Life coaching for writers

A while back I, along with several other writers, was approached by an author to contribute to her book, Life coaching for writers, by answering a few questions. The author, Sarah-Beth Watkins is a freelance writer with over 20 years' experience of writing for magazines and websites on a variety of topics including writing, parenting, crafts, literature and women's development. She has also tutored writing courses within community settings and as a distance and online learning tutor. She lives in County Wexford, Ireland. I was happy to oblige; no fee, no royalty, no problem; my writing CV's at the back.

The result, as this blurb reveals, is that “Life Coaching for Writers is a self-help and personal development guide for every writer that will help you to unleash your creative potential. Whether you are a fiction or non-fiction writer, it's not always easy to be creative - life conspires to throw up obstacles, fears and external influences that get in the way of our writing lives. It is aimed at writers who know that they want to write but are struggling to realise their full potential. It is specifically aimed at more experienced writers who have had some successes and want to move from the life of an amateur scribbler to a professional writer.”

Happily, I don’t have a problem with my imagination or my creativity. Indeed, I have far too many projects and stories begging for space in my cranium. Some say writing is a lonely business. I don’t see that – I’m always accompanied by several characters clamouring to be heard, insistent that it’s their turn to appear on the page now. Even so, from time to time it’s helpful or encouraging to read about how other writers cope with the process of writing. And, in truth, we can all glean fresh insights from this kind of cross-pollination. This book offers plenty of perceptive viewpoints and even some trails to follow to get those creative juices flowing.

A glimpse at a few of the chapter headings will give you a rough idea:

Your creative purpose – this may be important. When I first started writing in earnest (a small town in southern Hampshire), the correspondence course tutor presented me with a list of questions, among them, “Why do you write?” That helped me focus on the why.

Setting your writing goals – this makes sense; be practical, with your feet firmly on the ground, even if you aim high.

Creating your writing ritual – some writers are superstitious, even without knowing it, and follow certain rituals before they feel able to write…

Clearing writer’s block – put it in perspective.

Balancing it all – your writer’s day, how to cope with life and chores.

Crossing genres – and ‘Is it worth it?’

Get exercising!

Dealing with rejection – and success!

Getting it down on paper – a must!

Online support – masses of this…

Resources for the writer’s mind – lots of helpful references here.

There's a good deal more than the above, of course. You can check out the first 5 pages including the contents on Amazon here (UK) and here (US).

The other contributors are many and varied, among them:

Meadhbh Boyd Bread and buttered in County Clare, Meadhbh is an Ethnomusicology graduate of the School of Music and Theatre, UCC. She has contributed as a writer on Big Brother (C5, 2012), and is currently working as a barista, and Creative Producer for musical comedy, Laundrette Superstar, with writer Fortuna Burke.

A.M. Dunnewin obtained a BA in Psychology with a minor in Criminal Justice. Although her stories cover a wide range of genres, she primarily writes historical fiction and thrillers. She lives in Sacramento, California.

Deborah Durbin has spent the past 16 years doing her dream job – writing content for lots of glossy magazines, along with writing books as and when a subject comes to mind. She is the author of 11 non-fiction books and two novels. Her latest book, So You Want To Be A Freelance Writer? is now available.

Amanda J Evans is a professional freelance writer, author, ghostwriter, poet and spiritual teacher living in Ireland. Amanda is the author of two non-fiction books. From Those Death Left Behind and Messages From The Angelic Realms. She is currently working on a YA novel.

Melinda Feeney comes from an oral culture (Mohawk Nation) and this reflects in her writing. Joe Griffin is a well-known writer, journalist and presenter who he has written for The Irish Times, The Guardian, The Irish Independent and The Sunday Times, regularly appears on TV and radio.

Marilynn Hughes had a career in broadcasting as a news anchor, reporter and producer. She has experienced, researched, written and taught about Out-of-Body Travel and Mysticism since 1987 and has appeared on innumerable radio and television programs.

Krystina Kellingley is a reader and commissioning editor/copy editor/publisher of imprints Axis Mundi Books (esoteric books), Cosmic Egg Books (Fantasy/Sci-fi/Horror), Our Street Books (children’s books) and Dodona Books (divination). She has just had her first children’s book, Mistower – The Loneliest Mouse, published and is currently working on an adult supernatural novel. She has a BA in Imaginative Writing and Literature and an MA in Creative Writing. She lives in the UK.

Niall McArdle is an Irish writer based in Canada. His fiction has appeared in Phoenix Irish Short Stories. He has had work published in The Irish Times, The New Orleans Review of Books and The Malahat Review.

Anna McPartlin was a stand up comedienne for four years and it is her experience writing sketches that ignited her passion for storytelling. Her debut novel Pack Up The Moon (2006) was a best seller; she has written three more novels, So What If I’m Broken being her latest work. She’s also written School Run, a TV comedy-drama for TV3 which was nominated for both an IFTA and a TV award. Anna’s books are published in Ireland, Germany, America, Russia, UK and Australia.

Suzanne Ruthven, former editor of The New Writer, started her professional writing career in 1987 by founding the small press writers’ magazine Quartos, which ran for nine years until its merger with Acclaim in 1996 to become TNW. Author of over 20 titles on spiritual, country-lore and self-help matters (including two novels) she has regularly contributed freelance articles to a variety of publications as diverse as The Lady and the Funeral Director’s Journal. Currently commissioning editor for Compass Books (an imprint of John Hunt Publishing), she now lives in Ireland.

Sarah Zama has been a bookseller in Verona (Italy) for eight years. She has been writing since the age of ten and has published fantasy short stories for children and adults in magazines and anthologies both in Europe and the USA.

Editing pointers - Encounters

When two main characters meet, there’s the opportunity to provide a contrast in temperament, and even verbal fencing, all to establish more character and create mood. If a modicum of mystery can be maintained, all the better.

I’ll use an excerpt from Death is Another Life by Robert Morton (Solstice Publishing) to illustrate a few pointers.

Here, the mystery might even pose a threat from the reader’s viewpoint since the narrative has already revealed the evil side of Zondadari. To echo my blog on dialogue – Let’s Talk – here there is plenty of speech and interaction, yet there are only four instances of ‘said’ in this excerpt, though only two of them are actually attributions.

 

See the surroundings from a single viewpoint, in this case, Maria’s.

 

As here, try to end the chapter on a note of menace or a note of concern.

 

Mellieha, Malta

 

Maria, the Maltese-American journalist meets the mysterious Count…(p80):

 

Maria parked the car a little way up the road, just beyond a pile of dumped building material on the roadside, under an overhanging tamarisk which might keep the interior of the car cool while she reconnoitred. The road was dusty and pot-holed, the tarmac edges crumbling away with neglect.        She’d had difficulty finding the place and had stopped several people to make enquiries. Finally, she found it, to the north-east of Mellieha, down a winding road of evergreen oaks near the Selmun tower. 

            The entrance to the Tabona residence was set back from the twisting road. A drive curved up a gentle slope, through the welcome shade of shrubs and almond trees.
            Its strap over one shoulder, her bag tapped her side as she walked.
            Ahead rose the imposing tall iron gates, each side adorned with a family crest incorporating the Virgin Mary. The wrought-iron decoration was too fancy for her taste, but she appreciated it as a work of art. To the left of the gate pillars was another driveway, presumably leading to a neighbouring villa.
            Assuring herself there was nobody about, she pulled out the small binoculars. They told her little.
            The Tabona villa was built on a rocky prominence, with the veranda facing the sea. The red-tiled roof was immaculate: obviously, no moss was allowed to take root there. Roses climbed the whitewashed walls. The three separate stories of the villa blended in with the limestone rock covered with shrubs.
            A rustling sound behind made her turn and lower the glasses and her heart suddenly started hammering.
            She took a sharp intake of breath.
            A man was silhouetted by the high Maltese sun, standing in the gap that the neighbouring drive presented. A large black Alsatian sat by his side. Its hackles were up and it growled, baring big sharp teeth.

Selmun tower

 

CHAPTER 7: The chill of the shadow

“Oh, you startled me,” Maria said, trying to make light of her reaction.
            “My apologies for creeping up on you.” The man possessed a gentle, calming voice. He stepped forward, though still concealed as if by preference by the shadows from the bougainvillea. Observing her discomposure, he whispered, “Stay, Prince,” and the dog obeyed, alert ears pricked. “I’m a neighbour of the Tabonas – Count Zondadari.” And he slipped his walking stick under his arm and offered a welcoming hand. The whites of his eyes shone out of the shade.
            “Good afternoon, sir.” His hand was large, powerful, yet his touch was gentle and cool. “I’m Maria Caruana, a reporter–”
            “Ah, yes, The Sting. Quite a newspaper! I’ve read you, often. I like your writing. You’re not afraid of the truth.”
            Nice of him to say so, even if he was merely being polite. She nodded and smiled an acknowledgment. “Thank you. But I try to remember what William Blake said–
            “A truth that’s told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent. Isn’t that it?”
            She was impressed. “Yes. I won’t use truth to hit someone over the head with.”
            “Unlike some sanctimonious reporters I’ve met! Bravo, Maria!”
            She waved the binoculars about. “I don’t normally go snooping.”
            “Why not? You must get your story, no matter what.”
            “Are you making fun of me?”
            “On the contrary, I admire you.” His eyes glinted, humour in them.
            “I’m interested in the recent sad bereavement suffered by Mr. Tabona.”
            Count Zondadari pointedly eyed her binoculars.
            She flushed. “Normally, I’m not so blatant. But word has it he’s not at home. I just wanted to look the place over. Get a feel for it. A rich man’s retreat.” She shrugged. “I really want to find out why she would throw so much away.”
            Count Zondadari stepped forward, his black fedora casting his face in shadow. “Perhaps I could be of help. My villa is next door and overlooks a fair portion of his–”
            “Bad planning, wasn’t it?” He looked askance at her. “I mean, the lack of privacy–”
            “The Tabona land was sold by my family, so I suppose whoever built their place didn’t have much choice in the matter. Some of my relatives, I must admit, were somewhat nosy!”
            His apparent candour was refreshing. “Thank you. I would like to accept, but–” There was her planned restaurant meal with Manuel. He’d phoned to say he would be back from Sicily later today: the website weather forecasts said it was ideal for sailing. She could ring George on her cell-phone to explain where she was, but she had no hard news to give him, so he’d simply berate her for wasting his time.
            “And perhaps I can tell you more about my neighbours, no?”
            Maria was hooked. Neighbourly divulgences were often useful, if treated with circumspection, of course. “Yes, if I may.” She smiled and slipped her binoculars’ strap over her shoulder.
            The count stepped closer, a good twelve inches taller than her. Then, as they turned to proceed up the drive, he called, “Follow, Prince!”
            And the dog stood and strode purposefully behind them. Whenever Maria glanced back, the animal’s eyes were on her – neither menacing nor benign, simply watching.
            Light percolated through the tree-tops onto Count Zondadari’s face to reveal a vivid purple scar, the tissue still healing; it ran from temple to chin down the left side of his face. Involuntarily, Maria started.
            Even in these mottled shades he was quick to detect her reaction. “I’m sorry if I’ve startled you afresh, but I’m afraid I was a little careless with a stone-cutting saw whilst building my beach barbecue – I’ll show you my progress later, perhaps. It will be a short while before the wound heals properly.”
            “You must think me rude, to stare–”
            “No, not at all. It’s most natural.” A stray sunbeam glinted on the white of his teeth. “There’s nothing to it, I’m sure; once you’re used to seeing it–”
            “And will it scar?”
            “I fear it will.” She did not understand his aside to himself: “Just one of many over the years...” So she shrugged it off. Maybe he was a mite eccentric.
            As their feet scrunched up the sloping gravel drive, she viewed him anew in the shadow-less light.
            Count Zondadari was tall, with a patrician nose and high cheekbones. He had a high receding hairline that suggested intelligence and dark arched eyebrows. The laughter lines around his sensual mouth and flint-grey eyes softened his appearance. Those eyes shone, as if amused by life. Here was a man with supreme confidence, someone who lived life to the full. There was something other-worldly about him; oddly, she was reminded of Wilde’s Dorian Gray.
            The two-story villa was squat and long, the walls constructed from a variety of stonework. “This plot of land has been in my family since the 1560s.” He waved his walking stick in an arc. Prince watched obediently, alert. “We’ve tended to rebuild here and there, as the mood dictated, yet we have tried to preserve the features we like – hence the porch.” It was imposing, a pillared portico, with curving marble steps leading up to the heavy oak panelled door which sported large brass ornamentation and a fish-shaped door-knocker.

            “It’s beautiful,” Maria said and meant it. The stone walls, dun and drab, were haphazardly clothed in creepers, bougainvillea and begonia. The green of leaves was a striking contrast, and softened the privations of time. The Arabic designed stonework round the roof and windows seemed to blend with nature. The place appealed to her artistic eye. “The blossom will be absolutely gorgeous in a few weeks,” she added.
            “Yes.” He smiled down at her. “Some of the stonework is sixteenth century, so it seems to be rejuvenated every year when the flowers bloom. The place really comes alive then.”
            It could have been a trick of light, as they climbed the steps, but she thought his face had darkened momentarily, the shine inexplicably absent from his eyes at the mention of nature’s renewal. And the scar-tissue glowed red. But she could have imagined it – her imagination seemed to be on overtime these days.

(When I'm editing, I tend to ask for particulars, such as the name of a book the character is reading, or the type of car she is driving. Here, I settled for ‘car’ as its make was already established).

 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Death-Another-Life-Robert-Morton/dp/1477654194/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380527911&sr=8-1&keywords=death+is+another+life+Morton

 

http://www.amazon.com/Death-is-Another-Life-ebook/dp/B004U6EG6O/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1380528251&sr=1-1&keywords=death+is+another+life+Morton