williamadmin, Author at William the Writer

17 June 2019

Two falls or one submission

Those of my readers who have reached the middle of their fifth decade will probably recognise this title as one of the rules, and there were precious few, of Saturday afternoon wrestling on TV back in the late sixties or early seventies.

I remember sitting with my grandmother and giggling as this otherwise respectable lady was transfixed by World of Sport on ITV. Nanna, as we called her, was old even then. I was six or seven and everyone who wasn’t in my class at school was old, but she was my father’s mother, and born in the eighteen nineties which made her a Victorian. That’s old.

I don’t remember exactly when she died but I do remember watching Giant Haystacks and Big Daddy, real name Shirly Crabtree, with her on wet Saturday afternoons. Nanna would shout at the small black and white portable screen as the two combatants threw each other from one side of the ring to the other. They’d bounce off the ropes and come back, often knocking their opponent to the canvas with a forearm smash or a flying tackle. The referee would count; one’a, two’a, three’a, and so on to nine. The injured fighter would then spring up, miraculously recover from his injury, and resume the bout. It was all staged of course, but to a boy who hadn’t mastered the five times table or joined up writing, it all seemed terribly real.

Moving forward to the present day, or yesterday to be precise, I could hear Nanna’s voice as clear as if she was right beside me. I was racing my sailing dinghy, a twelve foot long Comet Duo, in winds that were probably a bit strong to be out. Phoenix is a two person boat but as a sailor with a larger, well padded, frame I prefer to go out on my own. I usually have enough weight that I’m not to be overpowered by the wind and I can put a reef if conditions dictate I reduce the sail area. But yesterday the gusts were so extreme that, even reefed, I was struggling to keep her upright. Twice I failed and capsized, nipping over the gunwale and onto the centre board where my weight was sufficient to bring the mast out of the water and pointing skyward again.

It was after the second incident that I heard Nanna’s voice coming down the decades. “Two falls ref, that’s two falls.” She’d obviously decided that I should be sent to the changing room for an early bath. As I knelt in the bottom of my boat, half soaked and mostly exhausted, I agreed with her. It was time for me to bang on the canvas and tell the referee that I’d had enough, I was only half way around the course but the elements had won. I was ready for a shower and some dry clothes, I indicated to the safety boat that I was retiring, opened the self-bailers, and set a course back to the club.

It wasn’t the best race of the season so far, but it was one of the best afternoon’s sailing I’ve had this year. The most exhilarating and physically challenging without doubt. You have to know your limits and I’d had my two falls. Just like the fighters all those years ago I might look beaten but I’ll be back again next week, all recovered and ready for another bout.

15 June 2019

Authors should watch more TV

Those of you who have read yesterday’s blog will remember that I claimed not to watch much television. So, if that’s the case, why was I up till three this morning before dragging myself off to bed for a just a few hours sleep. Why would I put myself through it, knowing I’d feeling as rough as a badger’s ass for most of the following day.

Well the answer’s simple. Killing Eve. I watched the first episode of the second series and couldn’t stop. I ended up watching five episodes, each of forty five minutes and back to back. If I hadn’t stopped when I did I’d have finished all eight and not made it to bed at all.

What kept me watching? Well the fantastic acting by Jodie Comer and Sandra Oh in the principle parts was worth it alone but Fiona Shaw and Nina Sosanya were both outstanding too . Good writing and characterisation is the foundation everything else is built upon and in Killing Eve it’s rock solid. As a writer of novels I know that rule number one is “have a great plot” and I guess the same goes for screen plays and drama. It may be even more important for them, so the story keeps moving along while the background locations and visual effects to give context. In print we describe the location of the action. We tell the reader how green the grass might be and we use words to emphasise the heat of a burning building. On screen it’s done in a visual way, but we both need a good plot.

Authors should watch more TV because they can learn from it, but be selective about what you view. If you want to see how a plot works you could do worse than a marathon of Killing Eve. I suggest you settle down for a few hours of drama, turn off your phone and be ready for the long haul. Once you start watching you won’t want to stop.

That’s it for now. I’m off to see the end of the series.

14 June 2019

How do you find time to write?

Like most authors I have to supplement my passion for writing with a day job. That’s just a fact of life. Unless you’re a multi-award winning household name, with titles from floor to ceiling at WH Smith’s, you’re going to need something to help pay the mortgage.

So how do you find time to write? It’s one of the questions I’m asked most often, and especially by people who know me from my day job as a farmer or general manager at the family business. The answer is simple, I don’t know.

Writing is not something you can just sit down and do for half an hour between other tasks. If you want a structured story you need a structured way of working. It’s taken a lot of trial and error but this is what I’ve found works for me.

I’m at my most productive in the early morning, and I mean really early. If I’m at my desk with a strong brew of coffee and two ginger biscuits by five thirty, then it’s going to be a good day. This is when I have my best ideas about storylines and plot direction. I like to write for a couple of hours and if possible I’ll finish a scene or chapter. I know I’ve reached the end of a day’s creativity if I’ve written a cliff hanger and want to turn the page to see what happens next.

By mid-morning I’m thinking about other things; for instance the business of being an author. I’ll do some social media stuff, I might post a blog or even spend time on the day job. There’s always things that need attending to around the farm, deliveries to be done for the factory or a car that need its MOT arranged.

As the shine wears off the afternoon I’m ready for proof reading and corrections. I usually make a cup of tea; hot, not too much milk, and leave the teabag in please, before I sit down to start the process. I’ve said I’m at my most creative at home in the morning, but my Basildon office in the late afternoon is the best environment for amendments and alterations. I can easily spend a couple of hours there, as afternoon becomes evening, with a fresh manuscript and a bold red pen.

I like to read, I’m doing a lot more of it nowadays and having a Kindle is a great help. I’ve always liked murder mysteries, but in the beginning I had a notion that if I were to be a serious author then I’d need to read the highbrow, classic, novels. I tried one or two and found them dull. I discovered there’s loads of great stuff available written by living authors and for some strange reason my favourites are mostly from Scotland. I love a well constructed sentence and a story that draws me in. Christopher Brookmyre and Stuart MacBride write books I can’t put down. Anything by Peter James or Ian Rankin is a masterclass in the art of penmanship.

Television, apart from a few well thought out and professionally crafted programs, is just chewing gum for the eyes. The original remit of the BBC was to Entertain, Educate and Inform but today most channels are satisfied with serving up a diet of cheap shows which require no cerebral input from the viewer. I’ll listen to the radio for news and follow a few podcasts. Commercial radio can be good, the talk shows on LBC get quite heated at times but the adverts become repetitive and after a while I need to switch off. I download the Times each day to my iPad. Sometimes I even read the odd article.

And so to bed, perchance to dream – sorry Shakespeare. I’ll have a podcast in the background or a comedy on BBC Sounds as I nod off. With a little luck I’ll be back at my desk in the morning with fresh ideas for my “who-dun-it” or an idea of how they pulled it off.

My favourite stories have always been the ones where the baddy isn’t caught.

3 May 2019

All days are strange, but some are more strange than others

To misquote George Orwell, “All days are strange, but some are more strange than others”.

It started with no dog.

Apart from a short holiday a few weeks ago I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t greeted by a wagging tail and a bursting bladder first thing in the morning. Clement is my constant companion. He comes to work with me and we go everywhere together. He’s there by my side almost all of the time, he’s ready to listen if I want to moan about life in general. I can tell him anything and often I do, we’ve been together for almost five years and so far he’s not repeated a word to a living soul. As I don’t like to leave him alone for too long, and we would be out for most of the day, Clement had a sleep over last night with DJ, a very nice German shepherd who lives with my daughter and her husband. He stayed with them for most of the day.

At nine I went to my office in Basildon for a couple of hours, just to make sure they remembered what I look like you understand; I’ve not been there much recently so I felt I should show my face and see who was around. All the usual suspects were in attendance, and with very little prompting they mostly remembered my name.

Because it’s a design and printing business, it’s natural I would spend the morning working on a Basic Payment Scheme claim form required by the rural payments agency. There are few industries further removed from printing than farming. I’m involved with both and wouldn’t have it any other way. While printing is besieged by the rise of digital media, the iPad and limitless internet access, farmers just work four hundred hours a month, producing food for an ungrateful public who think we are trying to poison them.

As well as feeding the nation we are guardians of the countryside. Most farms are signed up to one scheme or another which pays them for looking after aspects of the environment and I’m no different. Our Countryside Stewardship Scheme has been running since January 2016 and has one more year to go. During its time we have seen an increase in the skylark population, we have more brown hares and red squirrels can be found on the farm for the fist time in forty five years.

Who knows what will replace CSS, not Natural England nor the Environment Agency, or if they do they’re not telling the farmers yet. When, and if, the UK disentangles itself from Europe there will still need to be some sort of support for farmers who use their land for the preservation of nature, right now it’s unclear what form that support will take.

Government schemes come with forms and paperwork, although they’re mostly online these days. Whilst I accept the rural payments agency have tried to keep the admin to a minimum and they can’t just hand out tax payers money willy-nilly, calculating a field’s size to four decimal places is considered overkill by many farmers who, at this time of year, are busy planting spring crops or lambing.

Back to my day. After completing everything I needed to in Basildon I went home, changed into a dark suite, white shirt and black tie. Then Liesl and I made our way to the crematorium in Chelmsford for an event I’ve been dreading. My oldest friend died on April the first, a wonderful lady who I grew up with and who I loved dearly. At the age of six weeks I put into a pram with Sharon who was five months my senior. I’m told that she let me suck her toes and, true or not, that day was the beginning of our life-long friendship. I only wish it had been a longer life and a longer friendship. She died suddenly, surrounded by her family.

Life will be strange without Sharon at the other end of the phone or putting on the kettle and digging out the hobnobs when I drop in for a chat. She could always see through the bluster and bull shit, she got to the heart of a person and more often than not she’d tell me to grow a pair, stop whining and count my blessings. The only time she got violent was when I convinced her to wrap her own present one Christmas. She gave me slap which I fully deserved, and as I didn’t spend the night in A&E I think she pulled her punch at the last moment.

After the service there was only one thing to do. We collected Clement and I dropped Liesl at home. The dog and I drove to Portsmouth and caught a ferry to the island. I’ll have a couple of days at the farm where I cam work on a short story and when I run out of ideas or inspiration we’ll walk the beaches and swear at the waves. I’ll shout my frustration at God for the loss of my friend and rant at Him for taking our son six years ago this month. He’s big and he can take it. I’m sure they are with Him now, reunited with Sharon’s father who passed away a few years ago and my mother who’s been gone for thirteen years. In heaven your body is fixed, Skyler’s injuries are healed and mum’s cancer is gone. Sharon will ride her horse all day, free from pain and moving as one with her beloved fella. I can hear the music to white horses in my mind as I write, it was one of her favourites, her ring tone and played at her funeral today.

Together they will look down and laugh at us. Our lives are so small, we worry about stuff that seem so big but in the greater scheme of things it’s nothing. We run around for reasons that seem so urgent but we’ll have forgotten all about it in a month; they sit on their clouds and have eternity to contemplate.

I’m sad that Sharon is gone. Her time with us was too short but I was blessed to know her.

I said it had been a strange day and, if it’s all right with you, I’d rather not have another quite like it for a while.

24 March 2019

Eyott Sailing Club – firstling race.

It’s been one of those perfect spring Sundays and it coincided with our first race of the season. How good is that?

Although I only managed to come seventh, there were eight boats racing, I had a great time and it has been quite warm out on the water today. Honours we to the Hancox family with a win and a second boat well placed.

Tomorrow it is an early start as I am booked on the 9am ferry from Portsmouth to Fishbourne on the lsle of Wight but I am glad I stayed here today and went sailing as it’s been a day to remember.