Wednesday 26 December 2018

The Annual Gift Exchange has arrived...

The face of our Annual Gift Exchange card this year. (C) Philip McDonnell 2018
The term 'Annual Gift Exchange' is not me trying to be politically correct or just a sheer bloody-minded atheist.  It is just a fact and I doubt many realise that our medieval ancestors operated on a gift exchange system the whole year around.  Many of us know of bartering but that's different.  Before and after the rise of money as an exchange mechanism, gift-giving was accepted and expected practice by cultures all around the world and still is in some regions.  In the West, the medieval Church and monarchies used this practice to forge alliances or sweeten treaties.  It is a subject of significant historical importance...but it's Christmas Day and I can't be bothered;  I still stuffed from lunchtime.

The photo above is obviously a composite created in Photoshop.  The Roman is an English Heritage product from the Mini-Me range that I bought at Birdoswald on Hadrian's Wall back in September.  The snow and beard are edits.  The angel was a gift from my Mother-in-Law to my wife and the background photo is Vindolanda in September with an edit overlay of snow.

I did variations on a theme too:  Happy Yuletide, Happy Saturnalia and Buon Natale (for a friend in Italy) but you don't need those.

I could go on about writing, reading, etc., but I won't.  Enjoy your holiday and if I get the urge to post whilst I'm on leave or if I get to finish my second novella, I'll let you know.

Have fun!


Saturday 8 December 2018

Where did the day...fortnight...go?

It's been a busy couple of weeks, clearly.  Three weeks, I think.  I suppose most of my absence can be put down to the gathering bank raid that is called Christmas.  Not that I am the least bit religious.  I am more interested in the Winter Solstice because it means the long daylight hours of Summer are on their way once more.  I'm not a fan of getting up in the cold dark, getting to work just before sun-rise, spending all day in an artificially-lit, over-heated office and then coming home in the dark squashed into a seat on the tube among a host of plague carriers.  I am not a Winter person.

Last time I wrote I was part way through The Sea Detective, a novel ostensibly about solving the mystery of two disarticulated feet found washed up on either side of a fictional Scottish Island.  At the time I was 108 pages in and only one foot had been found.  Well, the whole disarticulated foot thread came across as incidental to the actual story about the 'hero' finding out how his grandfather died during World War II and why he wasn't recorded on the island's memorial.  In fact, the foot crime struck me as being something of a footnote.  It also prompted a deeper thought:  is this a fairly standard ruse of crime fiction:  put the most outrageous part of the story on the cover jacket to snag a purchase and then tell a totally different story for the next 300 pages?  I had read two novels using that sort of approach on the trot so I needed a third to see if the premise was false.  My mother-in-law came to the rescue by lending me a crime novel by a far better known (deceased) author:  Stieg Larsson.  Yes, I am reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.


Having just read Midwinter Sacrifice by Mons Kallentoft who was hailed a the new Stieg Larsson on the jacket by his publishers, there was only one way to determine the truth or hype of the claim.  I'll go with hype.  I'm only about a quarter the way through Larsson's book but from the start there is a gulf of difference in the writing style, narrative, dialogue and story.  To me, Kallentoft's work read as if was intended for TV and the crime was slotted into the personal lives of the characters.  Larsson's novel is so much more and it is easy to see how this became an 'international sensation' made into movies.

It may be Christmas before I finish it.

Moving on, I am still writing my second crime novella set in Cumbria.  It's darker than Stone Dead and I continue to have no idea where it's heading...but I'm going with the flow.  I also continue to have no idea what to call it:  Novella McNovellaFace is not an option even as a working title.  It's getting sidelined a bit with all the pre-Christmas activity...and work, obviously, but I will finish it.  If it runs to a similar word count as Stone Dead, I'm about halfway through at just over 10,000.  And that brings me neatly to the grand opening of the envelope containing that 1st draft.

If you remember, six weeks ago I took Stephen King's advice and put the 1st draft of Stone Dead into an envelope and wrote 6th December on the front of it.  I then went and did something else.  This evening, I opened that envelope.  Now, if I follow Mr King's advice, I should take a red pen to the said draft and edit it before handing it to my Ideal Reader.  I thought to bypass that exercise as my wife is a much better editor than I am.  But she agrees with Mr King.

If I'm honest, I don't actually like reading my own work.  It's almost entirely because I see a betters way of writing a section and that mushrooms into major reworking which is where I get bogged down in detail.  I think I will revert to using a pen on the printed page to curb my editing zeal.

I'll keep you posted...

Saturday 24 November 2018

He's at it again...reading!

"Yes, it's true:  I've been reading.  I know it's a shock to many people but sometimes I just have to open a book and look at the words as well as the pictures.  That's when there are pictures because I've recently read one history non-fiction text, one Swedish Nordic Noir novel and am currently about halfway through yet another novel, this time set in the Scottish Isles and North Atlantic.  And as if to add 'awe' to the shock of me reading, I am a few thousand words into my next novella set in Cumbria.

Being less expected than the Spanish Inquisition, let's start with the non-fiction history book:  The Origins of the Anglo-Saxons by the late Jean Manco.


This is a fascinating book about the continental genesis of the people we know as the Anglo-Saxons both in terms of linguistically and genetically.  Having had a career as a Building Historian, Manco switched to writing about prehistory and archaeogenetics.

This text follows the Blood of the Celts and is a well-written tome but not one for people who have absolutely no idea about the Anglo-Saxons or Y-DNA analysis of (male) Haplogoups.  It seems to flip from being an erudite history of the people that later became the 'Anglo-Saxons' to complex scientific explanation of languages and the mixings of blood groups.  I found some of the dates of origins given by Manco surprising but cannot argue from my inadequate knowledge.  In some ways, it's almost like reading Tolkien where he hurls his characters headlong into utterly impossible and non-survivable battles only then to knock them out and find the giant eagles have saved them such are the changes of subject matter.

Manco actually references Tolkien, Pratchett and Cornwell for different reasons but notes how they all draw on the writings, storytelling skill and chronicles of the Norse to create they own worlds.

I enjoyed this book immensely because it was so broad in spectrum and actually read it from cover to cover; something I almost never do with academic works.  It is just a shame that Jean Manco is not longer with us to write another.

The next book is one I picked up in the Eden Charity shop in Brampton, Cumbria.  It's a Swedish crime drama called Midwinter Sacrifice by Mons Kallentoft.


Published in 2011, it was the first of a series centring around a single mother detective with a 13yr old daughter and everything that implies for the future.  It probably grabbed my attention because of the word sacrifice.  I ignored the comparisons to Larsson and Nesbo as that's the expected publisher hype.

As for a a crime drama, it struck me as if it was intended to be transferred straight to screen.  There is an enormous amount of print space spent describing the various characters as if they are to be seen not imagined and the story itself drifts alongside.  The murder of a local special needs male found hanging from a tree on the edge of a forest in the style of the Viking ritual of the Midwinter sacrifice starts off okay but doesn't really twist or turn as much as I would expect.  The subsequent investigation and denouement are satisfactory but do seem to be incidental to the lives of the various characters involved.  Then there is the constant portrayal of the location of the action - Linköping - as a dreary town in the middle of the Swedish plain south of Stockholm. Yet for all my lack of enthusiasm for this book, I did read it from cover to cover and never considered giving up on it.  It would not, however, induce me to become a 'fan'.  I may get the rest of the series from my local library (I know there's at least two) but won't buy them.

Finally, I am just about a third the way through The Sea Detective by Mark Douglas-Home.   I didn't buy this book, my wife did as it is for a book group she's a member of.  I just asked if I could read it because I had just finished Midwinter Sacrifice and found the idea of reading one of the two historical fiction novels I have at hand unappealing.


Anyway, this book was published in 2015, it tells is about an investigation into the discover of two severed feet from the same person washed up on either side of a fictional Scottish island.  Well, I say that.  I'm 108 pages in and so far there has only been one severed foot and the investigation hasn't actually got underway.  It's all been about Indian child prostitution and guerrilla flower planting in Scotland so far!  Still, the bits with the eco-activist have amused me when intended and the premise is promising.

I will, with any luck, finish this book this coming week.

And finally, I have been writing again.  It's another crime story set in Cumbria with the same Police personnel (bar one, so far) and covers a more regular sort of crime story.  I say that because there are echoes of a crime that happened on one of my refurbishment projects back in 1991.  I remember it because it was around the time Freddie Mercury died - the 27th anniversary of which, by chance, is today (24th).

That crime did not involve a corpse as my story does but it was just as sinister in it's own way in that  it was not far from the old BBC building in Wood Lane and was, I suppose, a foreshadowing of the whole Jimmy Saville affair.  I'll say no more on that but to round off, my novella is currently just over 5,000 words and, staying true to Stephen King's belief that plots are for dullards, I have only the vaguest idea where it will end up...and an even vaguer idea of the title.  It has a working title but I'm not publishing that.  Absolutely not.  It's way too weird.

Have a great weekend and see you soon.

Saturday 3 November 2018

Glow Festival 2018

The Fire Garden:  this year hinting at the manor's alleged connection with the Gunpowder Plot.
The London Borough of Barking & Dagenham is very keen on upping the profile of the area and has been for some time.  There are echoes of gentrification in the various redevelopment schemes in the Barking town centre and with that has come a fair focus on the arts.  Funding, of course, is always a dilemma but it doesn't deter the enthusiasm and one such event returning for its second time in three years is the Glow Festival.

Held over two evenings in the gardens of Eastbury Manor House, an Elizabethan period property owned by the National Trust but run by the Council, it hosts illuminated art installations that literally glow in the dark - or burn as in the photo above.

I'm not going to write too much as the photos and captions speak for themselves.

The west side of Eastbury Manor, an Elizabethan building that is today used by the local community for all manner of societies and events and very much a part of the Borough's heritage.  We got married there in 2011!
A paper fish that went through a whole rainbow of colours.
One of the many installations.
Standing guard by the main entrance (out of shot to the right).
Paper Polar Bears
Er...croak...
One of several horse sculptures in the small rear courtyard on the south side of the house.
A dormouse and its nest.
One final note is that the staff and volunteers were all very enthusiastic and this year had quite a spread of food options including vegetarian, halal as well as standard British bonfire night food.  Personally, of course, I just went for the apple and berry crumble with custard.  Oh yes.

Saturday 27 October 2018

St Mary & All Saints, Lambourne, Essex

St Mary & All Saints, Lambourne, Essex.  (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018
We took advantage of the recent October sunshine and went for another of our little jaunts into the Essex countryside.  Lambourne isn't actually that far from us but we have never turned down Church Lane (off the Ongar Road) to take a look.  And it's quite a meander to get to the church...but definitely worth it.

The first thing you notice as you approach is that the church has been rendered at some point in its past but, unusually, has been painted and is kept in good condition.  So many rendered churches are literally rendered ugly because they just look like concrete blocks.  Lambourne Church, I said to my wife as we approached, reminded me of a German kirche.

Anglo-Norman door arch in the North wall.
(c)Philip McDonnell, 2018

The second thing you see as you pull up on the verge - if you're something of an architecture nerd like me - is a blocked up Norman door arch (above).  That, own its own merit, was definitely a reason to park and investigate further and to our joy - or mine, at least - the church was open and it is quite a gem.

As you walk into the churchyard, one of the things you notice is that it is manicured.  Where once stood mature conifers, they have been cut down almost to cylinder hedging - and it is very attractive.

Entering in through the nave, the first sight to greet you is the enormous chancel arch.  But this is no Romanesque or Gothic arch that you would normally expect.  No, this is what architects call a basket handle arch (anse de panier in French) and it is quite fabulous with its monstrous faux corbels (see below).

The chancel arch. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018
A decorative nave beam with a somewhat skewed
 and decorated kingpost.  (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018

Of course, the arch is just a boxing and plaster moulding.  The structural element is probably just a beam concealed by a fabulous piece of Georgian decoration.  You can see less decorative beams bridging the chancel further toward the altar.

Elsewhere, there are features that have been exposed during restoration such as the image of St Christopher on the south wall.  This is a glimpse of how the pre-Dissolution/pre-Puritan church would have looked throughout.

St Christopher wall painting. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018
There are other frescos from later periods that another visitor who was evidently well-versed in the church's past said changed from wall to wall.

One feature exposed recently (that I didn't photograph) was the exposure of what was most likely the piscina for holy water in the pre-Dissolution church or possibly a confessio where there may have been relics.  It was only exposed when the metalwork in a wall-mounted memorial started to self-destruct from rust and needed to be removed.  Whether it will be left exposed or covered again once the memorial is restored, I don't know.

Finally, here is the window above the altar in the east end of the chancel and one of the restored stained glass panels in the south wall of the chancel.



If you get a chance, make a visit.


Thursday 25 October 2018

Stone Dead: Cooling Off

Castlerigg Stone Circle, Lakeland, Cumbria. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018

A couple of weeks ago (On Writing: New Ideas, New Story. 12th October), I said I was writing again.  Not "that book".  Not my magnum albatross of historic fiction.  No, I was writing a new story.  A short(ish) story with the working title of Stone Dead.  Well, the first draft is complete!  Yes, you don't need to go to Specsavers: the first draft is complete!

If you recall, Stone Dead was kickstarted whilst on holiday in Cumbria.  I had just finished Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft and this story popped into my head.  A disarticulated skeleton found at a megalith in Westmorland that turns into a murder enquiry.  It was fresh in my mind and I wrote over 6,000 words of it in the last three days we were in Lanercost.  That impetus continued and the word-count had reached 13,000 by 12th October.  Since then, it's taken me until today (25th October) to complete it whilst only adding 9,000 more words.  Such is writing when you work and commute...and have dental issues.  Still, I am pleased that I've finished the first draft and pleased that it is a total departure from anything I have written before.

This is a pure and simple crime story.  That's a first just knowing what genre I've written in!  It's also set in this year which made writing from what I know a whole lot easier.  To make Mr. King proud, I let the story evolve as I wrote.  I didn't plot:  that's for dullards, remember?  Initially, I wrote as fast and as furiously as I could so as not to lose that energy.  It got slowed by having to work and the (ongoing) dental issues when I came home but I still wanted to write more than watch TV dramas or YouTube videos on programming MS Excel.

I also let the characters evolve as I wrote.  I have two female detectives which wasn't planned.  Their back-stories came out of nowhere, too.  I did a bit of research into the organisation of Cumbria Constabulary, various relevant Acts of Parliament and medical approaches and roved the streets of Westmorland like some stalker using Google Streetview.  I also did cursory checks of LIDAR results, RAF reconnaissance photos from the inter-war years and the OS historical maps.  But I didn't get bogged down in detail like I have in the past.  I looked, I found what I wanted and I worked my way around that information if what I found didn't quite fit what was happening in my head.  In some instances, the information forced a change that was even more exciting.  It wasn't difficult.

If I found anything difficult, it was detaching myself from the real countryside to create a fictional one.  I also found it a bit difficult to write prose.  Dialogue came easily.  It conveyed the minds of the characters.  But if I remember the first draft of "that book", that too was heavy on dialogue.  I only created greater prose on the second draft.  What will happen when I start editing for the second draft of Stone Dead is anyone's guess.  It's a novella; the rules are a little different.  Which brings me to the 'cooling off period'.

Mr King advocates that I should put my 1st draft away for at least 6 weeks before looking to review it.  At that point, I should read it through myself, make all the grammatical, spelling and other no-brainer corrections I can find as well as look to remove 10% of what I've written.  (Remember:  he was once advised that 2nd Draft = 1st Draft - 10%.)  Once that's done, then I can let my Ideal Reader loose on my work.

Well, 6 weeks takes me up to 6th December.  I will set a reminder on my calendar and see what I think then.

In the meantime, Mr King advocates having a celebration of some kind.  Not being a drinker, it won't involve alcohol.  I would order pizza but it's off my agenda after the stomach upset I had last night and my continuing dental issues.  Maybe I'll just have a Jaffa Cake...or twelve.

As a parting thought, maybe I'll get to start my 2nd draft whilst having my tooth extracted.  Won't that be fun?


Saturday 13 October 2018

St Peter & St Paul, Stondon Massey, Essex

St Peter & St Paul, Stondon Massey, Essex. (c) Philip McDonnell 2014

You will come to learn that I spend a lot of time visiting, exploring and photographing churches that still contain some material fabric from the Saxon to 12th century.  Whether you have any belief or not, they are fascinating buildings with stories extending back over 1000 years.

Today, my wife and I escaped the hot, polluted air of East London and headed out into the Essex countryside.  We didn't go far really.  Initially, we had only intended to go to Wanstead to visit the Oxfam Bookshop (I got a bargain there) and have lunch.  However, despite a breeze, the traffic was quite intense and the air stale.  So we skipped the lunch idea and drifted through Epping and Chipping Ongar on our way for tea and cake at Megarry's, a delightfully quirky antiques and tea room in Blackmore.

As we meandered, we happened to pass St Peter and St Paul's church at Stondon Massey (although it's a good half mile or so outside the modern village) and noticed it was open.  That was an immediate cause to stop for exploration and photos.  I know we stopped and looked at the outside in 2014 when I was occasionally using my wife's Canon.  But this was an opportunity to get inside.

This church, dating from around 1100AD, has endured the reconstructions of the ages like most.  The external walls were rendered in a typical act of protection of what is clearly a beautifully patterned exterior constructed of tufa, Roman tile-brick and flint (see below).
The gable of the nave, Roman tile-brick forming a saw-tooth pattern. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018

Inside, the main feature is the timber structure supporting the bell-turret.  I was once told this is a common feature in poorer churches and was omni-present by 1600.  Whether that's true or not, I cannot say as I haven't researched it.  (It's later than my period of interest, after all.)  What is unusual as far as I am concerned is that the structure is free-standing, only being tied in at the roof.  I have never seen this in a church before.

The timber structure supporting the bell turret built inside the older stonework. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018
Close-up of the bell turret support framework. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018
Elsewhere, the features are comparatively few as the building has a large Victorian vaulted extension that was originally a mortuary chapel (I didn't photograph it, sorry) but is now where Sunday school appears to be taught.  Apparently, it's very cold in winter - which is why it was a mortuary chapel!  The chancel arch was removed when the extensions were done so any 12th century features have long since gone.  The only ones left are the south entrance door and some small windows typical of Saxo-Norman architecture.
The Saxo-Norman doorway. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018

One final photo is of the carved lectern that stands besides the pulpit.  One of the ladies in the church said it's not used today but, again, it is far from the usual type of lectern I've seen in so many other churches.
The lectern.  The side to the left is carved with a sheath of wheat and the word Christis. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018


Until next time...

Friday 12 October 2018

On Writing: New Ideas, New Story

Tree in the moat of Brough Castle, Westmorland. (C) Philip McDonnell 2018

My last post was on Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, a welcome comrade in arms when it comes to writing.  Since then I have been quiet on the blogging front.  "Why's that?" you cry,  all one of my readers.  "It's because I've been writing...and it's not medieval historical fiction!"

Yes, it's true; I have been writing and it's because I was inspired by our holiday landscape and Mr King's advice.

That last post was written in Lanercost in Cumbria where myself and my wife spent two whole weeks relaxing, reading (obviously), visiting various places from Kendal in the south to South Shields in the East.  Hmm, confusing that.  We also ate a substantial amount of Kendal cake:  the ice-white one, not chocolate-covered version.  Not good for a diabetic...but it was lovely.

(Top-tip: we found the best - that is, cheapest - place to buy Kendal cake was Tebay Services at Junction 37 of the M6!)

We chose Cumbria this year because neither of us had ever been there (other than to pass through on the train as we headed to Gretna for a family wedding).

My wife loves loves prehistory and had discovered the whole northwest of England is rich in henges, circles, megaliths and suchlike.  I'm just always happiest in hills, mountains and woodland and Cumbria, Westmorland, and Lakeland has all of that and more - along with a lot of sheep.

The unexpected bonus was being inspired to write something new, modern and almost a complete departure from my usual historic haunts. (Although this tale includes numerous references to pre-history in a sinister sort of way).  And in the last half of our holiday, that energy to write was amazing.

I haven't been so inspired to write for years.  There was a buzz.  A short(ish) story based around the discovery of an excarnated skeleton in a copse where there was a megalith and the ensuing police investigation.  I was achieving around 2000 words a day (Mr King would be proud) and not back-tracking to edit.  By the time we left on the Friday morning there were almost 6,000 words in the Scrivener file.  (Currently, the total stands at nearly 13,000 but my working day coupled with emergency dentistry, A& E and everything else has reduced my daily count to 1,000 words tops and meant that I have had to go back and edit as the ideas flow and formulate.  As Mr King noted (in a summarised fashion):  plotting is for dullards.

The working title is Stone Dead.  I'll keep you posted.  Now a photo of (Long Meg and) Her Sisters.

A few of the Sisters of Long Meg. (c) Philip McDonnell, 2018




Tuesday 2 October 2018

On Writing by Stephen King

This is not a critical review of Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.  There is a lot of sensible, pragmatic advice in this book that takes a would-be author through the whole process of writing from 1st Draft to Publication.  Much of this I have learned over the years and won't bore you with a detailed account.  No, this post is about what I've taken from this work that will help me move forward in my own writing.

The first 118 pages of On Writing are a brief, self-effacing autobiography to 1997.  It is his "CV".  It even covers his descent into alcoholism, drug dependancy and rehabilitation.  It's to the point, frequently profane and rather funny.  It is also somewhat sad when he says he barely remembers writing Cujo because of his addictions [1].  It is an insight into the man and how he is going to deliver his wisdom.  (There are another 22 pages starting after his wisdom, at p.305, that cover the period from being hit by a truck, sustaining a medical dictionary's worth of hideous injuries and his remarkably rapid to returning to work some months later whereafter he finished this book.)

The next section is the "Toolbox".  In 36 pages, he uses the carpenter's tray toolbox metaphor to go through the fundamentals of English language - top tray: vocabulary and grammar; second tray: elements of writing style, etc.  It rattles those universal schoolboy hates:  not repeating a word on the page that's been used in a previous sentence or paragraph, and; remembering the technical names for parts of sentences that serve no purpose in adult life unless you intend to teach English.  Reading that short section made me aware that I still consciously abide by those grammar school rules and edit repeatedly to remove duplications, adverbial abominations and clichés.  I've done it here, several times.

Toolbox open, so to speak, Mr King then commences his approach to the mastery of the craft.

Inevitably, he starts with the obvious great commandment of many authors:  read and read a lot [2].  Epic fail there then.  I am a poor reader.  No, I'm an abysmal reader.  Stephen King says he's a poor reader and yet he gets through about 70 to 80 books a year, mostly fiction [3].  I normally only get through one, maybe two.  For someone who writes fiction, that is appalling.  Of course, I read plenty of academic papers and non-fiction texts for research but I need to remember that I am writing fiction.  My wife has been telling me for ages that I am not writing a research paper.  Mr King makes the same comment later in his text [4].

In actuality, it has been a bit of an extraordinary year on the fiction reading front in that I've read three novels already - two of Bernard Cornwell's Last Kingdom series and Graham Greene's masterpiece, The Power and the Glory.  I also started a fourth in May (that shall remain nameless) but only got to page 14 before my intolerance of poor research had me ruing the £3.99 I had spent on it (3 for 2 deal at Tesco, the other two books being for my wife).  There is also a fifth historical novel by an author I've never heard of that will be started today.  We'll see how that goes.

If I'm truthful, I find reading historical fiction rather hard.  This is in part because it's for pleasure, not learning.  Yet, as long as I am enjoying the story, why should I crave facts?  Well, because they add tangible anchors to my vision of the world being portrayed and if they're wrong, I am jarred, sometimes deeply irritated.  The Last Kingdom series, for instance, creates a believable vision of 9th Century England even though I know Cornwell bends historical facts to fit his storylines.  Often, in the epilogues, he freely admits what he's contorted.  That's fine because I didn't notice so it didn't mar my enjoyment.  Many years ago, Ellis Peters achieved the same ensorcelling with Cadfael when I knew far less than I do today and I loved them just as much.  Ignorance was indeed bliss.  But there are works that fail miserably and I could throw straight into the bin; the one I bought in Tesco being a prime example.  Mr King, however, maintains that if I had despatched the accomplished author's drivel to a charity shop, I would have missed an opportunity to learn how not to write.  Style, capability to describe people and scenes, write dialogue, set pace and characterise will develop the more I read - even the rubbish.  Further, the more I read, the more I will learn what aspects of my genre have not already been 'have-at-you'd' to death in a stampede of cliché (insert ROFL emoji of your choice and frequency).

Moving on, Mr King concurs with just about every other writing guide that you need a dedicated writing space.  He recommends it should be free of distractions:  phones, TVs, even views out the window and, vitally, be a room with a lockable door to get that spontaneous, energy-filled first draft down uninterrupted [5] .  He does allow music into his writing room which suits me.  For him it's groups like Metallica.  Mine tend to be more folky, ethereal, echoing a medieval or Arabian feel like Jethro Tull, Loreena McKennitt and some Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow.  He also agrees with learned counsel that it is essential to have the commitment to set daily minimum word-count targets.   He aims for 2,000 words per 3 hour morning stint which produces a 180,000 word novel in three months.  That velocity seems daunting to me.  I have done 2,000 words and more in a morning but not day in day out.  The energy must be incredible.  He even notes that he was on fire when he wrote The Running Man and completed that in a week [6]!

One of the frequent pieces of advice given to budding authors is: "write what you know".  Whilst not absolutely against it, he recommends you write whatever you like as long as it is believable.  He's adamant about believability.  He says readers switch off if the characters or story cease to have any credibility.  He returns to this absolute when discussing description, dialogue, characterisation, symbolism and theme.  It doesn't mean don't only write what you know but if your writing a murder mystery, it seems highly unlikely you will have much real world experience unless you are a) the murderer;  b) the detective or c) Kathy Reichs (who trained FBI agents in the recovery of human remains and was a consultant forensic anthropologist to North Carolina before Déja Dead shot her to authorial fame in 1997).  It's common sense really.  In my case, fortunately for my readership, Quantity Surveying didn't exist in the 12th century so I'm going to have to rely upon what I know about medieval construction instead.  Ah, you cry, but didn't Ken Follett do that in Pillars of the Earth and World Without End?  Oh.  Yes.  Bugger.  Just as well that building is incidental to all but one of my forthcoming trilogy.  (Trilogy? Insert more ROFL and rolling eyes emojis of your choice.)

Moving swiftly on...

The further I got into On Writing, the more I found myself liking Mr King's approach.  The first major plus came when he wrote do not to get hung up on the plot.  (Yes!)  He says plot "is a good writer's last resort and a dullard's first choice" [7].  He doesn't hate plotting.  He does it where necessary but he calls it various derogatory names including tyrannical and the jackhammer of writing:  clumsy, mechanical and anti-creative [8].  After all, he says, our lives are plotless [8].  It was quite a relief to see this put so succinctly.  I never had a concrete plot for Broken Bonds:  my characters had situations through which they told the story.  The first draft grew organically.  In places it was perfect, evocative, emotional.  In others, ludicrously lacking.

This leads him on to say that he doesn't always know exactly how his stories end either.  (Yes again!)  I have worried about weak endings and no endings for years.  Finally, I have a world-renowned author saying why be a control freak; the ending will come out somewhere? [10]

So, having spent years thinking I need a clear plot and definitive ending, I now know it is not an absolute. These are the two key points I will take from this book to move my own work forward.

To finish off then, Stephen King has created an easy, engaging take on the 'how to write' genre.  Often, such books are too academic.  This is sensible, enlightening, irreverent, profane and packed full of anecdotes.  It is clearly the best creative writing book I have read, far more engaging than Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones and less woo-woo than Julia Cameron's more broad-spectrum Artist's Way.  It is also clear to me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my approach to writing other than I don't read anywhere near enough fiction and don't write every day.

1. King, Stephen, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, p.110, New English Library, Hodder & Stoughton. 2001
2. Ibid, p.164
3. Ibid.
4. Ibid, p.277
5. Ibid, p.178
5. Ibid, p.175
6. Ibid, p.189
7. Ibid.
8. Ibid, p.188
9. Ibid, p.190

Tuesday 25 September 2018

New Masthead...Capitals and Headstops

With all this imagination going on, what better time to revamp the masthead of this blog?

St Helen & St Giles, Rainham, Essex
I have used those odd grey eyes staring out at you more than once on blogs.  It is a door capital from the 12th century Anglo-Norman church of St. Helen and St. Giles in Rainham, Essex

St Helen & St Giles, Rainham, Essex
Capitals are generally encountered where there is no projecting stonework beyond the face of the wall into which they are built.  Capitals in the classical sense are split into 'orders': that is Ionic, Doric, Corinthian and Composite which start with simple Ancient Greek designs and end with complex Roman versions.  The types carved into the heads or faces of people or animals are most often pre-Reformation medieval although the Victorians took a liking to them on occasion.

The one used in my masthead is one of a pair.  I admit it does appear to be rather stylised - pictured left - and has something sinister about it which is why it appeals to me.  Its companion, however, is just weird.  It looks like a pair of eyes staring through a chainmail coif.  And it may be.  

Ely Cathedral: Prior's Doorway (LH)
Monastic masons were, first and foremost, trained to think and build structurally and be portrait artists last - if at all.  Their role was to build churches and cathedrals that glorified God, not play to the vanity of prelates and benefactors.  At Rainham, it's possible these strange carvings may even be afterthoughts:  attempts to create faces out of stones originally shaped and fitted.  I've not done any major research on them to learn what greater scholars such as Sir Nikolaus Pevsner thought of them and I'm happy to leave it that way.  I'm letting my imagination run a little wild here.

Ely Cathedral: Prior's Doorway (RH)
Elsewhere in the country stylised representation was not always the norm.  Left are the two capitals from the Prior's Doorway at Ely Cathedral.  Believed to have been constructed around 1135AD, these faces are almost certainly real people.  Yes, they are slightly stylised but nowhere near the extremes presented at Rainham.  The cathedral's own website makes no comment about the heads indicating it has no idea who they were or whether, indeed, they were both the same person at different ages.  They may have been father and son or master mason and apprentice.  Perhaps, they were Prior and Sub-Prior.  We will almost certainly never know.  We can only admire the skill of the craftsmen that made them along with the rest of the door (not shown but well worth a visit).

Dorchester-upon-Thames:  to me this 
looks like the Formula 1 racing driver
Sir Jackie Stewart 
Headstops are most commonly encountered in church architecture.  Most people have seen or at least heard of gargoyles because fiction and cinema have made them often sinister, even animate, elements of gothic horror stories.  However, headstops are more frequent that capitals carved into faces and are, literally, carvings of heads (medieval ones often depicting major benefactors of the particular church they are attached to) where the arches over windows or other recessed features stop (see right).  Sir Nikolaus Pevsner, the 20th century's doyen of church architecture gave the definition as:  a terminal to a hoodmould or label (projecting moulding above an arch or lintel) carved with a head.1

To finish up, below are some wonderfully expressive examples of other headstops from around the country.  When you're out and about, have a look for them - although you may need binoculars or a good camera lens like an 18-400mm to get a decent view/shot.

St Andrew, Boreham, Essex

St Andrew, Boreham, Essex

Chapter House
Southwell Minster
Notts
St Cosmas & St Damian, Challock,
Kent
1Pevsner's Architectural Glossary, 2nd Edition. App by Aimer Media. Copyright owned by Yale University Press

Note to Self: get the referencing properly sorted.  Harvard style!

Sunday 23 September 2018

Where's My Imagination?


Previously on "Where's My Imagination?", I explained in my rambling way that I had lost the plot.  Quite literally lost the plot of my novel Broken Bonds.  The more academic I had become, the less my imagination could operate within the true historic framework of the 12th century.  Ludicrous really but none the less true.  I had no plot, only a vague notion of where the story was going and absolutely no idea how to end it.  I wasn't even calling it Broken Bonds any more.

Well, that last post gave me a lot of freedom to think afresh.  And this time, it seems to be bearing fruit.

I wondered: what if I went back to the beginning?  What if I wrote down what I remembered of my original intentions from almost 30 years ago (other than trying to be Umberto Eco and Ellis Peters in the same novel)?  Let's try that.  So, without any plan other than to write what I remembered, I started typing.

To digress just a little, I use a fabulous piece of writing software called Scrivener produced by Literature and Latte.  It is now on version 3 and, although I have barely touched the surface of its capabilities, I use it for all my fiction.  (I may one day use it for my academic and blogging output, too, but for now, it is just for my fiction.)  There is also a sizeable community on Facebook, various YouTube videos and authors' blogs.  It's popular, in short, and justifiably so.  The image below gives you a taste of the layout that I haven't really bothered to customise and it is this that I have used to rediscover my intentions...and rekindle my imagination.

Sample screen of Literature & Latte's "Scrivener 3" app on macOS.
Now, me being me, that personality trait of mine called 'neat' wanted to give my thoughts some structure, create a table in Scrivener, a nice, ordered table that I could keep expanding.  I won't do that again.  Tables in Scrivener are awkward to me and nothing like what I am used to in MS Word.  However, another personality trait kicked in called 'integrity' so because I had started the table of awkwardness, I was determined to finish it...a bit like writing Broken Bonds.

Now I'm not going to publish an image of the table but essentially, I asked myself questions like:
  • What was Broken Bonds about originally?
  • What did I want to achieve?
  • What was the intended underlying backstory?
  • Should I rationalise the number of key characters?
It was quite cathartic and made me think even more.  Best of all though, it inspired me to simplify, clarify and plot.  That is what I am going to write about today.

Simplifying is a major challenge.  I don't do simple, I do detailed.  So, to tackle that first item on the list decided to strip the story back to being centred around one character - Aymeric - the central character of the original novella.  The numerous versions of Broken Bonds have seen various characters come and go.  Some I was quite attached to.  Some were far better developed than Aymeric which was really rather stupid given his status.  Thus, I set out to redress this glaring weakness and complete his backstory:  a major detail I had never done in 30 years.  I had roughed out his life up to 31st March 1146AD but thereafter let the next 21 years become a bit...er...lost to history.  Not now.  Last night, I had his backstory up to the date Broken Bonds actually starts on 1st September 1167AD.  It is coherent, it is believable, it is complete.  And it may never get used to the full.

Turning to clarifying, I need to sweep away the randomness, the diversions and those sparkly little facts that had me fall down repeated academic rabbit holes and not find my way back out for decades.  I recognise that in the past I have spent hundreds on books, travelling and all manner of academic incidentals to track down a fact only to discard it later because it just wasn't needed!

Moving swiftly on, then, genre has actually caused me more trouble that I expected.  In my last post, I made it clear my intention was not to write an historical murder-mystery.  I had always had a highbrow aim for my novel and saw the Crime genre as requiring the incessant search for that 'wow' moment to hook a very savvy readership.  Ellis Peters had cornered the 12th century sleuthing market with Cadfael and I had no wish to be branded a poor imposter.  I had it in mind to make my novel a one-off commentary on 12th century social history and deeply literary.  Ha!  Who was I trying to kid?  What I have realised is:  the original rewrite of Broken Bonds was fundamentally a cold-case murder-mystery - just not a very realistic one.  Inevitably then, I have a quite a lot of work to do to straighten this out.

And once that's done, what's next?  Well, the plot: from beginning to end.  No, actually, from end to beginning.  As I was typing this post, a lightbulb went on it my mind's eye illuminating a writing technique I used when I was doing my BA & MA back between 2003 and 2012:  write the end first.  It doesn't mean the end is a 'foregone conclusion' but it focuses the mind.  On more than one occasion during my studies I realised my intended outcome was unsustainable and had to rethink and rewrite.  Here, with Broken Bonds, I have already written the outline of the ending.  I wrote it years ago as the beginning of another, connected story and it has been repeated in various forms ever since.  Now though, I see it as the end of Broken Bonds.  Obviously, I am not going to give anything away and the precise wording will go down on the page as I work through to the last full-stop.  Thereafter, my Editor-in-Chief will release the Red Pen of Doom to do its worst before the final denouement sees the public light of day.

So, there you have it.  Clearly, my imagination is alive and well after many years of academic oppression and rejoicing!  Now all I have to do is write 300-ish pages of coherent fiction to prove it...



Friday 31 August 2018

Academic Historian: is that true?

Myself re-enacting a medieval academic historian or chronicler.
(C) Debra McDonnell, February 2010

Tuesday was a difficult day at work last week.  Very difficult.  I had a not-inconsiderable disappointment regarding a promotion that left me very low and then, laughably, the same day I had to attend a meeting to set my incentive targets for the coming year.  I was not in the mood.  I really wasn't.  I had spent a good part of the previous weekend in silent introspection about something that has been a major part of my personal life and was already miserable.

I had been having an internal dialogue about why I could never finish my novel.  Yes, 'that novel' to the people who know me, the one I have been writing for over 30 years.  I was wondering whether I should just bin it and declare "I am not a writer!"  I pondered why I could not create a decent story arc; especially one with a strong end.  From that it spiralled into the realisation that I had become obsessed with real history and seemingly lost the ability to weave a fictional history into the chronicled gaps.  I concluded that my shift toward academic historian had impacted everything and that started to drag me down to the low I experienced at work.

Yet, am I really an academic historian (by passion) as I have put in my "Me, me, me" profile?  I'm starting to wonder.

I began writing my magnum albatross of historical fiction in my mid-20s.  I had taken it out of the realm of medieval fantasy and crossed into the turbulent history of the 12th century.  I had already started reading historical fiction but was equally consumed by the subject of archaeology.  I discovered Current Archaeology magazine at English Heritage's Temple Manor in Strood, Kent and drank in every detail.  At the same time I started reading all of Ellis Peters' Cadfael novels (20 in total) and read Umberto Eco's Name of the Rose.   I loved the simple formulaic murder-mystery nature of Cadfael and how each tale drew me into Ellis Peters' vision of pastoral and secular England in the mid-12th century.  I equally loved Eco's literary, deeply academic murder-mystery tour-de-force set in the pre-Black Death 14th century.  They became my benchmark and I was determined to condense the two styles into one.

Perhaps that was my mistake:  the arrogance of believing I could condense two styles into one - whilst not writing a murder-mystery.

The general Cadfael writing formula always seemed to be weather, dirty deed, sleuthing and denouement.  That is a massive simplification but it still inspired.  In the years before the internet, I collected a year's worth of weather reports from the Independent newspaper to give me a real weather reference to work with.  I drove around the locations of my novel (except Lisbon and the Middle East) and collected ideas such as listening to the countryside, inhaling its scents and noting the quality of light.  That was the simple part.  The Name of the Rose element, however, unleashed the perfectionist researcher in me: the veritable beast upon my shoulder yearning to wag the finger and say:  "You know nothing, (Jon Snow)".

It became the enemy of my imagination.

At one stage, I enjoyed having my imagination be inspired by a side street of obscure historic detail that was infinitely more interesting and intriguing than anything I had previously contrived.  It was exciting.  Synchronicity, too, seemed to smile on me.  I got so involved with my story I once subtitled it History of a Past Life.  Yet, over time, I lost that connection and the excitement.  I took a BA (Hons) and MA in History and Medieval History to prove I knew what I was talking about and did not notice my imagination had become disengaged.  I had lost sight of what I was trying to write and, as my wife pointed out, my work was reading more like an academic paper than a novel. 

So, had I become an academic historian?

On the face of it, yes.  But actually, no, because History was not my preferred choice of study.  I have already said above that I began to be consumed by Archaeology at the same time as I became interested in the 12th century but when I searched for a part-time degree that a mature student could do, nothing existed in Kent.  Nine years later, when I was discussing my PhD ideas with my History professor, he kept repeating one word:  archaeology.  I should have taken the hint.

In conclusion then, subconsciously, I consider myself more archaeologist than historian even though I have never formally studied the subject.  Many years ago, an old friend often said I should've been an osteo-archaeologist because I like dead people.  Maybe she was right.  To that end then, here's a photo of the a dog's skull unearthed earlier this during at site of the Anglo-Saxon era Barking Abbey, Essex.  The original Barking Dog?  Who knows: he's certainly looked better.

A dog burial discovered on land that was once the wharf of Barking Abbey in the Anglo-Saxon era. 
(C) Philip McDonnell 2018






Sunday 26 August 2018

My deafness and music

An iPhone pic from the Pink Floyd exhibition "Their Mortal Remains".
Philip McDonnell 2017
I am deaf.  There's no simpler way to put it.  For years I could claim to be profoundly deaf which means little or no useful hearing.  I have now gone past that to profanely deaf, perhaps.  Fortunately, 10 years ago, I was given a cochlear implant by our beleaguered but still fabulous NHS (Guys & St. Thomas' in London to give the name of the trust) that has given me considerable audio restoration.  The only thing is: cochlear implants are speech processors, not music processors and music was one of those creations of humanity that was very important to me.

I began going deaf when I was 27.  I actually noticed I couldn't hear birdsong.  I got tested at a local hospital and they told me I was losing high frequency audio.  My threshold of pain from loud noise was also dropping.  That was 1991.  It would be another 16 years of decline before I would undergo tests for being fitted with an implant.

The audiologists said it was noise damage and I have since recognised the cacophonous world I lived in.  From an early age, I helped my father in the garage repairing cars.  That often meant standing in front of revving engines whilst unwittingly playing with lengths of asbestos rope used to seal exhausts.  That's how we lived back then: carbon monoxide and asbestos - life on the edge.

As a teenager, I discovered 70s heavy rock, namely Black Sabbath, AC:DC, Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, Iron Maiden, Rush and later, less heavy, Kansas and Pink Floyd among others.  I also discovered motorbikes followed by motorbikes with almost straight through exhausts. There was nothing like the sound of a four-stroke roar as you belted through the Dartford Tunnel at illegal speeds.  Finally, to complete my noise map, I starting work in the construction industry which eventually decided that noise was bad for you.

But the damage was already done.

Slowly, insidiously, I started to lose the ability to hear high fret guitar work.  Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street has notes played on the 23rd fret.  Gone.  The solo on Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb with the harmonic D on the 8th fret; gone.  Jethro Tull's Broadsword; badly distorted.  The introductions to Iron Maiden's To Tame A Land and The Mission's Deliverance; gone.  Fleetwood Mac's I'm So Afraid and Lindsey Buckingham's soaring guitar solos; gone.  Kansas' intro to The Wall and Rush's violin component of Losing It; also gone.  And with every year, I could hear less and less...until the cochlear implant.

I was fitted with the Med-El device on 28th July 2008.  My head was bandaged like a turban and I had to wear that for a week or so.  It came off quick enough and a stupid plaster was put in its place that fell off just as the opening ceremony of the Chinese Olympics began.  How's that for a memory?

At the beginning of September, I finally received the external sound processor of the implant and was 'switched on'.  Everyone sounded like R2D2 having a conversation with a Dalek.  Bloody awful, Like Pinky & Perky on crack.  But within days I could hear noises I had never heard; the bleeping of ATM's as keys are pressed; the warning alarms on buses and trains before the doors close.  And sounds I had forgotten like birdsong.  But music was my goal.

I sat on the floor with my future wife one night listening to music I knew.  The audiologists said listen to stuff I knew well.  The only track they recommended I avoid was Baker Street.  That, they felt, was the Holy Grail to me at that time.

I remembered listening to Jethro Tull and saying: "I know that's the flute but it just sounds wrong."  Yet, I hadn't heard it for years so at least there was progress.  And quickly some semblance of musical appreciation returned.

When I had the final test before the implant surgery, I could here one in five words in each ear.  After the op and once accustomed, I rose to eight out of ten words. Yet music, especially synthesiser and guitar-based work remained difficult and even today I am limited to that music I had a good audio-memory of before I went deaf.

Pop music was the easiest to hear.  Savage Garden became a favourite of both of us.  I persisted with Jethro Tull as Broadsword and the Beast was and probably remains one of my favourite albums of all time.  I could listen to Placebo's Pure Morning, Andrea Bocelli's Canto della Terra, Muse's Hysteria and a lot more besides and enjoy them.  But it was Kansas' The Wall, Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb, and Gerry Raffety's Baker Street that formed the trinity of my salvation.

Eventually, I played them all with Baker Street being the last just before Christmas 2008. And there were notes played on the 23rd fret.  They weren't fabulous and they will never sound the way my audio memory and my dreams (yes, I dream songs sometimes) replay them but they were there and I cried.  The Grail was within reach.

Today, I still struggle with improvised, extended and live versions of songs I like because they do not match my memory.  However, last year I went to the Pink Floyd Their Mortal Remains Exhibition at the Victoria & Albert Museum and the last room I visited played the first and last tracks the core four members ever did:  See Emily Play and Comfortably Numb.  The latter blew me away.  I just stood and let the music swamp me and video footage mixed with the psychedelic projections left me in awe.  I stood there through two repeats and cried...again.

My hearing will never be fully-restored.  At 54, it never will be as perfect as it was when I was a teenager but maybe I could push 90% restoration rather than 80%.  There has been some progress using stem cell research in America and the Government here is hinting it may insist all previously single-implanted adults are to be double-implanted - something that has usually been reserved for babies and small children.  It may help but I'm not holding my breath.

I can hear a good amount of the music of my youth and enjoy it.  The rest?  Well, that is lost in my memory or just noise in my electronic hearing.  Maybe I will dream some of those lost tracks someday.

Another iPhone pic from the Pink Floyd exhibition "Their Mortal Remains".
(C) Philip McDonnell, 2017