Making Memes, For Writers

What is a meme? There’s a great explanation on the inimical Wikipedia here. But, in short, for our purposes, it’s a message conveyed via the medium of a picture with words added.

So, what’s it got to do with writers?

Essentially, of course, your book cover constitutes a type of meme. But it’s in the area of promotion that these devices really come into their own. It’s long been the case that visual messages create greater interest and more responses than the written word alone. In the visually biased world we now inhabit, this has become even more the case, and promises to be increasingly so into the foreseeable future.

The idea is that it’s more effective to produce a ‘poster’, with relevant background picture and your words applied, than to simply quote the words in a tweet or short post.

A lot of writers employ cameras to collect information and records for their writing. It’s a fairly simple matter to use the same equipment to collect images suitable for backgrounds for memes. For those who don’t own or use a camera (and don’t forget most mobile phones now contain a camera, as do tablets) there are a large number of sites where you can use images taken by others. On most of these you can make unlimited use of pictures for a small fee and limited use for free. Don’t be fooled by the many claims that all images are free. Almost without exception, such images are either very small or bear a great big watermark. ‘Free’ for this purpose, generally means they are ‘royalty free’; in other words, once purchased, they can be used commercially. Pricing is from around £2.00 a picture, depending on image size. Make sure you read the licencing agreements before you use them. I’ve made use of some of these images for my book covers and they represent a very worthwhile investment. I list some of the sites at the end of this post.

So, how do you apply words to a picture? MS Word allows you to do this in a very basic way. You ‘insert’ a picture in a document and then set the text so that the picture is ‘behind’ the chosen text. However, this is unsatisfactory for a number of reasons; mostly, it’s very limited and not easy to manipulate. Most ‘Painting’ applications will allow the placing of words over or within an image. They also tend to be fairly limited and not particularly straightforward, however.

By far the most effective way of applying text to a picture is to use image manipulation applications,

like Photoshop. However, be aware that you need a degree in computer science, the patience of a saint and the intuitive skills of a genius to make full and efficient use of such programs (My daughter is currently studying Photography at university: they don’t teach Photoshop, even though most of their students use the program. Why don’t they teach it? A lecturer, asked the question, stated it would take a full-time course of around 5 years to do it justice!)

But, don’t despair: you don’t need a complex program to produce your memes. Below are some of the applications offered, free and online, that I’ve tried out for you. In each case, I used my own images, but all these sites have libraries of pictures you can use as part of the application. I used Fotofelexer to produce ‘We Travel this road…’ and ‘Breaking Faith’. Picmonkey was used for ‘If we stop..’ And Ipiccy produced ‘Life is…’

These I found easy to use, but each works in slightly different ways, so you’ll need to give them a try to find out which one suits your particular working methods.

The accompanying posters are memes I produced specifically for this post and each took me only a few minutes. Many of the sites have bells and whistles to allow you to ‘jazz-up’ your creations, should you feel so inclined. My advice is to have a go and see what you can come up with.

And, what to do with these wonders once you’ve produced them? Well, you can Tweet them on Twitter, add them to your blog/website, make them part of your Pinterest collection and stick them in albums on your Facebook and/or Google+ author page (what do you mean, you haven’t got one?). Obviously, make sure there’s a buying link to those that promote your books. As for the words you use to apply to the pictures, you have a choice of your own pithy sayings, excerpts from the text of the book and, of course, those wonderful words of praise from your reviewers (make sure you credit them, of course).

Have fun and scatter memes all over your world. You never know, you might actually attract some readers and maybe even sell some books!

If you’ve found this useful, stimulating, interesting or experienced any other positive outcome, please use the ‘share’ buttons at the foot of the post to let others know about it. It took me a lot of time and effort to produce this post. Thanks. Oh, and by all means comment, but bear in mind I’m no expert, so I may not be able to answer technical questions!

Photo editing sites:  

http://pixlr.com/editor/            Too much like Photoshop

http://fotoflexer.com/app/index.php?integration=upload       Easy to use and comprehensive

http://www134.lunapic.com/editor/   Difficult – can’t copy and paste a block of text

http://www.picmonkey.com/             More variety available if you upgrade at $4.99/month or $33/year

http://ipiccy.com/       Useful and comprehensive.

Sites where you can get pictures:

http://www.dreamstime.com/  21,500,000 images – small charge and some free. I’ve used this for covers.

http://www.shutterstock.com/           30,000,000 images – small charge, some free

http://www.istockphoto.com/            V large selection – small charge, some free

http://www.thinkstockphotos.co.uk/ V large selection – small charge – some free.

http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/      Large selection – small charge, some free.

Lakeland to Lindisfarne, by John Gillham, Reviewed.

Walker, moutaineer, historian, or just interested in the great outdoors? This book has something for you. It was a Christmas present from one of my wife’s sisters, some years ago, and has been sitting on the shelf until now. I picked it up as a light alternative to the rather disturbing piece of fiction I finished last week. And I’m so glad I did.

This guide is intended as just that; an introduction to and a planning tool for a coast to coast walk from the west to east shores of northern England. John Gillham makes it clear from the start that you need to procure more detailed maps than the illustrative drawings he supplies alongside the text, if you are to complete this varied ramble through some of our finest landscapes.

There are mountains, vales, rivers and moors to cross on this varied route. And Gillham brings them all to life, adding small panels of local history where applicable. The reader learns some fascinating facts along the way, and is entertained with rural humour. He gives tips about various villages, pubs, bothies and ancient monuments. He also provides alternative routes, catering for the less experienced walker as well as the proper mountaineers.

For me, this was a trip back to a pleasant past. The walk starts in the Lake District, where my wife and I spent our honeymoon, and brought back many happy memories of those days. The middle section takes the reader through an area of England not much visited and one that I do not yet know. But the last part of the walk, as it approaches the north eastern coast, involves a walk through Hexham where, before we were married, we were mistaken for hotel inspectors at the hostelry we’d chosen for our meeting. Needless to say, the service and food were excellent on that occasion! The route passes Rothbury, where we dined together at another time in our early relationship. Unfortunately, on that occasion, I contracted food poisoning that resulted in the most horrendous drive back down to the Essex town where I then lived. It passes through Clennel Street, close by Clennel Hall, where we stayed very early in our relationship and confirmed that we would spend the rest of our lives together. So, another pleasant reminder. And, in fact, as a result of reading the book, we’re now intending to do some parts of the walk.

I’m well past the days when I can contemplate tackling such an arduous walk as a complete exercise, but, because John Gillham breaks it up into smaller parts, we’ll definitely be hiking several parts of it over the coming years. And I give my thanks to him for mapping out this route through some of the most spectacular and beautiful scenery in this small island of ours.

The photographs that illustrate the walk are all excellent; some merely informative, but many reflecting the beauty of the landscape and giving a clear idea of what the walker can expect to see along the way. I look forward to visiting these places with my wife and my camera in the near future.

The final part of the book is a diary, kept by John’s new wife, Nicola. This is a charming, personal account of her trip with him as he mapped out the routes he suggests. It gives a touching insight into the loving relationship between the couple and provides a more intimate view of both the pleasures and hardships that the walker may encounter along the way. I enjoyed this short piece every bit as much as the main narrative.

So, whether you’re a seasoned walker, a sometime rambler, or one of those tourists who rarely moves more than a few paces from your car, there’s something in this book for you. I picked it up as a contrast to the gritty and disturbing fiction of urban poverty that I’d read previously. As an antidote, it was perfect, and I thoroughly recommend it.

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Faith Introduces Herself to Readers

Stuart's asked me to give you some insight into how I think, what matters to me, why I'm the person I am. Let me introduce myself. I'm Faith Heacham and I narrated the story of Breaking Faith along with Leigh. I hope that some of my rather strange background came through that narrative but there will be elements that you will either not know or be unfamiliar with, of course.

When I first started to work for Leigh, I was still imbued with my father's rather strange brand of Christianity and I was determined to develop Leigh's conscience and convert him into a devout follower of my religion. I don't tell you a lot about that aspect in the book, because I didn't want to come across as too evangelical. As it happened, I quickly learned that Heacham was in the wrong and that Leigh, for all his unusual and, dare I say, unconventional ways, was often in the right.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me set the scene. I was brought up for the first few years as part of a small family with my mother, and two younger sisters as well as Heacham. I'm sorry, I can't refer to him as my father knowing what I do now. He was, to me, relatively normal and although he was always a very strict parent, he seemed no more odd or different than any other parent, until Mother left him and took my youngest sister, Charity, with her. It was then that I certainly noticed changes in my life. I was very young but I was expected to take over most of the duties my mother had carried out.

Heacham was a man who gave the impression of being pious. It was only later I learned how truly awful he was, not only as a father but as a man. However, I was placed in a position where I was required to look after him domestically as well as nurse my severely disabled sister, Hope. She, of course, had no hope of ever becoming anything other than a baby in a woman's body. But I didn't know that until I was a lot older. My life was difficult and restricted, as I was no longer allowed to attend the local school but was taught by Heacham. His teaching took the form of indoctrination with his peculiar form of narrow-minded Christianity taken from the Bible and some books of sermons by a rather extreme clergyman. I was allowed an atlas, and a dictionary and two volume encyclopaedia, both of which he censored for all sexual matters apart from the purely biological aspects. We had no television, no radio and he would allow no magazines or newspapers in the house. Living in an isolated cottage well out of the small Dales village, I had virtually no contact with children or with other adults. This obviously left me with a very odd view of the world. But I was a quick learner and loved to read. As a result, I picked up a wide vocabulary and a knowledge of many things that most people never come across.

For exercise, I did the housework, kept Hope free of bedsores by massaging and manipulating her limbs and body, walked the local hills and swam in the isolated tarn up the hill from our cottage. I loved the freedom of those few hours, away from home and father's constant watchfulness. I would strip to my skin and plunge into the freezing clear water and splash about until I was thoroughly tired. By the time I returned home, my clothes had mostly dried on my body. Not that it mattered, since Heacham required me to work in the house wearing the bare minimum of cover. He told me it was to save my clothes from becoming stained and dirty. I know now that it was to afford him a sexual thrill of both watching me and controlling me in a state of more or less permanent exposure.

He indoctrinated me to believe that most men and women were inherently evil and would eventually spend eternity in the fires of Hell. If I erred, even slightly, he would beat me with his hand, a cane or his belt, always on my naked skin. He told me he was saving my soul and I believed him. We prayed together every morning and each evening before bed. He attended some old barn that he and a few other men with similar views had converted into their meeting place, which he called their chapel.

When I first started to work with Leigh and discovered his free-thinking ideas and his openness toward nudity and sex, I thought he must be the most wicked man alive. His models were all beautiful and showed no shame or shyness in displaying their entire bodies for his camera. I was initially incensed and later intrigued. But, though Leigh gave all the appearance to my uneducated mind of being a wicked heathen, I quickly learned that he was a kind, warm, generous and basically good man. I suppose it was inevitable that I would fall in love with him, as the only other mature male I had any contact with. Apart, that is, from his printing assistant, Mervin. He was the embodiment of true evil in my eyes. A crude, ugly, cruel and utterly selfish monster of a man.

If you've read the book, you'll know how I came to change and what those changes involved for me and those I came into contact with. If you haven't read it yet, I can only point you in the direction of this blog, where Stuart's posting the whole book for you to read, free of charge, a chapter at a time. I hope you get as much out of reading my story as I did from telling it from my point of view and learning Leigh's view of things along the journey.

Photos of East Riding

A short while ago, I took part in a contest aimed at finding photographs of the East Riding of Yorkshire that the local authority could use in publicising the area. The contest attracted a lot of interest and the 700+ pictures that are up for judging can be viewed here: http://www2.eastriding.gov.uk/leisure/events/capturing-the-east-riding/gallery/competition-entries/?album=4573
Judging takes place on Friday and I pity the judges having to select a winner from this collection; so many good shots.
It's good to know there are so many people with an eye for a picture who are living in the county.

I've included one of my own entries, just as a teaser, but if you visit the gallery, you'll see many different views of the area and its people.
Enjoy.

A Commemoration of my father at 100

Mum & Dad on their wedding day, 1953.

My real father, the man who gave me life, died less than 3 weeks before I was born and I know him only through the memories of others, as a good man. But my mother, who died a week after my 16^th birthday, married Richard Allison when I was about 5 years old. On the occasion of what would have been his 100^th birthday, this short piece commemorates the very special man who raised me as his own son.

Richard Herbert Allison, to give him his full name, would have been 100 years old today. He died, aged 92, on July 13^th 2004, following a fall.

An only child, at 18, he lost his own father to cancer. A man who could not live without a woman in his life, he married 4 times; my mother, May, being his 3^rd wife. When he married May, he took on my older sister, Denise, and me. May took on his son, Barry, who is 6 weeks my senior. Later, they both brought the youngest member of the family, Stephen, into being. We were a real family, with no delineation caused by different parentage, and, as children, we all received equal love from both parents. In fact, I had what I consider an idyllic childhood, characterised by love, adventure and humour.

Richard worked at two jobs for most of his life. He was initially a dental technician, making false teeth, and later a travelling salesman, representing a national dental supply company and visiting customers all over Yorkshire. His second job was as a wedding photographer, often for his own business but sometimes as a stringer for other wedding photography businesses. He loved his photography, or, more accurately, he loved his cameras. Not a particularly creative man, he was an excellent technician and, in spite of a lifetime with poor eyesight, always ensured his pictures were pin sharp.

Image via WikipediaIt was from Richard that I gained an interest in photography when he rewarded me with a folding camera for a good school report at the age of 11. My mother, a talented painter, gifted me with an eye for a picture, so I had both technical and creative influences for my photography.

Richard had an interesting war (1939-45); beginning as a medic with the army, stationed at Spurn Point and Bull Fort in the mouth of the Humber Estuary. He soon went on to become a fire fighter and rose to the rank of Captain, taking his regiment to France on D Day and then travelling to Belgium and Holland, earning a 'Mention in Despatches' on the way by rescuing one of his men from a booby-trapped and burning building.

He was well-read, with a particular liking for the novels of Ryder Haggard and other adventure tales. He taught himself French and Dutch and could still speak both even at the end of his life.

It was from Richard that I learned my love of astronomy. He could point out all the major and some of the minor constellations and recognised the planets as they wandered across our heavens. A nature lover, he could name any bird he saw, either at rest or on the wing. And he knew all the butterflies and most moths we ever came across. But he had no idea about wild plants and only a basic knowledge of trees.

Richard, me, Stephen, May, Barry, Denise. Beverley Westwoods, 1959

A walker, he enjoyed roaming the countryside and often took us on walks, pointing out the various birds and insects we encountered. He'd been a cyclist for many years and, through this, developed a great fear of wasps. On one occasion, when the M1 motorway had just opened, I was travelling with him when a wasp flew into the old Morris Minor he was driving. He stopped the car where it was and got out, refusing to return until the offending insect had been ejected. That there was virtually no traffic on the road made this more a humorous than an anxious episode. It was only later that I learned he'd been cycling through a piece of local common ground, speeding downhill across the Beverley Westwoods, when a wasp had lodged itself behind his glasses and stung his eye. He'd come off the bike at speed and ripped all the muscles in his back: hence his loathing of the striped peril.

On another occasion, we were driving in the local hills and he got out of the car and walked alongside it as it slowly motored up the hill by itself, his skill in judging its ability to travel with minimal power demonstrated. He took us all to the Lake District on one memorable day. A family of five plus a Welsh Corgi, we travelled 365 miles that day. At one point, we were climbing a very steep hill (1:3) and the car stopped. We had to get out and walk as he drove up by himself, the reduced load enabling the old car to make it to the summit. He was a good, if fast, driver who'd learned his skill in the army, driving a fire engine, which he always called an 'escape'; a vehicle with a 14 foot overhanging ladder which he drove around Birmingham during the blitz. Only once did he manage to swipe a set of traffic lights off their pole with the ladders as he swept around a corner in a hurry. And he spoke with amusement of the time he'd been given the chance to drive a tank and had managed to crush a 3 ton truck in the process. In Belgium, his adjutant had come across an abandoned US Jeep, which had apparently simply run out of fuel. He commandeered it and used it as a staff car for the rest of the war.

He possessed a phenomenal memory and could recite verse after verse from The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, quote a nonsense piece of Victorian gobbledegook (In promulgating your esoteric cogitations and articulating your superficial sentimentalities and philosophical and physiological observations, beware of platitudinous ponderosity.  Let your extemporaneous decantings have intelligibility, sagacious facility, an elegant rapidity and ventriloquent verbosity.  Shun pestiferous profanity both obscure and apparent.

In other words, speak plainly, briefly, naturally and truthfully.  Say what you mean and mean what you say.  Do not swear or use big words.) and an alternative version of 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star (Scintillate, scintillate globule vivific, fain I ponder thy purpose specific – is all I can recall, but he could quote the whole thing).

In short, Richard Allison was a pretty remarkable man and I'm both proud and pleased that he chose to take me as his own son and raise me. He wasn't without fault and could be both dictatorial and severe at times. But he was a damned good father and I have every reason to thank him for taking that role seriously and for loving me, my siblings and my mother.

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Macerate

Image via Wikipedia

Macerate: verb – make softer by soaking in a liquid; erode or separate soft parts of something, by steeping; make something grow thinner or waste away, especially through fasting; to fret, vex or worry.

'Facing the pressures of the catwalk, the fashion model used diet and exercise to macerate her already lean figure, and, although her sponsors could see it was harming her, they did nothing to prevent it.'