animals, beauty, creative writing, desire, dogs, emotion, erotic poetry, erotic writing, erotica, freedom, hunger, inspiration, life, love, lust, man, masculinity, nature, passion, pleasure, poetry, seduction, sensuality, sexuality, strength, touch, wildness, wisdom, women, writing

Walk With Me 

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The wind through

The trees

Birds singing

Such places serve as churches

Watching the dog

Snuffle see his world

I am capable of fury

My body aches from

Focused labour

Hands as weapons

But also instruments

Of divine exploration

To caress the contours

To open and penetrate

All the world and it’s pleasures

Visible in my eyes

Look as deep as you need to

I am the nexus between

flesh and divinity

Lover and magician

Read this as my spell

Let it sink beneath

Your skin

A drug delivered without needle

No chalky aftertaste of the pill

A perfect delivery of want

I would make you shudder with want

And the supply is constant

The wind through the trees

The birds singing

Would you walk with me?

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Two Pages (07/11/16)

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I’m now 65 pages into Strange Lights, the second act is always the roughest part of a first draft, a period without the enthusiasm of the first or the determination of the third, and it’s where the majority of the book happens. It’s a change of location, and a focus on a character who has been spoken of, but not seen until this point. There is tension in these scenes, and I’m really enjoying writing in a voice entirely different from the previous books I’ve written. It is said that good writing is almost on the verge of being embarrassed by it, but openness and earnestness draw rancour from some people. On the page, I put my heart and my mind. It is where I am free, to play and wrestle with my thoughts and feelings. Fiction is a wonderful playground.

I have been reading a few books.  A collection of Joyce Carol Oates’ short fiction, which was fantastic. The First Bad Man by Miranda July was a great surprise, polymorphous, unapologetic and incredibly moving in it’s telling. I also finished Wake by Elizabeth Knox, which was a powerful blend of psychological and supernatural elements, all handled with a knowing delicacy and ambiguity.  You can become drunk on books, and I find that a concerted amount of reading allows me to be bold in the writing.

The aim is to get Strange Lights to 100 pages then start a second draft of Lawful Evil, editing as I transcribe from longhand and giving it a polish as I go.

Thank you for reading.

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Two Pages (05/11/16)

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I shifted to a lower gear this morning, five pages against the previous sessions of ten, although I might get back into it this evening.  I’m now into the second act, which is where I really start to put my protagonist through the wringer. We test our characters because in adversity, we find out who they are.

You can get away with any number of sins, if you avoid boring the reader. I read a great deal, and if I find myself starting to drift into the dance of my words, I take a step back and look at the grid, see if there’s something missing that can drive it forward. When I used to write from a single idea, then I would, if stuck, look back and see if there was something unresolved that can generate tension in the work.

So, I’m 54 pages into Strange Lights now, and it’s a challenge, a balancing act between trying to capture what I like about the culture and aesthetics without it feeling too blunt and curated. It’s fiction, not based in anything other than an idea about the culture, allied to a strong story. I hope. We can never tell whether anything we’ve written is any good.

I’ve been reading Neil Gaiman’s short fiction books, which is always an education and a revelation. There’s fantastic imagery and ideas, but they’re always welded to a knowing, melancholy awareness of people. I’ve said before that in terms of fiction, monster can be metaphor, and Gaiman does that better than a lot of other writers in the genre.

I’ve got another collection of Joyce Carol Oates to enjoy, and a bunch of fiction to plough through. After Pynchon, everything feels faster than normal, but I will ramp up my interest. I read so often because it feeds the writing, grants a courage and eloquence that can easily get lost in the focus on task. I haven’t heard back from the agent about Until She Sings but as soon as I do, I will let people know. I’m ahead of the curve in terms of my workload but that’s part of my whole approach, to have work to show people who are interested in it. I work at my own pace, but it’s constant and consistent.

Thank you for reading.

 

 

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Above Us, Only Sky.

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Above the clouds, where the air is as pure as the sunlight, she floats with her arms by her sides, looking out at the sky around her. She can sense that her physical body waits on the earth beneath her, that this is a matter of perception, afforded her by virtue of an education at her mother’s knee.

She looked at the sky around her, endured the bone deep ache of being in the presence of beauty such as the world around her. Her soul trembled at what she had to do, but when she spoke, her voice rang out across the sky.

‘I am Esperanza, daughter of Dona Maria, I am curandera and I come to find something that has not been lost.’

Her voice echoed, but nothing moved or responded. A chill wind blew across her shoulders, wracking her with shivers. Was this the response? Mama had said that they would speak to her. Esperanza took that to mean a conversation, but this was a chil breeze.

She felt it then, a tugging sensation to her left, like a child pulling at the hem of mother’s skirt and she followed it.

Downwards.

She plummeted, too fast to scream and blacked out for a second with it’s terrible velocity.

2.

Beneath her, the soft damp bed of moss laid damp against her cheek. She got up, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked out at a sea of trees, tall enough to pierce the low hanging clouds above her. So thick was the cloud that it made her strain to see the details. She shut her eyes, and listened.

The gentle trickle of running water, and she smiled to herself.

There is the Rio Abjao Rio, the river beneath the river. If you hear it, in the air, the spaces when you hear your true love’s voice, then you must follow it. She got to her feet and began to walk. Her steps were tentative, but she took a deep breath and carried on into the forest.

The noise of the water gained presence and volume as she drew nearer. The air was cool, damp in her nostrils and on her lips. She raked her hair away from her face, and wriggled her bare toes into the moss beneath her feet. She drew courage from herself, and kept moving.

Which was when she heard the roar, not of the river this time. She felt the thump of motion gathering pace as it came towards her, knocking back undergrowth and branches with no more care than you would walk through a column of smoke.

She looked into the bear’s eyes. The warmth of corn liquor, caramelised and liquid. Beautiful, and all the more so, for the grizzled ferocity of it’s expression. It roared and she put her hands up.

‘Stop.’

The bear reared back on it’s legs, blocked out the light with it’s size.

Which was when it began to chuckle.

Esperanza suffered fools all her life, but she had been unprepared for such mockery to arise in a place as pure as thought. Pure as sky.

‘You do not laugh at me without cause, spirit.’

It guffawed as it licked his left paw with his thick, pink tongue, watching her with an expression equal parts hunger and amusement. It thrilled her to be looked at in such a way, but frightened too.

‘No, it appears that I do not. What do you search for?’

She took a deep breath.

‘I come to surrender.’

The bear shook it’s head and lowered it’s eyes as it moved onto all fours.

‘To me, is it that simple?’

Her stomach grew hot and sour, the bear’s voice was gruff but smooth, burnished by endless experience and beneath it, a warmth like a good shot of tequila began to smoothe out her fears. She shook her head.

‘No, it is not. My mother taught me that.’

The bear looked around and grinned before returning it’s gaze to her.

‘And, what is that lesson? Humour a big old bear, would you.’

Esperanza closed her eyes, took a deep breath and spoke, not from memory but from heart.

‘A woman’s surrender is a gift, a demonstration of power and not defeat. We surrender to the cycles of life and death, the release of purest ecstacy and the duties of the flesh. To surrender such power is a gift and it is done not in the spirit of looking backwards.’

The bear padded over to her, sniffed and hummed deep in it’s throat, it’s massive chest reverberating the air around it with it’s vibration.

It licked along the line of her neck, the tongue was soft, but rough like a washcloth and it tickled her sending delighted shivers of sensation down her spine.

‘I accept, Esperanza.’

It lowered it’s shoulders to the ground then looked upwards at her.

‘What are you doing, Bear?’

‘I will take you to the rio abjao rio, Esperanza. I know the way.’

She walked around the bear, reaching forward to take purchase in the thick, brown fur on it’s back. She lifted her leg over, until she was astride. It’s heartbeat thumped like a drum and the hot engine of it’s breath moved her like the tides. It was frightening and exciting all at once.

The bear lifted it’s shoulders and turned it’s head.

‘Are you ready, Esperanza? I know that this frightens you, but the truth of a situation often does. ‘

She gripped the fur and smiled at the bear before her. Beneath her.

‘Then you must show me, Bear.’

It began to move, slow at fast but then faster.

It never quite matched the rapid pace of her heart though. Nothing was faster than that.

 

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Two Pages (30/10/16)

 

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This morning, with the new book, I worked on a little exposition, telling rather than showing, but that can be reshaped and parsed out. Sometimes it is good to get out on paper where you are going, and allows me to foreshadow as well. Not that it was a negative thing to do, you understand but it was what was in me at the time, so I went along with it. There’s a lot of story, something came up in the writing that will hopefully give me the setting I need to really punch up the third act climax and getting the internal conflict into play will allow me some breathing room when I need to take the pace down.

The voice is there, I’ve found the rhythm, I just keep going until it’s done.

I have been reading Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon, but ended up finishing Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman last night, for some relief. Pynchon is enjoyable, but it’s dense and complex writing, a playful genius but still daunting at points. Not that this is a negative reflection on Gaiman at all, I love his writing. It’s so smooth and conversational, he communicates myth and magic really well, so it was a delightful way to finish the evening. I will resume Gravity’s Rainbow this morning, I think. It’s a masterclass and a wonderful, lusty, entertaining story dressed in some exquisite writing.

I will be posting some more writing here later today. A drabble and another piece, both for the writing group. Then out with the dog and some more reading. Thank you for reading this.

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Two Pages (28/10/16)

 

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I am making good progress on the new book. It took a little adjustment but the changes in setting and language have allowed me to develop in ways that surprised me this morning. It is a balance between serving the story, avoiding cliche and not doing service to the culture that I am using to give colour and texture to the story.

Fortunately, I know where I am going with this, and although there is room for exploration, which I always allow myself in order to give a maximum amount of expression to the work, the path is clear and I walk it each day, two pages at a time. I know that I am wilfully vague about the details, but it’s been my experience, that if I tell you what it’s about, then I lose the incentive to write it.

It is important that the work I do, reflects the influences and person that I am at that particular point. The amount of reading I do influences the quality of it. I do not plagiarise, because it is pointless and too easy. I feed off the reading that I do, see how a particular writer goes about achieving an effect or works out a sequence and then look at it in the context of my own writing. The old maxim of ‘write what you know’ is oft-discussed and misinterpreted, it can be an effective block of the creative impulse but I think that it’s a nuanced discussion.  I write whatever is in me at the time, about the things that can sustain interest for an entire book. I know who I write for, and that allows me to focus on the simple act of turning up each day and doing it.

Thank you for reading.

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Two Pages (27/10/16)

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I wrote another two pages of the new book this morning. Yesterday, I worked on the structure of it, using Shawn Coyne’s Story Grid so I know where the beats and obligatory scenes are. I also did quite a bit of reading for research purposes. It’s not historically accurate but I like to work in some nods to the culture, and where it doesn’t work, I just make it up. I’m aiming for plausibility rather than accuracy with this, atmosphere and also working in an entirely different setting without some of the touchstones that have informed earlier books.

Technology, essentially. Although, as Arthur C Clarke said, any advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, so it’s all the same thing, just portrayed in different ways. The language I am using is different, still english, still hopefully in my voice but it’s meant to evoke different effects and another sort of atmosphere.  I am making overtures towards finishing off The Ogden Review, as we’re deep into the third act and it’s a bittersweet experience because I’ve enjoyed writing them.

I finished a couple of books yesterday in addition to the research material, Erin Morgenstern’s The Night Circus, which was gorgeous and moving, Matthew Quick’s The Silver Linings Playbook, which was a different experience on the page versus the (very enjoyable) film, which is always present with adaptations. I also finished Spark by John Twelve Hawks and Night Music by John Connolly. I also took a lovely long walk with the dog as well, went out into the marshes and just took everything in.

Thank you for reading.

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