For Others | Peter Jones, Author

The Write Trousers

August 16, 2011 by Peter | 0 comments

My friend Wendy Steele recently confessed to me that she has ‘writing trousers’.

I nearly spat my tea all over her kitchen table. I’ve heard of writers who have a favourite pen (actually, I used to have a favourite editing pen – I was gutted when I lost it), and I know of writing folks who have to use a moleskin journal or the muse just won’t visit them, but ‘writing trousers’ was a new one on me. Needless to say I had to see them for myself. I present the reader with exhibit A.

Writing Trousers, so it seems, are more ‘practical’ than ‘elegant’. You’re unlikely to turn heads when wearing your writing trousers (not unless the head turning is accompanied with a mouth-open expression that says “what the…!?”). The entire purpose of writing trousers is to maintain a high level of comfort, and to carry out their trouser remit with minimal distractions that you might experience from, say, a pair of trendy, ripped in all the right places, but overly tight, jeans.

And the more I think about it the more I realise that I too have writing trousers. In fact, I have a whole writing outfit: On days that I’m here at SoundHaven HQ on my own (CJ doesn’t count. She doesn’t care what I wear so long as I am wearing something to cover my furless body) I prefer to put on a pair of linen thai-chi style tousers, an old but comfortable t-shirt, and my favorite cardigan – which, I hasten to add, I’d never be seen dead in but is so exceptionally soft and offers instant control over the change in office temperature as the sun plays peek-a-boo with the clouds. Add to this a pair of half moon specs and I confess that not only do I feel more comfortable, but were I to break that cardinal rule about creating a character that’s a writer (that should earn me an extra comment or two) he (or she) would pretty much look exactly as I’ve described.

Which brings me to the inevitable question of this month’s post – what do you wear When you write? Assuming you wear anything, of course. Looking forward to reading your comments. Shame it’s not possible for you to post pictures. :)

Also posted on Amwriting.org

Almost Done

July 7, 2011 by Peter | 0 comments

Six and a half years after starting my novel, the end finally in sight.

I have almost finished my novel.

Let me put that into perspective: the book that I started writing on or around the 10th of October 2004 is almost complete. So why has it taken me so long? What – you may ask – have I been doing for the last six and half years?

Let’s back up a bit. First you need to know that I never intended to write a novel. Originally it was just a short story that amused my wife. And that was fatal, because having made her laugh she then suggested that I ought to continue the story, and turn it into a book.

Easy for her to say! This was the woman who would read a novel a week, sometimes two! This was the woman who would pack at least half a dozen books in our joint luggage, and supplement those with two or three tomes that she’d purchase at the airport. As far as my wife was concerned telling me to write a novel was akin to suggesting I put the kettle on and make a brew – whereas from my perspective she may as well have asked me to walk to India to pick the tea-leaves, and fetch the water from the frozen glaciers of Tibet on my way home.

But then, curiosity got the better of me. Maybe I could write a book. And maybe the way to tackle the task at hand was to treat it as a series of linking short stories? Write a chapter, and when I was satisfied that it was the absolute best it could be, move onto the next chapter?

And that was my first mistake. After three long years I’d written half a dozen chapters of utter rubbish. They were indeed ‘the best that I could do’, but the truth of the matter is, ‘my best’ just wasn’t very good.

Fortunately, around this time Apple invented the iPod. And soon after someone invented the podcast. And as a direct consequence Mur Laffety became a regular part of my car journeys. It was she who gave me (and the other listeners of her excellent podcast ‘I should be writing‘) the best piece of writing advice I’ve ever had: when writing a novel, write the WHOLE book – start to finish – BEFORE going back to edit. And in the absence of anything that was working, that is exactly what I did. A year and a bit later (29th of March 2009 to be precise), I’d finished the FIRST draft.

Several other things had happened too. I’d joined a writer’s group. I was reading and listening to every bit of writing advice I could lay my hands and ears on. And most important of all, I was a much better writer.

This, it turns out, was the power of Mur’s advice. There’s something about putting one word in front of another that makes you better at writing, just as putting one foot in front of another makes you better at walking, or running. Have you ever watched a toddler learning to walk? Right after they’ve fallen flat on their face, they pick themselves up and try again. They don’t analyse the last few steps, or wait for feedback from their peers, they keep moving forward. It’s how they get better at walking. And it’s how I got, and continue to get, better at writing. Just a year or so after I churned out diabolical chapter number six, I was two hundred thousand words better equipped to fix it. That, and the other forty four chapters.

The last two and a bit years have been spent editing. Yes I know what you’re thinking. Two and a bit years!! Only now am I getting to a point where I think I might have a handle on what proper editing involves – that however, will have to be the topic of a future post. What I’m keen to know is if this tale rings any bells. How long did it take you to finish your first novel? Why was that? And what lessons did you learn along the way? Post your comments below – I look forward to reading them. In the meantime, I’ve got a book to finish.

Originally written for amwriting.org

Mush

May 18, 2011 by Peter | 0 comments

How to prevent your brain turning to jam

I’ve never been one of those folks who can write in short bursts of five or ten minutes. Some people I know – let’s call them “women” – have this ability to juggle ten things at once, and whilst they make a phone call, surf the web, feed the gold fish, put another load of washing on, and gently remove the kitchen knife that little Johnny decided might be fun to play with, they manage to bash out another scene. If only my brain worked like that. Instead, the lump of grey matter inside my skull prefers to work on one thing at a time, and takes a while to warm up. I’m not suggesting this a male thing, but it’s definitely how I’m wired.

And that’s fine. Aside from the days when my assistant’s here, the only person who requires my attention is CJ. And given that there’s a garden full of birds to amuse her during the day, and mice to hunt during the evening, I’m largely left alone to immerse myself in “my craft”.

Which would be lovely. If only I could keep going.

Two hours in however and my brain is mush. It doesn’t feel like two hours, it feels like two days. I’m ready to throw in the towel, and congratulate myself on a productive, er.. time… if it wasn’t for the fact I’ve barely filled half a screen with words. I end up taking breaks. Tea breaks. Lunch Breaks. Just-check-my-email-breaks. Talk-to-my-assistant breaks. Phone someone-anyone breaks. Anything-other-than-continue-to-climb-the-damn-mountain-that-is-my-novel break.

And that’s a problem. Breaks do just that. They break something. In this case, my flow. I’d return to the writing, and I’d have to warm up my brain. Again.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

A year ago, through a set of circumstances that I won’t bore you with now (partly because I need something to blog about next month) I found myself writing a self-help book (How to Do Everything And Be Happy – available now – all good ebook stores- yada yada yada). Non-fiction writing is something that, like you, I’m so familiar with I don’t really consider it writing at all. In a world where so much communication has gone back to the written word (texts, emails, tweets, blog posts…) writing a self-help book just feels a LOT easier than writing a novel. It’s almost as if it uses less of your brain. Or maybe a different part. I’m sure some smart person will post a comment saying exactly that.

The really interesting thing though is what happened to my “Writing Days”. Rather than “taking a break” (to check my emails, make another cup of tea, etc etc.), I’d simply flip from the novel, to the self-help book – from fiction, to non-fiction – and when my brain felt less jam-like, I’d flip back. In my head at lest, this didn’t seem to register as a break – I’d feel rested yes, but my flow hadn’t been broken. I’d remained in writing mode the whole time so there was no need to warm up – and suddenly I was writing two books far faster than if I’d been writing just one.

I’m keen to know if this is just me. And if it’s the combination of fiction and non-fiction or whether working on two pieces of fiction at the same time would work just as well. Post your comments below.

In the meantime I’m flipping back to the novel.

Originally written for and posted on Amwriting.org

Less of your Lip

June 26, 2010 by Peter | 2 Comments

Why less, is clearly more.

Here are the items on the shelf in my bathroom: toothpaste, antiperspirant, aftershave. There’s also a tube of Hydra Energetic, Anti-Fatigue, Instant Action Eye Care. My wife bought it for me. According to the side of the tube I’m supposed to apply it morning and evening, gently patting it into the “eye area”, and smoothing outwards from the corner of the eye to the temple. I’ve gone through this process only once. I followed the instructions to the letter, then stared into the mirror in anticipation.

Nothing.

It had made no visible difference whatsoever! I wondered briefly whether I’d misunderstood the instructions; whether their definition of “eye area” and mine were the same. And then I put it back on the shelf, and never gave it another thought until today. When it comes to understanding makeup, clearly I’m missing some kind of gene.

My wife loved makeup. That same shelf in the bathroom I now use for my four items was merely an over-flow area for all the jars, cans, bottles and sprays which occupied every available surface. Kate accumulated cosmetics faster than she could possibly use them. Much of it via the internet. Much of it from abroad. She had products that were allegedly infused with gold, and others that purported to have liquid oxygen in them.

When Kate died I wasn’t the only one who suffered a loss. Shares in Boots the Chemist dropped several points. The whole cosmetic industry entered a slump that they’ve wrongly attributed to early signs of the recession. In short, she should be the one writing this blog entry.

But I do remember this: Early on in our marriage Kate hired a Makeup Artist and Image Consultant to help her “discover a new look”. Whilst I tapped away in my office I could hear the exasperated sounds of my wife arguing with the woman who’d agreed to take on a challenge from which there could be no victory. And then it happened:

“Well let’s see what Peter thinks,” said Kate. And moments later she was standing in the door-way to my office, looking a little like the clown doll from the old BBC television test card. “Well?” She asked. I considered my reply carefully. By now the Image Consultant lady was standing behind my wife, desperately hoping that I’d come to her defence. But she was going to be disappointed.

“I’m not sure it’s really you,” I said.

“What don’t you like about it?” demanded Kate.

“It’s just.. it’s not.. I kind of prefer it when you don’t wear makeup it.” It was true.

“And that’s my point,” said Kate turning to the lady behind her, “Because Peter doesn’t even realise that he’s never seen me without makeup!”

At the time I was shocked. I felt foolish, and a little hurt. Like I was somehow one of those husbands who wouldn’t notice if my wife had had her hair done, or shaved it off, or was wearing a bin liner, or was actually there at all. But now I realise that’s not what she meant. Makeup, so it seems, isn’t supposed to be noticed. At least not all the time. Sometimes it’s there just to make sure your loved ones don’t miss the natural features you already have.

Which makes me wonder whether I should have another look at that barely used tube of Hydra Energetic, Anti-Fatigue, Instant Action Eye Care.

Written for GetLippie.com – published July 2010

Behold the Balloon Jesus!

June 10, 2010 by Peter | 0 comments

Ok, settle down, settle down please – before you start drafting strongly worded letters of complaint to your local MP, or worse still phoning the Daily Mail, Balloon Jesus was commissioned by a client for a colleague who was being ordained.

Yes. You read that correctly. The Church of England is amongst my client base. So put that in your balloon pipe and smoke it (important note: our balloons are not fire resistant).

I must confess I did have reservations about Balloon Jesus. I said it as a joke – and I freely admit that maybe, in retrospect, it was pushing the boundaries of good taste – but when the client clapped for glee and pronounced that “that would be brilliant” I was a little taken back.

“Oh. Well – should I put him.. on a cross?” I murmured.

“Can he sort of have his arms open, in a welcoming gesture?” she asked after a moments thought.

“Sure, I can do that,” I said, and then, gathering a little more confidence; “I suppose a cross would be a little tricky difficult. I mean – Balloons and nails don’t really mix.” Silence. “So, er, yeah, a welcoming gesture – no problem.”

So here he is then. Welcoming Gesture and all.

Next week: Balloon nails!

Written on behalf of the Balloon Baboon for her blog – published June 2010