Category Archives: writer

obsolete forms

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Nature landscape impressionism painting

let’s talk about art and the creation of art and what is art.
when people first wanted to record what they saw or happened they painted on the walls of caves with paints they created from things around them. it represented what they saw and did. then over time the technology improved. paper. canvases. but people continued to paint to show what they saw.


photography was invented and replaced painting as a technology for recording. painting became art. people used to record events on their cameras. people, places, things. until the rise of the movie camera which replaced the camera as a means to record events. so photography became art and movies became the way to record events. a new technology on the scene. this in its turn became superseded by computers. each new technology reducing the previous to art. the old technology became a means of expression. the representation of the idea.


and now we find ourselves with a new technology making redundant the old. AI. all before is reduced to art. obsolete technology the expression of art. text and image. but what of AI? some say that they create art using AI. they enter the commands and something is produced. they call it art. they claim creation. but is creation just merely the idea and the output?


when earlier artists created an artefact was it merely the output that was considered the art? the result of thought, experimentation, technique, the breaking of rules and the inventing of rules. does not the process also make the art. with AI there is no process. there is simply the input of the idea and the output. there is no experimentation with the materials, the developing of technique, the following of rules and the breaking of rules. that was all done by the artists whose work was scraped and stolen. there is no original technique and expression of process. the process is gone. bastardised. just idea and output.


am i being too hard on the AI creator? i think not. previous technologies that became art did not rely upon the stealing of the work of others. it is not an averaging of many different people’s thoughts, processes and ideas. and even when previous creators made art with dead technologies based on other creatives’ ideas they acknowledged the fact. they made reference to it. they did not claim it was solely their creation. they owned up to the great artists they were inspired by. AI artefacts make no such reference or admittance. they lie that they are original, something new. rather than an amalgamation of many creatives’ ideas.


if you want to be seen as a creator of art then engage with the process of art. take time to develop your skills. find your own voice. develop your own techniques. break the rules your way. develop your own new rules. don’t short cut and steal another’s work and claim it yours. you did not own the process. the work is not yours.

plotter or a pantser?

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Person writing on notebook and listening to music

it is said there are two kinds of writers: plotters and pantsers. if you’re new to writing and wondering what does that mean, then let me explain.

plotters map out the entire outline of their book. they can plan characters, scenes, character arcs, time lines, settings and so on.

pantsers approach a book by the seat of their pants. they don’t plan anything. they just see the blank page and go for it!

i never quite knew where i fitted in to these groupings when writing. my first book i wrote without any planning. i just knew what it was about and i sat down and wrote it. it was a children’s book of about 18,000 words and those words and the story just sprung to mind. i knew who the main character was and what the story was about. it was a straight forward tale which followed a main character on their humorous adventure.

the second book needed a little planning. i wrote a sentence saying what each chapter was about. it was still mainly driven by one main character but their was a sub-plot with a few others characters involved. however it was still a straight forward story.

the next three were outlined in a similar way. a brief couple of sentences for each chapter. maybe a bullet point of a key detail to remember but no more than that. they all had linear plots that were fairly straight forward.

the next book really needed some plotting. well, more plotting than i was used to. it was based on old detective noir and so i needed to know key events and when clues were to be revealed. most of the characters were pre-planned but some just developed naturally as i wrote. the book took a long time to write and really tested me. i wasn’t used to juggling so many elements and sometimes i forgot things as my notes were still generally brief. 2 or 3 sentences per chapter.

whilst i was writing that book, i took breaks by writing short stories and prose poems. none of these were planned out. just an idea and then write. a complete contrast to the detective novel i was working on. ok. it was my usual dark sense of humour with fantastical elements but besides that there were no connections between them.

so there i was. writing different things. both pantsing and plotting. but with the detective novel was i really a plotter? i have heard of people with multiple postcards outlying the key scenes of a novel; graphs that show character timelines and sciences they’re mentioned in; biographical details for each character; floor plans for locations; maps of worlds. none of that existed when i wrote.

then i found myself waiting on beta readers and so decided to start a new work in progress. something to keep me amused. but this time i went back to pen and paper like i wrote my prose poems. gone was the computer screen for novel writing. gone the side notes. just a pen and paper. and a fuzzy idea. no notes were written down beforehand. no outlining of a plot. no. just pen and paper and that vague idea. and so it began.

it has been said by some that plotting stifles the writing. takes the energy out of it. im not sure the readers of books written that way would agree. i certainly cant tell if a book has been written by a plotter or a pantser. maybe it was more a reflection of how that particular writer felt about having to plot. to lay things out before they got going. of feeling they didn’t have permission to stray from the laid out path. certainly when pantsing a piece you feel free to do what you want. that you’re on a rollercoaster and where it is going you’re not entirely sure. but then there are drawbacks. you have to write more regularly or process a good memory of what you have already written. and you have to be prepared to rewrite and edit to fix the holes you overlooked in your frenetic energy.

having done both pantsing and plotting im not sure what kind of writer that makes me. undecided? maybe there is a place for the undecided writer when approaching a novel.

new year new goals

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Green and yellow fireworks display

so we are into 2026 and i suppose it is the time of year to make resolutions and set goals for yourself. to be honest last year wasn’t as good as i hoped. i didn’t achieve many of the things i set out to do. motivation was lacking a bit and i was finding it difficult to hit a consistent stride. it was all a bit stop start.

maybe it was partly down to not finding a satisfactory writing spot. i used to have a desk at home i could work at or preferably a local watering hole i would use. but the desk went and the watering hole changed. it no longer does coffee. a key requirement in the process. it was either find a new place or start drinking booze in the mornings.

i tried a few other places. but distance to some was an issue. others was interruptions. there just doesn’t seem to be anywhere local to me that fits the bill. im still searching but dont hold out much hope. and my requirements are not that difficult. a table and chair in a corner. coffee when i want it. i dont mind a bit of noise as i tend to wear headphones. and a power-point to charge from. you wouldn’t think it would be so difficult.

anyway. what didn’t i achieve last year:
1) completing WIP final draft and begin submitting;
2) complete editing poetry collection;
3) submit shorts & poetry to periodicals:
4) regularly post on blog and insta account

what i achieved:
1) completed first draft of wip-FR and sent out to BETA readers
2) submitted a short to an anthology
3) arranged a secret project
4) begun new wip-EX
5) reading more material

this year i intend to knuckle down and graft at my writing. make it more a priority. try to remain motivated and less distracted. so the goals are:
1) complete final draft of wip-FR and submit
2) complete edit of poetry
3) continue to work on wip-EX
4) find a new writing spot

i think 4 goals is realistic especially as some are big and time consuming. particularly number one and two as i loathe editing. its the part of the writing process i really dont enjoy. some writers love it. i just find it frustrating. i’ve tried to now put systems in place to make it easier but it is difficult. maybe i just a bit too close to the work and not distant enough to be ruthless. to wield my pen like a scalpel.

well, here’s to a new year of writing. go 2026.

divided worlds

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there is separation that exists in all writing. the writer knows it is there. tries to ignore. pretend it doesn’t exist never existed shouldn’t exist must not exist does not deserve to exist but nevertheless persists in its existence. it hangs there. on the edge. like a small snag of fingernail that catches on a jumper as you pull it on and with a sudden sharp pain makes you aware.

a writer sets out when writing a piece in a belief a commitment a fallacy that what they imagine to be what they can imagine to be will come to be. will exist. once they have put pen to paper. drafted. edited. rewritten. checked. line-edited. drafted again. but it is not there. the thing they imagined does not exist. their writing cannot not create it. even if they were to train a million apes brought up on shakespeare how to type and gave them their work to work on for a million years the problem wouldn’t be solved. the final draft would exist but be lacking. would have a distance between the imagined and the reality of the word.

this distance is what writers have to live with. each time they put pen to page. make their plans. start to write. they know they will not achieve the story they set out to do. that there will be a piece lacking. a slither where their skill was just not enough. but they lie to themselves that this time it will be different this time they will be better and sometimes they are and this time they will put their all to it and pull each and every imaginative writing sinew to the creation of their work. but they know they tell themselves a lie. that it is a lie to get them started. else they would never begin or go mad during the writing process.

that is why all writers are great liars. they tell themselves most fundamental untruth to themselves and their reader. they see this is what i had planned this is what i intended now buy my perfect book. but we know this to be untrue. and the reader and writer join in with this lie. form a bond in untruth. until the next time.

doppelganger

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Minimalist portraiture women outdoors

Margaret Atwood in her book ‘On Writers and Writing’ talks of authors living in a life of split-personality. Like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde we exist with a darker self, our writer’s voice or being. Whilst we live good wholesome lives earning a crust to support our writing identity and enable us to do the thing we love, when faced with a blank page and a typewriter we turn dark. We will happily murder a character that our poor readers have grown to respect and love. We will with joy bestow upon a poor child a life of misery in the harshest of conditions with no seemingly way to exist the torment. We will bring death to the door of a beloved pet. All for the story. Always to the unseen god of story.

It is no wonder then that some readers when faced with the writer in front of them may confuse the voice of the book, the one they had previously trusted until the heroine died horribly in a fire, is the same as the voice of the writer. That both hold the same sentimentalities and beliefs. That both are not indistinguishable from the other. After all, are not writers told to ‘write what you know?’ What more evidence is needed then that the writer is capable of these hideous offensives?

Yet, when writing the writer often detaches themselves from their character and world. Yes, there may be elements of their psyche that influences the path of the story. But the story is a being onto itself. The characters make demands. Choose their own paths. You may hope a character will do certain actions but the god of story may demand otherwise. And who is brave enough to oppose the god of story? Those who do sacrifice their existence.

end of eras

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air balloons in sky over Bristol, UK

it has been a time of end of eras. things coming to a close or a major change happening after many years of just coasting along. days unchanging. constant. sure.

the first of these changes has been no.1 child finishing their ‘a’ levels and launching themselves onto the world. they are full of ideas and enthusiasm for what lies ahead, edged with a hint of steely determination. i think they are better prepared than i was at the same stage in life. much more knowledgable and wise.

part of this launch was moving out of the house for 10 weeks to do a course in bristol. the last time i was there was probably for an evening when my friends and i dove up from taunton and went to a large warehouse where four punk bands were playing. the headliner was the henry rollins band. i think he was also trying to flog a poetry book as well.

i have mixed emotions about the departure of no.1. i’m losing a buddy who always had something interesting to talk about. a new discovery. there is a space in the house where they were. but i’m also excited to see what will happen on their journey. what new adventures they will report back on. what life holds for them.

the second end was finishing my WIP. my novella. i started it in october 2022 and it has been with me sporadically since then. it has been the hardest piece of writing to write. it was out of my comfort zone. it had a number of elements i had to juggle and they needed to all land successfully. it was also the most planned because of this. i had to make every step right.

i was sporadic in the writing because i made some major changes to my life. changed my working world. made it less certain. and i’m older than when i wrote ‘wishbone billy.’ i don’t have the energy to do the late nights writing. and i find i also lack the focus now since the covid pandemic and lockdown. my ability to concentrate for long periods has dropped. i’m sure there will be a study somewhere which will look at the impact of covid on the mind. on cognitive function. if not, there should be.

and there was the doubt.the great shadow of the imposter raven on my shoulder. waiting. pecking. freezing my mind. it took some battling some days to overcome it and put words to page. to have the confidence in the project. the belief i could do it. i had to keep telling myself i had done it before. i could do it again.

and so three years later the first draft is done. finished. it is out to beta readers who will come back with an honest verdict on the thing. i look forward to hearing. and am beginning to ponder part two of the series. at the moment it is just a vague thought. but it is forming. ticking over. i’m excited by what my mind will generate.

the last end. the last end of the era. was the death of kaos my cat. he has been at my side many a time as i sat writing. he had appeared in many a prosepoem. but his time had come to an end. it was quick. surprising. heart breaking. there is a small space in the house where he should be. but he is not there. and when i sit at night to read or write it is just that bit more lonely. i think there will be the patter of his feet and a jump as he lands on my lap. but there is nothing. just me. my book. my writing.

Kaos the cat. black cat.

30

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Orange white and black cat

the cat sits on table and i in chair. the house is silent. not a sound. outside not a sound. not even a drunk on a phone swerving on route home. not a sound. silent. i sit in chair writing. gathering the thoughts of the day. now all is calm. a wine at hand. the voices have quietened. external.. internal.  now peace.. the room seems larger. bigger. full of. me. my thoughts. my moment. the quiet.  and me writing.  the light of the lamp casts shadows on the page. shadowing words. shadowing thoughts. moments. ideas. i pause to think.  to connect. recollect. and forget. a combination of desire, dream, and the movement of pen on paper. not sure where to go. being in shadow. once things were clear. clear as day. crisp in air. thought. but that moment has gone. so i sit in shadow. in the silence. with the lamp. cat on table. wine to hand.  the telly is on. but it does not speak. it too has succumbed to silence. the moment.  the hour. a flickering lamp. shadows dance.  then stop.  as my pen runs out of ink. and i am left in a moment in a silent room.

words

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White paper on black background

i’ve always had a problem with words. not the deciding on them. not the thinking of them. the focusing on the words to use. the need to reach for a thesaurus because they just won’t come. not that problem. the word count. that’s the issue. no matter how big an idea or how many chapters i seem to always get a low word count.

i plan out my writing. brief lines with a few details what will happen in each chapter. then i begin and write. i sit down at my keyboard and tap away. the idea clear in my mind. full knowledge of the setting and what the character has to achieve in that chapter. i write the scene. describe the setting, add the action and dialogue. build it up as slow as i can. chapter finished. 1500-2000 words. where’s the rest of it? surely i can write longer?

being a two finger typist, i think: maybe its the typing. maybe i should revert back to the old pen and paper. ditch the modern technology. unhamper myself. free myself to write without the distractions a machine brings. but it’s no good. still the same length of chapter. 1500-2000 words. still the problem that the novel is just not long enough for publishers.

perhaps it goes back to me. i’ve never been one to talk lots. always one to listen. speak when i have something to say. something to share. my shaggy dog stories peter out. the dog dies before it gets to the end of the tale. conciseness is in my nature. why use 300 words when a sentence will do? there are some who can talk. really talk. add lots of detail and atmosphere. and write that way. but my thinking has always been why mention the table is red if the colour isn’t important? only mention the details that are important to the plot and events. cut back the chaff.

perhaps my whole approach is wrong. maybe i need to let forth with a wave of unnecessary words. use 100 when 10 would do. but it goes against my grain. perhaps, as i suspect, it is the demanded word counts are wrong that a novel should be the length it should be. should the ‘great gatsby’ be made longer because it doesn’t meet acceptable word counts? max porter’s work lengthened to an epic? or do the publishers need to be more flexible in their approach? is it time for change? perhaps selfish i know. me calling for a revolution just to suit how i write. but think of all the great writing lost because it didn’t meet a required format (i don’t include myself in this).

words. when are many too many? few too few?

sometimes

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sometimes you are gripped with imposter syndrome and the feeling you are wasting your time in the futile gesture of putting words to a page in the hope that someday you will be happy with it that it was all worthwhile the evenings of doubt frustration regret hope the unending feeling that you are so close that it is just over there that knots your stomach at night as you try to sleep but your mind won’t rest as it is full of nagging questions about the viability of the project you are working on whether it was all just a foolhardy endeavour in the first place that you rushed in not heeding the warnings that you were overreaching you should try something simpler a haiku maybe no a single sentence start there but you foolish you decided to rush straight in and try and write a novel again with characters not fully formed just going through the paces in unformed scenes like shadows in an early 80’s video game with all line drawings and the only colour is green and you don’;t even like that so you are left with the realisation that your story is missing a big something a great big something and you are a failure you’ve let yourself down and the people you told you were writing a novel and ask how the progress is going but they have now learnt not to ask anymore as the answer is always the same it’s coming along slowly so you are lying there fretting about the blank page in your book that needs words and exhausted your eyes droop then close but just before they close the idea the solution pops in and you write it down on the page by your bed satisfied that the solution has been found you can rest easy now so you sleep happy only to wake the next day and look at that paper and wonder what the fuck that word means and you are right back where you were the day before with mr imposter syndrome.

anyway. it is sometimes good to remind ourselves why we got into this writing malarkey anyway. the best way i find for me is to pick up a book by a writer i like and read their words and be transported and enjoy the sensation of being carried somewhere and then i remember it is making others feel this way through my work is why i do it. the smiles on faces. the appreciative words. the collective joy. that’s why i do it.

in praise of the futile

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a lot of my time recently has revolved around the issue of copyright and ai. if you’re wondering, i’m against allowing big tech to scrape the work of creatives to train ai without permission. it is theft plain and simple.

there are some who confuse having an idea with creativity. they mistakingly think it is the idea that trumps all. they disregard that creativity is a process. it is the process of flinging an idea into the open, developing it, refining it, abandoning parts, developing others. it is not the click of a button to generate a text or image or song. there is no human process there.

ai will never become creativity or be creative. ai solely seeks a quick fix profit. there will always be a profit margin for ai generated ideas. it will never explore the futile. the time spent on a creation that may not go anywhere. may not sell. is created just for the process and the act of creation. where there is no profit.

humans do not just create for profit. they create to experience a fuller understanding of their imaginative soul. to explore the connection between the sub-conscious and conscious. to play between the cracks. a flick of a button denies that. denies the fulfilment of the creative soul. the human needs to do the futile. to do something just because. it is what leads to advances and revelation. not the regurgitation of what has been.

embrace your futile self while you can. demand the right to be futile. to create without success or reward. to be human.