EmmaD

Well done Squidge and thanks to all participants for the chance to read so many varied interpretations of Jill’s challenge – and to Jill for the comments.

Midsummer Magic

Frankie wiggles his shoulders in a figure of eight and exhales. He flicks his hat back and mops his brow with a handkerchief. Then he loosens his tie another quarter inch and Matzo slaps his hand down on the table, making all three of us jump.

“For Christ’s sake, Frankie. Yeah – it’s hot. I’m hot. Eddie’s hot. It’s the longest…[Read more]

I once tried out a character questionnaire from Emma Darwin’s blog on a principal character of mine, and my answer to seven out of twenty-one questions was ‘Dunno’ and/or ‘Does it really matter?’ Some of the other answers were pretty vague. But while writing the story I never had any difficulty in imagining what she’d say or do.

Everybody has their own way of working; mine is very like Tony’s above. The important thing, I believe, is to find out which way suits you best, and not put yourself in a creative strait-jacket by blindly following some ‘rule.’ What works for some people may not work for you.

For example, we keep hearing ‘cut, cut, cut’ when it comes to editing,…[Read more]

Am I allowed to agree with all of you? When a writer like Stephen King just says something and it works, it’s because he is utterly confident with his voice. I’m not his biggest fan, but I have read a lot of his work and I do appreciate the extraordinary flow of his prose. I’m willing to bet he’s not on the heavy side when he edits.

I’m terrible.…[Read more]

Great news Kate – well done!!

Perfectionism is a curse. But the desire for perfection is necessary, if we’re ever to get to be as good as we can be.
Every time I re-read anything I’ve ever written, I find myself changing a word here, a phrase there. A sentence can be cut completely and rewritten, and in the next rewrite, it comes back again.
I found comfort in the quote from…[Read more]

Midsummer Madness

The ambush had been crueller for the glory of a wiped-clean sky, slowly coloured-in by a northeast Scotland, half-four sunrise, just three days past the solstice. It side-swiped the pleasures of his journey down, dulling the pearly greyness of the North Sea which had sheened pink then gold as it prepared itself for day. The…[Read more]