Was just reading a blog about the Amazon review process and its make
or break influence. It’s unfortunately true that a bad review in the
early stages can do great harm to the success of a book. Whilst it
would be nice to think everyone might consider this when posting a
review, we haven’t yet reached Utopia and everyone is not going to rate
more highly than they’re first inclined out of sympathy.
What rattles me about Amazon reviews is the helpful and unhelpful
rating scheme attached. Now, from my perspective a review is helpful if
it presents the reading experience of the reviewer. However, many
people will rate a review as unhelpful simply because they also have
read the book and don’t agree with what you felt about it. A die-hard
fan will rate you unhelpful if you rate 4 stars and say it lacked a
certain spark but was otherwise great. Where is the room for
objectivity in writing a review in that case?
A review needs to be objective. It needs to describe your experience
of a book and nothing more. A review is neither a synopsis or a
critique. Synopsis is for the author and/or publisher; critique is for
the literary circle meeting or the classroom, maybe some broadsheet
literary pages. In a review, by all means say whether the language was
brilliantly poetic and maybe give one example, but do not write an essay
about it.
But how do you retain objectivity when you’re conscious of helpful
and unhelpful ratings on your opinion? Well the simple way to look at
it is this. If it would stick in your throat to say it to the face of
the author, don’t write it. If 4 stars makes you swallow your pride,
don’t rate it. As much as I might be hurting my own future ratings by
encouraging honesty, I see no point in dishonesty.
Amazon have huge power over the self-publishing world. But who has
power over the quality of what we Indie authors put out there? The
reader. It’s now up to the readers to ensure the good books thrive and
the bad ones wilt. The reader must enable the cream to rise to the top.
Now, am I that confident about my own writing? Of course not.
No-one is. It’s a simple fact for me though that if I write something
and publish it, the reviews should tell me whether I’ve hit the mark or
not. I should read reviews and see what readers like and dislike about
my work, take it all onboard whether positive or negative and use it to
my advantage for future work. If you walked into a door and everyone
laughed but it didn’t hurt, you’d keep on walking into doors for the
comedic value without realising you were slowly destroying yourself.
Feedback in any respect is a gift that we can’t afford to dissuade
anyone from giving. It might hurt sometimes, but how can we avoid the
same mistake in future if it doesn’t?
So write your reviews, give your star ratings and if you’ve been
completely honest, you’ve done it right. If you choose to bear in mind
the harm a three stars or below rating might do to an author, then you
have an altruistic heart and you’re very kind, but have you been
honest? A little white lie can do as much harm as a hurtful truth
because you’re withholding the means for someone to become better.
Be objective. No two people read the same book, so they say. Your
experience will of course be subjective in that respect. But your
review should have no agenda other than to share your experience and
that is wholly objective. That then, is my objective take on the
subject!
Saturday, 21 July 2012
Monday, 2 July 2012
Step it up there!
Oh my, it's July 2nd already and time is ticking by fast. Set myself a deadline of the end of this month to get Inkredible ready for beta reading and since I did that, I swear the seconds halved in length.
First advance beta sections went out last week and feedback was fantastic, so feel pretty good about what I have written. It's the bits I haven't written that bother me. So much more to do and available hours are hugely reduced starting Wednesday.
In about six weeks, my writing hours go down to two or three a day in which time I also need to eat, keep house and theoretically rest as well.
So why are you wasting time blogging, Miss McHugh? Well because I've been so focused on writing I haven't done any writing about writing and I can't let everyone think I just gave it all up now, can I?
Favourite line from this morning's burst of activity: "Let’s just say I have a hunch, Wilkes, and it’s not the weight of this coat." William Walker, out on site and bundled up against the cold.
Back to it while I'm on a roll!
First advance beta sections went out last week and feedback was fantastic, so feel pretty good about what I have written. It's the bits I haven't written that bother me. So much more to do and available hours are hugely reduced starting Wednesday.
In about six weeks, my writing hours go down to two or three a day in which time I also need to eat, keep house and theoretically rest as well.
So why are you wasting time blogging, Miss McHugh? Well because I've been so focused on writing I haven't done any writing about writing and I can't let everyone think I just gave it all up now, can I?
Favourite line from this morning's burst of activity: "Let’s just say I have a hunch, Wilkes, and it’s not the weight of this coat." William Walker, out on site and bundled up against the cold.
Back to it while I'm on a roll!
Saturday, 23 June 2012
Well that's a relief!
"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia" E L Doctorow
I did wonder whether it was safe to admit that I hear my characters talking in my head and assume their personalities when I write them. I suppose it's all about how you actually say it!
I was in a little shop in Whitby (yes, the Whitby, it's not far from where I live really) and someone asked what I was getting. I replied "thtuff" in a deep, dopey but enthusiastic voice. The woman behind the counter heard and looked at me strangely. I looked at her, grinned and said "sorry, that's just the dog's voice in my head". Silence, tumbleweed, was that the sound of ambulance sirens?
What I should have said was "that's the way I imagine my dog would talk if she could" but no, I had to make myself sound as unhinged as possible. I paid and left quite quickly then waited until I was a distance from the shop before howling with laughter.
I do attribute voices to characters as I imagine them. My dog was actually the smartest dog I've ever met and an incredible judge of character. I really wish I'd listened to her about the builder - she was right! To my mind her voice was quite deep because her bark was big and she spoke bluntly and with an innocence that made her sound quite dopey. She also had a lisp. No creature with a tongue that could lick your face at fifty paces could fail to have a lisp. She therefore liked thocks and thoap and thponges and thtuff. It became a common thing among friends and family to refer to thtuff in the dog's imaginary speaking voice. It was perfectly acceptable for me to say that to a complete stranger "it's just the dog's voice in my head". Only it wasn't really acceptable, was it?!
I'm laughing just thinking about the Whitby incident. It sprang to mind the minute I read this quote. As a writer I create characters in every detail inside my head and then project them onto the page. They have conversations in my head (not with me, with each other). That may well tap in to the same areas of the brain that conjure up voices to the schizophrenic. It might be schizophrenia itself safely channelled.
I admit I'm neurotic, I admit sometimes even mildly psychotic (in a non-violent think it but don't do it sort of way). The difference between me and the person that looks at me funny is that I don't try to pretend that my brain does nothing unusual. I write it all down, call it my art, and no-one bats an eyelid. I say it to someone and that makes me weird, maybe slightly dangerous, definitely to be watched, possibly even sedated.
Where is the line drawn between schizophrenic and creative? If a schizophrenic were given the means to write would they create the most amazing characters ever written? If they'd written all their lives, would the characters have stayed on the paper instead of usurping the mind of the creator?
This quote means so much to me on so many levels. I can laugh at myself and understand why people might give me a wide berth when I come out with things like the dog's voice in my head. I bet those same people do very little in their lives that's creative and passionately so. Food for thought. I wonder what the dog would have said?
I did wonder whether it was safe to admit that I hear my characters talking in my head and assume their personalities when I write them. I suppose it's all about how you actually say it!
I was in a little shop in Whitby (yes, the Whitby, it's not far from where I live really) and someone asked what I was getting. I replied "thtuff" in a deep, dopey but enthusiastic voice. The woman behind the counter heard and looked at me strangely. I looked at her, grinned and said "sorry, that's just the dog's voice in my head". Silence, tumbleweed, was that the sound of ambulance sirens?
What I should have said was "that's the way I imagine my dog would talk if she could" but no, I had to make myself sound as unhinged as possible. I paid and left quite quickly then waited until I was a distance from the shop before howling with laughter.
I do attribute voices to characters as I imagine them. My dog was actually the smartest dog I've ever met and an incredible judge of character. I really wish I'd listened to her about the builder - she was right! To my mind her voice was quite deep because her bark was big and she spoke bluntly and with an innocence that made her sound quite dopey. She also had a lisp. No creature with a tongue that could lick your face at fifty paces could fail to have a lisp. She therefore liked thocks and thoap and thponges and thtuff. It became a common thing among friends and family to refer to thtuff in the dog's imaginary speaking voice. It was perfectly acceptable for me to say that to a complete stranger "it's just the dog's voice in my head". Only it wasn't really acceptable, was it?!
I'm laughing just thinking about the Whitby incident. It sprang to mind the minute I read this quote. As a writer I create characters in every detail inside my head and then project them onto the page. They have conversations in my head (not with me, with each other). That may well tap in to the same areas of the brain that conjure up voices to the schizophrenic. It might be schizophrenia itself safely channelled.
I admit I'm neurotic, I admit sometimes even mildly psychotic (in a non-violent think it but don't do it sort of way). The difference between me and the person that looks at me funny is that I don't try to pretend that my brain does nothing unusual. I write it all down, call it my art, and no-one bats an eyelid. I say it to someone and that makes me weird, maybe slightly dangerous, definitely to be watched, possibly even sedated.
Where is the line drawn between schizophrenic and creative? If a schizophrenic were given the means to write would they create the most amazing characters ever written? If they'd written all their lives, would the characters have stayed on the paper instead of usurping the mind of the creator?
This quote means so much to me on so many levels. I can laugh at myself and understand why people might give me a wide berth when I come out with things like the dog's voice in my head. I bet those same people do very little in their lives that's creative and passionately so. Food for thought. I wonder what the dog would have said?
Wednesday, 13 June 2012
Poetry in the schoolroom
I just read on the Guardian website that the UK Education Secretary Michael Gove has announced plans to make learning verse compulsory in primary schools (first school). There's a 'complete the verse' quiz to see how much poetry we remember as adults that we were made to learn as young children. I scored 8 out 10 on this quiz just by reading the preceding lines and guessing. Although we were taught poetry, made to learn and recite it, none of the poems we covered are in the quiz.
So. Do I like and appreciate reading and writing poems because I was made to learn it at school? No. I was writing them from the moment I could put a sentence together on paper. My parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and older cousins - family - taught me nursery rhymes that were fun and appealing and soon I wanted to make up my own. I had to learn new words to make rhymes. I had to learn spelling too, which I mostly did, shock-horror, by reading. Again my family encouraged me to read.
When the subject of poetry came up in the schoolroom, at first I was enthusiastic - it had always been fun in my personal experience. Oh, boy. You will take home and learn the first verse of Wordsworth's Daffodils.. Ok, that's easy enough. The next day, we will recite the first verse of Wordsworth's Daffodils together. Ok, I learned it, that should be fine. Not fine. I remembered it. Most of the class remembered it. Some didn't. Some of them hated it and didn't bother. Some of them got half way through and fell flat. Some of them didn't get beyond the first few words. We all remembered the last word was daffodils. Did we stop? No. Say it again and again until everyone gets it right. Can I cry yet?
What this achieved was not the learning of an art form, a thing to be appreciated. What it achieved was the turning of poetry into a chore, a thing to associate with intense boredom and frustration as a result of reading it. I still can't sit and read a lot of it without feeling there must be something more productive I could be doing. I still can remember the very beginning of Daffodils, but not the subsequent verses that I learned in the weeks after the mass boredom event.
Later on it came to critical appreciation time. I hated that too. Who am I to say what was going through someone's mind when they wrote their great and famous poem that really isn't all that great but is in all the books? Comments from the teacher showed he didn't accurately surmise what was going through my mind when I wrote the poem I handed in last week. Why should I take his word, then, when he marks my appreciation? How can you put tick or a cross on perception? But ticks and crosses there were. My interpretation of something you didn't write so couldn't possibly know the reason of, is wrong?
What did that achieve, then? Well, when I read poetry, I'm averse to looking for the meaning, even though no-one's going to tell me that what it means to me is wrong. Unless of course I decide to blog my reaction. It was like posting your honest review of a book and someone marking it unhelpful. Why? Because I took away something different from it than you did? No two people read the same book, the same poem, hear the same song. Art is subjective and I guess that takes me full circle back to yesterday's post about word counts.
What would I do differently? I'd get kids to read and maybe even act out some simple poems suited to their age. To see them as well as hear them. Maybe smell them too, knowing some kids! I'd let them see for themselves how a poem works, let them know it's the next step up from nursery rhymes, make them feel like they're going through a life experience by finding poetry. Then I'd ask them to write their own using sights and sounds and if necessary smells. It has to be made about them, not about some flouncy piece of writing from centuries ago. I'd ask them to read out their poems, pin them on the wall where everyone could read them then I'd get everyone to vote anonymously for the best one and I'd give a prize. Maybe a book of children's poems or a CD of them.
For the older kids, I'd show them some examples of critical appreciation and I pick contrasting ones on the same piece so that they could easily see there is no write and wrong. If I felt they'd missed an obvious point I'd explain that you haven't got to lose sight of the woods for the trees. If I didn't get what they were driving at, I'd tell them that's something I hadn't thought of, it would be nice if you'd explained a bit more about what you were thinking. I'd certainly not make a cross in red pen and leave it at that.
As a teacher I'd no doubt make a lot of work and some expense for myself, but I'd try to think outside the box, the box being the classroom. How can I make this applicable to life for them? Tell them it's great, on a rainy day to sit by the window reading poetry while you have a hot drink. Tell them that really songs are poems with a soundtrack and a slightly different pattern to make them catchy. When they're older, tell them life is a poem with its rhythms and subtleties and it's enigmatic meaning that's different for everyone.
I'd be a great teacher but for one thing - I have no tolerance for unruly behaviour, whoever it may be. Miss Jekyll becoming Miss Hyde, although a great link into a lesson plan on Victorian literature, might not work out for the best.
Try that quiz and see how you do!
So. Do I like and appreciate reading and writing poems because I was made to learn it at school? No. I was writing them from the moment I could put a sentence together on paper. My parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and older cousins - family - taught me nursery rhymes that were fun and appealing and soon I wanted to make up my own. I had to learn new words to make rhymes. I had to learn spelling too, which I mostly did, shock-horror, by reading. Again my family encouraged me to read.
When the subject of poetry came up in the schoolroom, at first I was enthusiastic - it had always been fun in my personal experience. Oh, boy. You will take home and learn the first verse of Wordsworth's Daffodils.. Ok, that's easy enough. The next day, we will recite the first verse of Wordsworth's Daffodils together. Ok, I learned it, that should be fine. Not fine. I remembered it. Most of the class remembered it. Some didn't. Some of them hated it and didn't bother. Some of them got half way through and fell flat. Some of them didn't get beyond the first few words. We all remembered the last word was daffodils. Did we stop? No. Say it again and again until everyone gets it right. Can I cry yet?
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| Tudor writing tools - are we going backwards by forcing poetry on kids? |
Later on it came to critical appreciation time. I hated that too. Who am I to say what was going through someone's mind when they wrote their great and famous poem that really isn't all that great but is in all the books? Comments from the teacher showed he didn't accurately surmise what was going through my mind when I wrote the poem I handed in last week. Why should I take his word, then, when he marks my appreciation? How can you put tick or a cross on perception? But ticks and crosses there were. My interpretation of something you didn't write so couldn't possibly know the reason of, is wrong?
What did that achieve, then? Well, when I read poetry, I'm averse to looking for the meaning, even though no-one's going to tell me that what it means to me is wrong. Unless of course I decide to blog my reaction. It was like posting your honest review of a book and someone marking it unhelpful. Why? Because I took away something different from it than you did? No two people read the same book, the same poem, hear the same song. Art is subjective and I guess that takes me full circle back to yesterday's post about word counts.
What would I do differently? I'd get kids to read and maybe even act out some simple poems suited to their age. To see them as well as hear them. Maybe smell them too, knowing some kids! I'd let them see for themselves how a poem works, let them know it's the next step up from nursery rhymes, make them feel like they're going through a life experience by finding poetry. Then I'd ask them to write their own using sights and sounds and if necessary smells. It has to be made about them, not about some flouncy piece of writing from centuries ago. I'd ask them to read out their poems, pin them on the wall where everyone could read them then I'd get everyone to vote anonymously for the best one and I'd give a prize. Maybe a book of children's poems or a CD of them.
For the older kids, I'd show them some examples of critical appreciation and I pick contrasting ones on the same piece so that they could easily see there is no write and wrong. If I felt they'd missed an obvious point I'd explain that you haven't got to lose sight of the woods for the trees. If I didn't get what they were driving at, I'd tell them that's something I hadn't thought of, it would be nice if you'd explained a bit more about what you were thinking. I'd certainly not make a cross in red pen and leave it at that.
As a teacher I'd no doubt make a lot of work and some expense for myself, but I'd try to think outside the box, the box being the classroom. How can I make this applicable to life for them? Tell them it's great, on a rainy day to sit by the window reading poetry while you have a hot drink. Tell them that really songs are poems with a soundtrack and a slightly different pattern to make them catchy. When they're older, tell them life is a poem with its rhythms and subtleties and it's enigmatic meaning that's different for everyone.
I'd be a great teacher but for one thing - I have no tolerance for unruly behaviour, whoever it may be. Miss Jekyll becoming Miss Hyde, although a great link into a lesson plan on Victorian literature, might not work out for the best.
Try that quiz and see how you do!
Saturday, 9 June 2012
Dear Grandma, Shush
Dear Grandma,
The other day I couldn't write a thing. Your voice in my head was telling me again that what I'm doing is a waste of time and isn't proper writing. So I'm addressing you with this post and I hope there's some way you can read it from beyond. I'm not sure what you believed proper writing to be. I never saw you read a book, although you did read some autobiographies, or so I'm told. Well, Grandma, when I was a kid, I hadn't really been around long enough to write a substantial story of my life but I had so many ideas for stories that created lives.
You'll be pleased to know, Grandma, that Paul has written a fantastic autobiography, but he's had a full and action packed life that people will want to read about. Me, I've never been very far or done very much really, and that seems more and more unlikely all the time. I didn't mean to get this illness in childhood that took away my physical energy. I didn't mean to start falling apart in my thirties. I didn't design my own genome and if I had, I would have still added the drive to write.
After talking to Paul though, Grandma, you need to know that the writing drive comes from your bloodline. I'm taking my publishing name from your bloodline and very seriously considering making it legally my name. So what I do is as much because of you as in spite of you.
Paul and I talked for nearly an hour and we have very similar things to say about our early lives. the difference between he and I though, is that he went out and did what he wanted to do early on. Me, I've waited until no-one can stop me and I'm only sorry that Mum isn't here, because she would be so excited for me and for Paul.
So I'm ever so apologetically going to have to tell you to shush, Grandma. I can do this and you never know - it could be the start of something good that you would never have let me achieve. Getting a book out is an achievement in itself. You should be pleased for me. Your granddaughter knows what she wants to do, always has, and she's doing it. If we ever meet again, if there is an afterlife, I hope you can smile and introduce me as your granddaughter, the writer. I'll even give you signed ethereal copies if you think you can stand to read some fiction and be gracious about it.
Now please excuse me. I've set myself a task to write as much as I can today, whether you approve or not.
Juliet
Your granddaughter, the writer
The other day I couldn't write a thing. Your voice in my head was telling me again that what I'm doing is a waste of time and isn't proper writing. So I'm addressing you with this post and I hope there's some way you can read it from beyond. I'm not sure what you believed proper writing to be. I never saw you read a book, although you did read some autobiographies, or so I'm told. Well, Grandma, when I was a kid, I hadn't really been around long enough to write a substantial story of my life but I had so many ideas for stories that created lives.
You'll be pleased to know, Grandma, that Paul has written a fantastic autobiography, but he's had a full and action packed life that people will want to read about. Me, I've never been very far or done very much really, and that seems more and more unlikely all the time. I didn't mean to get this illness in childhood that took away my physical energy. I didn't mean to start falling apart in my thirties. I didn't design my own genome and if I had, I would have still added the drive to write.
After talking to Paul though, Grandma, you need to know that the writing drive comes from your bloodline. I'm taking my publishing name from your bloodline and very seriously considering making it legally my name. So what I do is as much because of you as in spite of you.
Paul and I talked for nearly an hour and we have very similar things to say about our early lives. the difference between he and I though, is that he went out and did what he wanted to do early on. Me, I've waited until no-one can stop me and I'm only sorry that Mum isn't here, because she would be so excited for me and for Paul.
So I'm ever so apologetically going to have to tell you to shush, Grandma. I can do this and you never know - it could be the start of something good that you would never have let me achieve. Getting a book out is an achievement in itself. You should be pleased for me. Your granddaughter knows what she wants to do, always has, and she's doing it. If we ever meet again, if there is an afterlife, I hope you can smile and introduce me as your granddaughter, the writer. I'll even give you signed ethereal copies if you think you can stand to read some fiction and be gracious about it.
Now please excuse me. I've set myself a task to write as much as I can today, whether you approve or not.
Juliet
Your granddaughter, the writer
Thursday, 7 June 2012
Winged Warriors
So proud to announce on this blog, my heroic cousin's memoirs of an astounding air force career, Winged Warriors: The Cold War from the Cockpit is now available to pre-order.
Paul McDonald's 34 year RAF career has taken him far and wide to see and do things most of us only dream of. This is the stuff novels try to encapsulate, only here it's all true.
Read extracts, a short biography, synopsis and view photographs at wingedwarriors.co.uk
I'm so proud of Paul. Not only did he do all of the things in this book, he also chose to share his experiences and tell it like it really was. From cadet to OBE in the Queen’s Birthday Honours 1995, his are memoirs worth reading.
Visit the website for more information, or click the image above to go straight to the Amazon page.
Paul McDonald's 34 year RAF career has taken him far and wide to see and do things most of us only dream of. This is the stuff novels try to encapsulate, only here it's all true.
Read extracts, a short biography, synopsis and view photographs at wingedwarriors.co.uk
I'm so proud of Paul. Not only did he do all of the things in this book, he also chose to share his experiences and tell it like it really was. From cadet to OBE in the Queen’s Birthday Honours 1995, his are memoirs worth reading.
Visit the website for more information, or click the image above to go straight to the Amazon page.
The voice in my head
Having a zero confidence day. They happen every few days really. Wake up with this voice in my head telling me what I'm doing is a stupid waste of time and if I'd spent this much time on my school work I'd have an amazing career already.
I know whose voice it is. It's Grandma and she thought at the time she was doing the right thing. What she did was plant this device in my head that doesn't want me to do anything different, anything new, anything creative. It's ok to knit and sew because that's what women have always done (slight distortion of history, Grandma) but writing is not acceptable.
I've always written, since I knew how to put words on paper. It was only ever approved of if it was in some way related to education or could be taken to school to show to the teacher. Personal efforts were sometimes waved in my face with "what's this rubbish?" sneered at me if I hadn't found a safe enough hiding place for them. Heaven forbid I got so tired I left them on the table.
I know why she did it. She didn't want me to struggle to make a living in later life and that's the traditional idea of a writer. She wanted me to pursue the academic route and I think her plan was that I'd become a teacher. She didn't take into account that I lacked one vital ingredient for teaching - a tolerance for kids en masse. I could have applied myself more at school and in higher education. I was only happy doing something creative or reading the books I wanted to read. I still did pretty well but I know she thought I should have done better.
It's 14 years now since I left full time education and it's almost a year since Grandma passed away. Still I hear her voice telling me I'm wasting my time and still it stifles my ability to write. I can blog. I can jot down my thoughts, but I can't make words into pictures or create worlds in my mind. I could cry, I feel so defeated by it and it's just a voice in my head. If she's watching, she knows I want to work and work hard, and to use my spare time to share what I create because someone might just enjoy it. She never said it though, not even once I was working, earning, owning my own house, living a good life. She never said it was ok to do what I always wanted to do if only in the spare time I had. She always waved a dismissive hand and said hmph, or sometimes she went so far as to say mergh. I can't shake it from my mind some days and it feels like she's here, making sure I don't waste time on words. Maybe I need help. Maybe I need a psychiatrist. Or maybe I need to do what I've always wanted to do and prove to her that I can. Will that stop the voice?
I know whose voice it is. It's Grandma and she thought at the time she was doing the right thing. What she did was plant this device in my head that doesn't want me to do anything different, anything new, anything creative. It's ok to knit and sew because that's what women have always done (slight distortion of history, Grandma) but writing is not acceptable.
I've always written, since I knew how to put words on paper. It was only ever approved of if it was in some way related to education or could be taken to school to show to the teacher. Personal efforts were sometimes waved in my face with "what's this rubbish?" sneered at me if I hadn't found a safe enough hiding place for them. Heaven forbid I got so tired I left them on the table.
I know why she did it. She didn't want me to struggle to make a living in later life and that's the traditional idea of a writer. She wanted me to pursue the academic route and I think her plan was that I'd become a teacher. She didn't take into account that I lacked one vital ingredient for teaching - a tolerance for kids en masse. I could have applied myself more at school and in higher education. I was only happy doing something creative or reading the books I wanted to read. I still did pretty well but I know she thought I should have done better.
It's 14 years now since I left full time education and it's almost a year since Grandma passed away. Still I hear her voice telling me I'm wasting my time and still it stifles my ability to write. I can blog. I can jot down my thoughts, but I can't make words into pictures or create worlds in my mind. I could cry, I feel so defeated by it and it's just a voice in my head. If she's watching, she knows I want to work and work hard, and to use my spare time to share what I create because someone might just enjoy it. She never said it though, not even once I was working, earning, owning my own house, living a good life. She never said it was ok to do what I always wanted to do if only in the spare time I had. She always waved a dismissive hand and said hmph, or sometimes she went so far as to say mergh. I can't shake it from my mind some days and it feels like she's here, making sure I don't waste time on words. Maybe I need help. Maybe I need a psychiatrist. Or maybe I need to do what I've always wanted to do and prove to her that I can. Will that stop the voice?
Sunday, 3 June 2012
Why the new name?
Having created a Wordpress site for my writing alter ego, I realise there might be some eye rolling and smirking going on. So let me explain the reasons for taking my Great, Great Grandmother's maiden name as my pen name.
The cross-stitch books I've published will probably stay under the name Juliet Foster, at least for now. However, if I go so far as to use Deed Poll, which is entirely possible, I'll update those too.
There's a lot more to it than concealing my identity. On the contrary, I want to feel like I have an identity to begin with instead of this label that was stuck on and frankly, clashes with its surroundings.
I'm taking a new name, and that my dears, is that!
- It sounds better. Juliet McHugh has more balance and ring to it than Juliet Foster.
- Foster is not my real name anyway. It's the first step-father's name and the school registered me for NI with it, so it got stuck.
- Graham doesn't mean much to me these days except to remind me of a child's world that fell apart.
- The more immediate family names that I'd have preferred to take sound completely wrong with Juliet.
- Juliet Foster sounds like a news reporter or a writer of factual information (note I draw the distinction there).
- There's already an author out there called Juliet Foster and she does write factual books. She probably doesn't want to be confused with a bloodthirsty fiction writer any more than I want to be confused with someone sensible.
- I want a name that feels like it belongs to me after twenty-odd years of cringing whenever someone shouts me.
- I like the idea of my initials spelling JAM.
The cross-stitch books I've published will probably stay under the name Juliet Foster, at least for now. However, if I go so far as to use Deed Poll, which is entirely possible, I'll update those too.
There's a lot more to it than concealing my identity. On the contrary, I want to feel like I have an identity to begin with instead of this label that was stuck on and frankly, clashes with its surroundings.
I'm taking a new name, and that my dears, is that!
Friday, 1 June 2012
The whats and moreover the whys
When I write, for me and I hope for my readers too, it's a sensory experience. I see, hear and feel what I'm thinking. I smell the cloying stench of the thick, warm, viscous blood as it drips with a flat, heavy pit-pat to the floor in a glossy vermilion pool. That's when I kill someone anyway, which I usually do.
I've read some pretty flat descriptions and I wondered why I feel so compelled to give the full range of senses. I decided to revisit a book on neurolinguistic programming (NLP) to complete the 'thinking/learning type' assessment. Looking at the above, I really should have known I'd not come out on one side or another.
Where people are usually auditory, visual or kinaesthetic (tactile) learners/thinkers, I sit squarely (triangularly?) in the middle. Asked to rate responses to questions in a multiple choice on this, I have to rate a good deal of them equally. I sing along to the music in the background whilst reading and making things with my hands. Yes, I do read and make things at the same time whilst listening and singing along. My brain subdivides things just like it splits things into analytical and creative. It's a multi-threaded processor and it functions best when all threads are engaged. That's how I experience things - all things at once. I write about the sights, sounds, scents and textures because that's how I would take it in if I were there and when I'm writing, I'm there.
I step into the heads of my characters and explore their thoughts and feelings and where they might make a simple choice, I talk about the process by which they reached the decision. It might be a nanosecond in a life where the options are weighed up, but what are those options? Why pick the one they picked? Choices say a lot about a person and I guess I want to know my characters but I want my readers to know them too. So I explore them and pick them apart.
The thing I'm accused of most often (and I admit, accurately) is being the devil's advocate no matter what. Even if it means disagreeing with myself, I'm compelled to make sure all angles are covered. I think I just don't like to see people hell bent on a notion without examining all the possibilities. I'm the juror who'd be murdered by the other eleven. I don't mean to be contrary. Life would be so much easier if I could just be certain about something. Just once. But then I read quotes from philosophers that say to be certain is to be both arrogant and ignorant. I couldn't be certain whether they're right. I don't have all the facts!
But other assessments too show that my mind can't think in just one way. The first assessments as a student showed my grey matter is 50/50 male female and 50/50 left right where most people are biased in one direction or the other. Half analytical, half creative. Half emotional, half calculated. That probably comes across in my writing too. I was told recently and by a man, that I write like a man. I have to laugh. I'm very definitely a girl and an emotional, neurotic one at that. I have considered the possibility that my muse is masculine. Possession might not be out of the question either! It also occurs to me that maybe I can never settle on an argument because the male and female aspects can't reach an agreement? Maybe they should get a divorce and leave me in peace!
I've read some pretty flat descriptions and I wondered why I feel so compelled to give the full range of senses. I decided to revisit a book on neurolinguistic programming (NLP) to complete the 'thinking/learning type' assessment. Looking at the above, I really should have known I'd not come out on one side or another.
Where people are usually auditory, visual or kinaesthetic (tactile) learners/thinkers, I sit squarely (triangularly?) in the middle. Asked to rate responses to questions in a multiple choice on this, I have to rate a good deal of them equally. I sing along to the music in the background whilst reading and making things with my hands. Yes, I do read and make things at the same time whilst listening and singing along. My brain subdivides things just like it splits things into analytical and creative. It's a multi-threaded processor and it functions best when all threads are engaged. That's how I experience things - all things at once. I write about the sights, sounds, scents and textures because that's how I would take it in if I were there and when I'm writing, I'm there.
I step into the heads of my characters and explore their thoughts and feelings and where they might make a simple choice, I talk about the process by which they reached the decision. It might be a nanosecond in a life where the options are weighed up, but what are those options? Why pick the one they picked? Choices say a lot about a person and I guess I want to know my characters but I want my readers to know them too. So I explore them and pick them apart.
The thing I'm accused of most often (and I admit, accurately) is being the devil's advocate no matter what. Even if it means disagreeing with myself, I'm compelled to make sure all angles are covered. I think I just don't like to see people hell bent on a notion without examining all the possibilities. I'm the juror who'd be murdered by the other eleven. I don't mean to be contrary. Life would be so much easier if I could just be certain about something. Just once. But then I read quotes from philosophers that say to be certain is to be both arrogant and ignorant. I couldn't be certain whether they're right. I don't have all the facts!
But other assessments too show that my mind can't think in just one way. The first assessments as a student showed my grey matter is 50/50 male female and 50/50 left right where most people are biased in one direction or the other. Half analytical, half creative. Half emotional, half calculated. That probably comes across in my writing too. I was told recently and by a man, that I write like a man. I have to laugh. I'm very definitely a girl and an emotional, neurotic one at that. I have considered the possibility that my muse is masculine. Possession might not be out of the question either! It also occurs to me that maybe I can never settle on an argument because the male and female aspects can't reach an agreement? Maybe they should get a divorce and leave me in peace!
Tuesday, 29 May 2012
Getting too attached
One problem I have with anything I do creatively is getting too attached. It makes it very hard to do any editing and even harder to accept any criticism. It's as if someone has turned to me and said "I don't like your child" even when it's me reviewing what I've done. When I try to cut word count, oh dear that's a wrench, I find myself mentally apologising to the words that have to be wiped out. It's perhaps an extension of my tendency to anthropomorphise everything. It's hard for me to throw things away in the name of making space because the things have done nothing wrong and it's not their fault I have too many of them. It's even worse if I've had a lot of contact with something that simply wears out, like a toothbrush. Oh dear lord, the anguish when I have to replace something.
So I'm sitting here doing some editing on a short story which I don't think is short enough and I still have a fair bit to write at the end. I'm going through it paragraph by paragraph reducing the word count and it's so hard. Ok, some sentences I look at and think that's awful and make quick work of cutting them up. But some of them, there's an unhealthy attachment. It's not as though by taking them out of something I've written that I'm expunging them from the English language. They still exist whether they're on my page or not. Why do I feel bad for them? Why does it hurt me to delete a word or two or worse replace them with something simpler? I mean, does a surgeon break his heart for every appendix he removes, or a dentist for every tooth pulled? I'm a (reasonably) sane and rational person and I freely admit this is far from sensible behaviour.
But how nuts am I really? I remember it was with some relief that I read Arthur Conan Doyle about writing. He said that Walter Scott would often write and then look back over his work and not recognise a bit of it. When he wrote it was as though he dictated what a voice outside of himself had told him. I've always said that myself and generally people just look at me funny and nod. The story writes itself using my hands and eyes. I just channel it onto the paper. Sometimes, if I don't sit down to it, the voice takes a huff and stops telling me the story. I'm wondering whether because this happens to me, this curious mental process, when I edit part of me feels like I'm carving up something someone else has done. Is that why I feel so apologetic when I reword things or cut chunks out? Am I offending a muse that I can't see but can hear? A muse is a celestial being though and I always imagine them as sweetness and light where what I write is usually quite dark and often brutal. Is it a muse or a demon that writes through me or is it some detached part of my own psyche that I'm still afraid to offend? I don't want it to stop speaking to me, whatever it is.
Whether it's a misplaced anthropomorphism, a muse, a demon, or just a part of me, I'm definitely too attached to what I create. Will that make me too worried to send it out into the world to be ripped apart and disparaged by anyone who feels like it? I hope not. Perhaps it's time to let my brain-children make their own way in the world while I wait for them to let me know how they're getting on. There I go anthropomorphising again. They are not alive, Juliet, stop getting so attached!
So I'm sitting here doing some editing on a short story which I don't think is short enough and I still have a fair bit to write at the end. I'm going through it paragraph by paragraph reducing the word count and it's so hard. Ok, some sentences I look at and think that's awful and make quick work of cutting them up. But some of them, there's an unhealthy attachment. It's not as though by taking them out of something I've written that I'm expunging them from the English language. They still exist whether they're on my page or not. Why do I feel bad for them? Why does it hurt me to delete a word or two or worse replace them with something simpler? I mean, does a surgeon break his heart for every appendix he removes, or a dentist for every tooth pulled? I'm a (reasonably) sane and rational person and I freely admit this is far from sensible behaviour.
But how nuts am I really? I remember it was with some relief that I read Arthur Conan Doyle about writing. He said that Walter Scott would often write and then look back over his work and not recognise a bit of it. When he wrote it was as though he dictated what a voice outside of himself had told him. I've always said that myself and generally people just look at me funny and nod. The story writes itself using my hands and eyes. I just channel it onto the paper. Sometimes, if I don't sit down to it, the voice takes a huff and stops telling me the story. I'm wondering whether because this happens to me, this curious mental process, when I edit part of me feels like I'm carving up something someone else has done. Is that why I feel so apologetic when I reword things or cut chunks out? Am I offending a muse that I can't see but can hear? A muse is a celestial being though and I always imagine them as sweetness and light where what I write is usually quite dark and often brutal. Is it a muse or a demon that writes through me or is it some detached part of my own psyche that I'm still afraid to offend? I don't want it to stop speaking to me, whatever it is.
Whether it's a misplaced anthropomorphism, a muse, a demon, or just a part of me, I'm definitely too attached to what I create. Will that make me too worried to send it out into the world to be ripped apart and disparaged by anyone who feels like it? I hope not. Perhaps it's time to let my brain-children make their own way in the world while I wait for them to let me know how they're getting on. There I go anthropomorphising again. They are not alive, Juliet, stop getting so attached!
Monday, 28 May 2012
Celebrating stupid
I was going to tweet something along the lines of "Thank you Internet, thank you stupid people! Another novel idea is born". Then I thought what if everyone thought I was referring to them, because social media has that bizarre effect. I posted song lyrics on facebook once and everyone thought I was having a nervous breakdown. Everything gets twisted and taken personally. I used to post cryptic status updates so only those in the know would get the message then others started responding based on their own very misguided interpretations. You can lock individual updates down now so code is no longer necessary.
Anyway, that wasn't the point. The point is you can sit there torturing yourself over inability to come up with a new storyline when really, if you spend ten minutes online, there's a wealth of them sitting there waiting to be picked up. Grab your local paper and read the small, obscure stories and let your imagination run wild.
I guess I get the 'invent a back-story' thing from my Mum. She was always looking for reasons for the strangest of things. "Ee, I wonder why that is" or "What did he do that for? Isn't it weird" were just a couple of her catchphrases. I wish she'd had the confidence to write what she was wondering. There would have been some great fiction spun from a shoe in the middle of the road or the clouds making a peculiar shape one morning. The difference between Mum and me is that I had her as a Mum. Thanks Mum.
So I've had a great bolt of inspiration striking me out of the blue this morning just looking at a ridiculous news story online that would never have come about in itself without stupid people. I mean people with a severe and potentially fatal lack of common sense, not people as a whole as in stupid weather, stupid traffic. People in general are not quite as stupid as those spectacular few who lull you into a false sense of security by surviving into adulthood then do something monumentally stupid. Those people. You know the ones. They do things like light a match to check for a gas leak. There are so many ways I could go with this idea that it might become a whole tribe of offspring from one apparently hermaphroditic thought. Really should blog off and jot some notes down!
Anyway, that wasn't the point. The point is you can sit there torturing yourself over inability to come up with a new storyline when really, if you spend ten minutes online, there's a wealth of them sitting there waiting to be picked up. Grab your local paper and read the small, obscure stories and let your imagination run wild.
I guess I get the 'invent a back-story' thing from my Mum. She was always looking for reasons for the strangest of things. "Ee, I wonder why that is" or "What did he do that for? Isn't it weird" were just a couple of her catchphrases. I wish she'd had the confidence to write what she was wondering. There would have been some great fiction spun from a shoe in the middle of the road or the clouds making a peculiar shape one morning. The difference between Mum and me is that I had her as a Mum. Thanks Mum.
So I've had a great bolt of inspiration striking me out of the blue this morning just looking at a ridiculous news story online that would never have come about in itself without stupid people. I mean people with a severe and potentially fatal lack of common sense, not people as a whole as in stupid weather, stupid traffic. People in general are not quite as stupid as those spectacular few who lull you into a false sense of security by surviving into adulthood then do something monumentally stupid. Those people. You know the ones. They do things like light a match to check for a gas leak. There are so many ways I could go with this idea that it might become a whole tribe of offspring from one apparently hermaphroditic thought. Really should blog off and jot some notes down!
Saturday, 26 May 2012
Easily distracted?
There are many things that distract me when I sit down to write. Sometimes it's the cat harassing me for food even when there's still plenty in her bowl. If you've read Journal of a Cat of Leisure, you might have some idea of how exacting she can be.
It's rarely the phone - I just don't give my number out preferring to email - I like it quiet. When someone does phone, it's either a cold call that's somehow managed to get past the telephone preference service, or one of very few people. If it's the former, it drags me out of the 'zone' and although it takes no time to end the call, regaining momentum can take time. If it's the latter then it might be a while before I get back to my train of thought.
It's rarely the TV. Generally I have no idea what's on in the background until something really loud happens. There are few shows I actually sit and watch. If it's something like Jerry Springer, which occasionally sneaks up in the schedule without me noticing (and I really should be in bed by then anyway), there's a reflex response of channel changing before the screaming begins but it's reflex and doesn't alter my pattern. Occasionally I hear a random sentence that makes my ears prick up and I end up saying something on facebook or tweeting.
There's the worst distraction though, and upon reflection I admit, I might be just a little bit OCD. When I start up my laptop, I like to have my programs in a certain order on the taskbar so that I can switch between them without scanning through them. I get most upset when Windows decides to rearrange everything without asking me. I'm so particular about it, it applies not only to the applications in the taskbar but also to the tabs in the browser and the order I open documents, so when stacked I know which is which. Right now, I have 9 applications running, one of which has 7 stacked documents and I don't have to distract myself to refer between any of them. Sad, right? The distraction is the browser in the taskbar. If the last page I viewed was a social media page, it stays on top and the number of new notifications or tweets or messages appears there, ticking up and up. It draws my eye whenever it changes and I invariably end up looking at what's waiting.
Now, here's where the OCD thing comes out. Why not just close my browser or view one of the other pages last? I can't. If the browser is not the second from left application on the bar, I can't work. If I can't see the ticking numbers, I worry that when I do look there'll be a hundred and it'll take ages to check. This doesn't happen when I'm doing my day job from home. I have a different order of programs and a different set of pages, but it ties to a different mindset. At the office, the desk has to be laid out a certain way before I even start opening programs. I've looked at neurolinguistic programming to help me figure out my odd behaviours and it seems to be something I've done from childhood. The pencil case in a specific place on the school desk, and I could never concentrate without a pen in my hand.
So really, is the distraction social media, or is it my own psychological programming? Writing this blog in itself has dragged me away from what I was writing before this and I'm only writing this blog because I was being distracted by the number of tweets going up. Maybe I should do something completely unrelated for a while!
It's rarely the phone - I just don't give my number out preferring to email - I like it quiet. When someone does phone, it's either a cold call that's somehow managed to get past the telephone preference service, or one of very few people. If it's the former, it drags me out of the 'zone' and although it takes no time to end the call, regaining momentum can take time. If it's the latter then it might be a while before I get back to my train of thought.
It's rarely the TV. Generally I have no idea what's on in the background until something really loud happens. There are few shows I actually sit and watch. If it's something like Jerry Springer, which occasionally sneaks up in the schedule without me noticing (and I really should be in bed by then anyway), there's a reflex response of channel changing before the screaming begins but it's reflex and doesn't alter my pattern. Occasionally I hear a random sentence that makes my ears prick up and I end up saying something on facebook or tweeting.
There's the worst distraction though, and upon reflection I admit, I might be just a little bit OCD. When I start up my laptop, I like to have my programs in a certain order on the taskbar so that I can switch between them without scanning through them. I get most upset when Windows decides to rearrange everything without asking me. I'm so particular about it, it applies not only to the applications in the taskbar but also to the tabs in the browser and the order I open documents, so when stacked I know which is which. Right now, I have 9 applications running, one of which has 7 stacked documents and I don't have to distract myself to refer between any of them. Sad, right? The distraction is the browser in the taskbar. If the last page I viewed was a social media page, it stays on top and the number of new notifications or tweets or messages appears there, ticking up and up. It draws my eye whenever it changes and I invariably end up looking at what's waiting.
Now, here's where the OCD thing comes out. Why not just close my browser or view one of the other pages last? I can't. If the browser is not the second from left application on the bar, I can't work. If I can't see the ticking numbers, I worry that when I do look there'll be a hundred and it'll take ages to check. This doesn't happen when I'm doing my day job from home. I have a different order of programs and a different set of pages, but it ties to a different mindset. At the office, the desk has to be laid out a certain way before I even start opening programs. I've looked at neurolinguistic programming to help me figure out my odd behaviours and it seems to be something I've done from childhood. The pencil case in a specific place on the school desk, and I could never concentrate without a pen in my hand.
So really, is the distraction social media, or is it my own psychological programming? Writing this blog in itself has dragged me away from what I was writing before this and I'm only writing this blog because I was being distracted by the number of tweets going up. Maybe I should do something completely unrelated for a while!
Thursday, 24 May 2012
How to React to Criticism
Last blog, I looked at the types of criticism you tend to get and how to look at the benefits of it. So how should you react when you do get a critique? Well, the simplest answer is whatever the type of critique, if you say anything at all in response, say thank you!
Stay objective. We're conditioned through linguistics to think of criticism as a bad thing. Criticism simply means the process of giving a critique. At school we called it Critical Appreciation which helps show the positive side. A critique means that someone took the time to look at your work in enough detail to write an informed response. It's the same as your best friend being honest about your new haircut and only your best friend will be brutally honest about that. They won't be so honest about your work because they know how much it means to you. That is where the critic becomes your friend and tells you plainly what's good and what's bad. They're objective and you need to be objective too.
Thanks, you're very kind
You're glad someone liked your work and gave you good feedback. It never hurts to say thank you for a kindness. Ask yourself though whether you want to get caught up in correspondence. Do you know the person already? What if tomorrow you have a million positive reviews? Will you respond to them all? Post a message on your website or fan page or Twitter feed saying thank you to all the people out there who've given their support. Of course, if it's from your editor/publisher/agent/friend, you know them and you should acknowledge their message personally.Thanks (for nothing)
We all get criticism that verges on the complaint. It stings and it would be so easy to lash out. Don't! We're all passionate about our work, but we don't have to be aggressive. Sometimes the best course of action is to take no action at all. You only need to respond if it's from someone from whom you've actively sought feedback. You can otherwise ignore the anti-fan mail just as you can blanket-respond to the fan mail. Walk away, read a positive review and then if you still think it's necessary, come back to the negative with the positive thoughts in mind. Everyone has an opinion and they're entitled to express it. Shrug your shoulders, laugh and move on. Whatever you do, do not make yourself the bad guy. If you absolutely must respond to your number one anti-fan, it's best not to get into a 'debate' and remember to say thank you. If you do send a spiky response, before you know it people will know more about your bad temper than your work!Thank you for the feedback I requested
These are quite often a mixture of positive and negative comments and you do need to respond. You asked for this, you knew it was coming. In the case of requested feedback, look at each point and be objective. The positives should be noted for future reference. The negatives too and they might just be right. Maybe you could have structured that chapter better, maybe you have used too much passive voice, maybe you can use the comments to revise your work. Don't be argumentative. If you feel strongly about a point, say you can see where the critic is coming from and explain why you did things the way you did. You might find in explaining yourself that the critic's way is actually better, in which case start again and explain what you intend to do as a result. If there's no reason given for a negative comment, ask for more information. 'Don't like this' is not useful feedback - you need to know the what and the why of it. Be polite! "I'm interested to know what it was that you disliked about this part" is a good starting point.Stay objective. We're conditioned through linguistics to think of criticism as a bad thing. Criticism simply means the process of giving a critique. At school we called it Critical Appreciation which helps show the positive side. A critique means that someone took the time to look at your work in enough detail to write an informed response. It's the same as your best friend being honest about your new haircut and only your best friend will be brutally honest about that. They won't be so honest about your work because they know how much it means to you. That is where the critic becomes your friend and tells you plainly what's good and what's bad. They're objective and you need to be objective too.
Monday, 21 May 2012
How to View Criticism
When you do anything creative, whether you're a writer, photographer, musician or chef, criticism is a gauntlet you'll at some point have to run. Some will be negative, some will be positive; some will be constructive and some will be barbed. In this first blog on the sticky subject, let's look at the types of criticism you'll get and how to deal with them.
There might be other types of critique that you'll receive, but they usually fall within these general areas. Remember at all times that it's your work and you have the right to ignore or act upon criticism as you prefer. Of course, if it's your editor and you ignore their suggestions it could be a deal breaker, but that's when you negotiate! I'll look at how best to react in my next blog on the subject. Meanwhile, don't cry just yet.
The ego boost
Whatever you do, somebody somewhere will love it. Everyone is over the moon to get a critique from that person. If your first critique comes from that person, it's an amazing boost to your self-esteem. Don't let it go to your head! For every one that loves it, there's probably at least one that hates it. Listen to the positives and pay attention to the points your new fan likes best. Keep those in mind for future reference. This critic will come back for more, so maybe send them a thank you.The assassination
That one that really hates what you've done might be the first person to give critique. It's the inverse of the ego boost. For every one that hates your work, there's probably one that loves it. Don't take it personally. Creative work is very subjective, but criticism can be too and it can sting. Revisit your work and see if you can understand where negative criticism comes from. They might have a valid point. Look at the critic's views carefully and do nothing about them until you've had a chance to sleep on it. Once the initial shock wears off, you'll be more objective. You might even begin to thank the critic for helping you see the flaws. You don't need to reply to critics. If you do, don't bite!The rollercoaster
Some critiques will be mixed. These are the most useful ones really. Someone that can highlight the good points of what you've done and outline the bad is a gift from above. The chances are that what they highlight matches the ego boosts and what they outline matches the assassinations. These are useful critiques because they put your feet back on the ground. You're no longer walking on air, but you're not down in the dumps either. Use these critiques to do better in future by evening out the peaks and troughs, ideally on the upper level!The nitpicking
These critiques might seem a lot like an assassination at first. Again, walk away and look again when you're able to be more objective. The nitpicker probably doesn't hate your work. They probably just a few niggles with it. Maybe you've done something that's a pet hate of theirs. The thing with nitpicker critiques is to look at the things they haven't said. They've probably only commented on a very small aspect of your work. Because they're a nitpicker, they would have noticed if anything else was especially wrong. They won't tell you what they liked as such. They might say "I like this, but..." and then give their niggles. Remember the liked it part and take note of the niggles. Everyone has them so they might be worth avoiding in future.The silence
You might put your work out there for critique and find in some cases you're met with a resounding silence. Not to worry. No news is good news, right? Wrong. Think about how you pitched your request for review and remember people are generally very busy. I'm not talking about editors or agents here - they should at least let you know one way or another. I mean your peers. Did you tell them you'd selected them especially? Might they think you've sent it to hundreds of people so they probably don't need to respond? In the case of professionals, if you've heard nothing after a month, chase it up. You should have at least had an acknowledgement. Silence is not a reason to despair. It's a reason to shout louder.There might be other types of critique that you'll receive, but they usually fall within these general areas. Remember at all times that it's your work and you have the right to ignore or act upon criticism as you prefer. Of course, if it's your editor and you ignore their suggestions it could be a deal breaker, but that's when you negotiate! I'll look at how best to react in my next blog on the subject. Meanwhile, don't cry just yet.
The Prologue
A new blog and this is likely to be the longest post. This blog is dedicated to my writing and publishing adventures hence the nod to my literary namesake in the title.
So what have I got to say in this first post. I guess it should be the story so far and I apologise if you've been following the personal blog and heard it all before many times.
In April, I decided to publish some Kindle books to raise some money for my chosen charity. Taking some of my cross stitch designs, I went ahead with three titles:
Following those, I put together an actual book through CreateSpace which is now available through all Amazon channels as well. Anywhere you can buy the Kindle books, you can buy the book.
I couldn't be more pleased with the results of either - they look great and I'm promoting them as much as I can without driving everyone mad. The promo copies of the book arrived and I'm over the moon with them.
Next came the Union Jack Beanie on Kindle, a specially formatted pattern for Kindle use which also gives instructions on how to use the intarsia colour blocking technique:
So what have I got to say in this first post. I guess it should be the story so far and I apologise if you've been following the personal blog and heard it all before many times.
In April, I decided to publish some Kindle books to raise some money for my chosen charity. Taking some of my cross stitch designs, I went ahead with three titles:
Following those, I put together an actual book through CreateSpace which is now available through all Amazon channels as well. Anywhere you can buy the Kindle books, you can buy the book.
Next came the Union Jack Beanie on Kindle, a specially formatted pattern for Kindle use which also gives instructions on how to use the intarsia colour blocking technique:
The next thing was to build a website, julietfoster.co.uk, which I did using free resources, especially OpenCart which I can't praise highly enough. For an open source application, it's unbelievable and saved me having to remember the coding skills I've all but forgotten!
Everything I sell on there is completely for charity. Anyone who follows my personal blog will be aware that I'm wondering whether I should make that less apparent.
Next onto the website was the writing. Two short stories are up there right now on the Free Stuff page. Meter Man and Journal of a Cat of Leisure by Foobyevsky.
Writing is my lifelong passion although by now you may have already deduced that being creative in any way I can is what drives me. I'm working on a novel and a collection of short stories at the moment. Which is published first will be determined simply by which is finished first but something will be out very soon. My writing goes under my chosen name of Juliet McHugh for myriad reasons that are really irrelevant unless you're me!
What I write is mostly fiction, some poetry and occasionally limericks for a bit of light relief. The fiction will be out long before I'm ready to share any verse.
I'll post updates about what I'm working on and how it's going on this blog and via Twitter (@fdbyjf) and on the facebook page https://www.facebook.com/FDbyJF and sometimes on the website although this blog feeds into that and I must stop duplicating information on there!
I hope you find something you like among my creations!
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