S. McPherson's Blog: On my way to being a writer - Posts Tagged "books"

I was on strike! Burn the pages! Smudge the ink! Forget writing! I like to teach and I'm good at it, so there! The End... The end? Not likely. As you may have guessed, my childish outburst was short-lived. Though I tried to ignore it, the heart wants what the heart wants and mine was filling my mind with flashes of dragons, elves and talking frogs.

My classroom book selection was growing old so one day after we'd read Julia Donaldson's 'The Gruffalo' more times than I can count, I decided to launch into my own made-up tale.

My story, teaching the importance of perseverance, told of a little girl who was being kept awake by her partying pet fish. Random? Yes. But since children's minds are as nonsensical as mine, it was very well received. Their positive reaction inspired me to dabble in the field of self-publishing. Now, queue 'Jaws' two syllable soundtrack.

Image by © Mintyeggnog

The promotion wagon pulled out of the station and I leapt on; breathless with anticipation and angst.

Here goes nothing. I told myself as I watched the redbrick buildings zip out of view. The wheels made a rhythmic clanking sound as they whirled along the track and for a moment I lost myself in the beat. Chuga, chuga, chuga, chuga, chuga, chuga… but then the whistle howled and looking up, I realised it was time to jump off.

Parade one starts now…

This stop was fun. Guest posts, appearances and whimsical people asking all sorts of whimsical questions. One of my favourites was when Lina Rochelle of Cover to Cover said: ‘Describe a day in the life of an accidental sorceress’

This is what I wrote:

A day in the life of an accidental sorceress consists of you discovering your powers and subsequently trying to figure out how on earth you ended up with them. Let me tell you about my day to further explain my point:

My eyes flicker open, squinting in the sunlight streaking, uninvited, through my living room window. There’s a stabbing pain in the back of my head and I feel like I’ve guzzled a mouthful of sand. Where am I or more importantly who am I? One-minute I was yelling at the TV remote to work and the next thing I know, rays of colour are shooting out of my eyes and setting the television ablaze.

I rub my aching temples as I pull myself into a sitting position. It’s carnage; bits of shattered plasma screen, sparking wires and a collection of black shards surround me. As I look down, I realise the wires aren’t the only thing sparking. Little ripples of blue shoot from my fingertips. I hold them up to my eye, getting a better look.

What is going on?

Steadily, I get to my feet, trying to remain poised on my tiptoes to avoid slicing myself on the glass.

Ugh! I think. Time to clean up this blasted mess. No sooner do I think the words do the sparks from my fingers appear to leap out. Diving into the chaos on the floor. They dart and swivel around me as I watch them in awe, scooping up the debris and shoving it somewhere unknown.

I think back to last night in the bowling alley where a peculiar man at the counter had handed me an orange juice even though I had asked for a lemonade. He apologised for the mix up but said they were out of lemonade and thinking nothing of it I drank the juice. Not long after, a voluptuous lady with tumbling red curls and a tongue ring had swanned in asking for her orange juice. The man went as pale as snow and the lady and he got into a heated argument eyeing me as though I might explode.

At the time I assumed some loony lady really wanted her orange juice but as I look down at the inexplicable madness around me, I start to wonder. There has to be something more to this. Somehow between yesterday and today I have become an accidental sorceress. This could be really good, or really bad. Time to make a plan of action:

Step one: Clean myself up and make sure my eyes aren’t actually glowing like I feel they are.

Step two: Return to the bowling alley and find the man behind the bar.

Decided, I march towards the bathroom forgetting of course about the translucent shards set to stab me and sure enough one goes right through the sole of my foot. I yelp, hopping animatedly as I collapse on the couch.

‘Ow, ow, ow.’ I moan, blowing on my heel. I peer at the gushing wound, trying to see where the blood is coming from. I blow again, gasping when droplets of blood start to blow away like bubbles on the wind. Mesmerised, I watch them sail into the air before bursting into oblivion. At last I return to my foot, noticing that the sting has stopped. Frowning I peer closer; the sole is unblemished; no cut, no speck of blood, it’s as though the injury never happened.

Woah!

As the writing wheels continue to turn against the sparking track, I notice a station named Dialogues Bluff rising in the distance. Looking out the window I eye the mammoth crest of the mountain looming over the neighbouring peaks. Each one holds a flag; one with the name, Voice and the other, Reality – two important factors when putting together dialogue.

As we trundle passed leaving Dialogues Bluff to blur behind us, my mind drifts to the characters of my own book and how they might say certain things. What is their voice? As a fun experiment, I pull out my notebook and jot some ideas down:

How my characters might express not doing something when asked:

Dezaray: I could but I don’t want to.

Lexovia: Not in this lifetime.

Milo: Give me one reason why I should; I’ll give you fifty why I shouldn’t.

Yvane: I couldn’t possibly do that

Jude: On the one hand I could. On the other hand I couldn’t. Which hand do you suppose I’ll pick?

Nathaniel: Not likely mate.

Howard: Not with a face like this.

How my characters might express being sleepy:

Dezaray: I’m shattered.Someone carry me.

Lexovia: Me. Sleep. Now!

Milo: As much as I’d love to stay up and chat – (fakes snoring and drool)

Yvane: I need to go to bed immediately.

Jude: Right; I’m off to the land of dreams.

Nathaniel: I’m knackered.

Howard: Time for my beauty sleep.

Drawing out my characters voices turns out to be a great way to pass the time and before I know it, the writing train is screeching to a halt at the next station…