Rewrites and Rejigs

I’ve acted on feedback these last few days and tweaked the opening chapters of the book. This has involved removing my beloved prologue on the advice of a literary agent, my agent Laura and Fionnuala. As usual, my wife was weeks ahead of the ‘experts’ with regards this observation and, as ever, I ignored her advice. She was right all along, of course. The prologue will now be broken up and drip fed to the reader throughout the book.

I’ve also reshuffled a number of chapters and split others. This has meant the reader is thrown straight into Kirkwood’s story as opposed to holding back in the early chapters and focusing on his and Skelly’s back story. The rejig has also led to some minor rewriting to connect the chapters as seamlessly as possible. The end result is a punchier, pacer opening which hopefully hooks the reader from the start.

I’ll be querying agents with these new streamlined chapters as of Monday. My editor, Laura, is now two thirds through the book and well on schedule to forward me her complete edit by the end of March. I’ll then start querying indie publishing houses who specialise in fantasy fiction. My query letter and book synopsis will also require some amendments but they can wait for now.

#PitMad is coming up on 7th March on Twitter where you can pitch a 280 character tweet regarding your book to literary agents. How hard is summing up a 100K plus book in 280 letters or less. I’ll be giving it a go, anyway. I’m also considering launching some of my other fiction projects on another social media platform. It will probably be ‘Bomb Girl,’ a story which has been brewing in my mind for some time now.

What projects are you working on at the minute?

The Shameless Plug

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!

My First Rejection E-Mail

I was a little disheartened to receive my first rejection e-mail from an American literary agent yesterday. Not disheartened I received one but, rather, I received it less than ten hours after submitting it to said agent. I had been told it could be anything between 4-12 weeks to receive a reply, given agents are so busy. Given this agent works for a top U.S. agency I therefore had my suspicions.

To be fair, at least I received a response. Some agents state they will only contact you if they are interested in your work, otherwise you are left hanging in suspense until you eventually give up hope, assume the worst, and move on. I was prepared for rejection, it’s part of the process, but not quite so soon. Was this some sort of a world record? Were my sample chapters really that bad?

Or had the agent even bothered to read my submission? Given the five hour time gap between where I am and the Big Apple, it appeared she had dropped everything and spent her working day reading the query letter, synopsis and 50 page sample of an unknown Northern Irish unpublished author. High powered meetings were rescheduled and working lunches cancelled for little old me.

Her rejection e-mail offered little in the way of clues. I wasn’t named and it’s bland, generic quality suggested it was a standard automated rejection. It offered no feedback, stating I wasn’t the right fit and something about her heavy workload. I sighed, added it to my newly created rejection e mail folder and went to bed, the excitement of the last few days a distant memory.

How do you handle rejection?

Today Has Been Exciting

It was with much excitement today that I submitted my first query to a literary agent in respect of my book – ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles: Skelly’s Square.’ Having checked font, submission guidelines and e-mail addresses a million times I finally summoned up the courage to hit the submit button and watch my beloved KSC fly off into the great unknown.

Seconds later I got an automated e-mail from the agent acknowledging receipt of my submission. I stamped my feet and clapped my hands like a kid on Christmas morning as Fionnuala, who was an immense help on the IT front this morning, looked on with a mixture of pride and bemusement. I’m planning to send out ten queries this weekend, all to agents who I’ve been monitoring/stalking on social media for some time.

Then it will be a matter of sitting back and waiting. I’m under no illusions as to how competitive the market is. Agents receive hundreds of submissions a week and I am but one writer trying desperately to catch their eye. But if you’re not in you can’t win and finally after almost 18 months, I’m in a position to say I’m a querying author. It’s been a long, winding, but ultimately worthwhile road.

There will now commence a period of self enforced wailing and gnashing of teeth as I await responses. I’m braced for rejection but also hopeful of more positive feedback. Responses can take from 2-12 weeks, depending on the agent. Even then agent interest doesn’t necessarily mean you will be taken on. So, it’s a waiting game. But it’s a start. I’ll continue to keep you all updated, good news or bad.

What Hogwarts House Are You In?

You people know me, right?

Well then you know I’m a knowledge free zone when it comes to Harry Potter. I’ve blogged about this before and almost worn this ignorance like a badge of honour. Well, no more. My chickens have well and truly come home to roost. Serving of humble pie for Mr. Black? Er, that’ll be me. And you might want to bring a bigger spoon as this could take a while.

I’ve been researching literary agents for some time now, drawing up a shortlist who I’m about to query with my first novel. Today was to be the day I forwarded my first submission. My literary baby was about to leave the nest and venture out into the big bad world of rejection letters and less than flattering critiques of my writing style and plot development. But I’m a big boy and was ready for it.

What I wasn’t ready for was the submission criteria. Five page sample? Check. Query letter? Check? Book synopsis? Most definitely. E-mail address, contact telephone number, full name and address. Yes, Yes, Yes! Then I saw it, near the bottom of the screen. What is your Hogwarts house? What is my Dumble what? Turns out this agent is a huge HP fan and dropped that question in there to flummox smug wannabe authors like moi.

So I need your help. I need you PotterHeads to look me up and down and tell me what you think I am. Isn’t there a hat or something I need to put on? I think there’s a hat. While you’re at it, let me know why I belong to that house so I can lie to the agent if she has follow up questions. Leave your comments below. I’m off to the library to beg, steal or borrow a copy of The Philosphers Stone. Whatever that is. Sighs.

What Hogwarts House Do You Think I Belong To?

At Last. The Long Awaited E-Mail

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.

A Sneak Peek For You All

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.

Stop The World….I’ve Lost My Kindle

If you asked me what three items I would take onto a desert island (go on, ask me) I’d probably plump for my glasses, a lifetime supply of Diet Coke (surely that counts as one item?!) and my beloved Kindle Fire. You see, I read….a lot. And the Kindle is my way of stashing hundreds of books without Fionnuala shouting at me for the clutter around the house. Happiness is a new book on the Kindle. Assuming the island has wifi of course.

All that changed a couple of months ago when my favourite electronic device went AWOL. MIA. It vanished. At first I assumed it would turn up as misplaced items tend to do in our house. Or rather, Fionnuala would find it for me. But as the weeks passed, there was no sign of the prodigal paper substitute. I even, shock horror, started to look for it. But it had vanished. Like the Marie Celeste. Gone.

The mystery niggled at me increasingly. Searches under various pieces of furniture proved negative and I began to worry. Had I actually lost it? How could that be, given I rarely take it out of the house. I was resorting to squinting at the Kindle app on my phone. I was even considering the unthinkable, purchasing a real book. You know, with pages. Real paper pages.

My whining increased to such levels that by Christmas morning, Fionnuala had enough and took it upon herself to search for the offending item. She tutted, climbed the stairs and entered our bedroom. I followed her, safe in the knowledge I had turned the room upside down and the Kindle was not there. No way, was she making a fool of me by placing her hands on it within seconds.

She strode over to my side of the bed and began to rummage through an old briefcase where I store random bits of paperwork. Pah, I sniffed. I’ve searched there at least a dozen times. What does she take me for, some sort of buffoon. I froze as, after a cursory search, she stood up and flung the Kindle Fire in my direction. There followed a brief exchange of words, where my wife gently challenged various aspects of my intellect and wisdom.

Once this loving verbal wave had washed over me, and I’d recovered from the shame and embarrassment of being an incompetent numpty, it was as if I had received a new Christmas present. I charged up the Kindle and proceeded to surf Amazon for all sorts of cut price bargains and new releases. All at a fraction of the price I would have paid for them on the high street. Check out this lot.

  • The Cruel Prince – Holly Black
  • Eat, Drink, Run – Bryony Gordon
  • How To Stop Time – Matt Haig
  • Into The Water – Paula Hawkins
  • Echoes – Laura Tisdall
  • Dreamlander – K..M Weiland
  • The Grey Bastards – Jonathan French
  • My Thoughts Exactly – Lily Allen

All for £20! But here’s where I need your help. I still have a few Christmas shekels left. Can you recommend a book to add to my collection? My favourite genres are fantasy and dark thrillers but I’m open to all your suggestions. I also have an interest in biographies that focus on mental health and addictive behaviour. Leave your comments below. I’m looking forward to reading them all.

What books can you recommend to me?

Have you ever lost anything and it’s been under your nose all along?

The 12 Blogging Questions Of Christmas – What Was Your Favourite Book Of 2018?

Blogging is all about interaction and community. During the course of 2018 I have stumbled across all kinds of varied, interesting people. All with relevant and inspiring stories. I’m hoping to find, and interact with, many more in 2019 and beyond. To encourage this intent, I’m going to run a festive themed blog series over the next twelve days which I have imaginatively titled…..cue drum roll……

The 12 Questions of Christmas!!!

Catchy, huh?

Each day I will ask a question. All you have to do is comment and engage with other like minded bloggers. Who knows, your new blogging best friend could be out there just waiting to hear from you. The Lennon to your McCartney, the Simon to your Garfunkel, the Sonny to your Cher. Okay then, maybe not the last one, but you get my drift.

So, without further ado, here’s today’s question.

What’s the best book you read in 2018 and why?

For me, it has to be ‘Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine’ by Gail Honeyman. Startlingly original. Dark, funny, quirky, heart wrenching. Just a few of the words to describe the debut novel which stood head and shoulders over anything else on my Kindle. With honourable mentions to ‘Dark Places’ by Gillian Flynn and ‘Bonfire’ by Krysten Ritter. Anyway, enough of me. Over to you….

I’ve Written A Book. Now What? – Beta Readers

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.

#PitMad On WordPress

On Twitter yesterday, writers posted book pitches along with the hashtag #pitmad. The idea was to promote their work and garner support amongst the writing community. If you liked the pitch you hit the retweet button. I’m fairly new to Twitter, but decided to give it a rattle anyway. I got 4 retweets! Well, two if you don’t count Fionnuala and Hannah. It’s a start, I guess.

I’m not sure if there’s a similar phenomenon on WordPress, but I do know that there’s no more supportive social media platform. So, why don’t we try it? If you would like to promote your blog, book, poem, short story etc then simply do so in a short post, then share the link with me. I’m not sure what sort of a response I’ll get, but I will then reblog a percentage of them.

Please don’t be offended if I don’t reblog your post. It’s only a bit of fun, after all. Alternatively if you like the idea, but perhaps don’t want to participate, then reblog this post and share the love with your blogging community. I look forward to to being inundated with your offerings. What better way to start a dark and chilly morning here in the frozen wastes of Northern Ireland.

I’d Like To Thank My Family, My Agent….

Oh hang on I don’t have an agent. Well not yet anyway, but I’m working on that one. Yesterday, Fractured Faith passed 8000 followers, a milestone that has been looming on the horizon for some weeks now. As I have written about in previous posts, there are mixed feelings about this achievement. I won’t go over those again. Let’s just say I’m happy, but a little nervous.

I worked out yesterday if everyone bought a copy of the book when/if it’s published, I could give up my job, or at least take a career break to work on the second book. It’s a pipe dream, I know, but a nice thought all the same. The blog is the platform for the book so I’m committed to maintaining the former, in order to give the latter a chance at life. It’s swings and roundabouts, the chicken and the egg, yadda yadda.

That aside, I’d like to thank you all for your continued support and encouragement. At least once a day, I receive a comment that makes it all worthwhile. A comment that dispels the inner demons of doubt and disbelief. Here’s to the next thousand, I think. Now, unfortunately, I’m off to the day job. Needs must and all that. I’ll see you all on the other side. Thank you again, my fellow bloggers.

I’m On Twitter. I Think.

I’ve made the decision to open a personal Twitter account in order to promote my writing. It’s early days yet but I’ll be tweeting bite sized versions of the usual nonsense you find on the blog every day. If you’re on Twitter, pop over and say hello. Or follow me even. My username (is that even the right word?) is:

@stephenRB4

Just click on the hyper link to follow me there

Help Required

Now that the manuscript for ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square’ is with my editor, you would think I could slow down and take a break. Er….no. I’ve decided to give the traditional publishing route a shot and see what all those lovely literary agents think of my work. In order to do that, I have to submit query letters, a book synopsis, stuff like that. Does this madness never end?

I need YOUR help, good people of WordPress. So, pay attention please.

Do you know any reputable literary agents currently accepting submissions for Urban Fantasy novels?

If you don’t, I’d be grateful if you could reblog this to your community as maybe someone out there might be able to help.

Thank you in advance

Stephen

Kirkwood Flies The Nest

Yes. It’s finally happening….

Later today, I will be e-mailing my editor, Laura, the latest (5th but who’s counting) draft of my book. It weighs in at a whopping 125K words and 425 pages, but I can do no more with it. Time for ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square’ to fly the nest and venture out into the big, bad world. It’s also the reason the blog has been reasonably quiet this last while. Needs must all that.

While Laura works her magic on the manuscript, I will be refocusing on preparing my query letter and book synopsis. I’ll also be targeting via online research the literary agents I would like to approach. Then I’m going to cross my fingers, legs and toes and hope for the best. What’s the worst that they can say? We hate it? It’s rubbish? Well, we shall see. But at least I can say I’ve achieved my dream of writing a book.

Thanks to everyone who has supported this far on the journey. Further updates to follow.

Breaking News

I’m delighted to announce Laura Dobra has agreed to edit my first book, ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square.’ Laura is a talented freelance writer and editor, based in Western Australia, who offered her professional services after reviewing part of the manuscript. I was keen to have the book professionally copy edited before beginning to submit it to literary agents and publishing houses.

For a qualified editor and published writer to take a chance on a rookie like me, is a massive compliment and I look forward to working with Laura in the months ahead to turn the rough diamond that is KSC1 into a polished gem. Please, check out her website at the link above to learn more of the services she can provide and read some of her own creative work. Now I’ll get back to my red pen edit….

Where Do You Find The Time To Read?

I’m currently reading ‘Dark Places’ by Gillian Flynn. It’s a fantastic read. Eerie, edgy and beautifully written. The twists and turns of the plot leave me none the wiser as to how the story will turn out. It ticks every box as far as I’m concerned, a real page turner. Well, it would be if I didn’t keep falling asleep every time I picked it up. Page 221….check….Wow!….I never saw that coming….I wonder what….zzzzzzzzzz.

Books such as this I would normally devour within a week. Ten train journeys to and from work and it would be in the can and on to the next one. Except I’m not. The reason? I’m writing. And editing a lot. Meaning the only sliver of my day when I have an opportunity to indulge in my love of reading is when I go to bed at night. Whoever said authors needed to read a lot obviously hadn’t three kids and a full time job.

In order to read more, something needs to give. Give up running? Nice try, but I’m afraid that’s a non starter. Running is a physical and mental necessity in my life. It purges me of the many toxins which regularly pollute my body and soul. Running while listening to an audio book? Don’t even go there. It takes every ounce of my concentration to put one foot in front of the other, let alone digest a novel. I don’t want to end face down in a ditch.

I could give up work but there’s the irritating matter of the mortgage and numerous other bills to pay. Plus the thought of me getting under Fionnuala’s feet all day at home, is not a recipe for a blissful marriage. My dream is to become a full-time author, but if that day ever comes I will need a shed at the bottom of the garden to protect my long suffering wife from the temptation of strangling me.

I’ve been reading all my life but, at this rate, it will take the rest of my life to finish ‘Dark Places.’ Meanwhile, the backlog of untouched books on my bookshelf and Kindle continue to grow unabated. Just because I can’t finish a book shouldn’t impact on me continuing to buy them, right? I’m the eternal optimist and constantly convince myself I’ll get caught up soon. Which never happens.

It’s a Gordian knot, a Catch 22, my own personal Brexit. A conundrum which I’m no nearer to resolving. Writing and reading? It’s akin to pouring two litres of water into a one litre bucket. So I’m throwing it out there this morning. Fellow writers, where do you find the time to write? Answers on a postcard please. Or alternatively, you can leave a comment below. I might even reply. If I can find the time.

I’ve Written A Book. Now What?

Yesterday I started a hard copy edit of my debut novel ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Part One – Skelly’s Square.’ Armed with my trusty red pen, I attacked the manuscript with gusto, and more than a little trepidation. What if the printer version revealed a myriad of mistakes which I had failed to detect on the laptop screen? I gritted my teeth and resigned myself to the task at hand. What would be, would be.

Fifty pages later, and I’m relieved to report the edit was a relatively pain free exercise. No major, intrusive surgery was required and Kirkwood survived, with nothing more than a few flesh wounds. These primarily relate to my obsession with the words ‘that’ and ‘had’ which had (oops) been pointed out to me by my long suffering and incredibly tactful beta readers. Removing them all will probably reduce the word count by 20,000 but it’s a small price to pay.

it’s weird holding an actual hard copy of the book in my hands. Before, as I laboured over it on the laptop screen, it was as if it wasn’t quite real, rather a figment of an over active imagination. But now it’s actually there, staring me in the face. It’s looking me up and down, before enquiring ‘Well I’m here now. What are you going to do with me?’ A question I’m not quite sure how to answer.

When do you stop editing a book? When do you set down the red pen, lean back and think ‘That’s me, I’m done? When does the moment come when you are brave enough to hit the submit button and wave goodbye to your pride and joy? Exposing it to the ravenous bear pit that is the world of literary agents and publishers? Can’t I hold onto my new born baby for just a little longer?

The answer is, of course, a resounding no. Writing a book and then not endeavouring to publish it is akin to buying a sports car and keeping it locked in your garage, for fear that it might get a scratch. The hard work is done, or at least most of it is. Now is the exciting time. Scary, yes, but ultimately exciting. The desire to know if it’s any good, outweighs the trepidation and worry which threaten to paralyse the aspiring author.

So, as the red pen cuts a swathe through the bundle of papers on my lap, I’m already thinking ahead to query letters and submission e-mails. I’ve been researching agents who might be interested in KSC and publishers who focus on YA/Urban Fantasy genres. To find that one person who falls in love with the adventures of Kirkwood Scott, Meredith Starc and Harley Davidson; who is entranced by the evil machinations of Colonel Augustus Skelly and the Forsaken.

it’s a hard old slog, but I’m seeing progress with each passing week. With that, comes confidence; confidence that this book with see the light of day in some format, be that via the publishing or self-publishing routes. The blog is but the tip of my personal writing iceberg. I just hope one day, the book I have laboured over will be revealed to you all. It’s frustrating writing about it every week when all I want to do is post the manuscript and shout ‘There it is. Tell me what you think.’

I hope that day is not far around the corner. The plan was always to start the book in 2017, finish it in 2018 and publish in 2019. So far, I’m on track with that schedule. I will keep chipping away, when and where I can, still determined this germ of an idea will see the light of day. Now I’m going to sign off and get scribbling with the red pain again. This book won’t write itself, you know.

Where are you on your writing journey?

Red Pen Day

Today, for the first time, I’m printing off a hard copy of the book I’ve been working on this last year. I may even have it bound, just to make me feel more like a real author, as opposed to a pretend one. It’s been through four self edits already and a raft of chapters are currently out for review with my loyal core of beta readers. My research though has indicated that it’s beneficial to sit down and edit a hard copy of the manuscript. So that’s what I’m doing.

Apparently you pick up errors and inconsistencies via this form of editing that you would never detect if you were poring over a laptop screen. It should also help me identify plot gaps and continuity issues. I’ve been through it with a fine tooth comb four times now, but I understand there is still much work to be done. In expectation of this, I have several red pens on standby, raring to go.

One of my beta readers, Meredith, edits my drafts with a purple pen, as it’s a more soothing and less aggressive colour. But I’m a traditionalist so I’m sticking with angry red. I will be like a grumpy teacher marking homework, except it will be my own. Hopefully by the end of it, it won’t have become too much of a literary bloodbath. I’m not keen on the sight of the red stuff, least of all my own.

Speaking of bloodbaths, I’m currently sourcing the services of a professional editor to carry out a line-by-line edit of the manuscript. Grammar, punctuation, structure, plot, the whole ten yards. Yesterday I was quoted $3600 dollars for a 300 page manuscript, way beyond my humble budget. All the advice I’m reading though is that a professional edit is advised, before considering approaching agents and/or publishers.

Several of you have already kindly offered support and advice in this area. Does anyone know of any friendly copy editors out there who would be willing to provide a more reasonable rate for such services? Or am I being naive and that’s the going rate nowadays? I’m no cheapskate but we are a single salary family and these hatchlings are a bottomless money pit.

What’s The Stupidest Question A Stranger Has Ever Asked You?

Now I’m not one to pass comment but….

There I was, minding my own business yesterday, around two miles into a seven mile lunchtime run. I was happily loping along at a very respectable pace, enjoying the autumnal sun and surrounding scenery of the Lagan Towpath. This riverside walkway is always busy in the middle of the day with fellow runners, cyclists and strolling office workers. Today was no different, or so I thought.

Walking towards me were three twenty somethings, two males and a female between them. I paid them little attention, instead focusing on my pace and rhythm, like all elite distance runners do….ahem. It was therefore with some surprise that I noticed one of the men was gesturing towards me. He had something in his hand, which I couldn’t quite make out. A lost tourist, no doubt.

George R.R. Martin and that big iceberg off the coast of Newfoundland have a lot to answer for. The good people of Belfast are regularly accosted on their lunch breaks by roving gangs of octogenarian North American tourists seeking directions to the Game of Thrones studios or Titanic Museum. I know it’s done wonders for our tourist industry, but if there’s one thing I like less, it’s being asked directions mid-run. I mean, how rude!

Except, this wasn’t a holidaying pensioner, but rather a young man wearing a tracksuit and baseball cap. He wasn’t pointing a camera in my direction or waving a map of the city centre. Yes, he was holding something in his outstretched hand, but as I closed the gap between us, I realised it was none of the above tourist paraphernalia, but instead a cigarette. An unlit cigarette, for that matter.

I slowed as I approached him, and our eyes met. ‘Do you have a light?,’ he hopefully enquired. My jaw dropped to the ground as I considered my response and conducted a quick mental inventory. Nike trainers? Check. Base layer and running app. Yeah, I’ve remembered them. Packet of Benson & Hedges King Size and lighter? Darn, I knew I’d forgotten something. ‘Er….no,’ I replied as I hurtled past, a look of utter disbelief on my face.

I’ve been running for over four years and I’ve been stopped and asked some silly questions in my time. But this was a new one, even for me. I know runners who vape. I know runners who take the odd sneaky cigarette on a night out. I’ve even seen two guys standing puffing their brains out before the start of the Belfast Half Marathon, two years ago. But I’ve yet to encounter someone who would light up mid run.

My nicotine starved friend asked the question yesterday as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I’m still scratching my head about it, over 24 hours later. But it got me thinking? What’s the most pointless or inappropriate question you’ve ever been asked by a stranger? Or am I over reacting? Was my track suited friend posing an entirely reasonable request? There’s no such thing as a stupid question, right?

Post your experiences below. There’s no prize by the way. But you’ll have my undying gratitude.

I’m Not Writing A Book….I’ve Written A Book

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 Need Your Help

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.

I’m Writing A Book….Still

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.

I Have A Shameful Secret….About My Shameful Secret

A few months ago I posted a blog about my aversion of all things Harry Potter. Despite my love of the fantasy genre, this was one franchise I just didn’t get. Game of Thrones, yes. Lord of the Rings, most definitely. Heck I’ve even read/watched the Twilight and Hunger Games sagas, no problems. But Daniel Radcliffe, Smug Girl, and the annoying ginger one. There, I draw a line in the sand.

It was a gentle, tongue in cheek critique as opposed to a savage attack on the Hogwarts Empire. Some people even dared suggest I was a secret Potter Head such was my knowledge of the subject. It’s amazing what seeps into your mind about a book, without you ever having skimmed a page of it. No, it was an honest assessment at my bewilderment at the success of the series, when it left me cold.

Imagine my surprise then at the success of the post. In almost 18 months of blogging, I reckon it has been our second most viewed offering, provoking a plethora of opinions and comments from diehard HP fanatics and those less bothered, like myself. It recently passed 1000 views, prompting me to write a follow up post. Hardly viral I know, but that’s a lot of views for our little corner of WordPress.

In those 18 months I’ve poured my heart out to you on a wide range of subjects. Some have been deeply personal and very close to my heart. I have deliberated long and hard over them, labouring over every word. None of these have attracted a fraction of the interest that a glib, throwaway post about a teenage wizard who I don’t even like did. This has left me pondering the fickle business of blogging.

The conclusion to my pondering is that there is no point in pondering. People will read what they want to read, end of story. You can’t force them to read your efforts, any more than you can arm wrestle a publisher into accepting your manuscript. Just ask J.K. Rowling herself who had a few knock backs before finally hitting paydirt. You just have to keep chipping away and hope that one day it happens for you.

I will keep writing because I enjoy it, but dreams of that first book contract seem further away than ever. My own manuscript has sat untouched for the best part of three weeks. Try as I might, every time I think of delving back into the world of Kirkwood Scott, something intervenes. The negativity surrounding first time authors and their chances of being published is incessant and overwhelming.

I’ll keep trying. Perhaps this weekend will be the one when I get back on track. In the meantime, I’ll keep the blog going and continue to write about whatever tickles my fancy. Incisive works of literary genius which sink without trace. Or mindless fluff about teenage wizards that obtain like after like. Writing nonsense is better than not writing at all. It’s become a habit. One of my better ones.

What has been your most popular blog?

What do you like writing about?

Getting Back On The Horse Again

Storm Callum hit Northern Ireland with a vengeance yesterday. About half a mile into my comeback run to be precise. I have run very little since the Causeway Coast Marathon at the end of September, but vowed yesterday to get my running shoes on and pound the pavements again. Which sounded like a great idea. Until I ran straight into Callum. What followed was one man’s largely losing battle with the elements.

Within a mile I was drenched, but thankful I had chosen to wear a base layer underneath my running top. I might drown but at least hypothermia would be averted. The same could not be said, unfortunately, for my sodden feet. My thighs were also turning bright red but I plodded on into a strong headwind, no matter what direction I turned. It’s character building, I lied to myself, as I lurched on into Mile 2.

The route I take from the office out along the Lagan Towpath is usually teeming with fellow lunchtime runners. They were few and far between yesterday, however. Anyone with an ounce of sense was firmly ensconced in their cosy, dry workplaces. Only the truly dedicated, and by dedicated I mean stark raving mad, athlete was taking to the streets today. I largely had the towpath to myself, bar the occasional bedraggled dog walker.

I nervously eyed the river as I ran alongside it, mindful of how high the waters looked. Much higher and I was in danger of having to swim back once I reached the halfway point of the run, where I turned and retraced my steps back into the city centre. I’m far from the world’s best swimmer and the triathlon will never be on my list of challenges. Plus, nobody wants to see me in swimwear, not my best look I can guarantee you.

By halfway, the initial misery had passed, to be replaced by a perverse euphoria. I was running, I was actually running. Running very slowly, well below my normal pace, but still running. I could sense my rock bottom confidence rising with every soggy step. Despite being battered on all sides by the wind and rain, despite resembling a deranged, fluorescent escapee from the lunatic asylum, I was doing it.

When I eventually finished I looked as if I had been dragged through several hedges and a car wash backwards. But the sense of achievement far outweighed the aching limbs. I was a runner again. Several unwanted demons had been slain en route and I’d proven to myself that I wasn’t the utter waste of space I previously thought. Which could not have been more timely, given the busy schedule I have ahead of me over the coming months.

I’ll not be setting Personal Bests any time soon, if ever, and I have no races planned. But at least I can get out there and work at regaining the physical fitness I’ve spent years working on. I can also mentally detox and run the intrusive thoughts and unwanted images out of me. OCD is a thought based illness. It cannot function when I’m too tired to think. I sweat it out of me, a drop at a time. It has no control over me when I run. I become my own master.

There’s also the small matter of a book to finish. I haven’t been near ‘The Kirkwood Scott’ Chronicles in the best part of two weeks but hope to start work on it again over the weekend. I’m hopeful that Version 4.0 will be finished by next weekend at the latest. Then it’s time to start researching and harassing potential agents. It’s a big challenge but I feel I’m ready to get back on the horse again. All bad things must come to an end.

How do you get back on the horse again?

Flash Fiction Challenge – An Eclectic Palate

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.

If You Could Hide Within The Pages Of A Book….

I’ve often taken refuge within the pages of a book. During some of the darkest phases of my life I have galloped through the night, before gratefully clattering across the torchlit drawbridge and dismounting within a courtyard of words and chapters. On all four sides, paper walls have towered comfortingly around me, as impenetrable as stone and steel. I am safe, untouchable, alive.

As I near the completion of my first novel, I also near the year mark in its genesis and evolution. Yes, a year ago the name Kirkwood Scott popped into my head, swiftly followed by that of his nemesis, Augustus Skelly. Well, I say popped into, but truth be told they were always there, just waiting for the opportunity to step forward and formally introduce themselves to myself and the (still) waiting world.

These characters and their adventures have possessed me since then. I have been the conduit through which their stories have evolved. The process has been excruciating at times, but now here I stand on the cusp of recrossing the castle drawbridge and revealing my labours to the big, bad world. It’s a terrifying process and one I have very mixed feelings about.

Part of me is excited to see what happens. But a growing part of me dreads it. My skin is too soft to endure the inevitable criticism and rejection that will follow. Part of me just wants to shove the manuscript in a drawer; something to dig out for the grandchildren in years to come. I’ve done what I set out to achieve – I’ve written a book. The path from here seems too treacherous, too hilly, and utterly beyond my means.

Improbable. Impassable. Impenetrable. These are the words that sit heaviest on my tired shoulders. I sit with pen poised, about to sign terms of surrender as my enemy leers over my shoulder, rubbing its clawed hands in gleeful anticipation of my capitulation. But then I think. I think back to the times I have hidden within the pages of a book, concealed from the storms of life, battering me on all sides.

And I think, what if that book had never been written? What if the author had given up and hurled the manuscript into the fire? What if Tolkien, King, Lewis et al had never allowed their fantastic creations to see the light of day?Where would I be? Where would so many of us be? It doesn’t bear thinking about. I need the written work almost as badly as I need water and oxygen. Reading and writing are akin to life itself.

In today’s fast food, abbreviated, hyper linked world we still need books. 140 character tweets are not enough for me. I need substance, depth and texture. I desire to spend time within the comforting confines of well crafted, structured prose. I need to amble along verdant banks as its waters meander lazily through the meadows of my mind. I need time away from the million mile an hour car crash that we call life.

I know, from connecting with other bloggers, that I am not the only writer consumed by this aching need. We have sought sanctuary all our lives between the covers of a book. Now, we seek to carry on that tradition. To build new strongholds, towering about the mundane, featureless landscape of modern living. We are the architects who have taken the baton from our literary forefathers. We must build. We must create. We must offer respite.

Have you ever hidden within the pages of a book?

Flash Fiction Challenge

I sporadically issue Flash Fiction writing challenges based around discarded till receipts I find during my travels around the shops of Belfast. Today’s is a true conundrum. Who would purchase a fruit peeler and then buy ‘prepared’ fruit? As in, already peeled, diced, sliced etc. Doesn’t that negate the need for a peeler? The plot thickens almost as readily as the mind boggles.

The rules are simple as there aren’t really any. There is no word limit and the only other limit is your imagination. Just base your story on the receipt and the person who bought it. If you’re taking part, I would ask that you namecheck our blog. Also feel free to reblog to your own community. There are no prizes, other than my undying gratitude for taking part. Let the Flash Fiction challenge begin!

I’m Writing A Book….Still!

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?

What Are You Hungry For?

Saturday was the start of the new rugby season, so Fionnuala and I hugged the touchline, to watch Adam play for his college against one of the big Belfast schools. Unfortunately they lost, but didn’t go down without a fight. Adam had a great game and scored his team’s only try. I thought he was our best player but then I’m his father so that’s to be expected. Afterwards, therefore, I was relieved to hear his coach agree with my assertion.

He informed me that, given his performance, Adam was being moved up to the first team for next weekend’s match. We were delighted to hear this as it has been his target all summer and he has worked hard towards attaining it. He will now be playing against boys up to two years older than him, at a much higher level. It’s a steep learning curve but one that he needs to take in order to fulfil the potential within him.

The coach also told me that he did not want Adam progressing too quickly into the first team as he wanted to ‘keep him hungry.’ If he reached his target too easily then that could impact upon his motivation and determination for the rest of the year. Adam has talent and a strong work ethic but to be the best that he possibly can requires more than that; it requires a desire or drive that cannot be taught.

Whenever I’m training for marathons, which is most of the time, I’m permanently hungry. I think about eating all day long. I don’t view myself as greedy, rather I need to eat a lot to replace the calories I burn up on training runs. This allows me to eat pretty much whatever I want. Which means ALL the ice cream. I dread the day I have to stop running as I will probably put on three stone in a week.

We normally associate the word with the physical discomfort experienced through a lack of food. But the wider definition fits better with the etymological roots of the word. Hunger derives from the Old English word ‘hungor’, meaning desire. It goes beyond growling stomachs and yo-yo diets. When we hunger after something, we desire it, we yearn for it, we crave it.

Hunger, within this context, is a double edged sword. While we identify the physical experience of hunger with negative emotions, it is construed as a positive attribute for a young rugby player like Adam, striving to progress in his given sport. To aspire to better yourself, to improve reflects a healthy mindset. We need targets in life, or at least I know I do. For otherwise, we stagnate and become bored.

Flip the coin again, however, and we can hunger after unhealthy desires. Desires that lead us down the wrong path. An unhealthy appetite, if allowed to run unchecked, can result in more than indigestion. It can bring destruction and ruin to your life and the lives of those you love the most. Collateral damage is still damage. Be hungry, but hunger after those things which are going to supplement your life, not suffocate it.

What are your thoughts on hunger and desire after reading this post?

Writing Sucks, Yet Still I Write

I used to have a very romanticised image of us wannabe authors. We would languidly lie stretched out on our chaise longues, waiting for inspiration to strike before committing to paper the fruits of our labour. These words would flow seamlessly and effortlessly, with no need for correction, before we would fall back, nibble on a fig, and wait for the next literary gem to form in our minds.

Well, that bubble has been well and truly burst. I’ve posted before about writing being hard work. This week has been no exception as I struggle to remain creative and relevant on the blog, while at the same time trudging through the never ending fourth edit of the novel I am currently working on. It has been a case of one step forward, two rewrites back, as I have agonised over minute punctuation, grammar and continuity issues.

When I’m in the zone, the words flow freely. I’m not one for painstaking plotting and planning before I write. I usually just get an idea or scenario and run with it. Often, the story seems to pen itself, and I am but a conduit. Ideas come to me as I write which I know I never would have had, if I had tried to prepare the story in advance. I am at my most creative when I am in the physical act of writing.

Here, I am at my most free. The wind rushes through my hair as I ride the runaway train as it hurtles down the track, heading where to, I do not know. It is exhilarating as the adrenaline flows and I hammer away furiously at the keyboard, afraid to stop or look up for fear that the silver thread of creativity I am clinging onto will snap and this magical moment will be lost forever.

Which is why editing is such a struggle for me. I recognise it is a necessary part of the writing process, but why oh why must it be such a chore. My life is now one where I obsess over quotation marks and commas; I fret over glaring gaps in the plot and continuity errors that a three year old should have picked up on months ago. Paragraphs which I once viewed as unadulterated genius, are brutally hacked to pieces and subjected to searing scrutiny.

The delete button reigns supreme whilst doubts and delays leave me wondering, what’s the point? What’s the point in pursuing this middle aged fairytale when I could be focusing my time and energy on much more tangible pursuits. Why put yourself through this torture day after day, week after week; for a piece that will realistically only see the light of day if I can magic thousands of pounds from somewhere to go down the self publishing route.

Then it hits me. I am not editing the book, rather the book is editing me. The writing process is allowing me to channel my obsessive nature in a constructive, as opposed to destructive, manner. It is chipping away at me, like a sculptor works a lump of shapeless stone; with a patient precision aimed at eventually revealing the beauty within. Removing layers and smoothing rough edges. There is a method to their mundane madness.

Writing makes me a better person, as does running, my other passion. But my true reward is the journey as opposed to medals and published books. They are merely the external signs of what I have accomplished. The real rewards lie within, in how I have changed and am changing as a human being. These are the reasons I sit hunched over my keyboard night after night. It is a painful process, but a necessary one. Pain is the bedfellow of rebirth. You cannot have the latter without the former.

What is your favoured writing style?

Do you struggle with your writing?

How do you overcome your writing fears?

The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square

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.

Sound interesting?

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?

I’m Writing A Book….Still: (Part….I’ve Forgotten Which Part)

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.

Flash Fiction Challenge – The Mirror

The sight of a well dressed man hunting through discarded till receipts is never an edifying sight. However, needs must, and I did unearth this beauty for today’s Flash Fiction Challenge. The rules are as ever. Well, there are no rules other than create a piece of fiction based upon the contents. You can write as little or as much as you want. All we ask is that you namecheck A Fractured Faith and link the post.

I will reblog my favourite stories. This is highly subjective on my part and there is no prize or winners and losers. It’s just an exercise to get the creative juices flowing and encourage fellow bloggers to flex their literary muscles. The response to the last challenge was great and I’m hoping for more of the same this time. Even if you aren’t participating feel free to share this blog with your readership in order to offer them the opportunity.

So without further ado I give you…..The Mirror.

Why Writing Rubbish Matters

Yesterday I started to edit the first ‘Kirkwood Scott’ chapter I ever wrote, over ten months ago. At the time I thought it was award winning and revolutionary. Turns out I was wrong. It was, in fact, unadulterated rubbish. A bloated, meandering mess with no structure or flow. Just a muddled melee of thoughts and ideas which lurched from sentence to sentence. A bit like this paragraph really.

Deep down I knew this, so had been putting off sitting down and reading it again. It had become the elephant in my literary room. But I knew I would have to eventually. So, yesterday I seized the bull by the horns (because everyone knows elephants don’t have horns) and sat down to re-read the chapter through half closed eyes. Please, Please, Please don’t make it as bad as I recalled it was.

It was. I refer you to my first paragraph. I sighed, for I knew it was a rewrite. Bar the setting. I really liked the setting which was based upon a most unpleasant morning I once spent in a toilet cubicle at Newcastle International Airport. Long story but it goes down as one of the most horrific hangover experiences of my life. And, believe me, there have been a few.

An hour later and I had effectively rewritten the chapter. In one go. Bam! I sat back and scratched my head. I read over it again. It was slick. It flowed. It wasn’t half bad actually. What was all the fuss about? Why had I been so worried about peering under this particular rock again? I had hurdled it effortlessly and was now galloping on towards the next chapter. Wee buns as they say in Northern Ireland.

Producing rubbish is part of the writing process. It’s that first coat of paint on the wall. It’s patchy and streaky. It will never see the light of day when painted over. But it is essential in order to ensure the next layer is of better quality. And the later after that. Until eventually you are staring at the finished product which will last you the rest of your life. Every precious stone needs to be polished and refined, otherwise it is just a stone.

I had to endure two terrible experiences in order to produce a decent end product. The first one involved sticking my head down a public toilet and being violently ill. Classy, I know. The second was a form of verbal vomiting which was no more edifying. They were necessary evils but they forged the way for the finished article. Without them I would still be staring at a blank computer screen.

Rubbish living and rubbish writing can result in something worthwhile if you put your head down and power on through. As a dog returns to its own vomit so a writer returns to their early drafts. We sigh, we cringe, we roll our eyes; but we also roll up our sleeves and begin to sift the corn from the chaff, the golden flakes from the grimy silt. If we dig deep enough, we will strike the untapped creative spring.

Write, write and then write some more. Just don’t give up. For you are laying the groundwork, pouring in the foundations and erecting the scaffolding. Every architectural masterpiece resembles a monumental monstrosity at some point in the building process. Just ask Kirkwood Scott. He’s seen it all. Life from the inside of a toilet bowl ain’t a pretty sight. But it’s still life.

How do you feel when you write rubbish?

Where are you at in your writing process?

Have you ever been sick in a public place? Care to share? I’ll hold your hair.

Do You Write Truthfully?

Coming from Northern Ireland I have an accent, just like we all have accents. It’s not the broadest of accents. While I work in Belfast, I’m a bit of a country boy having been raised in the market town of Omagh in the west of the country. So basically my accent is a bit of a hybrid. My mother claims I have a city accent whereas my work colleagues maintain I have a rural twang.

This has been a bit of a challenge for me when writing the novel. A few of the characters have strong Belfast dialects so I’m trying to reflect that in some of the slang they use; without making it impenetrable for non Irish readers. An example is the word ‘wee’. In Northern Ireland we prefix everything with ‘wee’ no matter what its shape or size.

‘Would you like a wee cup of tea?’

‘Did you see that wee cruise liner that has just docked?’

‘What about that wee direct nuclear strike the other night?’

Wee….I mean we….have our own colloquialisms just like every region or state does. Accents are slippery beasts. I have known people go to university in Scotland and come back home after a term with thick Glaswegian brogues. Adversely, other folk emigrate to the other side of the world and, thirty years later, still retain their original dialects. Accents define us, yet why then are some of us so keen to ditch them?

Some argue that retaining our accents in foreign climes evidences a strong personality. We are comfortable with who we are and, therefore, have no desire to conform to those around us. We don’t mind standing out or attracting attention. Others are less confident and, be it consciously or unconsciously, need to merge with their new environments in order to feel included and safe.

I fear I fall into the latter camp. I would be that idiot who returns from a month in Australia sounding like Crocodile Dundee. I’ve spent most of my life a needy, neurotic mess. I craved popularity and being liked to the extent that everything else was jettisoned in the process, be that accent, beliefs or ethics. I was a cultural chameleon, a master of malleability. Which got me into all sorts of trouble.

It got to the stage where even I didn’t know who I was. I would look in the mirror in the morning and shake my head in disbelief at the man I had become. My moral compass was permanently spinning out of control. I kept a private journal and it was as if I was writing about a different person most days. I disgusted myself and was my own biggest critic. I led a quadruple life as opposed to a double one.

The penny finally dropped when it was pointed out to me that my true voice was in my writing. In a perverse twist I discovered that, whereas I lived a lie, I couldn’t write anything but the truth. Even if my toes cringed in embarrassment and shame as I did so, I knew no other way. The evolution of A Fractured Faith lay within this revelation. It had been staring me in the face all along.

The Truth is in the Word.

Some bloggers express difficulty in writing about what is really going on, or has gone on, in their lives. I understand how difficult that can be. But today’s blog is all about being yourself no matter what your circumstances or surroundings. We all need an anchor when buffeted by daily storms. Let your anchor be your writing and the rest will follow. Now I’m away for a wee five mile run.

Do you read blogs in other accents?

What words or expressions are unique to your dialect?

Do you speak and write the truth?

I Have Another Shameful Secret

Regular readers will know that I am a massive fantasy fan. As a teenager I was a proud, card carrying member of my school’s Dungeons & Dragons society. This meant I didn’t speak to a girl until I was around nineteen but, boy, did my fellow dorks and I have some rock n roll times in the library on Wednesday afternoons after Double Geography with Mrs. O’Neill. Which, seamlessly, brings me onto the subject of dragons….

And orcs. And dwarves. And even boring old Ents. For at the heart of my love of all things fantasy was J.R.R. Tolkien. I was obsessed with Middle Earth. I devoured The Lord of the Rings trilogy as a young boy. Okay, I skipped all the poetry and silly songs but, apart from that, I devoured it. I thought I was Stryder the Ranger before he became the (in my humble opinion) considerably less cool Aragorn the King. Yes, I was that socially awkward, heavy metaller you probably all avoided in the corridors.

Which brings me to my shameful secret. You see, there is a dark side to my LOTR memoirs. And it involves the ‘H’ word. For, as in Part One, the other week I wrote about my Harry Potter phobia, today I must cough up another dark globule of shame which begins with the letter after ‘G’. Many of you may unfollow the blog when you read these words. Others may contact Social Services. That is your prerogative. For I must confess….

I don’t like hobbits.

There, I’ve said it. Has the world stopped spinning? No? Okay then, good, I’ll continue. What is it with the world’s love affair with hobbits? When there are infinitely cooler races out there to fanboy over. Like elves and dwarves and….and…..well…..orcs! I admit it. I like orcs. I wanted The Pale Orc to squish the incredibly annoying Martin Freeman into the dust all the way throughout The Hobbit movies. And as for Samwise Gamgee? Don’t get me started.

Yes Mr. Frodo. No Mr, Frodo. Three bags full, Mr. Frodo. No wonder Gollum’s eyes looked as if they were permanently about to pop out of their sockets. I mean, how difficult is it to carry a teensy, weensy ring up a mountain. Especially when you’ve got all powerful wizards and armies of humans, dwarves and elves doing all the dirty work for you while you whine about how hungry you are and how much you miss The Shire. Grow up! Oh hang on, they can’t grow up. They’re hobbits.

Hobbits are lazy, greedy, chain smoking borderline alcoholics. They have bad hair and appalling foot hygiene. They are not to be trusted, especially when it comes to items of jewellery. They attract trouble left, right and centre and then complain about just wanting to settle down and lead a quiet life. Hang around a hobbit for any length of time and odds are you will end up dead. Although you may also get to meet Evangeline Lily. Every cloud I suppose.

So I say nay, nay and thrice nay to the cuddliness and the cuteness; to the ridiculous names and the endless smoke rings. Sir Ian McKellen should be stripped off his knighthood for deciding that this most odious of races were the ones who would save the universe from whatever Sauron had up his sleeve. And as for Peter Jackson? Well, he looks like a giant hobbit anyway so I guess I shouldn’t have expected any better from him.

Well, here endeth today’s rant. I feel so much better now I’ve got that off my chest. But fear not. My closet is far from empty. There are still a few more shameful secrets rattling around inside, desperate to see the light of day. So you have all been warned. I’m off now to calm down. I might roll my twenty sided dice for a bit. Or possibly admire the vital statistics of my Level 15 sorceress. She looks a bit like Angelina Jolie, y’know.

What are your views on hobbits?

Were you/Are you an awkward teenager?

What shameful secrets would you care to share?

Flash Fiction Challenge – A Song of Fire and Mints

Flash Fiction Challenge – A Song of Fire and Mints

http://mused.blog/2018/08/12/flash-fiction-challenge-a-song-of-fire-and-mints/
— Read on mused.blog/2018/08/12/flash-fiction-challenge-a-song-of-fire-and-mints/

This creepy, atmospheric piece from Chris ticked a lot of my boxes in response to our recent Flash Fiction Challenge. All we were missing was Fox Mulder and The Cigarette Smoking Man. Chris is a very gifted writer. Please support his blog.

Plastic Policemen

I lost my father eight years ago to prostate cancer. I lost myself the same day and it has been a long, painful journey to claw my way back from there to where I am today. Writing has played a huge part in my recovery. I have self medicated with words and blogged my way out of the depths and back to the surface. These eight years have seen unspeakable depths but also breathtaking highs. It has been quite the experience.

Last night I completed the third draft of the book I am writing. I worked my way through a chapter titled ‘Plastic Policemen’ which was one of the first I wrote when I started work on the book last November. It covers an incident in the childhood of Kirkwood Scott which deeply affected him and set in progress a series of events which would change his life and the lives of countless others forever.

The chapter is based on a real life event which I experienced when I was an eleven year old boy. It is one of four chapters which paint the picture of Kirkwood’s relationship with his father. They are deeply personal chapters and I regard them as the cornerstone of the book. Without them there is no story. Without wishing to sound arrogant I view them as some of my best written work. It was as if they wrote themselves.

I’ve never been able to put my finger on where ‘Plastic Policemen’ fitted into the running order, chapter wise. It always floated about on the fringes. Until yesterday that was. Yesterday it dawned on me. This is your opening chapter, you idiot. This paints the picture for all that follows. They say open your book with a bang, hook the reader and reel them in. I’ve been searching for that ‘bang’ for months and it was sitting in front of me the whole time.

Last week I reached out, via the blog, for test readers willing to review the book in its draft form and provide feedback. I was amazed and humbled by the response. Talented, intelligent fellow bloggers willing to give up their valuable time in order to help little old me. It has left me excited but also a little nervous. What would I send them? That question was answered last night. It will be ‘Plastic Policemen’.

It is the beginning. The beginning of a book? Definitely. The beginning of a new stage of my life? Hopefully. But if nothing else it has exorcised demons which have lay dormant in my soul for too long. Which makes it an ending as well. The end of a journey. A writing journey, yes, but also a personal one which has brought me to where I am today. On the cusp of revealing my deepest, most personal memories to the world.

Thank you to the test readers who have bravely raised their heads above the parapet to face the bombardment which is about to commence. And thank you to those who stop by here every day and provide such support and encouragement. I will never be able to repay you or express my gratitude sufficiently. I hope one day you will read this book and go ‘Oh I know the guy who wrote this. It was thingy. Fractured something.’

What do you look for in the opening chapter of a book?

What is the best opening chapter you have ever read?

We All Have A Little Gollum In Us

The book. The book. It’s always the book. So by the end of this week I will have finished the third draft of ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square’. 120K words. 90 plus chapters. 400 ish pages. I’m now in a position where it can be printed out, bound and attacked with a red pen. I have beta readers waiting in the wings and the pressure is most definitely on. Suddenly this dream of mine is starting to feel very real.

Last night in bed I had a mini panic attack. I suddenly didn’t want to be a blogger or aspiring author. I wanted to step back into the shadows of anonymity and forget I ever started this crazy journey. I didn’t want the attention, the expectation, the pressure. I wanted to bin the manuscript, delete the blog and pretend the last 15 months never happened. Why did I ever think I was talented? I can’t even decide on Meredith’s hair colour for goodness sake?

It was as if I was a nervous groom on the eve of his wedding, dithering on whether or not he was going to put in an appearance on the big day itself. All the hard work had been done and people are relying on him to be there. Without him there is no wedding. Without me there is no book. But the world will still keep spinning. Thousands of other books will be written and published. Civilisation will muddle on and survive without learning of Kirkwood Scott and his strange story.

As I edit I am plagued with doubts. Why do I keep using the same words over and over again? Why does the plot resemble a leaky, old boat in places? The list goes on. I know that the beta reading process is designed to pick up on a lot of this but the actual thought of letting real people digest and dissect a years work? Well it’s terrifying if I’m honest. Will my skin be thick enough to endure the feedback I know is needed in order for this project to get off the ground?

I’m chain drinking Diet Coke as if it’s going out of fashion. My nails are bitten to the quick. I’m driving Fionnuala insane. Okay, no change with the last point but you get my drift. I’m sacrificing time and energy in order to drag this albatross around my neck to completion. And for what? To be torn asunder at the beta stage? To be rejected again and again and again by countless agents and publishers? To fritter away my money on self publishing only to never recoup a fraction of the money.

These are my fears and doubts. This is me being honest. I’m sure I am not alone in these thoughts. Most competitors are afflicted with pre-match nerves before the start of an event. The knees of soldiers always knocked together on the eve of battle. This is part of the journey, the process, the experience. It goes with the territory. Aspiring authors are paranoid, despairing, needy creatures. We are the Gollums of the literary world.

Oh to be a Sméagol again I sometimes think. A carefree, happy go lucky hobbit whose only concern was what he was going to have for his second breakfast. Before he stumbled across The Ring and was submerged into a world of obsession and darkness. I don’t want to be a Gollum. I seek the light for I have lived long enough in the abyss. I’m a little bit like Kirkwood Scott in that regard. Now there’s a coincidence.

For here’s the thing. The book is one of many beacons in my life, keeping me on this path less traveled. It might seem pie in the sky to some but it grounds and focuses me. It is my reality. Which steels my resolve and convinces me that it is worth the worry and the doubt. It is worth the tossing and turning at night and the bitten nails. We all have a little Gollum in us. Just don’t let him take over my precioussssssss readers.

Are you a Gollum or a Sméagol?

Do you struggle with worry and doubt?

Losing The Battle….Winning The War

I am supposed to be running the Longford Marathon in two weeks time. It was the target I set myself after completing the Belfast equivalent in May and some of you may recall I blogged about my intentions at the time. I thought it was a realistic proposition and I could juggle it with all my other competing priorities. I had before, right? I’m Super Stephen and you name it I can do it.

Wrong.

I’m not super. Far from it. And as I neared Longford I realised I wasn’t quite there. I was a couple of long runs short of where I needed to be. My times weren’t quite right, my diet hadn’t been great and other matters had meant the running had slid further down the pecking order. There have been family issues, work demands and the little matter of wrestling with a 120,000 word manuscript.

This has sucked both time and energy from my sails. I have been left stranded in the running doldrums. So I’ve taken the decision to miss out on Longford and instead aim for the Causeway Coast Marathon at the end of September. It ticks a lot of boxes for me at the moment. It’s closer than Longford and offers a greater challenge as it incorporates road, trail and beach sections.

The latter mean that it is not a Personal Best course. I can take my time and enjoy the experience, take in the amazing scenery and not place myself under quite as much pressure. Because, whilst pressure can inspire and motivate, it can also deflate and crumple dreams and ambitions. At the minute I’m trying to convince the voice in my head that I’ve made the right call.

The voice that nags and niggles my every thought, telling me that I’ve bottled it and taken the easy way out. I’ve fought this voice for most of my adult life. It has been at the heart of many of my most spectacular personal car crashes. Always pressing the accelerator and taking stupid, unnecessary risks when I should be adhering to the speed limit and checking my rear view mirror at regular intervals.

Although not defined or restricted by her disability, Hannah’s spina bifida means she requires our constant care and attention. Fionnuala’s health has not been great this summer either and Rebecca starts junior high school next month. Adam is about to start a big year as well, both academically and with regards his rugby. They all require me to be around, as a husband and father.

Something has to give and, this time, it is the Longford Marathon. Who knows, Causeway Coast may have to give as well because there simply aren’t enough hours in the day to squeeze it all in. And if the voice regards that as failure then so be it. I’ll take that one on the chin. I believe it requires more courage to say no and hit the brakes as opposed to careering blindly over the edge of the cliff.

This is not defeat. Defeat is letting the enemy crush you so that you can never rise against it again. Call it more a tactical retreat. The most skilful strategists play the long game, they consider the bigger picture. They soar like eagles above the battlefield, seeing everything. They are blue sky thinkers, 20/20 generals. Wisdom is a 360 degree perspective. I want to soar with them. So farewell Longford.

There’s always next year.

Are you winning your battle?

What does the voice in your head say?

Beta Readers Required

Happy August one and all.

This looks like being a big month for me. I’m now nearing the end of the third edit of my debut novel ‘The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles – Skelly’s Square’. This has been a long road and I’m sure regular readers are sick to the back teeth of my updates on the topic. For that I apologise once more. But I have one last favour to ask of you all. So bear with me please.

I am setting up a team of beta (test readers); that is people who are willing to give up their valuable time to read a draft of the novel and provide constructive, honest feedback as to areas such as plot, grammar, structure etc. I will provide detailed instructions as to what is required in due course but, for now, I’m purely looking expressions of interest. It’s a sizeable undertaking so please only put your name forward if serious.

The book is set in modern day Belfast and tells the story of a troubled young man who forms an unlikely alliance with a homeless girl when they discover they are at the heart of a supernatural struggle between ancient forces of good and evil that is being waged in the city. Their destinies become intertwined as they face a battle against time to defeat a fearsome enemy while, at the same time, slaying their own personal demons.

Still interested? If so please comment expressing why you believe you would make a good beta reader for this project. Ideally I am looking for 6-8 readers so, if oversubscribed, please do not be offended if not selected. I will choose those who I feel are best fitted to perform the role. Thank you.

Stephen

Please reblog this post as I’m keen to spread the word. Thank you 😊

Make Every Blog Count

The deeper I immerse myself in the book I am currently writing the more concerned I become about the quality of my blogging. I worry that I’ll only be able to make so many trips to the literary well before it runs dry and I am left bereft of ideas and words to pour out onto WordPress. I want my writing to be relevant and fresh. I don’t want to be simply going through the motions. I call it sleep blogging.

We all have gears. I know that from my running and work. It is oh so easy to hit cruise control and drift along in your comfort zone. You are loathe to put the pedal to the medal as with that come inherent risks and dangers. Why confront and challenge when you can conform and collude. Breaking through and pushing on is painful. It hurts and takes a toll. You pay a price in order to progress.

Writers must have a purpose when they set pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. There must be a reason for the activity, a message that they want to impart. Writing without purpose leads to lazy language as we drift from sentence to sentence, meandering from one paragraph to the next. It is padding, filling the empty expanses of the page or screen with the creative equivalent of white noise. Night of the Literary Undead.

Not all my blogs hit a nerve or strike a chord. Some result in healthy discussions which can last for months while others slip relatively unnoticed beneath the radar. The goal of the blogger is to find that bullseye, that common thread which brings people together and gets them talking. In order to promote debate a blogger must be passionate about their subject matter. If you blog solely for likes, follows or, dare I say it, financial gain then you are less likely to succeed.

This blog is on a mission. A mission which I view as eminently possible and will not involve me swinging from a treacherous precipice a la Tom Cruise while flicking the camera a cheesy grin. I am no hero but I am here. Every day. Seeking to encourage and motivate others to be the best possible version of themselves that they can be. Offering a helping hand to pull them out of the pit and back into solid ground.

I hope that this vision and these values come across in my writing. Otherwise I might as well retire my typing thumb and pull down the shutters on fracturedfaithblog. I encourage you to do the same. Every time you sit down to draft a post ask yourself why are you doing it, what message are you hoping to put out there. Really think. Because your words matter. They cannot afford to be wasted. We need to hear them.

Blog from the heart. Shoot that flare up into the night sky for it needs to be seen as opposed to spluttering like a damp squib, neglected and soon forgotten. Blogging is a privilege, we must never forget that. For others throughout the world to be able to express themselves freely is but a dream. Your words today can bring solace and healing to the battered and bleeding online tribe gathered around you.

I hope today hasn’t been too heavy for anyone. That wasn’t my intention but I woke up with these words on my heart and needed to share them. I’ll post something silly next time to restore the equilibrium. I look forward to hearing your comments on this post. I love this community and I love your words. You each have a message. One that matters. Make every blog count.

How do you seek to make your blogs relevant and impactive?

What are your thoughts on sleep blogging?

What Are You Reading This Month?

Pay Day used to be such an exciting time for us. We would go out carousing, buy shiny new things and generally spoil ourselves after a long, hard month at the coal face. Then kids arrived. Three, no less. Pay day is now watching direct debit after direct debit devastate our bank balance. Pay day is new school uniforms, deposits for upcoming school outings and a million and one other small person related outgoings.

They suck us dry. We bleed. Yet we wouldn’t have it any other way. The little darlings. Nope, pay day isn’t what it used to be. That said, I still cling on to one selfish tradition when the pay cheque lands every month. I always treat myself to a few new books. I read every day of my life yet realise that I rarely blog about it. I write about my family, my running (yawn), and the book I am writing (double yawn) but never about what I am reading.

So in a very occasional feature I’m going to tell you what I am reading. Who knows, this may develop into a book review although where I am going to find the time for that I have no idea. This month I really splashed the cash and made three purchases. I know, I’m out of control. Below are said purchases with a little blurb as to why I bought them and what my hopes are for them.

The Lovely Bones – Alice Seebold

I have been meaning to read this for some time as it regularly pops up in my recommended reads. The premise sounds intriguing and I’m fascinated by anything to do with life after death. I believe in an afterlife so I reckon it’s best being as prepared as I can for when the Big D comes a knocking. That’s D for death of course. Not Dominos.

The Dark Places – Gillian Flynn

I’ve started watching Sharp Objects on Netflix primarily because it stars Amy Adams and I love all things Amy Adams. I’m a 48 year old man and I love Enchanted! There, I’ve said it. Anyway, I didn’t know the series was based on a Gillian Flynn book and, as I haven’t read any of her work, plumped for this one. Mainly due to the title for all the best stories begin in the dark places.

Throne of Glass – Sarah J. Maas

Everywhere I turn online these days I am assailed by Throne of Glass hysteria. Maas seems to be a bit like marmite – you either love her or hate her. I have finally succumbed. Fantasy is my go to genre and I was raised on a diet of hobbits and dragons. Although give me zombies and orcs any day of the week. Imagine if they bred? Zorcs! Now I have died and gone to heaven.

Have you read any of the above titles or authors? What did you make of them?

What are you reading this month? Any recommendations?


I Have A Shameful Secret

I have a secret. A dark, shameful secret that I have kept locked away for years, deep inside of me. I never thought it would see the light of day for I feared, to do so, would turn me immediately into a social outcast, a literary leper who would be mocked and ridiculed wherever he went. But, today, the world must know the truth and I will take whatever society chooses to throw at me. It is time for you all to know….

I’ve never read a Harry Potter book.

There I’ve said it. Are you still reading? I hope so for I will need all the support and counselling I can get in the coming days and weeks. What’s more I’ve never watched a Harry Potter film from start to finish. And believe me I’ve tried. I so want to fit in with the rest of the reading universe. Yet something holds me back. It leaves me cold. I just don’t get it. I change the channel always about half way through the quidditch game. Is that even the right word? Sighs….

I should love Harry, adore him and Emma Watson and the other one; you know, the annoying ginger bloke. Robbie Coltrane is in it. He was brilliant in Cracker. And Young Adult Fantasy is my favourite genre. Hunger Games? Loved it. Twilight? Read them all before they made the movies and everyone decided they weren’t cool anymore. Divergent? Yes, Yes and three times Yes. I was raised on a diet of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. This should soooooo be my cup of tea. Yet I retch on it like yucky coffee.

We hatezzzzz the coffeeeeee…..

It’s not as if I’m a literary snob either. I’ll give anything a go and am not one to be put off by a bucket of hype. After Game of Thrones exploded into our consciousness I watched the first season, became hooked and then read all the books before Season 2 came out. I stalked the cast all over Belfast city centre, cornering the Starc girls in jewellery stores, accosting Samwell Tarly in a coffee shop for a selfie. I had no shame.

I even gave the First Fifty Shades book a rattle to see what all the fuss was about. I found Christian robotic and Anastasia well….a bit annoying if I’m honest. Fun fact. My office colleague, Claire, used to play tennis with Jamie Dornan when they were teenagers. She said he was a bit quiet. Just thought I’d drop that in there. You’re welcome. So you see, I’m not one to be put off by fads and gimmicks. I’m as gullible as they come, a marketing dream.

As an aspiring author, J.K. Rowling should be my hero. The whole writing the first book in a coffee shop in her spare time, getting rejected by how many publishers before she got signed. It’s the rags to riches that keeps so many of us returning to our keyboards, day after thankless day. I haven’t even given Harry and her a chance. It’s as if I have a mental block when it comes to all things Hogwarts.

This troubles me. Should I seek professional help? Harry hypnotherapy? Are there support groups out there that I can attend? I’m willing to give anything a go. Anything to avoid the social alienation of being ‘that guy who hasn’t read the Harry Potter books.’ A social pariah of my generation, pointed at by people in the street who protectively usher their children away from me as I pass them by. The man who puts the Dumb into Dumbledore.

I write this post from my knees, a broken and desperate shadow of my former self. Please help me. Tell me I’m not on my own. Is there anybody out there who feels my pain? Who share my guilty secret? And if not, what do I have to do to become a PotterHead? Is there a magic potion I can take? Or perhaps one of you can wave your wizards wand and that will do the trick. I’ll try anything.

Are you a Harry Potter addict? Or does he leave you cold?

What are your ‘guilty secrets’ when it comes to your book collection?

What Makes A Good Writer?

I wrote yesterday that I’m taking a mini blogging hiatus over the next few days as I focus on completing the third draft of my novel. I’m happy to report that progress is being made as I now have the first 14 chapters, roughly 12000 words, in a coherent running order. Yesterday was the first time I saw a tiny chink of light at the end of this very long tunnel. My jumbled thoughts were coming together into a more structured, seamless story.

At the heart of this process remains the blog, There would be no book without it as the daily routine of writing has given me the self belief to bring the story which has been bouncing about in my head for the best part of a year to life. While I’m still an utter novice as an unpublished author at least I have the blog to fall back upon if the former dream never comes to fruition. My dream is to write for a living but, if not, my writing will always remain a passion.

I’ve been blogging consistently for 14 months now but it still baffles me as to what makes a good writer? What baffles me even more is when fellow bloggers ask my advice on the same subject. I never know what to say as I have no creative writing qualifications or any real grasp of the mechanics of writing. I just tend to sit at my keyboard and the posts and chapters tend to write themselves. In some ways it’s akin to an out of body experience. Sometimes when I read over a piece again I don’t even recall writing it.

Does that make sense? So I’m sorry if my answers to such questions come across as a bit half baked. Because I don’t intend them to be. Consequently I’m going to return the serve today and bounce the question back to you lot. What attracts you to a writer? What makes you want to desire more of their thoughts and words? What lures you into the imaginary worlds they create and tempts you to give up your valuable time to curl up with them in your favourite chair?

Over to you. What makes a good writer?

I’m Writing A Book….Still (Part I Can’t Remember I’ve Lost Count)

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.

Laters….

Competing Priorities

These last few weeks the pressure has been on big style in my office as the powers that be have demanded the delivery of a number of long term projects within an increasingly short term deadline. I have been shackled at my desk, pounding away at my keyboard like one of those harassed detectives you always see in the movies. Without the cloud of cigarette smoke engulfing me and glass of bourbon surgically attached to my right hand.

I’m comfortable with handling such pressure as I’ve been doing it for over 17 years now. I also trust my analytical and report writing skills sufficiently to know that I will deliver a quality report on time. If they would just leave me to get on with it. What doesn’t help is hordes of stressed colleagues continually circling me like vultures over a dying animal in the desert. Leave be people in my focus bubble and the job will get done.

Everything is a priority. On Monday, Task A is the priority. Then someone else will tell you that Task B is urgent before the next knock at the door demands Task C ASAP. I might clown about a bit but I’m no juggler despite this place increasingly resembling a circus. It’s fire fighting of the highest order and the priorities pile up as the next crisis lumbers over the horizon. It’s inevitable that it will all end in tears.

Declaring everything a priority actually means that nothing is a priority. Jumping mindlessly from one test to the next without any plan or structure is a sure fire way of ensuring that nothing is seen through to its completion. When we panic or become stressed then we are more likely to rush and make mistakes. There can only be one priority at a time, otherwise we may as well pull down the shutters and all go home.

I have many competing demands. I am busy at work but desperately trying to get my head above water so that I can take some leave. I’m training for a marathon next month and have set the month after that as the deadline for finishing my book. There are bills to be paid, telephone calls to be made and jobs around the house that have been overlooked for too long. There is also the small business of blogging.

You might think these are all worthwhile pursuits and you would be correct in that assessment. All of the above are a far cry from the not so distance past when my priorities were making it to the weekend so I could get ridiculously drunk and predicting next year’s Champion Chase winner. My interests now are physically and mentally edifying whereas before they were shallow and destructive.

None of them, however, are my priority. Note the use of the singular there as opposed to that term I despise – competing priorities. There can only be one be it a Highlander, a ring to rule them all or in the busy, barmy world of Mr. Stephen Robert Black. That priority is my family; for without them I’m incapable of delivering any of the other stuff. They are the foundation upon which everything else is constructed.

The job pays the bills, the running keeps me in shape and the writing is my dream. But I would drop them all in an instance if they came between my family at myself. Choose your priority wisely. It can fuel your other dreams powerfully and blast you off on the adventure of a lifetime. Or it can bring you crashing back to the ground and reality in a ball of flames. There can only be one.

Do you struggle with competing priorities in your life at present?

What is your priority?

Do you have a middle name? The more embarrassing the better.

I ‘Forgot’ To Take My Meds

Last week I ran out of the medication which I take for OCD. 20mg of Escitaloprem has kept me on an even keel these last six years or so. One of them a day and Stephen is content. They prevent the slavering, starving wolf that is OCD from clawing at my front door and blowing down the house of cards which constitute my always fragile mental health. I rely on these pills. They are literally my first port of call every morning, washed down with a slug of Diet Coke.

This was utterly inexcusable on my part of course. I knew well in advance that supplies were running low yet did nothing about it. Why? I don’t know. Ask me a question on sport. For I knew the consequences if I came off my medication for any length of time. The tiredness, tetchiness and tension would descend upon me like three little prescription pigs, the precursors for Mr. Wolf’s grand entrance a short time later.

I’ve done this before. I know the score and it’s a bloated, lopsided one. When it comes to going toe to toe with the big bad OCD it’s a horrendous mismatch. I rarely see beyond the second round before I’m on the ropes, being pounded and pummelled to within an inch of my life. The referee has no option but to step in to spare me from any further punishment and I slump to my knees, battered and beaten. Same old story, same old stupid Stephen.

It can’t be laziness. Ordering a repeat prescription requires a one minute phone call followed by a two minute drive to the local pharmacy in order to collect it. It also doesn’t cost me anything. So it must be arrogance, thinking that this time I’ve tamed the beast, that I’m capable of throwing aside my consistent companion and striding off into the serotonin saturated sunset, a glorious new creation no longer reliant on mass manufactured medication to keep me on the straight and narrow.

I never cease to be amazed by my own powers of self delusion. Within three days of going ‘cold turkey’ I was a twitchy, neurotic mess. It started with a dull headache above my left eyebrow which gradually descended before taking up residence behind the corresponding eyeball where it proceeded to intensify until I felt like I was being stabbed in the iris with a knitting needle. I became more irascible and intolerant. The reasonably sane front that I presented to the world on a daily basis was no more.

I was about to blow a la Vesuvius….

It all came to a head last Thursday when I had two massive arguments at work when normally I would have bitten my tongue and walked away. Middle management meltdowns in the middle of an open planned office are not a good look, career wise. They left me feeling professionally embarrassed and clutching at straws to explain my bizarre behaviour. It was akin to an out of body experience. I was hovering above, powerless to intervene and switch off the torrent of paranoid nonsense that the lunatic below was spouting. Who is that madman? Does anybody know him? Oh hang on….it’s me.

I came home that evening with my tail between my legs and sheepishly explained the events of the day to Fionnuala. She suggested (insisted) that I reorder my prescription ASAP then collected it herself after I had, once more, forgotten to do so. So here I am, back on the meds. The headache has already eased and I’m ready to face the world again with the help of my little 20mg friends. Just one a day and I’m okay. That’s just the way it has to be.

I wonder. Am I that reliant on them? Or is it, and I pardon the pun, ‘all in my head?’ Do they actually. correct the chemical imbalance in my brain to such a degree that I cannot function without them. Or are they nothing more than an emotional aide memoire to convince me that I’m one of the ‘normal’ people when most days I feel anything but; I have thoughts that only fellow OCD sufferers could even begin to understand. Incessant images that only the relief of routine can remedy.

Until they start again that is. Circles of chaos which rise and fall as they rattle round my cranium that a runaway rollercoaster. The thoughts are never fall away, they prowl around the edges of the comforting campfire biding their time. Waiting for the slightest opportunity to pounce and drag down into the darkness of the abyss. I never want to reside their again. So I take the pill. Be it Escitaloprem or M&M’s. I take it.

385 Yards To Go

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?

Flash Fiction Challenge

So there I was at the self service check-out yesterday purchasing my body weight in Diet Coke and waiting for the receipt. I refuse to walk out of the store without it for fear that the long arm of the law will collar me, accuse me of theft and I’ll be hauled off to the nearest police cell quicker than you can shout ‘But honestly officer. The receipt is sitting on the counter if you’ll only just let me……AAAARGHHHH……… those handcuffs really chafe!’

As the check-out spewed forth said proof of purchase I noticed that not all of my fellow customers were as paranoid as yours truly. There were half a dozen discarded receipts lying in front of me. It struck me. I wonder who made these varied purchases and then wandered out of the store back to the trials and tribulations of their everyday lives? What kind of days were they having? What kind of lives?

I am an avid people watcher. It must go hand in hand with commuting to and from work every day. When I was on Twitter, back in the day, I ran a daily series called ‘Train Tweets’ where I created imaginary lives for the regulars who shared the 7:13 express to Belfast with me. I was the original geek on a train until Hollywood turned me into Emily Blunt. Serial killers, angry solicitors and Arsene Wenger lookalikes. We had it all on the 7:13.

Earlier this week I was educated as to what ‘flash fiction’ is. A light bulb popped on in my head as I realised I write a lot about writing fiction on the blog but don’t actually write a lot of fiction on the blog. Did that last sentence make sense? I sincerely hope so. For otherwise you might struggle with the rest of this post. Which would be a terrible shame for everyone concerned. Most of all me. But also for all you lot.

Because….

I have a challenge for you all. Should you choose to accept it, in true Mission Impossible style. Below are two of the receipts that I ‘borrowed’ from the Tesco empire. All you have do is write a piece of prose describing a day in the life of the person who made the purchase. Oh….and post it on WordPress. If this takes off then I will run it on the blog as an occasional feature. If not, then I will probably sulk for a day or two but then forgive you all and we can awkwardly agree that this was a terrible idea that should never have seen the light of day in the first place.

Over to you now. Gauntlet thrown. If you choose to accept the challenge then feel free to name check fracturedfaithblog on your accompanying post. If not, then at least leave a comment and say hello. We can talk about the weather. Or maybe the extortionate £2:50 that Tesco charge for a coffee. And what’s a San Pellegino anyway? I had to Google it. Sparkling mineral water apparently. Hmmmmm. Somebody must have had a sore head.

Only Mad People Start To Write A Novel? Discuss….

Whenever I tell people in the ‘real world’ *dabs fingers patronisingly* that I am writing a novel they invariably look vaguely uncomfortable before changing the subject at the first available opportunity. Some of them stare at me as if I have finally taken leave of my senses while others nod in bemused sympathy, say ‘that’s nice’ or ‘good for you’ as if I am a five year old child tugging at their trousers having told them I have just seen The Gruffalo arm wrestling The BFG at the bottom of the garden.

The few that do clamber over this initial hurdle of disbelief normally come to a jarring halt when the inevitable next question is asked – ‘What’s it about Stephen?’ Their faces drop as I begin to wax lyrical about the world of Kirkwood Scott. Supernatural beings amongst the homeless community in Belfast? Forces of good and evil battling for control of the known universe in that pub we always go to on pay day because it sells cheap beer? He’s finally lost it.

It is disheartening but thankfully there are those that keep me going. A friend visited us last night who I haven’t spoken to in forever. When Fionnuala brought up the fact that her deranged husband was writing a book she was genuinely interested and said she would like to read it. And you know what, I believed her. These are the tiny crumbs of support and encouragement that I cling on to as I plough through the third draft.

Because these tiny crumbs are the oxygen that the fledgling author so desperately needs in order to force him or her to flip open their laptop, stare at the blank screen and then start to hesitantly tap those first few words out on the keyboard. It’s all about belief. And it’s so much easier to believe in yourself when others believe in you first. Especially in the final stages when your literary lungs are bursting and the finish line seems farther away than ever.

I run marathons. Have I mentioned that before? They are 26.2 miles long. People always tend to forget the .2 but let me tell you that is the part of the race when the crowd are at their most inspiring and you need them more than ever before. It is their cheers and hollering that drag your aching, exhausted body over the line. They make the previous 26 miles worthwhile, they are the reason you run at all. They are the fuel that powers you through those lonely training runs in the pouring rain.

I feel like I am nearing the 26 mile stage of the book. Fionnuala has…. er ‘focused my thinking’ by informing me if I haven’t finished it by the end of September then she is initiating divorce proceedings against me. I think she’s joking. I think. But it’s certainly a kick up the creative backside when I need it the most. I need her support at a time like this. I need to finish this project even if it never sells a copy and wins literary equivalents of those awards they hand out at Oscar time for the worst movie of the year.

This book will prove a lot of people wrong. But more importantly it will prove a few people right. Those who cared. Those who believed rather than looked at me as if I had two heads. Those who encouraged me rather than those who offered smirks, sighs or, worst of all, silence. I’m excited about the end of September. Incredibly nervous but excited nonetheless. To be able to let the trusted few see what I have been hammering away at with furrowed brow for the last nine months.

It’s 6:30 in the morning and I’m about to clamber out of bed and haul myself into the rat race for another day. I will sit on the train and fret over still gaping holes in the plot. I will daydream through meetings about the colour of Meredith’s hair, still undecided, and whether or not Harley’s character should be introduced at an earlier stage of the story. I will spend my lunchtime run plodding around the city as my frazzled brain works overtime on such thoughts.

But I’m getting there. Only .2 miles to go.

How do you deal with the doubters and doomsayers when it comes to your dream?

What advice would you offer to me with .2 miles to go?

Should We Meet Our Heroes?

During the recent World Cup I have heard the word ‘hero’ casually bandied about to describe the exploits of young men who get paid millions of pounds every year to kick a ball around a field. The same applies to our favourite actors, musicians and authors. I’m as susceptible to this idolatry as any of us. If Eric Cantona walked into the room now I’d probably turn into a gibbering wreck. And when I bumped into Sophie Turner and Maisie Williams from Game of Thrones in Belfast a few years back I was a gibbering wreck.

Did I say bumped into? That might be a slight manipulation of the truth and by that I mean an outright lie. I actually stalked them through the city centre before cornering them in a jewellery store where I refused to let them leave until I had my photograph taken with them. Thankfully they were both lovely about it. There were no diva outbursts or exaggerated eye rolling. I floated off on my little cloud nine and all was well with the world.

They, for it is always they, say never meet your heroes for they will invariably prove a disappointment. We find out that they are not the perfect creations we had imagined them to be. They are as flawed and tarnished as the rest of us. Just because you are skilled at kicking a ball or strumming a guitar doesn’t mean you are a wonderful human being. When they step down from the pedestal we have placed them upon and face us eye to eye we see beyond the carefully crafted image. We see them for who they really are as opposed to who we so desperately want them to be.

Hero worship is idolatry and the latter reflects an inadequacy within us that we seek to fill with fickle fantasies. There is a hole within us, something is missing so we grasp at the first thing we can find to plug the gap. It can be a pop star, a baseball player or a Kardashian. Worse still it can be an addiction. Why worship a person when you can worship food, alcohol or drugs? They are so much more accessible. We pump our bodies and minds with images and substances; anything to stop us from looking in the mirror.

Mirrors tend not to lie. Our minds eye does. Mirrors strip away the facade and reveal the present in all its not so glorious glory. I personally tend to avoid them for I don’t particularly like what I see looking back at me. The Stephen Black I want to be, I need to be, is not there. I’m not handsome enough, I’m not clever enough, I’m not popular enough. I’m not a sub 3:30 marathon runner. I’m not a published author. I’m not the world’s best father or husband. I’m not anything really.

But then I look beyond my personal pity party, beyond the vain, selfish thoughts that warp and corrupt my perception. I see my wife and kids. I see the people in my life who accept and love me for who I am, warts and all. I see the people who turn up every day for me, who support and encourage me in whatever hare brained scheme I am chasing at any given time. These are the people who you get out of bed for and trudge into work for, day after monotonous day.

Why? Because they are our real heroes. They are the people we are learning from, they are the kindred souls who we smooth our rough edges against, who help to mould us into the people that God created us to be; despite our kicking and screaming every step of the way. They keep us on the path and prevent us from wandering off and along more treacherous routes that lead to dead ends and deadlier drops. They are our signposts, our beacons in the darkness. They are our very lives, our reasons for being.

Never meet your heroes? I disagree. I say meet them. Open your eyes and look around for they are there, right beside you, as you muddle through life. They are our family, our friends, our daily dose of inspiration. See them for who they really are and, in doing so, be grateful that they have been placed in our lives for a reason. They are an oasis of hope, grace and love in this barren desert we trudge across. If we appreciate the everyday heroes around us we are a step closer to becoming reluctant heroes ourselves. For they need us just as much as we need them.

Have you ever met a celebrity and been disappointed by them?

Who are the everyday heroes in your life?

Why Do Good Blogs Go Bad?

Have you ever poured your heart and soul into a blog only for it to sink without trace amidst the plethora of competing posts that flood your timeline? It’s disheartening isn’t it? You stare at your pride and joy and try to process how 99% of your followers haven’t the slightest interest in this latest literary gem. Then the voice in your head pipes up – ‘Well if they won’t read a 500 word blog then what makes you think they will want to read that 120,000 word book you have been droning on about for the last six months?’

It’s little surprise then that many bloggers raise the white flag and go AWOL. Fellow writers who you corresponded with every day suddenly vanish without explanation and you think ‘I wonder what happened to so and so?’ Blogging can be a brutal business. Don’t expect to become an internet success overnight. Building a base of followers is time consuming, tiring work. That’s right, I used the ‘w’ word. Work? Isn’t this supposed to be fun, a release and relief from the daily grind where we can freely express ourselves in a manner we are reluctant to do in the real world?

This battle rages every day in my head. When I lived on Twitter and Instagram I was obsessed with likes, retweets and followers. I wasn’t one of the beautiful people who were guaranteed 2000 likes simply for posting a selfie of themselves pouting at the camera before a night on the tiles. I didn’t have the looks but I did possess a certain sarcastic wit and, dare I say it, charm that ensured people read my offerings. It worked and the followers er….followed.

When I dipped my toe into the WordPress waters last year I adopted a different philosophy. Fionnuala and I spoke long and hard about the purpose of the blog and agreed it was created in order to be a beacon of hope to others floundering with their faith and a raft of other problems that assail our daily lives and buzz around our skulls like irksome wasps, waiting to sting us in the eye if we dare question their presence. We wanted to offer hope where there was none and light the way ahead for weary walkers on the road less traveled.

That is still why I write. Yes it is pleasing and reassuring to have people post compliments about the blog. Yes it is encouraging to watch the follower base rise steadily day after day. But that is the icing on the cake, the cherry on top. The meat and potatoes is the central message I have alluded to above which I attempt to hammer home every time I write. There is hope amidst the brokenness. There is a way out of the mire. No pit is too deep and no problem too insurmountable. Believe and become the person you were created to be.

My message remains the same every morning. There are some brilliant bloggers out there. People who don’t realise how good they are. They inspire me on a daily basis to pick up my metaphorical pen and keep plugging away at our craft. Not all posts will hit the nail on the head or catch the mood of your readers. Some will sink without trace while others will bob back to the surface again and reassure you that maybe you aren’t the worst wordsmith since time immemorial.

Don’t give up. Keep persevering and writing. If you show up every day then the positives will eventually outweigh the negatives. If you want to become an overnight internet sensation or ‘Instafamous’ then stick to other social media platforms. WordPress won’t make you a millionaire overnight but it will immerse you in an environment with like minded individuals who care about their craft. Interact with them, get to know them. They are your peers, your audience, your critical but compassionate eye.

They are the reason I show up here every day. I practice my writing every day on the blog and then transfer what I have honed and developed into the world I am creating in my novel. The blog is my training ground. Every day I swing wildly with my eyes clenched shut and hope for the best. Most times I miss and strike out. But once in a while there is that sweetest of connections and I watch in awe as the ball sails out of the park.

I just hope the coach is watching on those occasions.

What makes a good blog?

What are your experiences of the highs and lows of blogging?

What bloggers do you want to encourage today?

I’m Writing A Book….Part 465,589

Or to be honest I haven’t been writing a book. Or at least not very much over the last two weeks. After a creative spurt which carried me to the end of the second draft I hit a mental brick wall. It wasn’t writer’s block as I knew what I had to write. I just couldn’t find it in me to type the words, to pick myself up and head out on another lap of the literary track. Despite hour upon hour hammering away at the keyboard the finish line seemed further away than ever.

Part of it was life. There has been so much going on that it has been difficult to find the time to commit to writing. Decent chunks of quality writing time that is as opposed to a hurried half hour here and there which are as self defeating as they are unproductive. Hurried writing equates to garbage writing, at least where I am concerned. I need a month in a darkened room. Or a padded cell. Whichever comes around first.

Then there is the fear and doubt which permeate every word I type. The voice continually snipes away at me, chipping away at my fragile self confidence. Who are you kidding, Stephen? This is rubbish, another of your pathetic pipe dreams which will never come to fruition. Give it up and accept that you are never going to be a published author. You’re not good enough. You never have been and you never will be. Fraud. Failure. Fake.

The voice is persuasive but I know it well. It and I have crossed swords many times before. Over my family, my faith and my fitness. I choose to ignore it and push on. It’s tactics are tiresome and if I let it succeed then I am giving in to all those who fuel its furtive whispers and sly suggestions. Every time I open my laptop and start to write it skulks away to curl up in a ball and lick it wounds. I fear it but I will not let it reign supreme.

Next is the sheer enormity of the task. Sometimes it feels like one step forward, one hundred steps back. There is so much still to be done, despite the many hours of work I have already put in. It’s as if I’m frantically swimming towards shore but every time I stop and look up, the beach is further away than ever. My stroke grows weaker and the current stronger. Am I destined to sink to the bottom, where my corpse will lie with all the other drowned dreamers?

All I can do is limp on, or doggy paddle as the case may be. I remind myself of how far I’ve come. It might be akin to excavating the Grand Canyon with a tea spoon but every word, every sentence, every paragraph is another one nearer the culmination of the project. After talking over my concerns with Fionnuala last night I’ve set myself the target of finishing by the end of September. I need targets otherwise this will drift on forever.

At that point I’m going to allow Fionnuala to prise the manuscript from my ghostly white knuckles and forward it to those I have selected to perform the roles of critique partners and beta readers. I hope that their feedback will polish and fine tune my meandering, haphazard word dump into a polished piece of prose fit for public consumption. If you would be interested in volunteering as a literary guinea pig them feel free to hop on the wheel and drop me a line.

I’ll keep providing regular updates of course. The blog is my lifeline, my bread and butter. Yes, it is time consuming when I could be working on the book but it is how I connect and interact with fellow writers going through similar experiences. It’s much preferable to have company on this journey and I truly support those of you who take the time to read and comment upon my random ramblings. Thank you.

Where are you on your writing journey today?

The Kirkwood Scott Chronicles: Part One – Skelly’s Square (An Update)

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.

Death To Words. Long Live The Emoji.

Much as the caveman must have pondered life before fire or the Victorians wondered how folk managed before the invention of electricity, one question has vexed me above all others as I continue my blogging journey. We have sent people to the Moon, plumbed the deepest depths of the oceans and scaled the highest peaks on land but above all those astounding achievements one stands head and shoulders above the rest.

The creation of the emoji….

Now I say head and shoulders but of course your common garden emoji does not possess shoulders. Nor do they require them for their disembodied little solar faces alone are more than capable of expressing every emotion ever experienced. Euphoric joy, heart wrenching sadness and the one where you just feel a bit meh. The emoji has it all. And don’t get me started on it’s evil hybrid cousin, the bitmoji. For that’s an entire blog series in itself.

Imagine how much easier life would have been if our little yellow friends had always been around. Life would have been so much simpler and more colourful. We wouldn’t have had to plough through dreary documents like the Magna Carta, Declaration of Independence or Treaty of Versailles. It could all have been amicably resolved via a group WhatsApp chat and a few 😊, 🧐 and 🤪.

Emojis are the writing equivalent of crack cocaine. Much as you recognise the vapid, existential nihilism of them you find your thumb gravitating towards the emoji button. The blissful quick hit of that smiley face replaced seconds later by the overwhelming guilt and shame all us aspiring authors feel when we resort to such literary laziness. Yet before we know it we are chasing the emoji dragon again. I’m sure if there isn’t an emoji dragon then some bright spark will invent one soon.

I must admit I have a love/hate relationship with the emoji as I suspect most of us do. Along with the ‘lol’ and ‘smh’ culture that has assailed us in recent times, the emoji is effectively slaughtering the written word. Punctuation and grammar have been sacrificed at the altar of convenience. The full stop is no more and as for the semi colon? It passed away some time ago but nobody could be bothered to pen its obituary.

In today’s ‘fast food’ society we don’t have time to craft words into sentences and paragraphs. We hammer out messages on our keyboards at the speed of light. No time to talk, write or, for that matter, think. Eloquence has been replaced by expediency. Thoughts and feelings can be hidden behind a little smiley or sad face. It is laughing inanely all the way to our graves. We don’t want relationships. We crave followers, likes and retweets. And sooner rather than later.

It’s a stampede, a bloodbath and if you don’t keep up then don’t expect any sympathy from the rest of us. Birthday and Christmas cards are a dying breed. When was the last time you wrote a letter? With paper and a pen? You know a pen?? Even e-mails are sooooooo last year. Why do we even bother with books? Big, ugly cumbersome monstrosities that they are. All that time it takes to read them when we could be spending our oh so valuable time taking selfies or snap chatting our new BFF in Japan who we’ve never actually met. Or for that matter spoken to.

Words used to be doorways to magical worlds and kingdoms. Now they are barriers. There are easier, quicker ways to communicate. Communicate the way we want to. Superficially without style or substance. I don’t want you to know the real me for I’m terrified you will be disappointed at what you discover. I want you to meet the new, improved me. Death to creative, intelligent thought. For a new age has dawned. The Age of the Emoji ☹️

How do you communicate? Text, E-Mail, Group Chat?

How much do emojis and abbreviation rule your life?

When was the last time you wrote a letter?

The Best Thing About Writing Is The Not Writing Bit

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?

Why I Gave National Selfie Day A Miss

Some of you may have been wondering why I haven’t been posting about my running exploits of late. Although many of you are undoubtedly not. I’m not injured or anything and have been plodding along the highways and byways around our village as ever. My Garmin has been playing up, however, which means I haven’t been able to sync runs to the corresponding app.

A screenshot of the app is how I evidence the run. As I can’t do this at present then I’m loathe to write about runs that I can’t prove I ran. I could be making the whole thing up. Us runners have an unwritten rule – if it’s not on Garmin/Strava/Forerunner then it didn’t happen. Call me weird but that’s one of the reasons why I haven’t been blogging about my running. It’s not the only one though.

I also reckon it’s not the most exciting subject matter unless you’re a fellow runner. I’m ever conscious of the fine line between informing you all about my life and bragging about it. I desperately don’t want anyone thinking the latter so am always very careful when I write updates on the book I am writing or upcoming races. I used to be that big head on Twitter/Instagram. It’s a role I don’t want to reprise.

I wrote a blog yesterday about the book that received a fairly lukewarm response. I’m fine about that but it was a timely reminder that everyone’s life does not revolve around me and my running and writing. I took a day off yesterday from the book as I had other priorities to attend to. The break will have done me no harm as my obsessive nature is never far away.

I noticed during the week that it was National Selfie Day. I cringed when I read that as it brought back some horrible memories of my previous incarnations on the aforementioned social media platforms. I now tend to avoid cameras where I can. I don’t do any social media bar WordPress and fret about future marketing of the book if it ever sees the light of day. Thankfully I think I saw two selfies the entire day on WordPress from a couple of serial offenders who seem to do little else.

I think that says a lot about the calibre of the bloggers on WordPress. I hope I never go back to being that vain, self centred person. Thankfully I have a very sensible wife who helps keep me on the straight and narrow. And three fantastic kids who regularly bring me down to earth and remind me that I’m an embarrassing, middle aged man who cannot dance, rap or do anything remotely cool.

I’ll keep blogging but there will be periods when I won’t talk about the projects I am working on. Now you know the reasons why. I want this blog to inspire, encourage and motivate others. In order to do that I attempt to set a positive example. This blog is not about me, it is about others. I cannot and will not go back to the way things were. I’m better than that and you all deserve better than that. That is all.

What are your thoughts on the selfie culture?

What have your experiences been like on other social media platforms?

120,000 Words Of Stephen

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.

Wrong.

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.

However….

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.

I’m Writing A Book….Still (Part 7)

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?

How Was Your Life Before WordPress?

I used to be a closed book. I would bottle emotions up inside me and share nothing with nobody. I prided myself on keeping a stiff upper lip. When I lost my father to prostate cancer I cried just the once, at his bedside during those last eerie moments before he slipped away from us. After that, nothing. I had a funeral to organise. A family to console. And alcohol to drink.

This routine continued for years. I lived in the shadows; secrets and half truths were my constant companions. I hid from the truth for it was a mirror that I did not wish to stare into, a reflection of the man I was becoming, the man I had become. And it was not a pretty sight. I did not like this person and did not want to confront the demons he was battling. So I did what all cowards do when confronted with the truth. I ran away.

A caged beast is an angry beast. Anger is unpredictable, it lashes out where it pleases. It is indiscriminate, there is no rhyme or reason to it. I was very angry. But I hid. I refused the help which was being offered to me and turned my back on those who loved and cared for me. I retreated into a world where I constructed false versions of myself, layers upon layers of deceit and negativity. Nobody knew me for I did not know myself anymore.

I lived online. Twitter, Instagram, whatever. Everything is rosy in those gardens. Roses have thorns though and these thorns drew blood. The wounds I inflicted on myself and others cut deep, leaving scars that remain to this day. Signposts to a past I never intend to return to. I devoured myself, a keyboard cannibal who cared more about likes and retweets than I did about my own flesh and blood. I was a living, breathing, walking crime scene. A detached witness to my own prolonged murder.

I wrote back then. 160 characters of meaningless nonsense at a time. Portraying a life I was not leading. Craving attention in order to fill the aching void within me while neglecting those who needed my love the most. The words meant nothing, there was no substance or passion underpinning them. They were empty words from an empty shell of a man. Distress flares from the sinking ship of my soul which was slipping beneath the black, unforgiving waves with all hands lost.

Then stuff happened. My deluded bubble burst and all around me life crashed in. A necessary pain which purged and cleansed me. I was both branded and scourged clean. The truth revealed itself with a clarity I had never experienced before. I was lucid and thinking straight whereas before I had been deluded and wandering in an impenetrable mental fog. I never thought I would write again online. I had nothing to say. Life had broken me and squeezed me dry of any creative juices I might have once had.

That was before WordPress. An online community when the selfie did not reign; where prose and poetry meant more than pouts and preening. Where damaged souls like myself congregated to heal and lick their wounds; some self inflicted but not all. I write on here most days now. It is my release, my therapy. The words flow where before there was nothing but arid ash. I speak the truth now for myself and for others without a voice.

That’s where I am today. I am a writer. I blog. I’m writing a novel. All thanks to the gentle promptings of a loving wife who believed in me and believed in my talent. Who encouraged me to start this blog some thirteen months ago. Life before WordPress seems a distant memory now. How I managed without writing I’ll never know. But I know this much. It saved me then and it’s saving me now.

How was your life before WordPress?

What difference has blogging made in your life?

I’m Writing A Book….Still (Part 6)

Writing makes me happy. Editing and proof reading not so much. I’m now around 30K into draft two of the novel. There have been a few cringe worthy moments (did I really write that?), more than one double take (that makes zero sense, Stephen. Zero sense) and the occasional stunned pause (er….actually that’s not bad). Slow progress continues to be made, despite the constant distraction life throws in the way.

At this rate I should be finished by around 2045. Well, maybe not but it feels like that sometimes. I’ve had to de-Belfast some of the dialogue because, otherwise, 99.99999% you wouldn’t have a clue what the characters were talking about. I’ve also started some historical research which will form the back story of several of the main characters. Battle of Waterloo anybody? I’m a mine of useless information on it now. Ask me anything.

I’ve no idea at what stage an author stops tapping their keyboard, leans back and goes ‘That’s it. I’m done.’ I imagine they will have to pry my cold, dead fingers from the manuscript as I’m hauled kicking and screaming off to the nearest padded cell. As ever the support I’ve received from you guys has been amazing. If it wasn’t for your feedback I doubt if I would have ever started this project, let alone persisted to this point.

I’m going to make these updates a weekly feature. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more but I’ve been advised to keep the plot a closely guarded secret for now. All will be revealed in due course. In the meantime you will just have to be patient. I hope it will be worth the wait for those of you who have expressed an interest in reading the finished product. Now I had better get back to editing this chapter *sighs*

You’re Never As Useless As You Think You Are

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’m So Close My Brain Hurts

These last few days I’ve been diligently chipping away at the final chapters of my novel. I finished the ‘big finale’ chapter yesterday and now I’m penning the fallout from that. This includes the impact that recent revelations have had on my central characters in addition to tying up bothersome loose ends plot wise and setting the scene for the next book in the series. For this is just the beginning of a long journey for our heroes.

I’m taking tomorrow off work to finish it. Aspiring authors never seem to have enough annual leave! I hope that this will leave me with a first draft. It will have a creaky plot and even creakier grammar and punctuation but it is what it is – a first draft of a first novel that began last summer when a seed of an idea took root in my head and refused to budge. I started writing it in earnest last November and, 120K words later, here we are.

Where do I go from here? I’m not quite sure but I know I cannot afford to rest on my laurels. There is serious writing and editing ahead, along with a ton of supplementary reading and research to flesh out the back stories of several of the characters. There will be second edits, third edits, twenty seventh edits. Baring my soul to feedback and hopefully constructive criticism. Making decisions as to whether I go down the publishing or self-publishing path. Wondering if it will ever, ever see the light of day.

Whatever happens I will keep you lot updated whether you want me to or not! I’m bursting to tell you more but I’ve been advised to play my cards close to my chest at this stage regarding plot and character details. All I can hope is that my writing style and the themes I am passionate about will resonate with you and tempt you into wanting to dip into the weird and hopefully wonderful world of my skewed imagination.

That is all – Stephen 👍🏻

Is your brain hurting today?

What are you expecting from my first novel?

I’m Writing A Book….Still

The irony is not lost on me that if this series continues for much longer I will have effectively written a book about writing a book. That aside, I made further steady process this week. Around 5000 words to be precise. This involved a series of dialogues between several of the main characters which sets the scene for the final chapters which will be primarily action based.

I enjoy writing dialogue and watching the characters bounce off one another and develop accordingly. I’ve blogged before that many of my narrative ideas come to me during the physical act of writing so my fingers often find it hard to keep up with the plot as it comes tumbling out of my mind. These are my best moments when the book feels as if it is writing itself and I’m just frantically fighting to cling on to this particular literary runaway train.

The main characters continue to come to life before my very eyes. They are broken underdogs struggling to come to terms with the frightening responsibility which has been heaped upon their shoulders. A week ago in the story arc they were just struggling to get by in their drab, dreary worlds. Now those struggles are the least of the worries as they interact with creatures and conflicts far beyond their craziest dreams.

They do so with a healthy dollop of cynicism, sarcasm and dark humour. So much so that I often forget that I have a story to drive forward when often I find the dialogue meandering off script into tributaries of obscure pop culture reference and ‘in jokes’. I also have to constantly remind myself that I’m writing for a universal audience so therefore have to cut back on the Northern Irish colloquialisms. Bout ye. Dead on. Stick it out. Etc. Ad nauseum.

I’ve been circling the final chapters for some weeks now but feel I have reached the point where I can finally swoop and feast upon them. I’m also at the stage where I’m ready to send a sample chapter out to some trusted people for review and feedback. This is one of the most nerve wracking parts of the process. I need honesty but have I a thick enough skin to deal with that. There is only one way to find out I suppose.

As ever time is an issue. In an ideal world I would lock myself away for a month and just blast it out. Unfortunately I live in the real world so I’ve been writing where I can and when I can. This has been a disjointed and largely unsatisfactory process but it’s all I’ve got at present until that first six figure advance drops into my bank account. Yeah right, Stephen. Meanwhile back in the real world.

As ever I want to thank my family for their support. Fionnuala is not a ‘book’ person (she’s far too busy with life for that) but patiently listens to my writing gripes and complaints while providing IT emergency response every time I forget to save three hours of writing and go into full blown meltdown. She really is the brains (and looks) behind the operation. She also administers well placed kicks in the backside every time I wallow in self pity.

I want to thank our WordPress readers as well for the constant stream of support and encouragement. Your advice and willingness to share your own writing experiences, good and bad, continue to comfort, inspire and motivate me. Without your support of the blog I would never have had the belief or confidence to step out on this journey in the first place. For that I will always be grateful irrespective of whether or not this book ever sees light of day.

Please add your comments and feedback below. My skin needs toughening!

I’m Writing A Book….Still

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.

Fun Friday Continues….Even Though It’s Saturday

Today’s question is for all you bookworms out there. What was the last book you read and what did you make of it? To get the ball rolling here are the last few I’ve read. I read a lot much to Fionnuala’s dismay but I know that in order to succeed as an author you need to soak up as many other styles and genres as you can. Read, Read and then Read some more. I think Stephen King said that. And he’s done alright I suppose.

  • Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children – Ransom Riggs
  • The Very Worst Missionary – Jamie Wright
  • Recovery: Freedom From Our Addictions – Russell Brand
  • Sylvia Plath: A Biography – Linda Wagner-Martin

Happy Reading!

Stephen 🙂

I’m Writing A Book….Still

Sooooo….I wrote earlier today about my training for the Belfast Marathon on 7th May and how that’s been going. Now it’s time for ’round two’ so to speak as I post an update about how the novel I am attempting to write is coming along. Which is a tad trickier. I mean I think it’s going okay but how can you objectively self assess five months of writing which nobody has read outside of your immediate family. Who are, of course, contractually obliged (check the small print folks) to say that they liked it.

I’m only really getting a chance to devote time to it at weekends and when on leave. I set myself the target of 10,000 words over the Easter break which I passed today. But that’s 10,000 words of what? Genius? Drivel? I haven’t a foggy if I’m honest. All I know is that it’s careering along at the moment and getting easier to write as I delve deeper into the story. I’ve found out a few hard truths along the way as well. Such as ‘learning’ to write a novel is not for me; nor structuring and formatting, not at this stage anyway. I just need to get this first draft out of me by hook or by crook. It needs to be birthed before the labour pains become too much for me to bear.

When that’s all done and dusted it will require a serious amount of polishing and fine tuning. I am in serious need of a thesaurus and have been shocked at how limited my vocabulary is when all along I thought I was quite eloquent and ‘wordy’. I’ve realised that I use certain words repeatedly. As in every. single. paragraph. Lazy. Lazy. Lazy. I will also need some serious work with continuity. One minute a character is standing at a bar ordering a round of drinks. The next he’s back at the table waist deep in dialogue. Teleportation sub plot perhaps?

The self doubt is reaching ridiculous levels. Stephen doubts he can run 20 miles. Solution? Stephen puts on trainers, opens front door and runs 20 miles. Simples. Pity the same can’t be said about writing. I’m excited about it but if a marathon seems a slog then this a marathon of marathons. It’s akin (*repetitive word klaxon sounds*) to triumphantly spending five months scaling a hillock only to find Mount Everest looming on the other side. Even if it is half decent what about literary agents, publishers, self publishing, the law stuff?! The mind boggles and I think I need a lie down.

The other annoying issue is not being able to talk to anyone about it. When I mention that I’m writing a book in the ‘real world’ most people smile patiently, say ‘that’s nice’ and then move on to more ‘grown up’ topics such as, say, the weather or the price of a loaf of bread. I’m just waiting for the day someone ruffles my hair, gives me a pat on the head and tells me to run along now. It’s not that people are deliberately being rude it’s just that this burning passion of mine does not register on the adulting scale where work deadlines, unpaid bills and domestic dramas take precedence.

So I soldier on. Baring my artistic soul in private and periodically posting vaguely worded blogs citing impressive word counts but little else. Did Dickens have these problems? Is this why so many writers turn to the demon drink? Am I doomed to drone about this on WordPress, because nobody else particularly cares until my dying day? Have I set a new record for the use of question marks in a blog post???? If you have any advice, suggestions or simply wish to provide a virtual shoulder for me to blubber over then please comment below.

What Are You Writing About Today ? (1)

I took a day off from novel writing yesterday. I ran and I blogged and I worked. I was still a father, a husband, a son and a brother. But I didn’t write. Which was weird as in the last week I’ve churned out in excess of 11,000 words which is prolific for me. 50,000 plus in total now. But I realised it was time to hit the brakes and reflect on what I have produced so far.

I need to spend a little more time on planning and preparation. I’m in the second third of the book now and I know exactly where I’m going. It has a flow and a direction that I’m pleased with. It is chronologically written in this third which I find so much easier. I wish I could say the same for the first section which involves a lot of flashback scenes. It jumps around a lot which is necessary in order to build the story and for character development. But it means I need to devote some serious time towards editing and structure.

The more I write the more I realise that there is so much more to writing than the physical activity of writing. It the tip of the iceberg, the cherry on top of the cake, the serene swan on the surface while below the waters it paddles furiously to maintain its dignity. The best writers make it appear so effortless, the words flow so naturally. It all seems so simple to the point where one wonders ‘Why can’t I write like that?’ But this is deceiving. Behind the scenes and beyond the pages the reader does not see the blood, sweat and tears that go into crafting every sentence.

They don’t see the frustration, the doubt and the failures. Often you have to take ninety nine steps back in order to move one step forward. And that’s where I am at the moment. I need to pause, put my foot on the ball and reflect on where I am, where I’ve been and where I’m going. In order to do so I’m going to post a series of mini blogs today about that process. I’m hoping this will entertain and educate you as to the creative literary genius that is Stephen Black. Er….right. But I’m also hoping I will unearth some nuggets of knowledge myself along the way.

What are you writing about today?

Pros And Cons

So today is my fourth day at home since The Beast From The East and Storm Emma hit Northern Ireland. This morning it is still bitterly cold but it seems like the worst has passed us by. A thaw has set in and the green grass is starting to once more poke through the snow drifts. The icicles at our back door, which were a source of much excitement for kids and adults alike, have melted and our snow persons (one of them was dressed in a bikini) have lost their heads. As in literally.

We have barely left the house other than to visit the village shop for essential supplies. Like Diet Coke and er….chocolate. On these excursions I have reluctantly dressed myself and ventured out into the icy tundra. The second I have returned home, however, I have returned to my go to arctic survival gear of thick socks, pyjama bottoms, t shirt and hooded top. My face also hasn’t seen a razor blade in several days. This is how Bear Grylls must feel when he returns to his five star hotel at the end of an arduous day’s filming in the wilderness. I’m a real man’s man sitting here in my Peppa Pig pj bottoms that’s for sure.

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. It’s back to work tomorrow and the kids will be dragged kicking and screaming back to school. Fionnuala is probably the only one keen to return to normality because a) she gets us all out from under her feet for a few hours and b) she has started an arts and crafts business (all part of the ever expanding Black business empire) and needs to get out to purchase some supplies. No tomorrow mourning (deliberate typo people) when the alarm goes off will be an utter barrel of laughs. A very leaky barrel.

The downside to the rubbish weather has been that I haven’t been able to run since Tuesday. I acknowledge that many of you may see that a massive bonus but I’m training for a marathon so can’t afford to miss out on too many training sessions. I hope to get back into it with a vengeance next week but I’m a born worrier so have been fretting about my fitness and weight while glued to the sofa. Eating chocolate biscuits. It’s at times like this when my old friend, Mr. OCD, starts whispering in my ear telling me to pack it all in. I’ll never run a marathon and if I try it I’ll blow up in spectacular fashion. Better to stick to the sofa and the binge eating.

The one thing I have learnt about OCD is that it doesn’t like being attacked on more than one front. No army does. Which is where my writing comes in. Yes, the inclement weather has wreaked havoc with my running but this enforced hiatus has allowed me to attack my novel with a fresh fervour. By the end of today I hope to have written 10,000 words since I arrived home on Thursday. Fionnuala and the kids have been incredibly understanding and supportive as I have torn into my laptop. If there is such an entity as ‘the zone’ then I’ve well and truly been in it. It’s almost as if someone else has already written the book and I’m just transcribing it for them. The characters are deepening and the dialogue is flowing. The words are pattering onto the page like droplets of rain on parched earth. It. Is. Happening.

I don’t mean to come across as cocky because that’s the last thing I am. I’m nervous but excited and wanted to share it with you all. I know now that I have it in me. I will finish the book. It might never interest a literary agent or a publisher but I will finish it. I pitched my plot to Adam last night and he told me it sounded great and he would read it. And he only ever reads books with a loaded gun pointed to his head. I know he’s my son and you’re thinking of course he’ll say that but he’s a teenager and would have taken great delight in telling his father his plot outline was pants if that’s what he thought. Teenage kids can be brutally honest. Any parent of one can testify to that.

So that’s today’s update. A weekend of pros and cons. But finishing on a positive note. I hope you’re all having a ‘pro plus’ weekend wherever you are.

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