Hey, everyone! This one's horribly late on account of my summer school work, but I'll be sure to get back on track over the course of the week, providing the next two assignments by the time the next deadline rolls around. With that said, welcome back to A Year of Starting With This, a series of posts inspired by the writing podcast Start With This. Each post is themed around a topic covered in the podcast, and this one will focus around the idea of feedback, both how to give it and how to receive it.
To start, I'd like to talk about what exactly feedback is, because it's broader than you might think. Feedback can come in many forms; validation, condemnation, analysis, any form of expressed reaction to a work is feedback in some way. Your parents pinning your kindergarten drawing on the fridge, fan backlash in response to the latest episode of a series, book reviews, these are all examples of feedback in some way, but that doesn't mean they're useful in the same way, or even useful at all.
For example, book reviews can range from an eloquent explanation of the story's strong and weak points to a knee-jerk reaction to a personal pet peeve. More well-reasoned explanations of what people thought worked and what they didn't helps you understand someone's viewpoint on the matter, helping you ponder whether or not you agree with them. On the other hand, more subjective reactions to certain events isn't as useful on a technical level. Most people are able to see that something's weird with your writing, but not everyone's familiar with what aspects of the writing make it weird. However, people are still genuinely reacting to your work, which is important to consider. Understanding why the reaction happened, if it fits with what you wanted the work to do and whether you're fine with people reacting that way is just as important. If the general community reaction goes completely against your intent when writing, you need to take a good look at what you did wrong.
However, you can't accept every form of feedback you've ever received, directly or indirectly. Sometimes people's suggestions go against what you want to do with your work, or they feel as if criticism is an inherently bad thing for some reason, or maybe their reactions are completely irrational. That's fine, but it's important to be able to tell what feedback will be useful to you, and minimise the amount of useless feedback you receive, as harsh as it may sound. When you ask for feedback, you can ask for people's thoughts on specific aspects or events to focus their thoughts more productively for you. It also shows that you're directly interested in their thoughts, so they should hopefully be more honest about how they feel. If you're asked to provide feedback, be sure to ask what they're looking for if they don't tell you, so you know what you need to tell them.
Personally, when I ask for feedback, it's usually from people who don't write, such as my family, and most of the feedback I get from them is how they reacted to it. As such, I usually ask about the emotional impact of certain scenes, to make sure that my work is doing what I want it to do. Sometimes the people I ask come off as if they're worried that they don't know enough about writing to give feedback on my work, but their opinion as readers is just as valuable for me. I don't have much of a sample size for my feedback, unfortunately, but I know enough about who they are to roughly judge whether or not their reaction would be common among certain people.
As for my assignment today, I want you to give feedback on the following piece in the comments below. This is a quick fight scene I wrote up for this assignment, but the real assignment is putting it out there in a place that it can receive feedback.
A masked hooded figure stood between me and the end of the alleyway. I immediately ran back and felt them slam into me, sending me sprawling. I rolled myself upright in time to see them lunge towards me. I threw my hands out to catch them by the shoulders, but it didn’t stop them from taking a swipe at my face. In response, I thrusted my knee up, dazing them for long enough for me to push them off me and pick myself up. Still on the ground, my attacker grabbed at my leg and pulled. I managed to keep my balance, moving my leg along with their pulling to kick them in the face. They shrieked and I ran away, I turning the corner in hopes of gaining some distance before they recovered. Somehow, they were standing at the other end of the alley. The mask was gone, with an empty hood behind where it was. As I stared, shocked, it leapt towards me like last time, this time grabbing my throat and pinning me down, hitting the ground hard.
My head hurt. I couldn’t breathe. Flailing did nothing. I was fading. I grasped its arm. Tried to resist. Light was dimming. Noises were quieter. My sputtering. Its...breathing? Rasps. Wheezes. From me? From it? Don’t know anymore. Doesn’t matter anymore.
In particular, I'm looking for:
How clear the actions in the fight scene are, how easy it is to understand
The change in writing style towards the end. How did you interpret it? Was it effective? How did it make you feel?
Any other thoughts you had on it. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments below, and look out for my next blog posts very soon, about collaboration, writing podcasts on a tight budget, and playing games when writing!
Wednesday, 19 February 2020
Monday, 20 January 2020
A Week in the Life
Hey everyone! As promised, here's the sestina I mentioned last week, A Week In The Life.
I try to warm myself in the shower
After that, I eat something that could be considered a meal
Then I head onto campus for my lectures
I note that tomorrow I need to pick up groceries
I spend the rest of my day working on my computer
Giving up, I resign myself to my bed
It takes me hours to get out of bed
Even longer to bother with a shower
Apparently, I’m too busy at my computer
Another sad excuse for a meal
I can't be bothered with the groceries
I finally make myself presentable for my lectures
I hate early lectures...
I've half a mind just to go back to bed
Finally got around to those groceries
No real point to a shower
At last, a proper meal!
Late into the night, and I'm still working on my computer
I wake up with my face lying on my computer
Get ready 5 minutes before my lectures
Reheat some leftovers and call it a meal
Now that I'm done for the week, I head to bed
Forget about the shower
Forget about the groceries
I didn’t buy enough groceries
Nothing else to do but mess around on the computer
Hang on, I'm overdue for a shower
No lectures
Just me in my bed
On my bedside table, a beautiful meal
The plates are still on the table from the meal
No need to buy groceries
No need to get out of bed
An inactive computer
Another day without lectures
Hissing water from someone else in the shower
Almost every meal is eaten at my computer
The most exercise I get is from getting groceries and walking to lectures
Everywhere is cold except for my bed or the shower
I try to warm myself in the shower
After that, I eat something that could be considered a meal
Then I head onto campus for my lectures
I note that tomorrow I need to pick up groceries
I spend the rest of my day working on my computer
Giving up, I resign myself to my bed
It takes me hours to get out of bed
Even longer to bother with a shower
Apparently, I’m too busy at my computer
Another sad excuse for a meal
I can't be bothered with the groceries
I finally make myself presentable for my lectures
I hate early lectures...
I've half a mind just to go back to bed
Finally got around to those groceries
No real point to a shower
At last, a proper meal!
Late into the night, and I'm still working on my computer
I wake up with my face lying on my computer
Get ready 5 minutes before my lectures
Reheat some leftovers and call it a meal
Now that I'm done for the week, I head to bed
Forget about the shower
Forget about the groceries
I didn’t buy enough groceries
Nothing else to do but mess around on the computer
Hang on, I'm overdue for a shower
No lectures
Just me in my bed
On my bedside table, a beautiful meal
The plates are still on the table from the meal
No need to buy groceries
No need to get out of bed
An inactive computer
Another day without lectures
Hissing water from someone else in the shower
Almost every meal is eaten at my computer
The most exercise I get is from getting groceries and walking to lectures
Everywhere is cold except for my bed or the shower
Tuesday, 14 January 2020
A Year of Starting With This: Limitations
Hey everyone! Here's my second blog post in a series inspired by the writing podcast Start With This. Each post will revolve around a certain episode's subject, where I'll talk about my experiences with the subject and present the piece I've written for the assignment given by that episode. Today's topic is limitations, both in writing style, but also the medium and tools you have available to you.
Limitations, while obviously inhibiting what you can do to some degree, can be turned into a tool for expressing ideas by working with the limitations instead of against them. As a writer, limitations are most noticeable in structured poetry, with consistent rhyming schemes and conditions to fulfill. The appeal to write a structured poem is to figure out what you can do despite, or even because of, those restrictions. I've tried my hand at this myself in the past, writing a sestina for my second year Creative Writing paper. A sestina has you picking six words and writing a poem where the six lines of each stanza all end with one of those words. However, a traditional sestina must be six stanzas long, changing the order of the ending words as follows:
1. ABCDEF
2. FAEBDC
3. CFDABE
4. ECBFAD
5. DEACFB
6. BDFECA
The seventh stanza has three lines, using two words at a time. It's a very interesting structure, where even though you pick the words you're going to use, you're restricted in where you use them. How I used it was to use the structure to characterise the life of a student growing more disorganised over the course of the week. I chose six activities typical of student life, and wrote around the activities order getting arranged and rearranged. In the end, my sestina came out as an internal narration/monologue about their week, starting off strong but eventually falling apart. To save this post from becoming too long, I'll post that next week, but I can definitely say that I can appreciate structural limitations to some degree, even if they can be frustrating to work with.
Speaking of frustration, the conditions for my assignment were not kind. I had to take random things from three different lists: I had to incorporate the title from one of 50 Bluegrass songs, a line from a meal review, and include a city from a list of the 50 most populated US cities. Then I had to write an record a short monologue using those three things.
The city in question was Tampa, Florida, and my mind immediately jumped to the idea of Florida Man before dismissing it. For the uninitiated, Florida Man is a form of folk figure inspired by a myriad of ridiculous Florida news headlines, be they real or inspired fiction. Look Florida Man up sometime, you won't be disappointed. However, at the time, I wanted to try something more serious first.
The Bluegrass song title was High On A Mountain, by Del McCoury & The Dixie Pals, which I couldn't use literally because Tampa was as flat as a washboard. Finally, the article I had to use was on Peri-Peri chicken, which is where things started to pick up. One of the lines described Nando's Peri-Peri sauce, which gave me a setting to use. The only thing to figure out at that point was how to use 'High on a Mountain', which I figured would have to be used figuratively, like 'High on a mountain of drugs'. I was pondering on how best to incorporate these three things, but then the answer hit me: Florida Man.
In hindsight, I ended up bending the rules without realising: Since I play two characters, it's not one monologue, but two with one in the middle. It was also supposed to be two minutes long, but there's no point worrying about it now. It's done, and it was surprisingly fun to do once I figured out what I was doing. I don't think it plays into the limitations as well as it could, but it's certainly serviceable.
Join me later this week for the poem I mentioned earlier, and later for my next post, concerning Feedback!
Limitations, while obviously inhibiting what you can do to some degree, can be turned into a tool for expressing ideas by working with the limitations instead of against them. As a writer, limitations are most noticeable in structured poetry, with consistent rhyming schemes and conditions to fulfill. The appeal to write a structured poem is to figure out what you can do despite, or even because of, those restrictions. I've tried my hand at this myself in the past, writing a sestina for my second year Creative Writing paper. A sestina has you picking six words and writing a poem where the six lines of each stanza all end with one of those words. However, a traditional sestina must be six stanzas long, changing the order of the ending words as follows:
1. ABCDEF
2. FAEBDC
3. CFDABE
4. ECBFAD
5. DEACFB
6. BDFECA
The seventh stanza has three lines, using two words at a time. It's a very interesting structure, where even though you pick the words you're going to use, you're restricted in where you use them. How I used it was to use the structure to characterise the life of a student growing more disorganised over the course of the week. I chose six activities typical of student life, and wrote around the activities order getting arranged and rearranged. In the end, my sestina came out as an internal narration/monologue about their week, starting off strong but eventually falling apart. To save this post from becoming too long, I'll post that next week, but I can definitely say that I can appreciate structural limitations to some degree, even if they can be frustrating to work with.
Speaking of frustration, the conditions for my assignment were not kind. I had to take random things from three different lists: I had to incorporate the title from one of 50 Bluegrass songs, a line from a meal review, and include a city from a list of the 50 most populated US cities. Then I had to write an record a short monologue using those three things.
The city in question was Tampa, Florida, and my mind immediately jumped to the idea of Florida Man before dismissing it. For the uninitiated, Florida Man is a form of folk figure inspired by a myriad of ridiculous Florida news headlines, be they real or inspired fiction. Look Florida Man up sometime, you won't be disappointed. However, at the time, I wanted to try something more serious first.
The Bluegrass song title was High On A Mountain, by Del McCoury & The Dixie Pals, which I couldn't use literally because Tampa was as flat as a washboard. Finally, the article I had to use was on Peri-Peri chicken, which is where things started to pick up. One of the lines described Nando's Peri-Peri sauce, which gave me a setting to use. The only thing to figure out at that point was how to use 'High on a Mountain', which I figured would have to be used figuratively, like 'High on a mountain of drugs'. I was pondering on how best to incorporate these three things, but then the answer hit me: Florida Man.
In hindsight, I ended up bending the rules without realising: Since I play two characters, it's not one monologue, but two with one in the middle. It was also supposed to be two minutes long, but there's no point worrying about it now. It's done, and it was surprisingly fun to do once I figured out what I was doing. I don't think it plays into the limitations as well as it could, but it's certainly serviceable.
Join me later this week for the poem I mentioned earlier, and later for my next post, concerning Feedback!
Thursday, 2 January 2020
A Year of Starting With This: Idea to Execution
Hey everyone,
I haven't been using this blog since last year, which is mainly because I forgot it existed, even when I had a piece to share. Now, however, I've found something I want to work on that involves having a public platform to post my content to, so I figured I'd use my blog as that platform.
Over the next year, I'll be making posts inspired by episodes of Start With This, a writing podcast where the co-creators of the podcast Welcome To Night Vale discuss their experiences with certain topics and then give the audience things to both consume and create based on the topic. I'll be posting the results of my exercises, as well as talking about my experiences about the related topic as a university student and aspiring fiction writer. I'll be doing one post every two weeks, keeping a consistent schedule while allowing me plenty of time to work on these alongside my university work.
This episode was Idea to Execution: The many benefits of consistent execution as well as making sure you don't get so caught up in ideas that you forget to execute them. I generally make sure to write ideas down someplace so I can come back to them later, but I tend to find myself juggling multiple projects at a time without much concrete progress on any of them. That's why I stopped working on a singular novel and focused on an anthology; my reasoning was that if I finished anything, it would contribute to my overall goal. I've also gotten better with executing in general: I've finally got around to finishing some pieces just so I can put them behind me, and it's nice to say that I've finally finished something, even if it wasn't subject to all the nitpicking I'd have done if I edited it forever.
This exercise was to take an idea I had, write a piece on it in the span of one hour and put it somewhere. I chose the concept of a modern-day daughter of Ares trying to live her life despite her overbearing dad and Hera sending followers to kill her. Said daughter's characterisation is another thing I've wanted to write for a while; A badass who's just tired of all the dangerous stuff she gets thrown into and just wants to chill. As stated before, this was written in an hour, and I forbade myself from doing any editing once that hour was over, so excuse any mistakes you see.
“Hey honey, how’s it going?”
“Hey dad! I’ve been good, was about to head out to town.”
“Out to break hearts, or kneecaps?”
“Neither, dad, I’m trying to relax...”
“You say that like seeing a good fight isn’t relaxing.”
“Hey, you’re the God of War here, not me.”
“You’re my child, what’s your point?”
“I’m not JUST your child, you know.”
“But it’s sti-” Hippolyta hung up. An argument with a being dedicated to causing conflict was not how she wanted to start her evening. She sighed, threw her jacket on and headed outside.
The snow-tracked streets greeted her, the overcast sky making them a dull white rather than a more blinding shade. Perfect weather for a nice cup of coffee, but her options were limited at this time of night. She started walking, hoping that she could find a cozy place to eat in, maybe find some entertainment.
“Hippolyta, child of Ares!” She turned to find a young man staring at her, wearing a peacock pin on his duffle-coat.
“Hera sent you?” He grinned and nodded.
“Listen, I’m not really in the mood to deal with assassins right now, so I’m going to call a rain check on this.” She swung her foot into his shin, sending him crumpling in pain. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow,” she said as she started to walk away.
“No, you’ll deal with us now!” He snarled, struggling to pick himself up. “In the name of Hera, we will set right the mis-”
“The mistake that is my birth, I know. Wait, did you say we?” Hippolyta looked around for others before a loud crack heralded a sharp pain in her arm. She dove behind a fence and looked at the thankfully minimal damage.
“Your friend’s going to pay for ruining my favourite jacket!” She shouted to the first guy.
“We have the Supreme Goddess on our side! Your life is forfeit!” Hippolyta heard the sound of a revolver chamber being spun.
“Yeah, the other ones said that too!” She threw off her jacket; Fixing bullet holes in her shirt was less of a problem. She waited for the first assassin to turn the corner before rushing up to him, putting his neck in a chokehold and throwing him behind the fence with her. Another kick to the face had him unconscious, probably worse. Hippolyta looked for the dropped gun; she saw it lying in the snow, just out of cover. She still didn’t know where the sniper was, but she figured she’d find out once they took a shot. In one motion, she rolled out of cover, picked up the gun, and aimed it at the rooftops across the road. Their first shot went too high, and Hippolyta shifted her aim to where it came from before firing. An impossible shot for anyone but the daughter of Ares.
Hippolyta walked into the diner, having been denied entry from several restaurants for her appearance. Her hair was mostly free of snow, but her jacket’s prominent bullet hole raised far too much suspicion. She walked up to the counter and a concerned cashier.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Just get me a coffee.”
Join me in a fortnight for my next exercise, focusing on recognising limitations!
I haven't been using this blog since last year, which is mainly because I forgot it existed, even when I had a piece to share. Now, however, I've found something I want to work on that involves having a public platform to post my content to, so I figured I'd use my blog as that platform.
Over the next year, I'll be making posts inspired by episodes of Start With This, a writing podcast where the co-creators of the podcast Welcome To Night Vale discuss their experiences with certain topics and then give the audience things to both consume and create based on the topic. I'll be posting the results of my exercises, as well as talking about my experiences about the related topic as a university student and aspiring fiction writer. I'll be doing one post every two weeks, keeping a consistent schedule while allowing me plenty of time to work on these alongside my university work.
This episode was Idea to Execution: The many benefits of consistent execution as well as making sure you don't get so caught up in ideas that you forget to execute them. I generally make sure to write ideas down someplace so I can come back to them later, but I tend to find myself juggling multiple projects at a time without much concrete progress on any of them. That's why I stopped working on a singular novel and focused on an anthology; my reasoning was that if I finished anything, it would contribute to my overall goal. I've also gotten better with executing in general: I've finally got around to finishing some pieces just so I can put them behind me, and it's nice to say that I've finally finished something, even if it wasn't subject to all the nitpicking I'd have done if I edited it forever.
This exercise was to take an idea I had, write a piece on it in the span of one hour and put it somewhere. I chose the concept of a modern-day daughter of Ares trying to live her life despite her overbearing dad and Hera sending followers to kill her. Said daughter's characterisation is another thing I've wanted to write for a while; A badass who's just tired of all the dangerous stuff she gets thrown into and just wants to chill. As stated before, this was written in an hour, and I forbade myself from doing any editing once that hour was over, so excuse any mistakes you see.
“Hey honey, how’s it going?”
“Hey dad! I’ve been good, was about to head out to town.”
“Out to break hearts, or kneecaps?”
“Neither, dad, I’m trying to relax...”
“You say that like seeing a good fight isn’t relaxing.”
“Hey, you’re the God of War here, not me.”
“You’re my child, what’s your point?”
“I’m not JUST your child, you know.”
“But it’s sti-” Hippolyta hung up. An argument with a being dedicated to causing conflict was not how she wanted to start her evening. She sighed, threw her jacket on and headed outside.
The snow-tracked streets greeted her, the overcast sky making them a dull white rather than a more blinding shade. Perfect weather for a nice cup of coffee, but her options were limited at this time of night. She started walking, hoping that she could find a cozy place to eat in, maybe find some entertainment.
“Hippolyta, child of Ares!” She turned to find a young man staring at her, wearing a peacock pin on his duffle-coat.
“Hera sent you?” He grinned and nodded.
“Listen, I’m not really in the mood to deal with assassins right now, so I’m going to call a rain check on this.” She swung her foot into his shin, sending him crumpling in pain. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow,” she said as she started to walk away.
“No, you’ll deal with us now!” He snarled, struggling to pick himself up. “In the name of Hera, we will set right the mis-”
“The mistake that is my birth, I know. Wait, did you say we?” Hippolyta looked around for others before a loud crack heralded a sharp pain in her arm. She dove behind a fence and looked at the thankfully minimal damage.
“Your friend’s going to pay for ruining my favourite jacket!” She shouted to the first guy.
“We have the Supreme Goddess on our side! Your life is forfeit!” Hippolyta heard the sound of a revolver chamber being spun.
“Yeah, the other ones said that too!” She threw off her jacket; Fixing bullet holes in her shirt was less of a problem. She waited for the first assassin to turn the corner before rushing up to him, putting his neck in a chokehold and throwing him behind the fence with her. Another kick to the face had him unconscious, probably worse. Hippolyta looked for the dropped gun; she saw it lying in the snow, just out of cover. She still didn’t know where the sniper was, but she figured she’d find out once they took a shot. In one motion, she rolled out of cover, picked up the gun, and aimed it at the rooftops across the road. Their first shot went too high, and Hippolyta shifted her aim to where it came from before firing. An impossible shot for anyone but the daughter of Ares.
Hippolyta walked into the diner, having been denied entry from several restaurants for her appearance. Her hair was mostly free of snow, but her jacket’s prominent bullet hole raised far too much suspicion. She walked up to the counter and a concerned cashier.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Just get me a coffee.”
Join me in a fortnight for my next exercise, focusing on recognising limitations!
Sunday, 16 December 2018
Progress report 2018
Hey all! It's been a long time, and while I haven't written anything that I'm able to share, I wanted to talk about my writing progress this year. 2018 has been a very different year for me for multiple reasons, and it's definitely affected how much I write, not to mention how much I've changed my plans for Cirrendale and writing in general. I'm not going to pretend that I'm a hotshot whose writing progress is the thing to read, but I still hope that you find this worth reading.
First thing to mention is that 2018 was my first year at university. Living away from home at a hall of residence with around 600 people took a lot of getting used to, but I'm very happy that I did. I met a lot of friendly people that made moving to a new city much easier, and I'll enjoy looking back on my time there and catching up with them next year. Academically, learning to become more self-reliant in my studying was important, since you spent less hours in classrooms and were expected to do most of the work in your own time. With that said, these things allowed me to balance writing time with study time better. Although I still have a lot to improve on in that department, being able to sit down and work on a personal project after submitting a finished essay felt amazing, especially since half of my papers were geared towards improving my writing. My Creative Writing paper I loved in particular, as the majority of my marks came from submitting various genres of writing pieces. The paper introduced me to forms of writing I previously hadn't considered, such as copywriting for advertisements and digital fiction, which I might explore further later on down the line.
As for what I've been writing, I started shifting from working on the main Cirrendale story I wanted to write to various short stories, either set in Cirrendale or as a stand-alone story. Even my main technique for figuring out characters involved writing a short story starring them. Eventually, I decided that, since I seemed to be more comfortable with writing short stories than longer ones, writing an anthology of stories set in Cirrendale would be a better idea. This allows me to work on worldbuilding the setting of Cirrendale while exploring a bunch of ideas I originally was going to leave on the backburner for later. I still very much want to make a stand-alone story, but right now it's seeming too daunting, so I'm working on a collection of stories instead to help ease into writing something full-length.
One of these stories is the Cirrendale Ripper(Name pending), a thriller featuring a restless spirit searching the city for his killers with the help of a street urchin girl. Admittedly, it doesn't sound like the most original of plots, but I'm having a fun time writing it, playing around with different ideas of what being a ghost means in Cirrendale, and looking at the other side of slasher movie-esque massacres. My biggest issue so far is characterising the spirit and the girl; I have a vague idea of their relationship in mind, but I'm not sure how well I'll be able to pull it off, or if it'll be easy to understand. At any rate, that's the sort of thing I'll need to learn if I want to write that fully-fledged story, so I'll happily tackle it head-on. I'm almost through the second draft now, so there's plenty of time for revision.
So that's what I've been up to! I'm really excited to see what the next year holds for me as I continue my studies and keep working on my writing pieces. Maybe I'll even be able to send them to a magazine and get published, I'd love to get my writing out there more. I'll try my best to post another update soon, maybe with a bit of the Cirrendale Ripper, but for now, I wish you all the best for 2019.
First thing to mention is that 2018 was my first year at university. Living away from home at a hall of residence with around 600 people took a lot of getting used to, but I'm very happy that I did. I met a lot of friendly people that made moving to a new city much easier, and I'll enjoy looking back on my time there and catching up with them next year. Academically, learning to become more self-reliant in my studying was important, since you spent less hours in classrooms and were expected to do most of the work in your own time. With that said, these things allowed me to balance writing time with study time better. Although I still have a lot to improve on in that department, being able to sit down and work on a personal project after submitting a finished essay felt amazing, especially since half of my papers were geared towards improving my writing. My Creative Writing paper I loved in particular, as the majority of my marks came from submitting various genres of writing pieces. The paper introduced me to forms of writing I previously hadn't considered, such as copywriting for advertisements and digital fiction, which I might explore further later on down the line.
As for what I've been writing, I started shifting from working on the main Cirrendale story I wanted to write to various short stories, either set in Cirrendale or as a stand-alone story. Even my main technique for figuring out characters involved writing a short story starring them. Eventually, I decided that, since I seemed to be more comfortable with writing short stories than longer ones, writing an anthology of stories set in Cirrendale would be a better idea. This allows me to work on worldbuilding the setting of Cirrendale while exploring a bunch of ideas I originally was going to leave on the backburner for later. I still very much want to make a stand-alone story, but right now it's seeming too daunting, so I'm working on a collection of stories instead to help ease into writing something full-length.
One of these stories is the Cirrendale Ripper(Name pending), a thriller featuring a restless spirit searching the city for his killers with the help of a street urchin girl. Admittedly, it doesn't sound like the most original of plots, but I'm having a fun time writing it, playing around with different ideas of what being a ghost means in Cirrendale, and looking at the other side of slasher movie-esque massacres. My biggest issue so far is characterising the spirit and the girl; I have a vague idea of their relationship in mind, but I'm not sure how well I'll be able to pull it off, or if it'll be easy to understand. At any rate, that's the sort of thing I'll need to learn if I want to write that fully-fledged story, so I'll happily tackle it head-on. I'm almost through the second draft now, so there's plenty of time for revision.
So that's what I've been up to! I'm really excited to see what the next year holds for me as I continue my studies and keep working on my writing pieces. Maybe I'll even be able to send them to a magazine and get published, I'd love to get my writing out there more. I'll try my best to post another update soon, maybe with a bit of the Cirrendale Ripper, but for now, I wish you all the best for 2019.
Saturday, 23 June 2018
My other English Assessment
A bit later than expected, but here's my other English assessment! The module for this one was satire, and as such we were tasked to write a piece that made fun of any social gathering we wanted. Being someone who isn't a fan of drinking in the slightest, and having just been introduced to Dunedin's drinking culture early that year, I chose Orientation Week as my subject. Deciding it'd be funny to make dehumanised caricatures of drunk people, I made it a zombie thriller story. Enjoy!
It was the first night of O-Week, and Jamie wasn’t prepared
in the slightest. While others were placing their offertory spirits outside to
appease those soon to arrive, he was upturning his flat in an effort to
scrounge up enough money. Paying the rent had left him penniless, and hours of
searching resulted in barely enough pocket change for a pack of RTDs. By the
time he was on his way home from the liquor store, the streets were empty and
the sun had set. The only light came from street lamps and the occasional house
that still had their lights on. Howls were still coming from the stadium, so it
seemed that the beasts were still performing their ghastly festivities. Jamie
sighed in relief; that should give him some time to get home.
“Heeeey!” A voice called out from the shadows. Someone else was out here?
“Uh…hello?” A shape waved at him from the shadows. Jamie moved closer, desperate for company of any kind.
“What are you doing out here?” He asked, but its giggling and staggering forward in response answered his question for him. As it came into the light, he could see that it was dressed in a makeshift toga typical of those worn during the first night’s gathering, a plethora of stains adding dark reds and browns to the white cloth. What was it doing here so early? Jamie started running, but so did it, quickly closing the distance and grasping his arm.
“Where are you going?” He yanked it back and the beast fell to the ground, struggling to pick itself back up. As it screamed in anger, Jamie fled, not daring to stop. The creature gave chase, but couldn’t keep up for very long. By the time he did stop, however, he realised he had no clue where he was. Anywhere that wasn’t on the way to the liquor store or the way back home was unfamiliar to him, but he didn’t want to turn back for fear of that monster catching up. So he picked a direction and kept walking. The noises from the stadium were starting to grow closer; they had finished their rituals and were ready to roam the streets. Jamie felt like wherever he went, their bestial jeers only grew louder. Turning a corner revealed a pack of them making their rowdy way towards him. Running to hide behind a recycling bin, Jamie prayed that they hadn’t noticed him.
“Uh…hello?” A shape waved at him from the shadows. Jamie moved closer, desperate for company of any kind.
“What are you doing out here?” He asked, but its giggling and staggering forward in response answered his question for him. As it came into the light, he could see that it was dressed in a makeshift toga typical of those worn during the first night’s gathering, a plethora of stains adding dark reds and browns to the white cloth. What was it doing here so early? Jamie started running, but so did it, quickly closing the distance and grasping his arm.
“Where are you going?” He yanked it back and the beast fell to the ground, struggling to pick itself back up. As it screamed in anger, Jamie fled, not daring to stop. The creature gave chase, but couldn’t keep up for very long. By the time he did stop, however, he realised he had no clue where he was. Anywhere that wasn’t on the way to the liquor store or the way back home was unfamiliar to him, but he didn’t want to turn back for fear of that monster catching up. So he picked a direction and kept walking. The noises from the stadium were starting to grow closer; they had finished their rituals and were ready to roam the streets. Jamie felt like wherever he went, their bestial jeers only grew louder. Turning a corner revealed a pack of them making their rowdy way towards him. Running to hide behind a recycling bin, Jamie prayed that they hadn’t noticed him.
They rounded the corner and staggered into view, oblivious
to the young man’s presence. One of them gestured to the house opposite Jamie, saying
something unintelligible. The rest of them seemed to understand, however, and
started hurling glass bottles at the building. If this is what they’ll do to a
building, I don’t want to know what they’ll do to me, Jamie thought. They
eventually ran out of ammunition and were about to go on their merry way when one
of them noticed Jamie’s recycling bin. As the sound of glass crunching under
its week grew closer, Jamie slammed the bin into the beast, using the commotion
to get a head start. The rest of the mob caught on quickly and began to follow,
their demonic noises filling the air. As the chase went on, the less
able-bodied ones at the front were consumed by the rest of the unrelenting
horde. It grew smaller and smaller until only one remained; the one Jamie
assaulted with the bin in the first place. Its toga had been ripped to
near-shreds, but it showed no sign of stopping. On the other hand, Jamie could
feel himself tiring out. At this rate, the fiend would catch up and do
Lord-Knows-What to him if he didn’t do something. And so he stopped. He turned
and stared down the creature as it continued to come towards him. He waited
until it was a mere footstep from him before sending it reeling with a blow to
the jaw. Not waiting to see if it would get up again, Jamie fled, eventually sneaking
into a disused flat for shelter. He prepared himself a makeshift blanket and
pillow out of curtains before realising that he lost his offertory spirits at
some point. He groaned; not only did he have to experience the first night for
himself, but now he was unprepared for the second as well. At any rate, he was
safe enough to have a chance to sleep, which he gladly took.
The next morning, he found someone willing to take him to
his flat, which had shared the same fate as the house from last night. The rest
of the day involved cleaning the broken glass around the house and inside the
rooms with shattered windows. He wasn’t sure if his landlord would take pity on
him or berate him for not being able to get prepared for O-week earlier, but he
hoped having everything semi-presentable would lessen the blow. He went out and
got some more drinks, much earlier this time, and set them on the doorstep
immediately. Come nightfall, he had gotten comfortable in his bed, binge
watching Scottish comedy shows and eating chips. His headphones blocked out the
horrors outside, but he knew that O-week would never truly go away. It would
keep coming back each year, a week of chaos and debauchery, and all he could do
was sit inside and ignore it the best he could.
Monday, 11 June 2018
My University Writing Assessment
After a long semester of writing, I've finished all my internally-assessed English assessments. 60% of my grade for this paper comes from creative writing pieces, and it's awesome! Now that they've all been marked, I'd like to share some of them. The first is for our Crime Fiction unit: Writing the opening chapter for a crime novel. My biggest regret for this piece is that it didn't have as good of a hook as I'd like; knowing that this wasn't going to be expanded on and the somewhat-restrictive word limit meant I didn't want to spend much time setting up any plot points, but giving some context to the crime might have improved it. Anyway, here it is!
The police had barely set up shop by the time I arrived at the scene. The tape was just being rolled out behind me as I walked into the abandoned hotel, the setting of a murder not hours beforehand. I followed the first person I saw, ending up in a room that was just as dull as the rest of the place, dead body aside.
“No bullet holes? Surprisingly clean fight for a place like this.” I looked over the victim’s clothes, which seemed almost as old as he was. “But why would someone so professional go after a guy like this?”
“I don’t think it was a professional,” my impromptu partner said. “You’re right, only one shot was fired tonight, but there’s been no signs of covering up and the shot itself was so poorly made, it’s amazing that he died so quickly. My thinking is that the guy just got on the bad side of a mugging, but we’re better off waiting on forensics to get a better look.”
“So what’s the point of being here so early?”
“General situation assessment, making sure everything stays undisturbed until they arrive, usual stuff. Which brings up a wonderful question, actually,” She turns her own gun on me. “Any detective in the Weston force knows about our procedures, so who the hell are you?” Damn, I would have thought that knocking out her to-be partner would do it. Weston P.D.’s always had a habit of forgetting to tell people who they’re working with, but she was sharper than most of the goons they send out.
“I’m a consulting detective, looking into this for a client.” She was hardly impressed, but her expression betrayed a hint of curiosity.
“That’s why you think it was a professional? Someone payed you a nice sum to look into the death of a hobo?”
“I figure there must be something deeper to this if I got paid the amount that I did. If it’s not the victim, it’s either the perp or the motive. ”
“Good to know. Now if you leave immediately, I’ll keep this conversation a secret.” The gun in her hands left no room for argument; I took my leave immediately.
I was on the rooftop of the building fifteen minutes later. If my client’s to be trusted, the killer wasn’t the type to leave the scene in a conventional manner. And since I couldn’t let that detective see me, my investigation was limited to the fourth floor upwards, maybe the third floor if I was light-footed enough. For now, I started from the top, finding nothing in terms of evidence, but whether that supported or went against my suspicions, I didn’t want to say. However, there was something that struck me as odd; I assumed that the victim squatted here, but nothing I saw during this investigation suggested an extended stay. This left me with plenty of speculative theories, but nothing solid, so I decided to chance a visit to the third story. Initially seeming identical to all the other floors, I made my way to the room above the crime scene, thankful that the interior designers didn’t opt for floorboards. As I was scanning what little there was to scan of the place, I heard the detective conversing with a new voice, presumably the investigator I impersonated. As quietly as I could, I put my ear to the floor for a better listen.
“Jesus, are you sure you should be working with that kind of injury?” Yep, that’s the one.
“I’ll be fine, I’ll get things checked out once forensics arrive. What have you got so far?”
The woman sighed, but continued regardless. “Not really much to say. Guy took a 9mm Browning to the chest, snuffed out the small amount of life he had left. Honestly, it seems pretty open and shut to me. Look for recent purchases of a gun that fires 9mm Brownings, see if we can’t find any DNA samples to match to the suspects.”
Sounds like the police have this one covered, despite their usual track record. I start to pick myself up off the floor when I notice something in the corner. Barely sticking out from the carpet was a bullet, and it sure as hell wasn’t a 9mm Browning. As I got closer, I saw that it was pointed at an odd angle, making it near-imperceptible from afar, but its very existence proved that this case was something worth looking into. I considered taking the bullet but decided against it; It’s not unique enough for me to track it, and maybe that’ll convince that detective if she finds it. As I get up, I hear one of them say something that makes my heart jump.
“I’m gonna go up to the next floor, see if there’s anything there.”
I rule out escaping upstairs as an option, as it’s too far to reach without either being seen or my footsteps being heard. The window was also too noisy to consider and hiding sure as hell wasn’t going to work, so I closed the door and positioned myself beside it, ready to get the jump on whichever one comes through. Footsteps made their way up the stairwell, drawing closer to the room. As the doorknob turned, I steeled myself. The door opened, and a fist to the jaw greeted them. I rushed past while they’re dazed, but their arm tugged at my coat, pulling me down. As I hit the ground, I looked up to see the same barrel staring me down fifteen minutes ago.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” The other detective had arrived as well, eyes and mouth wide open in confusion.
“Sandra, who on earth is this?”
“He came here pretending to be you. I chased him off, but it looks like he couldn’t stay away.” She said. “Handcuff him, we’re taking him in.”
Great. Day one of my investigation, and everything’s already gone to the dogs.
I'll post another next week. The other two are a bit...weird, though, so I'll have to figure out how to post them.
The police had barely set up shop by the time I arrived at the scene. The tape was just being rolled out behind me as I walked into the abandoned hotel, the setting of a murder not hours beforehand. I followed the first person I saw, ending up in a room that was just as dull as the rest of the place, dead body aside.
“No bullet holes? Surprisingly clean fight for a place like this.” I looked over the victim’s clothes, which seemed almost as old as he was. “But why would someone so professional go after a guy like this?”
“I don’t think it was a professional,” my impromptu partner said. “You’re right, only one shot was fired tonight, but there’s been no signs of covering up and the shot itself was so poorly made, it’s amazing that he died so quickly. My thinking is that the guy just got on the bad side of a mugging, but we’re better off waiting on forensics to get a better look.”
“So what’s the point of being here so early?”
“General situation assessment, making sure everything stays undisturbed until they arrive, usual stuff. Which brings up a wonderful question, actually,” She turns her own gun on me. “Any detective in the Weston force knows about our procedures, so who the hell are you?” Damn, I would have thought that knocking out her to-be partner would do it. Weston P.D.’s always had a habit of forgetting to tell people who they’re working with, but she was sharper than most of the goons they send out.
“I’m a consulting detective, looking into this for a client.” She was hardly impressed, but her expression betrayed a hint of curiosity.
“That’s why you think it was a professional? Someone payed you a nice sum to look into the death of a hobo?”
“I figure there must be something deeper to this if I got paid the amount that I did. If it’s not the victim, it’s either the perp or the motive. ”
“Good to know. Now if you leave immediately, I’ll keep this conversation a secret.” The gun in her hands left no room for argument; I took my leave immediately.
I was on the rooftop of the building fifteen minutes later. If my client’s to be trusted, the killer wasn’t the type to leave the scene in a conventional manner. And since I couldn’t let that detective see me, my investigation was limited to the fourth floor upwards, maybe the third floor if I was light-footed enough. For now, I started from the top, finding nothing in terms of evidence, but whether that supported or went against my suspicions, I didn’t want to say. However, there was something that struck me as odd; I assumed that the victim squatted here, but nothing I saw during this investigation suggested an extended stay. This left me with plenty of speculative theories, but nothing solid, so I decided to chance a visit to the third story. Initially seeming identical to all the other floors, I made my way to the room above the crime scene, thankful that the interior designers didn’t opt for floorboards. As I was scanning what little there was to scan of the place, I heard the detective conversing with a new voice, presumably the investigator I impersonated. As quietly as I could, I put my ear to the floor for a better listen.
“Jesus, are you sure you should be working with that kind of injury?” Yep, that’s the one.
“I’ll be fine, I’ll get things checked out once forensics arrive. What have you got so far?”
The woman sighed, but continued regardless. “Not really much to say. Guy took a 9mm Browning to the chest, snuffed out the small amount of life he had left. Honestly, it seems pretty open and shut to me. Look for recent purchases of a gun that fires 9mm Brownings, see if we can’t find any DNA samples to match to the suspects.”
Sounds like the police have this one covered, despite their usual track record. I start to pick myself up off the floor when I notice something in the corner. Barely sticking out from the carpet was a bullet, and it sure as hell wasn’t a 9mm Browning. As I got closer, I saw that it was pointed at an odd angle, making it near-imperceptible from afar, but its very existence proved that this case was something worth looking into. I considered taking the bullet but decided against it; It’s not unique enough for me to track it, and maybe that’ll convince that detective if she finds it. As I get up, I hear one of them say something that makes my heart jump.
“I’m gonna go up to the next floor, see if there’s anything there.”
I rule out escaping upstairs as an option, as it’s too far to reach without either being seen or my footsteps being heard. The window was also too noisy to consider and hiding sure as hell wasn’t going to work, so I closed the door and positioned myself beside it, ready to get the jump on whichever one comes through. Footsteps made their way up the stairwell, drawing closer to the room. As the doorknob turned, I steeled myself. The door opened, and a fist to the jaw greeted them. I rushed past while they’re dazed, but their arm tugged at my coat, pulling me down. As I hit the ground, I looked up to see the same barrel staring me down fifteen minutes ago.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” The other detective had arrived as well, eyes and mouth wide open in confusion.
“Sandra, who on earth is this?”
“He came here pretending to be you. I chased him off, but it looks like he couldn’t stay away.” She said. “Handcuff him, we’re taking him in.”
Great. Day one of my investigation, and everything’s already gone to the dogs.
I'll post another next week. The other two are a bit...weird, though, so I'll have to figure out how to post them.
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