A Writer's Muse

Nothing To Write About?

2012-02-13T14:10:00.000Z

What do you write about when you’ve nothing to write about?

For writers who write merely for enjoyment that question doesn’t pose too much of a problem; hobbyists can afford to sit around and wait for inspiration to strike. But for writers who write to earn a living, or who depend on their writing to form a large proportion of their income, it can be something of a dilemma. Sitting around, sipping tea or watching television, while waiting for a lightning bolt of inspiration to smack you right between the eyes won’t pay the bills.

Professional writers must write every day, no matter how inspired they feel. I’ve read numerous books about the craft of writing, and in every one I’ve read there’s one piece of advice that always gets a mention – write every day.

As regular readers of this blog will know, I’ve recently found it increasingly difficult to spend prolonged periods of time at my keyboard. As a result, my publication success has been virtually zero for months.

I got into a habit of not writing, and like all bad habits it’s been an extremely difficult one to quit. It’s very easy to get accustomed to sitting around reading, listening to your favourite CD’s and watching television.

Admittedly, I do have an excuse; I am in constant pain and even a short stint at my keyboard can leave my hands agonisingly sore. Bearing that in mind, I have come to look at my writing as a hobby. But even hobbyist writers need to write.

Earlier this year, I promised myself that I would make a real effort to get back into a routine of writing regularly. Life, as usual, threw a few spanners in the works and I had to delay my plans for a few weeks.

During that time, however, I was thinking about what to write and how to best get back into the routine of writing. I bought a new notebook and began making notes about anything and everything. Then, when I sat down to write I had a few ideas to get me started.

My main objective was to enjoy the process of writing; first draft, second draft, third draft etc. I also set myself a target number of words to write each day. Some days I achieve my target, some days I don’t and some days I even write more than I set out to. But the most important thing is that I have something to aim for; something to focus on.

The quality of my writing was also not that important to me either. Once I have printed a piece of writing I can put it away, then come back to it and improve it, I told myself.

So far, in seventeen days, I have written 7913 words. That’s an average of just over 465 words per day, and that does not include the stuff I jot down in my notebook, or my writing diary or this blog post.

What that number does include is, the plot for a novel, several potted characterisations for the novel, two short stories (one of which I hope to enter into a competition), and two articles, not to mention a couple of readers letters and two posts for this blog. Much of what I’ve written will need some comprehensive revision but that’s not the point. The aim of the exercise was to get words on paper.

I’m quite surprised how much I can achieve working this way, and up to now I’m thoroughly enjoying it. And as an added bonus, one of the articles mentioned above has been accepted for publication by a well known magazine.

Sitting down to write can be daunting for anyone. But having a plan definitely makes it easier. I don’t think it matters what you write, just getting words on paper is what counts, because you can always come back and improve the piece later.

So what do you write about when you’ve nothing to write about?

Answer – anything.

This post began life as I sat down at my keyboard and thought, what will I write about today.

Time Is Precious - Don't Waste It

2012-02-09T14:02:00.001Z

Blogging is fun, or at least it’s meant to be, isn’t it? And I have to admit that I do enjoy writing words for, and posting them on, this site. I also enjoy visiting other blogs, to see what the many friends I’ve made in the blogosphere are writing about, and how their daily lives are panning out.

However, one thing I do hate about blogging is the amount of time it all takes. Not that the writing or posting takes that long, but trying to drive readers to any blog seems to take an age. Visiting forums, dropping cards and listing a blog on a blog promotion site eats up valuable time.

Time, for me at least, that could be better spent elsewhere. As a writer, I should be writing. Instead, I usually find myself looking at my watch, saying to myself, ‘Where did the time go?’ It’s an easy question to answer – I spent it blogging.

There are only so many hours in any single day, and for someone like me, who can only spend a limited amount of time at a computer every day, wouldn’t it be better to spend that time more productively? Doing some writing, for instance? Well, the answer has to be yes.

So from now on that’s what I’ll be doing. Spending less time here, while using the precious time saved to get words on paper. I’ll still be visiting other blogs and stuff like that, but I’ll not be around as much as I used to. I am working to a schedule and I plan to stick to it.

Note to friends.

Please do not be offended by the words above, they are intended for use, by me, as a motivational tool. I will still be visiting your blogs and commenting as usual.

Blurring By

2012-01-30T14:32:00.001Z

I ventured into town this morning to pick the latest copy of my favourite writing magazine. Since developing my illness I don’t get out as often as I used to, but on the occasions when I do I try to make the most of every moment. I packed my camera and my notebook, and after collecting my magazine I went to a local coffee shop situated in what I suppose you’d call the arty side of town.

I ordered an Americano, and as it was a dry, bright day I took a seat outside. While I was waiting for the waitress to bring my drink, I began to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes – people watching.

It always amazes me how many different types of people you see wandering or pushing their way through a bustling city centre. Businessmen, workmen, students, office workers, tourists, shop assistants, many of whom still appeared to be suffering after an over indulgent weekend, all made their way past where I was sitting. Just a typical Monday morning, I thought.

But as my senses awakened and I began to focus more intently on the people around me, I noticed that most of these people all had one thing in common – they all seemed overly conscious of their appearance. Most of them were immaculately dressed in the latest designer clothes and none of them had a single hair out of place. I even noticed one young man, around 24 – 25 years of age, dressed in overalls and heavy boots, stop to gaze at his reflection in a shop window. He wet the tips of his fingers with his tongue, then stroked the side of head lovingly before continuing his journey.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look your best, but it seems to me that all these people were taking the whole looking-good thing a bit too far. Whatever happened to work clothes, remember them - clothes we used to keep exclusively for work and which were probably a couple of years out of fashion. When I was working on a factory floor I couldn’t have cared less what I was wearing, and I wouldn’t have had the time to worry about how my hair looked.

It’s a sign of the times, I suppose. We live in a celebrity obsessed society where looking-good is all important. Everyone wants to look like a film star and everyone wants to look better than the man, or woman, next door. Are we afraid that if we don’t have all the latest fashion trends hanging in our wardrobes that we’ll be treated like outcasts? Or do we rely on our clothes and our hair styles so much, that without them we fear we won’t be recognized for our individuality? If the latter is the case, I’m afraid I have a shock in store. All the people I saw today, all looked the same. In fact, every one of them might as well have been standing on display in Debenhams window.

As for me, well, I think I’ll stick with what I know best – jeans, jumper and comfortable shoes.

The waitress, dressed in True Religion denims and a Hilfiger top, eventually delivered my coffee. It’s what’s inside that counts, I told myself. Then, noticing my reflection in the coffee shop window, I thought, ‘hmm, better get a haircut.

New Arrival

2012-01-18T11:49:00.000Z

A few days ago I wrote about the death of my cat. He'd been with me for fifteen years and we'd shared many happy and sad times together. I'd grew very attached to him, and his passing was an extremely heartbreaking time for me.

I've had a cat share my home for as long as I can remember, I got my first feline friend when I was just five years-of-age, and I think the atmosphere in the house just isn't the same without a little furry bundle. I scoured all the local newspapers in search of a kitten or young cat in need of a home, but I couldn't bring myself to make a single phone call. I felt as if it would be a betrayal to my last furry friend to bring a new cat into the house.

However, my wife suggested that we visit an animal re-homing centre situated just a few miles up the road; I think she'd had enough of my moping about the house. I agreed, but I had made up my mind that we would not be returning home with a cat.

How wrong was I. My heart just melted when I saw a little jet-black cat called Dash. He was extremely friendly and he was an immediate hit with my daughter. It only took me a few minutes to decide.

"We'll take him!" I blurted out.

We've re-named him Angus, after AC/DC's legendary guitarist, and although he's only been with us for a few days, he's already made himself at home. He's roughly two years of age and before being rescued by the re-homing centre, he was one of nearly forty cats living with an elderly gent who just couldn't cope with that number of felines.

I think he is very handsome.

Messed-Up And Muddled

2012-01-06T19:08:00.004Z

My mind is a muddled mess of emotions. Yesterday I wrote about starting 2012, with a new outlook. Today, the best friend I have ever had sadly passed away. He hadn't been ill for long, and his death was somewhat unexpected. Boney tumours on his head meant he lost co-ordination, and he lost weight rapidly.

In times of trouble you were always there.
A shoulder to cry on in times of despair, secrets shared.
You gave love without question.

Goodbye pal.

Miss you.

Fast Forward

2012-01-05T10:51:00.000Z

I’d like to start this post by offering belated Christmas and New Year greetings to any one taking the time to stop and read this latest offering. Also, I have an apology to make, but not as you might suspect to any one in the blogsphere. At least, I hope I haven’t caused any individual offence, or need to say sorry. No, this is an apology to me.

I keep promising myself that I will get back on top of my writing, well, actually, all my creative endeavours, but despite my best efforts, careful planning and time scheduling, I continually seem to let myself down. My illness, combined with family affairs, see my previous post for details, continue to dominate my life.

There just doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to keep-up with everything. However, and this may well sound like a cliché, I’ve made a resolution to get back in touch with my creative self. It may take time, baby steps at first, to get back to where I was but I am fully committed to making a full creative recovery. If I can just get an hour or so at my keyboard or easel, it will be a start.

So here’s to a much better and more creative 2012.

Ranting About Writing

2011-10-03T17:00:00.003+01:00

This post is something of a landmark for me. Not only is it the first blog post I’ve written for weeks, it’s also the first piece of writing of any kind that I’ve penned for months. So knowing exactly where to begin is proving somewhat difficult. It’s true what they say - writing becomes easier the more you write.

There are several reasons why I haven’t been frantically tapping at my keyboard. The first being my illness which, despite the best efforts of my GP and numerous changes of medication, just gets worse and worse. Some days I don’t feel too bad, but most of the time I feel so exhausted that even thinking about writing becomes a chore.

Also, the school holidays meant that any time I could have afforded to writing, when I felt well enough to do so, was spent with my daughter - I like to spend as much time with her as I can.

In addition, my mother was taken into hospital for major surgery. She’s in her eighties, and it was an extremely worrying time for everyone concerned. The surgeon estimated she would be in hospital for four days, but her recovery took much longer than expected and I spent many long days, between visiting times, hanging around in hospital corridors. She’s back at home now but she’s still very unsteady on her feet and she’s unable to do lots of the things she once took for granted. Needless to say, I suppose, but much of my and my wife’s time is now spent doing them for her.

Now, I don’t want this post to read like I’m feeling sorry for myself or looking for a vote of sympathy, because I’m not, and there are a couple of other reasons why I’ve not been writing.

Firstly, any spare time I’ve had, which hasn’t been a lot, I’ve been using to improve my sketching and watercolour painting skills. And it’s been time well spent, I’d say. Friends at the local art club have told me ‘my work has come on leaps and bounds.’ What’s more, I can see the improvement myself and I’m thrilled with some of the paintings I’ve produced.

Secondly, and this will come as no surprise to regular visitors to this blog who know I am a passionate fan of Rugby Union, I’ve been glued to the television watching Ireland’s progress in the 2011 Rugby Union World Cup. I can hardly believe that we’ve made it to the quarter-finals, topping our group with four wins out of four matches played, including a stunning victory over tournament favourites Australia. Before the competition began we lost all of our ’warm-up’ games and many pundits hailed the men in green as no-hopers, but we really turned things around and now look capable of beating any team. Nevertheless, consistency has always been our stumbling-block and we’ll need another good performance against Wales if we are to progress to the semis.

However, my lack of writing isn't entirely due to my illness, school holidays, sick relatives, art, or my enthusiasm for the oval ball. No, I’ve become somewhat disenchanted with writing. Not all writing. But, alarmingly, the kind of writing that has seen me get my work in print in magazines and on the internet.

I’ve never been one for conventionality and lately I’ve found it increasingly difficult to conform to the demands of article writing. Magazines have limited space and as a result the vast majority of editors have strict guidelines which you must follow if you want to get your work published.

My success has proved to me that I can follow these guidelines and write within the boundaries expected by various publications. But it seems that nearly all the publications on the shelves of newsagents throughout the country, with the exception of a few, are obsessed with one or two subjects that I have little or no interest in.

Perhaps I’m a bit weird, but I have no interest in celebrities, the latest fashion trends or diets that promise to help you lose 3 stone in a fortnight. And I really don’t care who’s doing what with who or which position they favour. Also, as I have no interest in any of that stuff, researching these publications in order to find a possible opening bores the life out of me.

Editors must provide material that their readers want to read, and as it appears that most folk have a liking for that kind of thing, it’s hardly surprising that magazines are full of it. And if that’s what the public wants, who am I to argue.

However, my time away from the keyboard has let me re-access my writing, or my lack of it, and I feel it’s time for me to quit. Not quit writing, but quit trying to target magazines that are only interested in publishing the kind of things I’ve mentioned above.

Of course, that will dramatically reduce the amount of potential markets I have, but I feel it will allow me to focus on what I want to do - enjoy my writing and write about subjects that appeal to me.

My publication rate may drop but I don’t really care. I’ve always had ideals which I try to live by. And if I can’t be true to myself, who can I be true to?

The video below doesn't really have much to do with this post other than it's mention of rugby, I just like it and wanted to post it.

.

What Are You Afraid Of?

2011-08-05T10:57:00.003+01:00

Don't just dream your dreams,

live them.

The only thing stopping you is fear of success.

Consider

2011-07-25T10:15:00.000+01:00

Believe in your art.

If you don't, no one else will.

Midnight Sky - River of Stones

2011-07-01T08:47:00.001+01:00

Velvet black

Diamond encrusted

Incomparable vastness

Silent.

Hobby Horrors!

2011-06-23T11:49:00.003+01:00

My wife has just informed me that I have too many hobbies.

I enjoy photography, I love reading, I keep tropical fish, I’m a huge music fan and I play the harmonica, badly. I take pleasure from sketching and drawing and I often dabble with watercolours. I like mucking about in the garden; in fact, I class myself as a bit of an eco warrior. Nothing goes to waste in our home, as all the left-overs, not that there are that many because I hate wasting food, end up in the compost bin. And this might sound a bit childish, but I don’t really care, I frequently indulge in building model airplanes, tanks and motorcycles. Before my illness, I also attended the gym regularly, cycled whenever I could and went on long country walks and hikes. Of course, I have a passion for writing, but, also due to my illness, that too has become more of a hobby lately.

The thing I hate most about my complaint is the fact that I don’t know how I’m going to feel from one day to the next. One day the pains might not be that bad but I could be overwhelmingly tired, making it extremely difficult to concentrate on anything for more than an hour or so. The next day the pains could be really bad, making even the simplest everyday chore almost impossible. And even on the days when I’m not so sore, I’ve noticed that if I go for a walk, or spend more than 30 minutes or so doing any physical activity, my arms ache and the pain in my shins, hips, thighs and back get so bad I have to take it really easy for the rest of the day, or else I end up virtually crippled for the remainder of the week, or longer.

Also, and I’m not sure if this has anything to do with my illness or not but I feel it has, I have less patience than I once had. I get bored doing the same thing over and over again. I’ve always been a somewhat spontaneous person; that’s probably why we’ve moved house seven times in the past five years. Some of my friends call me a ‘free-spirit,’ and I suppose that is quite true. But what does a ‘free-spirit’ do when they’re confined to the house and the same old surroundings day after day? I don’t find much to interest me on television, other than the odd documentary. And, fortunately, I’m fairly comfortable with my own company; I don’t crave the friendship of other people.

So, taking into account everything I’ve said above, what this often housebound free-spirit does is, indulge in his hobbies. Do I have too many? No, I don’t think so. Actually, I feel the urge to have a look at a brochure that just popped through the letterbox; the contents, well, model trains of course.

Thinking About the Future

2011-06-09T11:55:00.004+01:00

Due to my ill health, I’ve been forced to spend the past few weeks within the confines of my home. As a result, I’ve been reading through my journals. I have several, but one in particular really caught my attention. In it I jot down my daily trials and tribulations, and I was surprised to see the various emotions I’ve enjoyed / endured over the past few years; joy when my daughter was born, shock on discovering I had a chronic, debilitating illness and anguish when my father passed away.

A fortune teller might have been able to ease the pain I suffered during the latter. People tend to worry when they aren’t sure how a specific situation will pan-out. Not knowing if you’ll be able to cope and uncertainty about what’s going to happen at the end of a life event, generally, causes most people a lot of stress. But having an idea of what will come about, can certainly help some folk to overcome the anxiety of an otherwise worrisome dilemma.

Fortune telling dates back hundreds of years and predicting someone’s future can often involve Cartomancy, the use of tarot, oracle or playing cards, and Cheiromancy, the art of reading palms. And I recall my mother telling me about a woman she knew who would tell your fortune by examining the tea leaves left in the bottom of your cup, after you’d paid her a Shilling, of course.

Finding out about what life has planned is tempting; will I get my novel written, never mind published? Will I continue to suffer these pains on a daily basis, or will a 'miracle' cure be found? I’m not sure if I’m quite ready to know the answers to these questions, yet. But if life ever gets too troubling and I feel the need to know what the future has in store, I might just be tempted to seek out the services of an on-line fortune teller.

A New Angle Has A Silver Lining

2011-03-11T14:27:00.001Z

When I started writing it was my aspiration to have my work published, and after many months of hard graft and numerous rejections, I finally achieved my ambition. My heart jumped with joy and I was delirious with excitement when I first saw my name in print, and even though I’ve now had stuff published in a number of magazines and on the internet, it still gives me immense pleasure to see my writing published. It makes all the long hours at the keyboard worthwhile.

My first published piece was a non-fiction article that appeared in one of the UK’s leading women’s magazines. It’s a well known fact that getting non-fiction published nowadays is easier than getting fiction published, in magazines at least. The market for fiction has diminished rapidly in the past few years, making it a highly competitive marketplace, and there are so many well established and highly skilled short story writers out there, that it is extremely difficult for new writers to get their work published.

Knowing this made my decision to concentrate on non-fiction fairly easy and although I’m extremely grateful for the success I’ve enjoyed, I’m beginning to find writing factual articles somewhat tedious. I feel that my illness may a have a part to play in this; my tiredness causes me to suffer from lack of concentration, making research, at times, almost impossible; there are days that my hands and fingers hurt so much that typing is impossible and that’s not good when you’ve got a deadline to meet; also, on the days I feel a little better, I like to spend as much time with my five-year-old daughter as I can. But that’s not the whole story.

For as long as I can remember I’ve enjoyed reading novels. As a child I was enthralled by C. S. Lewis’s stories of Narnia and as my reading progressed I became particularly fond of reading books by James Herbert, Graham Masterton, Stephen King and the great grandfather of horror fiction Edgar Allan Poe. At the moment I like reading books by the likes of Neil Gaiman and Holly Black, and I’ve just finished Andrew Davidson’s, The Gargoyle, for the third time. It’s a fantastic book and I highly recommend it to fans of fantasy fiction.

As I said at the start of this post, when I started writing it was my aspiration to have my work published, and after seeing my first non-fiction article in print I wanted more of the same and I stuck at penning non-fiction. But what I really wanted was to pen works similar to authors mentioned above, and I feel my success at non-fiction has somewhat clouded my goal.

With that in mind, and also taking into account the fact that my illness has made meeting deadlines etc difficult, I feel it is time for me to spread my wings and have a go at writing what I long to write and what made me first pick up a pen.

Plotting and writing a novel takes time, but it’s something I feel I can do at my own pace. Perhaps developing this illness hasn’t been all bad. It has encouraged me to look at my writing and reassess where it’s heading, and it has made up my mind that writing a novel is my ultimate goal.

Every cloud does indeed have a silver lining.

Aches, Pains and Not Enough Time

2011-03-10T16:47:00.000Z

I intended to publish a post on this blog yesterday, but life, my illness and article writing commitments meant that I couldn’t find the time to pen a single word.

On Tuesday I tossed and turned all night, and when I got up on Wednesday morning I was so tired my concentration level was zero. In addition, my body felt like someone had kicked me up and down the high street, making sitting on my office chair almost impossible.

I had to, however, as I had an editor waiting on an article. It took me ages to polish it up to a publishable standard and when I did, I noticed I’d over-ran the specified word count, so I had to start again. By the time I’d finished I was knackered.

As if that wasn’t enough, yesterday I also had to attend a ‘parent - teacher’ meeting at my daughter’s school. I was on time for the meeting but, perhaps understandably, considering the amount of other parents who were hanging around with me in the corridor, the teacher wasn’t. I waited for over an hour before being led into the classroom, where the teacher read out her report.

Happily, she thinks my daughter’s education is going well, so at least that was some good news on an otherwise frightful day. But by the time I got home from the meeting, had a quick bite to eat, then helped with my little one with her homework I was ready for bed. I didn’t even get to see the football.

Such is life.

Why I Missed World Book Night

2011-03-06T11:40:00.003Z

My wife went a party last night. I don’t like that kind of thing; I don’t drink alcohol and I don‘t like being around drunk people; I don’t see the point in trying to exchange pleasantries with people you normally detest, or who detest you, just for the sake of being sociable, and I hate party food, especially the pre-packed frozen variety, which, my wife informed me, was being served at the event. My wife understands my sentiments, so my not wanting to attend didn’t present too much of a problem.

Anyway, not going provided me with an opportunity to watch a series of programmes, such as this one, on BBC television, celebrating World Book Night.

My daughter, however, had other plans. Just as the whole thing was kicking-off , she snuggled beside me on the sofa and said, “Dad, can we watch Harry Potter?”

Well, naturally I was a little disappointed, but it was Saturday night, her night for staying up late.

“Of course,” I replied.

I bought her, or should I say Santa delivered, the full box set (years 1 - 6), of Potter movies for Christmas. She absolutely adores them and watches them whenever she gets the chance. I’m a bit of a Harry fan myself, so missing Book Night, although disappointing, wasn’t a disaster.

We armed ourselves with loads of stuff from the fridge, grapes, oranges, apples and yoghurts, then popped the first movie into the DVD player.

About halfway through, I said, “Wouldn’t that be a great school to go to.”

“Yes, if you were with me,” my daughter replied, “I’d be Harry Potter.”

“Oh,” I replied, “and who do you think I would be?”

She looked at me for a moment, contemplating the question, then said, “Hagrid.”

I had to laugh, I’m only 5’ 8” and I don’t even have a beard.

We had a great night, and by the time she fell asleep we were half way through the third film - The Prisoner of Azkaban.

As for World Book Night? Well, my wife and daughter are off to the swimming pool later today, which means I’ll have the house to myself. So I can watch it on BBC iPlayer.

One-Fifteen

2011-03-03T06:00:00.017Z

I awake. My mind stutters to semi-consciousness. My hips throb. My fingers ache. My ankles twinge. The burning in my neck sends a muscular spasm down my left arm, leaving my limb momentarily lifeless.

My back creaks as I shift my body and glance at the bedside clock. The glowing red numbers glare back at me, defiantly. It’s only 1-15 A.M.

Another four hours until dawn. Another four hours of sleeping and waking, and waking and sleeping. Another four hours of restless rest.

Shadows on the ceiling dance and swirl, mocking me with their agility. I ease myself out of bed and pad downstairs, into the kitchen. I switch on the kettle and look out through the window.

Outside, illuminated by orange street-lights, a young couple, hand-in-hand, make their way home.

The kettle boils, and I drop a teabag into my mug.

The tea tastes good, sugary.

Tomorrow, I tell myself, the painkillers will work. Tomorrow, I’ll feel better and tomorrow night I’ll sleep. But I know I won’t.

I finish my tea and go back to bed. I glance at the clock. It’s 1-45. “See you in an hour,” I say.

Tuned-Up Writing Takes Time

2011-03-01T06:00:00.031Z

I’ve always wanted to play a musical instrument, and last week I bought a harmonica. I can’t read music, so I thought a harmonica would be a fairly good instrument for me to start with. But the first few times I blew on it, the notes came out sounding like a traffic jam. The thing about harmonica playing, I believe, is knowing what hole makes what note and knowing in what order they need to be played.

I’ve only been practising for an hour or so every day, and I’m already somewhat surprised by the results. I can give a reasonable rendition of Jingle Bells and I can hold my own at playing a slow version of On Top of Old Smokey. Admittedly, as any experienced harmonica player will tell you, these are probably two of the easiest tunes to learn and are frequently quoted as ‘perfect for beginners.’ But so what, I am a beginner, and practise does indeed make perfect, as they say. And if I had of known that I could play two tunes after just a week, I’d have taken up harmonica playing years ago.

Anyway, to get to the point. While I was marking my progress with the harmonica, it brought back memories of my first few months writing. I hadn’t done any serious writing since leaving college, and it showed; not only were my early efforts full of grammatical errors, but the punctuation was atrocious. After several months I became convinced that I was getting nowhere, and I seriously thought about giving up.

One day, however, I was flicking through the folder where I kept all my early attempts, and then I compared some of them to the manuscript I’d just completed. Boy, did I get a shock. My writing had improved vastly. It wasn’t perfect, but there was one hell of a difference.

Grammatically it was much better and although the punctuation needed some serious attention, it read well enough to make sense. Seeing the improvement gave me the incentive to carry on writing, and just a few weeks later I was rewarded, when I enjoyed the success of my first published article.

Just like my harmonica playing, my writing needed tuning-up. The words were my notes and it took me a while to learn in what order I needed to put them, but the more I wrote the better my writing became. Most experienced writers will tell you that perseverance is the key to success. Or as someone once said, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try and try again.”

All I had to too was tune-up my writing until, eventually, the words sang.

Blog gets A New Suit of Clothes

2011-02-27T15:44:00.005Z

Anyone familiar with this blog will notice I’ve made some changes to it’s layout. I felt that it looked a little cluttered before the changes, and I think they will improve it’s readability.

The main changes are the tabs at the top of the page, which I’ve linked to an ‘About Me’ page, a ‘Contact Me’ page, a Blogroll and a ‘Writing Sites’ page.

The 'Blogroll' and the ’Writing Sites’ pages only contain a limited number of links at the moment, but I will be updating the pages regularly and I hope readers will find the sites and blogs useful.

I’ve a few more things in mind that I hope readers will enjoy, but I’ll mention them as, and when, time permitting, they arrive on the blog.

Too Many Ideas to Write

2011-02-25T06:00:00.011Z

I don’t usually have problems when it comes to putting together my articles. What I normally do is, research my subject, take notes and when I’m satisfied I have all the information I need, I begin to write.

However, a few days ago I ran into a snag, which I’m glad to say I don’t often encounter. I’d done all my preliminary work, my note book was full of notes and I had the beginnings of the piece firmly implanted in my head.

Nevertheless, when I sat down at my keyboard and began to type, I just couldn’t get it right. No matter what way I wrote the piece it just wouldn’t work. I tried everything I know, beginning at the second paragraph instead of the first, looking at the subject from a completely different angle, freewriting and a whole lot more which, if I were to mention, would probably lead whoever is reading this post to assume that I might be just ever so slightly mad. I assure you I’m not. But my long suffering wife might have a different opinion on that statement, so that’s probably enough said about my mental state.

The problem was that I had another idea floating around in the back of my mind, that just wouldn’t go away. It was an idea that I’d been mulling over for a few days, but as I had an editor waiting on the piece I had actually set out to write it had to take preference.

As a last resort, in an attempt to resolve problem, I began to type what was in my head concerning this floating idea, and by the time I was finished I had roughly 1500 words. Much of it is rubbish, but there’s plenty that I’ll be able to use. And in any case, that’s not the point.

It took me about an hour to type out these thoughts, so I still had a bit of time left that day to resume writing the piece I had originally intended to.

Guess what, I managed to write my article as well, and it only took me a couple of hours. I’ve often heard and read about writers suffering from writers block, but I’ve never quite understood it. I can always find plenty to write about, that’s the advantage of having a notebook with me wherever I am, but I’ve never heard of a writer’s head being so full of ideas that they can’t write.

Maybe writer’s block and having a head full of ideas are the same thing - I don’t know. But what I do know is that having ideas running through my head when I’m trying to concentrate on a particular subject is, forgive the pun, a bad idea.

A cluttered mind leads to cluttered thoughts. From now on I’ll be making sure I’ve got all those lingering ideas on paper before I sit down to write.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-02-23T08:31:00.000Z

Gold

Playing At Painting

2011-02-22T13:25:00.003Z

Due to half-term break, my daughter was off school last week. And I hope no one takes this the wrong way, but, as much as I love my daughter and enjoy her company, I really could do without the hassle of having a screaming five-year-old charging all around the house when I‘m writing. I like quiet when I’m working but as most parents know, children like noise and lots of of it.

My wife had informed me that half-term was last week but I totally forgot, and it wasn’t until Sunday night, when I was about to wash my daughter’s school uniform, that I remembered.

I normally have a few things planned for when she’s off school - days at the seaside, trips to museums etc - but this time I didn't and to make matters worse my pains were playing me up something shocking, making any chance of a few country walks impossible.

Not to be defeated, however, on Monday morning I went to the local art shop and came home armed with a multitude of items that I thought would keep my daughter amused. It worked, to a degree. My daughter likes me to do everything with her, so for most of the week I was up to my eyes in glitter pens, tissue paper and paints, hence my lack of posts on this blog last week.

I can’t complain really, though, as I thoroughly enjoyed myself and so did my little one. I treasure the time I spend with my daughter, and I constantly tell myself that these are the most important years of her life, and that they should be enjoyed - she won’t be five forever.

While I was playing with her I remembered that I hadn’t went near my paint-box in nearly a year. I’ve been so wrapped up in worrying about my illness that I just lost interest.

I enjoy dabbling with watercolours occasionally and sometimes I’m even quite pleasantly surprised with the results. The painting above is one I done yesterday. I took great pleasure in putting it together and I don’t think it’s too bad. Perhaps I’ll try another one at the weekend, but then again, Ireland are playing in the RBS Six Nations, so more than likely all appointments will be cancelled, as I take a seat in front of the television to cheer on the men in green.

Valentine Flowers

2011-02-14T12:45:00.000Z

So February 14th is upon us, and I hope all you ladies out there got a nice bunch of flowers this morning. But just in case you didn't, here are some I photographed last year.

Me and My Cat

2011-02-12T13:11:00.004Z

I’ve always had an affection for cats. And I can’t remember a time when I haven't had a cat living with me. I say living with me, because I’m a believer in that old adage which states, ‘you don’t own a cat, the cat owns you.’ I’m not quite sure if I believe the second part of the statement, however, as my current feline companion and I seem to have developed a sort of mutual respect for one another.

He respects me because I provide food, water and shelter, and I respect him because I know that he would be perfectly capable of looking after himself, should he ever be required to do so. Not that he ever will. He rarely goes outside, and even when he does he only goes as far as the garden shed, where he has a quick forty-winks, before returning to the comfort of his favourite armchair. So the chances of him getting lost are pretty slim.

There’s always been a connection between writers and cats. Ernest Hemmingway kept thirty or so cats at any one time, while Raymond Chandler kept two cats who he talked to regularly.

Charles Dickens was also a cat lover, as were Alexander Dumas, T.S. Elliot, Mark Twain, Edgar Allen Poe and Samuel Johnson. Johnson’s cat, called Hodge, must have felt like a feline prince, as the good doctor regularly spoilt him with a feed of the finest oysters money could buy.

My current feline friend isn’t so fortunate. He gets a his dried food twice a day, but I’m certain he’s just as happy, and he’s probably a lot healthier too. I order his food, in bulk, online - it’s much cheaper that way. It also saves me time and means that I avoid having to carry home large, heavy bags - something which, due to my illness, has become increasingly difficult.

I was ordering his food, when I came across an article in the Guardian, which highlights the relationship between authors and their cats. I found it extremely enjoyable and thought that other cat-loving-writers might like it, too. You can read it by clicking here. Hope you enjoy it.

The photograph accompanying this post shows my feline friend. Isn’t he gorgeous.

Forget Consumerism

2011-02-10T10:14:00.000Z

Sick of all those shopping sprees and the pace of modern life? Can't seen to find what you're looking for?

Wordless Wednesday

2011-02-09T08:20:00.000Z

Thoughtful