Lesson One – Define Yourself

Compulsive? Tortured Genius? One Time Wonder?

Figure out what type of writer you want to be courtesy of  Sam’s Would-be Writer’s Master Class

Yup, it’s November.  It’s also National Novel Writing Month.

I knew of NaNoWriMo a couple of years back, but didn’t really get it.  Mostly it just seemed like (yet another) opportunity for would-be writers to harp on about their ‘process’ or their wonderful/woeful word count.  I do not care for these people.

But then, I looked into the matter in more detail, and now reckon they (the idea people, not the writing people) might be on to something.

The way I see it, two main things get in the way of novels falling out of every other person with hands/paper/keyboards, these things being lack of imagination (or ‘plot’*) and lack of drive – which can, on occasion, be passed off as The Fear.  Novels are big and scary, so it’s not surprising they are perceived as a massive and vaguely noble undertaking – think about it, people are voluntarily doing work in the time they could spend watching shit TV or pursuing miscellaneous social folly.

NaNoWriMo is about getting over the fear hurdle, encouraging people with The Urge to get off their arse and do something about it.  The aim is not to write a proper novel in one month, but to write a novel-sized amount of words, shattering the delusion that every sentence injected onto the page has gotta be a good one.  Afterwards, you might have a couple of good bits, but mostly you’ll have a lot of drivel.

The thing is, that’s okay – it’s even sort of the point.  Having broken the spell, now you are free to sift though your efforts, pick out anything worth salvaging, and start again later, happy in the knowledge that you can at least write quantity.  You can work on quality some other time.

They say it better:

“Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that’s a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.”

So, there you go.  The website also offers pep talks, tips, forums and the like, but you can still take part without the fluff.

*Fancy forsaking plot for something gleefully non-narrative?  Good luck with that.

Graham Buchan performs three of his poems:

Iran, 1979

Jazz Days

Königsberg

You can buy Graham’s collection, ‘There is violence in these vapours‘ from Tall Lighthouse.  They publish all sorts of lovely poetry things so it’s a nice site for lingering.

You can subscribe to all episodes of the podcast via podomatic, itunes or  - if so inclined – you can listen to this particular episode right here, right now:

[ep08] Spilt Milk presents: Graham Buchan

2. Tell the judges/audience that you’re a massive fan of Jodi Picoult.  Especially if you have the audacity to do so without even feigning shame.

3. Ask Sam what she thought of your story.  (If she liked it she will seek you out later and say nice things.  If she didn’t she will remain silent and respectful – unless provoked.*)

* The resulting damage is both horrific and irreparable.

Oh yes.

The stage was graced with the poetic stylings of hosts John Challis and Rob Haughton, alongside Katie Bonna, Jack Dean, Richard Marsh, Vanessa Kisuule, Swithun Cooper, Niall Ó Siadhail, Ben Gilbert and Richard Everett.  These are names you will no doubt hear again.

As with most poemy events, the range is what makes it work.  Trying to say who you enjoyed the most is pointless, as each performer has their own style and – let’s point out the obvious – voice.

In short: a delightfully deviant night of poetic antics with a very distinctive flavour.  If you want a lively line up, Trashed is the place to go.

To ensure you catch the next one keep an eye on the Organ’s current hub (yup, it’s facebook).

You can listen to the glory on Ashey Cohen’s  Open Mic Show after 16^th

Okay, so the judges were 2/3 twat, which sort of makes the bits when they do the talking feel rather like a car crash, sans the spectacle (so, just to hammer that point home, we mean both pointless and painful).  A similar thing happened at the last London death match but I just figured they forgot to screen them first and would live and learn.

Moving on…

As per the order of things, we were treated to four writers strutting their stuff.  Their names were (in order of appearance rather than linguistic prowess) Gavin James Bower, Hallie Rubenhold, Abigail Tarttelin and Jack Underwood.  The first three did prose things, leaving Jack to do the more poetic stuff.  This may have given him the advantage, since poetry is perhaps more suited to short sets, or he may have just been way better than the others.  It hardly matters, as he won all the same.

We highly recommend you read things he has written.  One of them is located on stop sharpening your knives (which he also happens to co-edit).  Their site is maybe nicer than ours but if you leave us, we will find you.

Check out the official version of events on the LDM site.