace. It may have been ‘just another training run’ but it felt special. I had overcome the doubts and worries of the previous 48 hours and proved to myself that Saturday was nothing more than a blip. Bad days come and bad days go. As do bad runs. I was back in the game.
Not the most earth shattering post today but a small landmark. If you feel you’ve messed up at something, no matter what, don’t hesitate to get back on the bike and try again. The longer you put it off the harder it is going to be in the long run. There is nothing to fear. Don’t let that molehill become a mountain. Make it happen and prove the doubters wrong. Now I’m off to soak my blisters.
Have you fallen off the bike in recent days?
Are you willing to jump back on it?
Some of you may be aware that I’m writing a book. It’s a supernatural fantasy set in Belfast which covers a lot of the themes that I blog about; mental illness, homelessness, faltering faith to name but a few. It’s heroes are deeply flawed outcasts on the fringes of society. They have been rejected by a world that now requires them in order to save it. As individuals they are a pretty motley crew. But together they are a whole different prospect.
I’ve recently completed the first draft. 120,000 words which I have written here, there and everywhere over the last six months. On the train, in the garden, even in bed. It has been very difficult given my many other commitments and it has been a case of an hour here and an hour there whenever I have had some spare time. There has been no great plan or strategy. I have just written the story as it has unfolded in my mind.
What I lack in talent I make up for in stubbornness. You can blame good old Mr. OCD for that one. I have refused to give up even though I have been tempted to many times. It’s rubbish, it will never be published, everyone is going to hate it and you will be a laughing stock; all these thoughts have trundled through my mind on a regular basis. Yet somehow I have persevered and here I am six months later with a first draft in my hands.
Fionnuala and the kids have, as ever, been incredibly supportive, patient and encouraging. Beyond them the reception has not been quite as rapturous. I have mentioned it to a number of friends who have either quickly changed the subject or in, some instances, completely ignored it. It’s as if they are either embarrassed at me daring to have this dream or dismiss it as the most preposterous idea they have ever heard. Such conversations have been disheartening and off putting.
There have been a few exceptions thankfully. Our friend, Rosie, for example who has been so excited about the project that at times I have worried her head might explode. Her enthusiasm has more than made up for others who….well….frankly don’t care. I hope I get the opportunity to prove them wrong. I like proving people wrong. It’s a novelty after a lifetime of proving them right. Just like those who raised eyebrows whenever I said I wanted to run a marathon, start a blog etc etc etc.
Another person who I know would have believed in me is my late father. Earlier this year my mother told me that he had dreamt of writing a novel and had actually once started a manuscript. He never got the opportunity to complete it so I guess I’m doing this for him as well. He turned his life around and achieved incredible things in his latter years. I hope I can emulate him for I know he would have been 100% behind me.
It was with some trepidation therefore that I started the second draft a week ago. I was editing words I had written six months ago. What if it made no sense? What if it was utter nonsense? I was almost too scared to start and considered placing it on the shelf for another day. But something made me persevere. And 20,000 words later guess what? It’s actually alright. Granted it still needs a lot of work but I haven’t been cringing with embarrassment as I’ve gone through it.
Never be afraid to pursue a dream. To try a new activity. To learn a new skill. You might have convinced yourself a million times that it’s pointless but do it anyway. For you will never be as bad at it as you thought you would be. You might even be quite good. Or very good for that matter. I’m not quite sure where I am on this scale. I hope I’m good enough. Either way, I’m going to find out. As should you. For a little talent, a lot of hard work and the right people supporting you can take you a long, long way.
Where are you with regards pursuing your dream?
Do your friends and family support you or throw a wet blanket over your plans?
I finished the first draft of the novel at the tail end of last week and have now started the laborious, but crucial, editing process. The first draft weighed in at a whopping 120K words and I’m presently around 18K words through the first edit. This has been useful in identifying plot gaps and clunky dialogue. I’m also working on greater detail regarding character development and scene setting. It’s a massive undertaking but I’m determined to see it through to its conclusion.
On top of all this I’m trying to conduct some background research which will prove necessary in order to add credibility to several of the characters. Also as I wander around Belfast city centre I am constantly seeing little details which I know will end up in the book. I’ve taken the plunge and booked a week off work later in the month where I will work exclusively on editing and rewriting.
I’ve allowed Fionnuala and Adam to read a chapter which was nerve wracking. Imagine what it will be like when I reluctantly hand over the full manuscript to a chosen few for constructive feedback, proof reading and general dismemberment. All this and I haven’t even broached the thorny subject of whether to go down the traditional publishing or increasingly self-publishing route. Decisions, Decisions, Decisions.
it’s slow but steady progress. Family and work commitments take priority and I’m not a night owl (I need my beauty sleep) so I work at the book where and when I can. I am fortunate to have a very patient and understanding wife. Hopefully one day it will all prove worthwhile and the finished product will see the light of day. I’ll continue to post regular updates throughout the summer. Thanks for your continued support.
Stephen realised at the start that he left his vaseline in the car so at this point we have to do a hand over of Vaseline and Jellybabies.
The marathon started at 9am Stephen reached the 7 mile mark at 9.58 looking fresh 😂
Next time we will see him now will be at 23 miles and then the finish line.
Keep running Stephen.
I bought these bad boys yesterday and will be breaking them in over the next week or so in advance of the Belfast Marathon on 7th May. It will be my third Belfast Marathon and my eighth in total. I’ve never entered a marathon feeling less confident but I’m hoping that new running shoes will give me the boost I need to cover the 26.2 miles in my target time of sub four hours. We shall see.
So there we have it. Ten months into this project and almost 100,000 words later I find all my characters in the same place at the same time. All nine of them. Number ten couldn’t make it but then he is a master of delegation and has sent along some more than able deputies to represent his interests. I reckon another 20,000 words should do it et voila we have the first draft of my my first novel. There might not be ten of them left at the end of it all but I guess you will just have to wait and see.
It’s rough, it’s raw and it’s riddled with grammatical errors and continuity issues. But it’s real. it exists. I have unlikely, irritating, unwilling heroes and dashing, likeable and utterly evil villains. I’ve got witty dialogue (well I thought it was funny when I was writing it) and tonnes of naff pop culture references. I’ve got action; chase scenes, explosions and the occasional dead body. It’s gritty in places, ethereal in others and hopefully showcases the wonderful, horrible juxtaposition of a city that is Belfast.
There are flashbacks, fast forwards and occasionally sitting about not really doing a lot. Some chapters cover seconds while others span centuries. It’s geeky, it’s nerdy and occasionally other worldly. I hope the next time I update you that the first draft will be in the bag. That’s when the real work will begin. The editing, the rewriting, the polishing and weaving together of various themes and sub plots. I also have a tonne of research to do in order to flesh out a number of characters and their back stories. Will it ever see the light of day? I don’t know the answer to that question.
Maybe a literary agent will pick it up and sell it to a publisher. Maybe I’ll end up going down the self-publishing route. Maybe it will sit on my laptop and never be read by anyone except a trusted few. Maybe even they won’t be bothered. But I will be able to say I gave it my very best shot. Just like I said I would give this blog my very best shot 11 months ago. And it kind of turned out alright. I’ll keep you all updated over the next few months but, as always, your support and enthusiasm is what keeps my writing alive. The journey hasn’t even started yet.
We are not protestors by nature but yesterday took to the streets of Belfast with many other concerned parents to protest against plans by the Education Authority to close seven special needs schools in the Greater Belfast area and merge them into three ‘super schools’ which would be created to cater for students with physical disabilities and learning difficulties.
Our daughter, Hannah, has been attending one of these schools, Fleming Fulton, since she was three years old. Hannah was born with spina bifida and hydrocephalus and is a wheelchair user. We were very proud of Hannah yesterday as she spoke at the gates of Belfast City Hall in front of hundreds to express her opposition to the proposed closures. Here are some of her words.
‘I was born with spina bifida basically my legs don’t work but my brain does and that’s thanks to the hard work and dedication of my parents, doctors, teachers and workers at my school. I have been going to Fleming Fulton since just before my third birthday, it is like my second home, I have made the best of friends that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
If the Education Authority goes through with what it is planning I will be separated from my friends and will have to go to a different school which I don’t want to happen. I love my school the way it is and don’t want it to change.’
Fionnuala and I are proud of all the kids but Hannah took the bar to a new level yesterday. Sometimes you have to stand up to the faceless government mannequins who put cuts before kids and who deny our most vulnerable young people the education and health care they are entitled to. Hannah deserves better and she spoke out for herself and her classmates today. She made us very proud parents.
This is a full recording of Hannah’s speech if you would like to hear it.
I returned home from work yesterday to find this had arrived for me in the post.
Guess there’s no turning back now. Belfast Marathon here I come. 52 days and counting.
For the loyal (deluded) few who are following my progress towards the Belfast Marathon on 7th May here’s the lowdown on my latest long run. 19 miles of meh. But at least it was dry and relatively mild. Solo training can be a lonely experience and I had to give myself a good talking to at times during this latest run but c’est la vie. Nobody is forcing me to push my body through the insanity of 26.2 miles for fun. My target, as ever, is sub four hours and I’d be very disappointed if I didn’t achieve that.
Anyway only eight weeks to go….
So I may have entered another marathon. Silly me. It will be my third Belfast Marathon and my eighth in total. This may necessitate some more dull running related blogs but I hope you will bear with me between now and the big day on 7th May.