What and Who do You Admire Most as a Writer?

Cover of J.K. Rowling

Most of us have heroes we look up to in one way or another. Sometimes it's simply the creative output we admire, sometimes it's the person rather than the work, and sometimes, just occasionally, it's both.

So, who do you look up to, whose work do you admire?

I'll start the ball rolling with my own listing.

I grew up long before the Harry Potter novels were written, let alone published, but I admire the story-telling, imagination and range of language used by J.K.Rowling in these adventure tales aimed at young people. I started out reading them to my daughter as she grew up and ended up reading the last three because I was hooked on the adventure. I also think JK is an admirable person; her struggle to get published under very difficult circumstances and her generosity, once she was established, both make her someone for me to admire.

The work of William Golding is something I've enjoyed since I was introduced to it with The Spire when I attended evening classes during 1983 to take my English Literature A Level (which I passed with a grade A, I'm pleased to say). Having discovered the multi-layered story and accessible literary elements in The Spire, I went on to read the rest of his canon, finding I enjoyed the lot and learning a great deal about writing in the process. I particularly like The Pyramid, one of his works that's rarely mentioned.

Several of William  Horwood's books have impressed me. I enjoyed the pure fun and adventure of Duncton Wood and it's following episodes. But it was The Stonor Eagles that most resonated with me. I felt real empathy with the sculptor who is the human protagonist in this novel. The book details the struggles of Sea Eagles in and around the Norwegian coast and the Scottish Islands, and contrasts their lives with the problems faced by the artist commissioned to produce a sculpture of them to commemorate their re-introduction to the UK. A book that was definitely a powerful influence on my writing. The author's ability to enter the 'minds' of his flying characters as effectively as he does the humans in the story is most impressive.

Graham Greene's work has been influential in my reading and writing, as has that of Neville Shute. I've also enjoyed the work of Louis de Bernier. And, for reasons I don't fully understand, I have a particular soft spot for Richards Adams' Shardik and, particularly, Maia.

There are, of course, hundreds of other writers who have entertained and educated me during a life of reading. Attached to this blog is a list of some of the books I've yet to read. You'll find them on the tab, My To Read List' above. If you're interested in other books I've read and enjoyed, or otherwise, you'll also find a list of those I can actually remember on Goodreads, an excellent site where readers can exchange information about their reading experiences. There, you'll find a list of the 817 titles I've so far recalled, along with reviews of 89 of the books. I estimate I've probably read in excess of 3,000 books but so many are from the past and no longer held on my shelves (I was forced to abandon a large number of my books when I divorced my first wife, unfortunately) that I can't recall them now. All, however, have played their part in developing my language skills, facility with the written word, and my knowledge of the human story.

So, there's an idea of the work and writers I admire. Perhaps you'll share some of your own influences here?

Thank you for reading this.

Silly question to amuse: Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

An Apology to Those Reading the Novel Here

Although I scheduled a post to include the next chapter of the novel on here, to appear on 20 April, it seems not to have been posted during my absence. No idea why. It's listed in my posts as 'scheduled' with the right date and time, and this process has always worked in the past. However, for whatever reason, it didn't show up. So, rather than interrupt the weekly flow, I'll post Chapter 15 this week, on 27 April. Again, my apologies to those who are following the book on here.

Ancient Symbol Worship, by Westropp & Wake, Reviewed.

This is a modern version, not the one I read,
and may contain more information.

Subtitled, Influence of the Phallic Idea in the Religions of Antiquity, this book came my way as one of a small collection given me by my brother when he was sorting stuff out prior to a move to a new house with less space. He used to work in a book store and has a number of fairly unusual titles in his library. This was one he hadn't got round to reading, but the title and subtitle intrigued me.

This small volume, first published in 1875, sets out to examine the influence of the phallic, or male, component in ancient religion. But it takes this idea into modern religion, suggesting that the ancient beliefs, customs and rites have been absorbed and altered by modern celebrants in forms recognisable to those who wish to see.

There's some Latin, untranslated, and a colossal amount of reference to often obscure issues that were, presumably, well known to scholars of the time. But, for a modern reader, these references remain unexplained and would require a great deal of research to track down and more time than most people have these days for such esoteric issues. Whilst those who already have a deep interest in the symbolism employed in worship will undoubtedly understand the references, the rest of us will remain confused. However, much is clarified by context and, having an interest in many subjects, I was able to apprehend a lot of what the authors allude to, though other items consisted of listings of arcane information lacking any hook on which I could hang it.

That the book was written in the Victorian era, with its dreadful hypocrisy regarding all matters sexual, shows in the circumspection that rules the writing. Where, today, we would name the penis, testes, vulva and breasts without fear or embarrassment, the authors are constrained by the customs of their times and therefore have to express much of their ides in convoluted form or by the use of metaphor, much of which is couched in classical references that will be lost on many modern readers.

A second factor in preventing the authors expressing themselves frankly and with clarity is their sensitivity to the feelings of those who profess a faith. Again, today, such sensitivities can be dealt with more openly, showing respect rather than reverence. In the time the book was published however, such frankness, leading to real clarity, would have probably prevented publication.

So, an already difficult subject is made more obscure for reasons that are no longer valid. As the ideas and information explored are still valid and in need of wider publicity, I'd love to see some modern scholar produce a similar volume for today's reader with a much clearer text. Perhaps it's been done and I simply haven't come across the book.

As it is, this book can really only be read by the general reader as a partial glimpse into the subject. Those with a good knowledge of ancient history, religion and symbolism will glean a good deal more, however. Many of the ideas expressed as certainties have, of course, been placed in doubt or even refuted by more recent discoveries of texts from such sources as the Dead Sea Scrolls and other ancient records and parchments retrieved from many different sources by modern archaeologists.

Members of religious organisations will no doubt be outraged by suggestions that the roots of their current dogma and rites grew from ancient forms of worship that were definitely based in reproduction and sexuality, often in very explicit acts of devotion, sacrifice and propitiation to the early deities. But a dispassionate and disinterested examination of the rites, customs and beliefs of such groups quickly establishes their ancient links with many practices and myths no longer considered either right or sensible.

A demanding read, not for the faint-hearted.

Just to Keep You Informed

If you comment on any posts here for the next week, you 'll have to wait for my response. I'm taking a sabbatical week away from all things digital. There are new posts already scheduled, so they will appear automatically during this period, but I won't be around in person again until 22 April. See you then.

The Challenge for Writers.

Allerthorpe Woods.

For those of us who like, want, need or are compelled to express ourselves in writing there are a number of challenges to be faced. These vary according to the nature of the writer and the type of writing pursued.

So, if you're a writer, what are your challenges?

I'll start you off with my own.

My most basic challenge is one I impose on myself by a quirk of personality: I feel strongly about many topics; passionate, even. But I used to allow this strong emotion to overwhelm my writing, so that I became a proselytising missionary, spreading my beliefs and opinions at the expense of readability.

I prefer to write fiction, being a natural teller of tales, rather than an essayist, but my need to teach and preach (I should point out here that I'm a committed agnostic who views all organised religion with suspicion - there I go again, you see?) overwhelmed my story telling and turned my work into thinly-disguised evangelical tracts on one subject or another. Of course, this isn't attractive to readers. Why would it be? I mean, who cares what I think? Readers are looking primarily for entertainment. If they want to be harangued or beaten about the brain with someone's opinion, they'll go the local debating society, attend a political rally, visit a church or join some society or other. What they want from novels is story.

So, what to do about this unattractive habit of mine? Well, I wondered if I might dilute the urge to put the world right by allowing myself the luxury of joining serious debates taking place elsewhere, thus allowing that part of my brain to feel it's had its say. That way, perhaps, I could then write instead of 'right', if you see what I mean. So, I've become a member of Digg, StumbleUpon, AllVoices and the Huffington Post sites. Here I can indulge my missionary self whenever I feel the urge to attack some injustice that heats my blood. And there are many, I can tell you. I've always loathed injustice in every form. I also hate hypocrisy, and lies, and conflict politics, and waste, and environmental denial, and religious dogma and brainwashing of children and… well, you see where I'm going with this, don't you? But, by joining these arenas for serious debate, I can get the frustration out of my system and leave my imagination free to tell stories without reference to the passion of that reforming zeal.

Oddly, what I've found is that I now write free of the need to teach, but that my work is still influenced by my beliefs and concerns. However, this now forms themes rather than being the meat of the pieces. So, I'll write a story ostensibly concerning the relationship between two potential lovers but the perceptive reader will recognise the strand of gender inequality lurking under the surface. Or I'll write a futuristic piece apparently about the erotic adventures of a couple of 'eternals' but the reader who sees beneath the surface will detect the thread of debate on the poverty of relationships based entirely on the joys of sex and the danger inherent in allowing technology to develop unchecked by common sense. But the stories will be damn good reads without authorial intrusion. (Those who've read Breaking Faith and The Methuselah Strain may see parallels here).

There's some suggestion that our challenges as writers may be based in our challenges as human beings and I wonder how true that might be.

I left school early in life, due to a combination of external events over which I had little control (see my previous post on Motivating the Writer if you want more detail.) But I'd been brought up as a confirmed Christian and, following a crush I developed on the local curate, as a young man, I'd decided on the Church of England priesthood as my future role in life. Events soon knocked that out of me, however; events and a growing sense of the hypocrisy rampant in organised religion. But my need to 'preach', to 'evangelise' was clearly already deep-rooted even then. Later, when I re-examined my options and looked back at my life and varied career, it became clear that I might, as I'd often been told, have made a good teacher. It's clear that these aspects of my personality have come to the fore in my writing. So we can see where personal challenges become parallels of writing challenges.

As for injustice and my other long-held passions, I think they've developed alongside my self-taught awareness of the wider world. I've quite deliberately exposed myself to those issues that seem important, rather than dive under the covers of simple entertainment or drown myself in the froth and inconsequence of the celebrity culture that now engulfs so many adults.

I've always had what many have described as an unhealthy concern for truth and honesty, perhaps inherited from my extraordinary mother, who was a well-loved local confidante of more people than I realised at the time.

As for my interest in other subjects, my step-father was fascinated by butterflies and moths, by the night sky, by the tales of Ryder Haggard and the poetry of Omar Khayyam, whose work he could quote at length. So, I suppose I developed similar interests more or less inevitably. Though my own interests in science, natural history and fiction are far wider than those I was initially introduced to. But my step-father's passion did spill over and infect me.

So, it would seem there's some evidence to support the view that our personal challenges can become our writing challenges.

I've exposed mine here for you in the hope that such confession might be helpful for my readers and visitors. The refusal to accept or face those challenges that get in the way of good writing are often the cause of blocking of the creative channels. They must be faced and acknowledged before they can be defeated or at least diverted. If you want to write well, you need to discover what your personal challenges are before you can do anything to reduce their influence on your writing. So, whether you're afflicted with something as basic as a lack of grammatical discipline and knowledge or something in the way of a more complex psychological problem, the first step seems to be acknowledgement of the possibility. Once you reach recognition, acceptance is not far behind and it is then that strategies can be put in place to reduce the influence of these challenges on your output.

Up to you. You can either share your own challenges here or keep them private. Either way, a bit of work on them may well result in a more rounded and deeper development as you as a writer. I hope so, anyway. 

Silly and irrelevant question, just for the smile: Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest, but duck if you throw a revolver at him?

As it Seemed to Me, by John Cole, Reviewed.

This political memoir examines the journalist's thirty-odd years in the trade. It covers a period through which I lived, not quite contemporaneously with the author, who's senior to me by twenty years. Nevertheless, I watched his television reports through the period and, in reading this work, I could again hear the tortured vowels of his Ulster accent.

I always admired the man as a political commentator and reading the book only serves to increase that admiration for someone for whom honesty and pragmatic realism were clearly guiding principles. His neutrality continues, as it did during his long and illustrious career in a field for which he was truly fitted. Moving from his native Northern Ireland to England early in his working life, he served on such august bodies as the Guardian, the Observer and, of course, the BBC in various roles from reporter to editor, ending up as the senior political commentator for that broadcaster.

The book is written very much from the point of view of the observer of political life and there are places where the author's assumption of the reader's knowledge and interest in some of the minutiae is taken for granted. I never reached that level of absorption at the time and so certain passages became less clear to me and there were a number I skipped completely. But there are over 400 pages of dense prose here, so some skipping is, perhaps, excusable.

John Cole's delivery is clearly that of the experienced and professional journalist, with never a word wasted. He packs a great deal into each sentence and the writing can hardly be faulted for its presentation of a complex period of British history.

That I find myself in sympathy with his misgivings about many events and the attitudes of some politicians, particularly the imperious and overbearing Margaret Thatcher, obviously makes me more sympathetic to what he has to say. It's encouraging to know that my impression of our first female Prime Minister as an inflexible martinet with fixed ideas based on ideology rather than pragmatic reality is reinforced by this man who lived close to the action.

This is a book I read initially because it was on my shelves and I'd promised myself I'd read all such volumes before I bought any more. I can't recall how I came by it. Probably, it was one of a package offered by one of the many book clubs I've belonged to during my lengthy reading career. I'm sure I didn't buy it as a separate and targeted book at the time. But I'm glad I've given it the time it deserves, even if somewhat belatedly (it was published in 1995).

It's reinforced some of my impressions of the period, repudiated others, educated me about many and filled in gaps I hadn't realised existed in my knowledge of the time I lived through.

For any reader whose idea of a good book is restricted to the fantasies of fiction, there's nothing here for you. But for those interested in recent British history, the shenanigans of politicians or the profession of journalism, this is a damn good read and I recommend it to you.

Motivating the Writer.

Cover of All Quiet On The Western Front

We write for different reasons; our motivations are many and varied. So, what drives you?

I'll play the lead and tell you what drives me, shall I?

Words have fascinated me since I began to understand what they were, their power, their beauty, their precision and duplicity. I read from an early age and, with no intervention by television into my life until I was 14, I read voraciously. In fact, I exhausted my local library's children's section by the age of 11 and dared ask the fierce librarian if I could borrow books from the adult section. I was a regular visitor, of course, and well known to this large and intimidating woman, so she allowed me this privilege on certain conditions: I was to pass the books I borrowed before her personal scrutiny and I could borrow only one at a time. My first title was All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque. Anyone who's read this classic will be aware of its content, which includes incidents involving prostitutes as well as the necessary brutality of the First World War. Looking back as an adult, I can find no reason, beyond ignorance of its contents, for this severe lady to allow me to read such a disturbing book. But, no matter, I did and thus started on a road that has twisted and turned its way through adult literature to include almost every genre ever classified in both fiction and non-fiction.

When I was in the Royal Air Force, and worked, as a teenager, for five men in their mid-fifties approaching retirement from the service, I was often faced with empty days and took to visiting the camp library. By the end of my service at RAF Lyneham, I'd read every book on the shelves. Of course, I can now recall only a few of those titles but the information, imagination and content all wormed their way into my brain, to help form the man I've become.

So much for my introduction to reading; something I do now whenever I find the time.

But what about my own motivation for stringing words together and placing them on paper? At school I carried my love of language over into my studies, so that English came to be my favourite subject, and the one in which I excelled. Most of the other stuff seemed no more than an attempt to fill my head with information I could easily glean from encyclopaedias and I had difficulty understanding why we spent so much time on remembering what seemed to me irrelevant facts. If I needed to know the annual rainfall in Argentina, I could find it in a book: I didn't need to learn it by heart. This attitude, together with a singular intellectual rebellion that was left unnurtured by my teachers, and coupled with the death of my mother two days after my 16th birthday and only weeks before I faced examinations that would determine my future in the world of work, meant I left school at 16 with few qualifications. But I did enjoy and was encouraged to develop English as a means of communication and expression. I suspect that the attractive nature of my young English teacher and her habit of leaning forward over the desk, exposing her cleavage in the opening of her loose blouses, had some formative effects on a teenage boy. But, that aside, my first success at school was the winning of a cup for an essay in a competition I entered at 14.

I had always enjoyed writing essays, which were, in fact, often opportunities for expressing imaginative ideas in the form of stories. My mother would listen to my efforts when these were written for homework and was always encouraging. With her loss and the poor exam results, coupled with the change in life at home, I decided to join the RAF as a photographer. My mother was a painter and my father a photographer, so the move into the world of visual creativity was more or less inevitable. I did so well in my first year at the school of photography that my writing was eclipsed as I took to the expression of my creativity through photographs. This led, through a series of events and jobs, to a life largely spent dealing with photography or those aspects in which it featured. Writing took second place, though I did regularly submit illustrated articles to the photographic press, and had many of these published.

Life often seems to come along with reminders of our purpose and, during a period when I was no longer employed but working as a freelance, I came across a contest run by the well-respected UK weekly magazine, the Radio Times. The play I wrote for the entry came third. Second place was taken by Shirley Gee, wife of a professional actor and first place was won by Willie Russell of 'Educating Rita', Blood Brothers' and much other fame.

Thus began a long period of writing radio and, once I was approached by a literary agent, TV scripts. I was another 'nearly man' in this world. My skills and ideas, my characters and ability to frame a great plot were never at issue. But my subject matter and the themes I espoused were too radical for the editors and gate-keepers of those organisations to which my work was submitted. Several plays reached the 'round table' stage only to be refused the light of day by those in charge of subject matter deemed suitable for public consumption. So, I never got further than the first play, broadcast in a truncated form that my inexperience permitted the producer to develop for the airways. A shame. My second play was purchased by the BBC but got no further than commissioning as the producer, a man with whom I had little sympathy or connection, left the drama department to go on to some other subject. At that time, the BBC was structured such that no other producer was able to take over the reins and the second play never reached production.

I could, I suppose, have tried to conform to the requirements of the broadcasting authorities but I have always been a bit perverse: what I write, I write. It would be great to be published, broadcast, heard etc., but I refuse to modify my words to suit the preconceptions of men in grey suits. In fact, I did try to write a best-seller on one occasion. Long before the days of the electric typewriter (yes, I'm THAT old), I wrote the first 76,000 words of a thriller in longhand on lined foolscap paper. But I read the thing through before I'd finished it and threw it in the bin in disgust. It didn't do what I wanted my writing to do, so I ditched it.

Life came along and a troubled first marriage gradually impacted on my writing in a number of subtle and not-so-subtle ways. I produced a few stories and began the ground work for a fantasy, drawing a detailed map and gathering together the geographical, political, social and spiritual history of the tribes I would eventually include in this epic trilogy (I've written the first two volumes of that, but I'm not releasing any of it until I've started on the final volume).

The necessity of earning a living is possibly the single most destructive element of our creative lives in current society, but it must be done. I wonder how many great works are denied us by this insistence. However, I ended the destructive marriage after 18 years and found a new soul mate; a woman who understands my creative needs even though she lacks such desires for herself. A loving, trusting relationship naturally brought a child into our lives and for some years I gave over much of my energy and creative spirit to the development, education, amusement and care of our daughter.

If the foregoing sounds like a series of excuses for my lack of commercial success, so be it. We each develop our own sense of what matters here and now and what can be left for the future. Suffice it to say that my later years have been my most productive. I've written five novels and published one, had several short stories published, some as prize-winners in contests, and, of course, written the first two volumes of the epic fantasy. In November last year I took part in the NaNoWriMo challenge, which requires the writer to complete 50,000 words of a novel during the month of November. With typical individuality, I set myself the target of completing an entire first draft of a novel in the same period. I managed 112,242 words and am currently battling with the editing, trying to find the right voice after several false turnings. But, I think now that I shall allow the book to take the course it directed during the writing and stop trying to turn it into something it is not. I allowed myself to be talked into the idea of making it a best-seller. I'm not, and never will be, 'best-seller' material. My ideas and themes of importance are too off the wall to be generally accepted by the book-producing community. Thank heavens for independent book publication!

Have I told you what motivates me to write? Well, I may have deviated here and there, but I think you'll get the general impression that I write to some extent because I'm driven to do so.

But what I write about is largely motivated by my need to dispel many of what I see as false beliefs and ideas that exist in the world and cause most of its problems. I'm a frustrated teacher and agnostic preacher, but hopefully without the arrogant zeal of those pastors and missionaries who wish to inflict their set of religious values and beliefs, mostly unproven, on the unsuspecting and ignorant. But that will have to wait to be expanded. I've made enough of this post. Perhaps I'll develop those last thoughts next week? Who knows?

And now, as ever, I invite your comments, your thoughts, your sparkling gems in response. Thank you for reading.

But Is It Art?

Virgin Mother by Damien Hirst (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Damien Hirst's first major retrospective has opened at the Tate this week. I don't know about you, but I'm one of those philistines who holds this odd belief that art should involve a mixture of creativity and skill. The presentation of actual animals in tanks of formaldehyde doesn't qualify as art for me: biological specimens, suitable for exhibition in the Natural History museums, perhaps, but not works of art. Of course, the rich and creatively gullible can so easily be conned into believing anything an artist produces is necessarily a work of art. Emperor's New Clothes, anyone?

The most irritating aspect of all this is that the man is a good artist, as evidenced by some of his other pieces.

The Week, Writing.

Traffic lights can have several additional lights for filter turns or bus lanes. This one in Warrington, United Kingdom, also shows the red + amber combination seen in a number of European countries. It also shows the backing board and white border used to increase the target value of the signal head. Improved visibility of the signal head is achieved during the night by using the retro-reflective white border. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Another fractured week. Domestic duties vying with writing demands and wants. Still, it's been a positive few days in so many ways, and it's good to have Kate back home for a while. The walk with Valerie on Thursday took us into new country and the unseasonal sun baked us as we walked 6 miles through rural parts not previously explored. Managed to escape the fools queuing for fuel and draining the petrol stations of the very fuel they so desired. Government ministers may bear some responsibility for their inane advice but the general public acted like sheep and queued for hours to buy petrol they didn't really need.
In Preston, at the very end of the trip to collect our daughter, a young man in a large new car crashed into the back of my small hatchback at some traffic lights. A small white mark was my only damage. His was a broken front bumper and a smashed number plate.
Kate drove us back home, which was a great rest for me.
I'm currently reading and acting on, the Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. It's a 'spiritual' approach to the recapture of creativity and, if you can get past her generic use of God (Good orderly direction) as the external creative force, her advice seems apposite and appropriate. I've managed the 'morning pages' every day so far. And I've taken my 'artist's dates', employing them to do some drawing, listen to music and to write some poetry, a genre I rarely indulge in. So far, the process has been beneficial, so I'll see it through. If you're feeling blocked in any way, it might be a good idea to take this 12 week course.
I've managed a piece for the blog - to be posted next week, and a short piece for a contest. But I've also spent a good deal of my time bringing the Writing Contests page up to date - it's accessible on the tab above and will lead you to hundreds of contest details and links to the websites.
And I've dealt with those emails you get and decide you'll do later; you know, the ones that require more than a minute or two to complete.
So, not a bad week in all, but not enough writing done. Still, now the decks are more or less clear, the coming week should provide the opportunity for more words to be written. That's the plan, anyway.
See you on the other side of the week. And good luck with your writing and reading.

New Contest Details on the Writing Contest Page

Kudos (video game) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have a gander at the Writing Contests page, under the tab above, and you'll find 14 pages of details and links to websites where your writing can bring you cash prizes, kudos and bragging rights.
It's worth remembering than many of the more prestigious contests also draw the interest of agents and publishers to your work. Worth considering entering, isn't it?