Friday Fictioneers – White Noise

PHOTO COPYRIGHT ROCHELLE WISOFF-FIELDS

Poppy stood up in her cot, gripped the railings and shook them so hard I thought she might escape. Our suitcases were stacked against the wall of the motel room. I couldn’t bear the thought of unpacking them to locate the sleep sheep.

“Come on, girl” I repeated, stroking her back, “we’re going on an adventure tomorrow, you need to rest”

Poppy buried her face into her blanket. There was no crying, just sniffling and the faint sound of ‘mumumum’.

Rumbles of thunder came first, then the heavy rain. “Mumumum” Poppy muttered, before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. (100)

It’s been a long, long time since I took part in a Friday Fictioneers. My baby is sleeping, I have a few rare minutes to spare.

If you’re not familiar with Friday Fictioneers, every week Rochelle Wisoff-Fields hosts a photo prompt and writers throughout the world use it as inspiration to write a 100 story. Want to read more, head over here. Enjoy!

Writing With A Baby – Making the Most of Your Time

For any writer, finding a spare hour to dedicate to writing is a near impossible task. When you are the parent of a baby or toddler, that time is even harder to pin down.

It’s amazing how much more efficient you become once a child enters your life; however applying that to your writing world is tricky. Writing and efficiency don’t always go hand in hand. Long gone are the days when you could afford a five minute break to look out of the window.

So if you are like me and always mining around for minutes to write, here are a few tips for getting creative with the time you have.

Morning Bird Power-Hour

If you have a child who sleeps well into the morning (lucky you!) then you might be able to uncover some quiet, free time before they wake up. Set your alarm an hour early, grab a coffee, open up the laptop and go for a shot of 100 words.

Stay Up Late

I fall into the night owl bracket; 5am is just too early for me! Once the baby is in bed, if I am having a writing evening I completely shut everything else off. Dinner is cereal. Washing up is abandoned. Ignore it. It doesn’t need you. This is YOUR time. The deadline of bedtime can be adhered to, or ignored. Depends how well you can function the next day after pulling an all-nighter.

The Top 200

Write 200 words. Doesn’t matter what it’s about. The point is if you make a commitment that is achievable and after a while you will become more efficient with what you write in that period of time.

Don’t Edit

If your task is to write, just do that. Anything else is irrelevant to the task you are trying to achieve. Editing can weigh you down so free yourself from it.

…But if you have to edit…

Then make sure that the session is just for editing. You need to be strict and organised to ensure the task works out in the best possible way

Go Traditional

While the baby is happily and safely playing then grab a notepad and a pen and jot down ideas, start a story. If you have time later you can explore anything that came do you during the day.

Go Digital

I have an iPad yet always assumed writing on a tablet wouldn’t come naturally. And it didn’t for me. But after some practise it actually worked out really well. I downloaded the Office Word app to ensure I was familiar with the system. It seems more achievable to write the odd thing here or there while the little one plays, or I make up a bottle or prepare dinner. This is how I have managed to write a few short stories and blog posts.

Be Realistic, Rethink and Adjust

Goal paralysis, I get this a lot. I want to do so much, but end up doing nothing because I don’t know where to start.

Get real, you have a child. That fluidity of time you were so used to does not exist anymore. I wanted to blog, write fiction, finish my novel, freelance and start a diploma, while working part time, starting a business and looking after my little one. It was just too much. It doesn’t mean that you have to let go of everything. Just re-prioritise and focus on one thing at once.

Designate a Day

If like me you have too many irons in the fire and juggling just about anything you can get your hands on, then designate one day a week that is dedicated to your one writers goal. It doesn’t need to be a whole day. It can be a morning, afternoon, evening, 40 minutes. Just one day when at some point, you write.

Plan

Planning and preparing as a parent is a beast. The unpredictable nature of babies makes it impossible to plan and or even guess how much time you have available. Yet a plan will help, but keep it manageable, flexible and achievable.  Plan for your day and set it out in bitesize chunks. As I am looking after my boy today, my plan was to write a blog post during his nap time. So far, so good.

Playtime

If you have a little one who is engrossed in a toy then use that time to write – even if it’s only for 10-15 minutes. I often feel consumed with guilt if I’m on the laptop and kiddo is playing. However if he is happy then why not use that time to get something done?

I always make sure if I have spent some time on the laptop, that the little one gets a massive chunk of play time with mummy afterwards. It makes them happy, you feel happy, and you can even chat through your story ideas. I find that babies are very good listeners!

Walk

I take my little one out for a long walk to clear my head and plan my afternoon. It can give your mind some breathing space and you also have the freedom to explore ideas that would probably be lost when changing nappies, making up bottles or running around trying to stop your baby exploring the dark and dangerous corners of your living room.

Quit Box Sets

Netflix, you were there during the newborn days of constant breastfeeding and recovering from a traumatic labour, and I shall never forget the support you gave me. But now we need distance. I am a writer darhling and need space. I shall see you at weekends, but our daily rendezvous is no more.

Be Kind to Yourself

Do not be hard on yourself and stop worrying about your perceived failures. Remember, you love writing and any time spent on it is a massive achievement. Now go get that brownie… did I mention that cake is a crucial part of a writers diet?

Write What You See – Bus 

It’s fair to say that it has been a long time since I have written anything fictional. When you go that long without putting pen to paper the well of inspiration feels a little empty. However I’m a firm believer that you can mine inspiration out of just about anything.  

As soon as I decided to do this, I spotted a bus go past my window. So I used that to start a story. And here it is. Why don’t you give a go? No word limit! Post your links below with the title or the blog post ‘Write What You See – ‘ 

………….

The bus pulled up to the stop and Gray stumbled out onto the pavement. His phone dropped from his pocket and with a clatter landed on the wet concrete. On all fours he searched for the phone but it was dark and he was too drunk to see clearly. Gray stood up and lunged into the lamp post 

“fuck” 

Two girls linking arms under an umbrella tottered past, picking up speed and letting out a giggle as Gray battled with his wooziness. His feet felt unstable, the ground was moving side to side, up and down. Settling on a garden wall, he pressed the palm of his hands onto his knees in a bid to ground his body. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

“You l’right mate” 

Gray opened his eyes. A smartly dressed man with headphones round his neck, reached out and gently placed his hand on Gray’s shoulder. He was no longer sitting on the garden wall and there was a rotten stench in the air. 

“Where am I?” asked Gray

“What was that mate?” The man leant in closer

“Where am I?” 

The man shook his head “I can’t understand you. I’m calling an ambulance” 

Gray’s heart thumped, he still felt drunk. I didn’t drink that much, did I? 

He tried to get up but his legs were like jelly. He managed to move his eyes just enough to see that he was lying next to some dumpsters. Probably at the back of some flats. He wriggled his toes. His socks felt soggy.  

That’s good, thought Gray, I can feel something. 

“Where are my shoes?” Gray asked the man who was now on the phone. He couldn’t make out what he was saying. It was like listening to a conversation through a wall. 

“Don’t try and talk mate. They’re on their way” 

From nowhere the man produced a blanket and wrapped it round Gray. The warmth offered a crumb of comfort. 

Gray tried to focus his eyes again. A figure stood behind the man. It was possibly a woman from the infiltration of perfume overriding the smell of  decaying food. They were talking but Gray couldn’t make out what they were saying. That damn wall. 

Flashing blue lights and a siren made its way closer. Gray immediately felt foolish. Just another drunk. Even though he hadn’t drunk that much. What, four pints?

Gray wanted to close his eyes again. The tiredness was hard to fight and his body craved restorative rest. Suddenly all the questions from a lady in a green came at once, with lights and wires probing his body and mind.

What’s your name? Do you know how you got here? What have you taken? How much have you had to drink? What day is it? Who is the prime minister? What is your star sign? What’s 2 + 2? What is your mothers maiden name? 

His head felt like it was being pummelled with a giant steel bar, caving under the weight of  the questioning.  A bolt of lightening shot through his body, a bright light flashed a crossed his vision. Just some more sleep.

Friday Fictioneers – Old School Dirt

It has been a long time between now and my last Friday Fictioneers effort. I am more than a little over the word count so I may edit this again later on. If you want to play, head over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and have a go. Thanks to Rochelle and also thanks to Danny Bowman for the image.

As always, I am open to constructive criticism.

http://rochellewisofffields.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/danny-bowman.jpg

Old School Dirt

The truck hissed as it drew to a halt behind the long queue of traffic.  Tony adjusted his gaze to search for the accident over the never ending line of red lights.

He looked down at his mobile and pressed down hard on the power button. It had been dead for the past hour. Dashboard read 20.30. Late again. Cara would be waiting alone, on the evening of their anniversary, for the third year running. No making up for this one.

Tony turned off the ignition and hopped out onto the sidewalk. A beaten up payphone offered little hope before he could even dial her number. A handset broken in two, he could talk but not listen.

“About right” he mused, before returning to the cabin.

Friday Fictioneers – One Two Three Four Legged Friend

Copyright -Douglas M. MacIlroy

Copyright -Douglas M. MacIlroy

One Two Three Four Legged Friend

I unsaddled Mystic and felt around in my bag for an apple. One left, it was a little brown and bruised from the ride but otherwise perfect. I rubbed it on my thigh and fed it to Mystic. The sun was heating up, telling me to head back to the air conditioned truck waiting to take me home without my horse. I looked around the large paddock. It was more than I could ever offer. She would be happy here.

“We’ve had some good times, haven’t we?”

Mystic tossed her head with a snort.

“Yeah, I know, I’ll miss you too”

I found this one hard as there are so many lovely stories this week, I have found it hard to follow. In fact I was tempted not to post up as was struggling to put something together. Head over to Rochelle’s place if you want to have a go at Friday Fictioneers. Pop over to Doug’s to get the moving story behind the picture.

Do All Writers Hate Their Work?

Yesterday I completed a short story. I had spent two weeks agonising over the editing process and finally, as midnight approached, I sat back with a satisfied feeling that I had finally finished my story. I went to bed content that I had created something that wasn’t half bad.

When I woke up and re-read it on my Kindle app, the cold light of day hit. The well crafted and thought-out sentences were clunky and the story seemed a little dull and ill thought out. I felt embarrassed by my premature optimism.

This isn’t new though. It is the process many writers put themselves through to get the job done. Editing is an up hill struggle. You have to battle doubt and lack of motivation for starters.

I abandoned one short story because I wasn’t getting anywhere and moved on to another that I had better success with. Yet every time I read it through, I pick and pick and cringe. One minute I love it and a couple of hours later I hate it again.

Now I have decided to let it go. I’ve sent it to some family members who I trust to give an honest opinion and not just say it’s good because they want to be nice. Waiting for feedback is like waiting to hear back from a tutor grading an essay. This is a necessary part of editing and crucial when you have lost objectivity. For me, the writing is good when you don’t feel like you are consciously reading. With your own writing I don’t think you are able to get a sense of that.

Do all writers hate their work? Does they ever get that ‘good job, well done’ feeling and easily move on?

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love writing and it gives me a thrill whenever I start something new. But there is something tortuous about sharing something so personal that you pour your heart and soul into. This is probably why a lot of writers have a turbulent relationship with their work. Perfection is everything.

Either way, I’m going to keep working at it and strive to arrive at that point where I know that my work is the best that it can be.

Friday Fictioneers – The Lighthouse

The Lighthouse

Sam rubbed his tired eyes and focussed on the blinking light. All was calm but winds from the dark ocean were starting to gain strength and rumbles from the sky spoke of a storm. He looked down at the net lying on deck and his heavy heart sank. Three days and only a few fish to show for it.  His skin was grainy from the salty air. He craved a shower and a cold beer. The beacon was getting brighter as the winds pushed his drifting boat towards the land.  Sam submitted to defeat and allowed his mind to think of Amy. She would be waiting and tonight, he could do with some comfort.

***

Here is my Friday Fictioneers. This picture instantly reminded me of a lighthouse. I have never actually been inside one but the spiralling staircase made me think of that. So loosely based on that interpretation  I came up with my story. I have been working on my short stories and editing and not really blogged in a while or taken part in this weekly tradition. Better late than never.

If you want to take part, head over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and have a go.