Marvin Amazon's Blog
January 18, 2013
Memoirs of a Conflicted Writer: Part 3
This is a true tale about my journey to becoming a published author. Most of the situations are factual, but character names and some speech have been invented.
October 12th 2010
I open Microsoft Word and stare at the screen for a few seconds. My mind can’t focus. I run through different ways to begin the novel, but none is striking home. I walk to my bookshelf and pick a number of books out. Some are hefty hardbacks, hundreds of pages long. I sit back down and frown. If I can’t even figure out how to start a book, how am I going to write a hundred plus pages?
I close my eyes and visualize the protagonist’s house. I think it’s a good place to start. It’s clear in my head, right to the last detail. I begin typing. The words flow out. I type so fast; I can see Word pointing out many errors. But I don’t stop. Some of what’s appearing on the screen makes no sense. I stop after two pages and sigh.
I read it back and make some grammatical corrections. But something’s wrong. I open one of the many books on my shelf. They all look so polished and clear. I also remember something a good friend once told me: “The number one rule of writing is to show and not tell.”
I frown and hit the wall in frustration. There is more telling than showing in my manuscript. I delete everything I’ve written. I start again from scratch. My cell rings, but I ignore it. The ideas are pouring out again. I try to craft sentences in as clear a fashion as possible. When I read it back this time, it’s much better.
I reach the third chapter, and the clock strikes 9 p.m. I stand up and stretch. My cell rings again. I ignore it and stare out the window. When I do look at phone’s screen, I see 25 missed calls. I call my friend, Kevin, back. He answers after three rings.
‘Where’ve you been all day?’ he asks.
‘Just busy.’ I grin.
‘What’s up with you lately? You haven’t been out in a while.’
‘I’ve just got a lot going on right now,’ I say. ‘I’ll catch up with you soon.’
I hear Kevin breathe down the phone for a few seconds. ‘What’re you doing now? A couple of the guys want to go into London. I could do with my wingman.’ He sniggers.
‘Nah,’ I say. ‘I’ll give it a miss.’
‘Seriously, Marvin, what’s up with you?’
I smile. ‘I’ve started writing my book, and I can’t stop.’
October 12th 2010
I open Microsoft Word and stare at the screen for a few seconds. My mind can’t focus. I run through different ways to begin the novel, but none is striking home. I walk to my bookshelf and pick a number of books out. Some are hefty hardbacks, hundreds of pages long. I sit back down and frown. If I can’t even figure out how to start a book, how am I going to write a hundred plus pages?
I close my eyes and visualize the protagonist’s house. I think it’s a good place to start. It’s clear in my head, right to the last detail. I begin typing. The words flow out. I type so fast; I can see Word pointing out many errors. But I don’t stop. Some of what’s appearing on the screen makes no sense. I stop after two pages and sigh.
I read it back and make some grammatical corrections. But something’s wrong. I open one of the many books on my shelf. They all look so polished and clear. I also remember something a good friend once told me: “The number one rule of writing is to show and not tell.”
I frown and hit the wall in frustration. There is more telling than showing in my manuscript. I delete everything I’ve written. I start again from scratch. My cell rings, but I ignore it. The ideas are pouring out again. I try to craft sentences in as clear a fashion as possible. When I read it back this time, it’s much better.
I reach the third chapter, and the clock strikes 9 p.m. I stand up and stretch. My cell rings again. I ignore it and stare out the window. When I do look at phone’s screen, I see 25 missed calls. I call my friend, Kevin, back. He answers after three rings.
‘Where’ve you been all day?’ he asks.
‘Just busy.’ I grin.
‘What’s up with you lately? You haven’t been out in a while.’
‘I’ve just got a lot going on right now,’ I say. ‘I’ll catch up with you soon.’
I hear Kevin breathe down the phone for a few seconds. ‘What’re you doing now? A couple of the guys want to go into London. I could do with my wingman.’ He sniggers.
‘Nah,’ I say. ‘I’ll give it a miss.’
‘Seriously, Marvin, what’s up with you?’
I smile. ‘I’ve started writing my book, and I can’t stop.’
January 10, 2013
Step on a Crack - Book Review
Step on a Crack by James PattersonMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
I really enjoyed Step on a Crack. In the novel, Michael Bennett is a New York City detective caught in the middle of a hostage situation. As if that's not enough, he's also the father of ten adopted kids. And his wife is a cancer patient.
At the begining, I felt the author was juggling too much, but as time went on, all my fears evaporated. The novel moved at a fast pace and didn't linger too much on scenes that slowed the prose down. I found it to be an engaging read with interesting characters.
I am one who welcomes multiple POVs in a novel, but I felt that some were unnecessary in this book. Other than that, it simmered with tension.
The ending also took me by surprise, but a good one. I would recommend it to crime readers, although I must add that nothing here hasn't been done before. All in all, a great introduction to Detective Michael Bennet by James Patterson.
View all my reviews
Killing Floor (Jack Reacher) - Book Review
Killing Floor by Lee ChildMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
After seeing the movie trailers for Jack Reacher, I thought I’d take a look at the novels. Killing Floor seemed to be the best place to start, being the novel that introduced us to Jack Reacher’s universe.
The book does not waste time on settings. We are thrown straight in from the first page. While eating his breakfast and minding his business, Jack Reacher is arrested for murder and hauled into the police station of a small, quiet town. The story begins to unfold after that, and we start to piece the puzzle together with our protagonist.
The main thing I love about this book is Jack Reacher himself. He is what I like to call a throwback to the action heroes that filled the silver screen in the eighties. He is so confident in his ability to survive the most hostile of situations, even if the people he’s up against are double his size.
Although others assisted in solving the case and saving the innocent bystanders, Reacher was pretty much a one-man team. As a fan of the old-school legends, I found that aspect of the novel awesome, but somewhat predictable at the same time. At no time did I feel scared for Reacher. Every dangerous situation was handled as if he were on the training ground, where his assailants were told not to hit too hard. But as I read on, I came to realise that the book was about Jack Reacher first, and everything else, second.
The book itself was a fantastic read. The mystery cranked up with every page, even to the point that it seemed implausible. But Child kept peeling the layers as the story went on, and it kept making sense. The detail in the novel was brilliant. I was impressed with the amount of research that must have taken place. I found a few convenient resolutions to problems, but that didn’t happen often.
The short sentences helped to maintain the novel’s fast pace. But they were sometimes too short, which made the prose a bit harsh. It distracted me during the beginning of the novel, but I quickly got past it. My other minor issue was to do with Reacher himself. His character was depicted as an indestructible force, but he also had his moments of human emotion, even vulnerability. I found a few of those sections somewhat forced and slightly unbelievable. But those were small issues, and nowhere near enough to disrupt my enjoyment of the book. I found it to be a scintillating read.
I would recommend it to lovers of thrillers and mystery novels. I would just advice every reader to prepare for graphic violence. This novel most certainly doesn’t hold back.
View all my reviews
November 22, 2012
Memoirs of a Conflicted Writer: Part 2
This is a true tale about my journey to becoming a published author. Most of the situations are factual, but character names and some speech have been invented.
July 17th 2009
Kevin drifts yards ahead of me in a very short space of time. I call his name out, but the loud music drowns it out. I steadily manoeuvre through the crowd with my right hand out. I get a number of angry glances, but I continue. I eventually reach the bar’s entrance, but there’s a queue to go outside. After another three minutes, I walk out and immediately turn left, to the section cordoned off for smokers. I notice Kevin holding a lit cigarette and talking to a young lady—probably in her early twenties—with flowing blond hair. I squeeze through a few more people before reaching him.
‘Marvin. Where have you been?’ he says.
‘Do you know how hard it is to even get out of that place?’
He laughs and diverts his attention to the woman. ‘This is my friend, Marvin,’ he says to her.
She smiles and extends her hand. I shake it and nod. ‘Hi, Marvin,’ she says. ‘I’m Lara.’
‘Hello, Lara.’
‘So what do you do, Marvin?’
‘He’s in IT,’ Kevin interrupts. ‘But he really wants to be a writer.’
Her eyes widen. ‘Really? You want to be a writer?'
‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’ Kevin says.
‘Why is that ridiculous?’ she says. ‘I think it’s great.’ She faces me. ‘What kind of stuff do you want to write?’
‘Seriously?’ Kevin says. ‘Where is he going to find the time to write? He’s already got a job. Besides, do you see him as the writer type? Where is he going to get ideas from?’
She shrugs. ‘But who is the writer type? You can’t tell what people do by the way you see them.’ She looks at me. ‘What do you think I do?'
I exchange glances with both of them and shrug. ‘A nurse?’ I finally say.
‘She laughs. ‘I’ll let you off there. I actually get that a lot. It must be something about me. No, I’m a Solicitor.’
‘See,’ Kevin says. ‘That makes sense, more than him being a writer, anyway.’
She edges closer to me. ‘Look, Marvin. I don’t know you or anything about you, but if writing is what you want to do, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re not good enough or smart enough to do it. Only you know what you’re capable of.’
A broad smile covers my face. ‘Thank you for saying that.’
‘My pleasure.’ She turns toward Kevin once more. ‘I’m going inside now.’
She walks past him and he quickly stubs his cigarette. ‘You coming,’ he says to me.
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
He heads back to the bar’s entrance and I smile to myself. It’s funny to think how words from a complete stranger can be an unlikely source of motivation
To be continued…
July 17th 2009
Kevin drifts yards ahead of me in a very short space of time. I call his name out, but the loud music drowns it out. I steadily manoeuvre through the crowd with my right hand out. I get a number of angry glances, but I continue. I eventually reach the bar’s entrance, but there’s a queue to go outside. After another three minutes, I walk out and immediately turn left, to the section cordoned off for smokers. I notice Kevin holding a lit cigarette and talking to a young lady—probably in her early twenties—with flowing blond hair. I squeeze through a few more people before reaching him.
‘Marvin. Where have you been?’ he says.
‘Do you know how hard it is to even get out of that place?’
He laughs and diverts his attention to the woman. ‘This is my friend, Marvin,’ he says to her.
She smiles and extends her hand. I shake it and nod. ‘Hi, Marvin,’ she says. ‘I’m Lara.’
‘Hello, Lara.’
‘So what do you do, Marvin?’
‘He’s in IT,’ Kevin interrupts. ‘But he really wants to be a writer.’
Her eyes widen. ‘Really? You want to be a writer?'
‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’ Kevin says.
‘Why is that ridiculous?’ she says. ‘I think it’s great.’ She faces me. ‘What kind of stuff do you want to write?’
‘Seriously?’ Kevin says. ‘Where is he going to find the time to write? He’s already got a job. Besides, do you see him as the writer type? Where is he going to get ideas from?’
She shrugs. ‘But who is the writer type? You can’t tell what people do by the way you see them.’ She looks at me. ‘What do you think I do?'
I exchange glances with both of them and shrug. ‘A nurse?’ I finally say.
‘She laughs. ‘I’ll let you off there. I actually get that a lot. It must be something about me. No, I’m a Solicitor.’
‘See,’ Kevin says. ‘That makes sense, more than him being a writer, anyway.’
She edges closer to me. ‘Look, Marvin. I don’t know you or anything about you, but if writing is what you want to do, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re not good enough or smart enough to do it. Only you know what you’re capable of.’
A broad smile covers my face. ‘Thank you for saying that.’
‘My pleasure.’ She turns toward Kevin once more. ‘I’m going inside now.’
She walks past him and he quickly stubs his cigarette. ‘You coming,’ he says to me.
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
He heads back to the bar’s entrance and I smile to myself. It’s funny to think how words from a complete stranger can be an unlikely source of motivation
To be continued…
October 23, 2012
Memoirs of a Conflicted Writer
This is a true tale about my journey to becoming a published author. Most of the situations are factual, but character names and some speech have been invented.
October 20th 2008
My alarm clock seems louder than usual. I cancel it and sit up, but I want to go straight back to bed. It’s the day before my birthday—the last before I hit the 30 mark—and my friends have a big celebration planned. I rub my eyes as I walk to the bathroom, my thoughts still on the conversation with my brother, Adam, last night. I turn the shower on when my cell rings. The number is unknown, but I still answer it. I’m greeted by Adam’s voice.
‘How’re you doing?’ he says.
‘Tired. I wish Jeremy and all the lads will just stop fussing.’
‘But it’s your birthday,’ he says.
I shrug and walk out of the bathroom. ‘Anyway, what’s up?’
‘Well,’ he says. ‘I was speaking with Mum this morning about what we talked about last night.’
‘And?’
‘She thinks the same as me.’
I sigh. ‘But what if I dedicate an hour a day to it, maybe even two?’ I can picture Adam shaking his head.
‘It’s not that,’ he says. ‘Do you realise the responsibility of being a writer. Every word you write will be scrutinised. Some people will absolutely slam your work. It might just be because they don’t like you, and nothing to do with your book.’
I frown and walk into my bedroom where I sit down. ‘But everyone starts off somewhere. How will I ever know if I don’t try?’
‘You’re wasting your time if you ask me. Yea, you love reading books and watching films, but it’s so different when you’re the one creating. Think about how many times you’ve criticised authors and directors. If you write, you’ll be the one in the firing line.’
‘I place both hands on top of my head. I can do this. I know I can. ‘I guess only time will tell if I can make it happen.’
‘Well, it’s totally up to you, but I think you’re wasting your time.’
I stay quiet for a few seconds.
‘Anyway, forget this writing dream. I just can’t see you as an author. You’re not exactly the writing type. You’re way too busy. Just forget about it and come round. We’ve got a party to plan.’
I rub my forehead and take a deep breath. ‘Okay, cool. ‘I’ll be right there.’ I cut the phone off and enter the still running shower. I don’t care what he says. I still want to be a writer.
To be continued…
October 20th 2008
My alarm clock seems louder than usual. I cancel it and sit up, but I want to go straight back to bed. It’s the day before my birthday—the last before I hit the 30 mark—and my friends have a big celebration planned. I rub my eyes as I walk to the bathroom, my thoughts still on the conversation with my brother, Adam, last night. I turn the shower on when my cell rings. The number is unknown, but I still answer it. I’m greeted by Adam’s voice.
‘How’re you doing?’ he says.
‘Tired. I wish Jeremy and all the lads will just stop fussing.’
‘But it’s your birthday,’ he says.
I shrug and walk out of the bathroom. ‘Anyway, what’s up?’
‘Well,’ he says. ‘I was speaking with Mum this morning about what we talked about last night.’
‘And?’
‘She thinks the same as me.’
I sigh. ‘But what if I dedicate an hour a day to it, maybe even two?’ I can picture Adam shaking his head.
‘It’s not that,’ he says. ‘Do you realise the responsibility of being a writer. Every word you write will be scrutinised. Some people will absolutely slam your work. It might just be because they don’t like you, and nothing to do with your book.’
I frown and walk into my bedroom where I sit down. ‘But everyone starts off somewhere. How will I ever know if I don’t try?’
‘You’re wasting your time if you ask me. Yea, you love reading books and watching films, but it’s so different when you’re the one creating. Think about how many times you’ve criticised authors and directors. If you write, you’ll be the one in the firing line.’
‘I place both hands on top of my head. I can do this. I know I can. ‘I guess only time will tell if I can make it happen.’
‘Well, it’s totally up to you, but I think you’re wasting your time.’
I stay quiet for a few seconds.
‘Anyway, forget this writing dream. I just can’t see you as an author. You’re not exactly the writing type. You’re way too busy. Just forget about it and come round. We’ve got a party to plan.’
I rub my forehead and take a deep breath. ‘Okay, cool. ‘I’ll be right there.’ I cut the phone off and enter the still running shower. I don’t care what he says. I still want to be a writer.
To be continued…
