tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31989202072524005262024-02-20T19:40:34.645+08:00writer's diaryMatthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-18993449439707187272019-09-11T16:12:00.000+08:002019-09-12T13:29:28.494+08:00The Gift Of GreatnessI have this idea for a story that I don’t want to write.<br />
<br />
A man lies in bed, tossing and turning, his mind in a state of great agitation, because he knows that life is passing him by and that he has nothing to show for it. His life will end, and no one will remember him.<br />
<br />
Then, as if by magic, an angel appears before him, casting its heavenly light upon him, and it offers a gift, which is this:<br />
<br />
<i>“You may be any great person from history: Jesus or Beethoven, Mother Mary or Aristotle. Whoever you chose you will be, and when anyone speaks of that person, it will be you whom they are referring to.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I offer you this great gift, this gift of greatness in return of the last days of your meaningless life.”</i><br />
<br />
The man thinks upon this and makes a decision.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-12258000192163239982014-10-22T11:49:00.000+08:002014-10-22T11:49:14.836+08:00TheThere are things hidden within the English language that those of us unskilled in its nuances overlook. Take this little revelation from Grammar Girl, <a href="http://www.quickanddirtytips.com/education/grammar/how-pronounce" target="_blank">How to Pronounce "The"</a>, for example.<br />
<br />
<br />Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-34845246966821711402013-05-27T16:39:00.000+08:002013-05-27T19:53:02.022+08:00Endless RevisionI was caught in that labyrinthine trap, endless revision, until these tips in the Huffington Post helped me find an exit.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/22/writing-tips-_n_3319260.html?ir=Books&utm_campaign=052213&utm_medium=email&utm_source=Alert-books&utm_content=Title#slide=2484192" target="_blank">31 Most Invaluable Pieces Of Writing Advice From Famous Authors</a><br />
<br />
Earnest Hemingway's thoughts were particularly germane.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-85340662171923242492013-04-29T15:10:00.000+08:002013-04-29T15:10:54.176+08:007 Tips For Aspiring WritersIf you've ever wondered if upping your alcohol intake would improve your writing, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jason-crombie/7-tips-for-aspiring-write_b_3157549.html" target="_blank">this article</a> in <i>The Huffington Post</i> may be of interest.<br />
<br />
If the article doesn't get your creative juices flowing, then perhaps Mason Currey's book about the daily rituals of creative people - <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0307273601/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0307273601&linkCode=as2&tag=slatmaga-20" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Daily Rituals: How Artists Work</a> -</i> will give you some inspiration. I haven't read this book, but the <i><a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/podcasts/culturegabfest.html" target="_blank">Slate Culture Gabfest</a></i> team was spruiking it pretty hard this week.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-82315308666809319292013-02-08T16:48:00.000+08:002013-02-08T16:54:43.846+08:00May the Shorts be with YouIsaiah Sheffer’s death upset me. I knew Sheffer through ‘Selected Shorts’, a weekly short-story podcast that, right up until his death, Sheffer presented and directed. I say I knew Sheffer, and I feel that I did. He would climb into my car through my iPod, and he would tell me a little about the short-stories I was about to hear. He was a warm and good humoured companion, and I miss him.<br />
<br />
Selected Shorts is still being produced, and it still contains many of the qualities that Isaiah Sheffer instilled in it. This week’s podcast includes stories read by Stephen Colbert and Leonard Nimoy. If you like short-stories, if you like being read to, then Selected Shorts is a real treat, and I recommend you subscribe to it.<br />
<br />
You can find out more about Selected Shorts here: <a href="http://www.selectedshorts.org/">http://www.selectedshorts.org/</a>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-77099862409418853842012-10-17T15:30:00.001+08:002012-10-17T15:31:56.272+08:00The WallOn his first day back after holidaying in Germany, a work colleague walked across to my desk and handed me a small piece of Perspex encased concrete. It was a fragment of the Berlin Wall.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As I looked down at that small artefact, that thumb-sized chunk of history, my head began to spin. Here was the world shrunk to Lilliputian dimensions. This trinket gave me a physical connection to a great event, a hopeful and world-changing event, an event that had taken place many miles from my small city in the South Pacific. This object folded space, made the world, for a moment at least, dimensionless.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ours is a history defined by wars and walls, barriers and brutality. These things may not define us, but they have shaped us for thousands of years. If we have learned nothing from history they will continue to shape us until we do.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Perhaps my colleague’s small gift is not unlike the gift a writer offers his reader. A story draws us close to things that are far away; it reminds us of our interconnectedness; it reminds us of the value and beauty of freedom, and of peace.</div>
Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-48949861272617026562012-07-25T18:22:00.001+08:002012-07-25T18:24:00.190+08:00Write Something<div><p>There is Something looming in the dark, can you feel it? It’s a big footed Something. It’s a pointy toothed Something.</p>
<p>The Something is getting closer - you can hear it breathing now – and, as you sit down to write, you can feel it leaning over your shoulder. You feel its fetid breath upon your cheek as it whispers in your ear.</p>
<p>“What are you going to write?”</p>
<p>“I was…,” you reply. But you find that the foggy breath of the Something has permeated your mind.</p>
<p>“I was…,” you repeat feebly. For suddenly it strikes you that the very thought of writing is ridiculous. The idea that you might have an idea worth sharing is laughable.</p>
<p>The Something is grinning.</p>
<p>You recap your pen. You close your notebook’s cover. You think the pointless thoughts of a writer who sat down to work but who has just recapped their pen and closed their notebook.</p>
<p>You do not turn to the Something and slap it across its furry chops. You do not turn to the Something and give it a big hug. You sit in the silence, and you do not move.</p>
<p>The Something sneaks quietly from the room. You did not confront him. You did not embrace him. But you feel better - for now, anyway.</p>
<p>Writing is nothing but controlling anxiety, says Janet Fitch, author of the best seller White Oleander.</p>
<p>I agree.</p>
</div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0Darlington Recreation Garden, Darlington-31.915888 116.072784tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-54026597378952714462012-06-15T21:02:00.001+08:002012-06-15T21:02:40.065+08:00The Pocket Oxford English Dictionary<style>
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Our friends at the Oxford University Press need to turn to
page 692 of their <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pocket Dictionary</i>
and look up the definition of ‘Pocket’. They might be surprised to find that a
pocket is not defined as: “a large bag sewn into or on clothing that is capable
of holding a 1,100 page hardcover-dictionary.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m suggesting that even MC Hammer would struggle to fit the
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pocket Oxford English Dictionary</i> in
his trouser pocket.</div>
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Perhaps Dr Who stopped in at the OUP and dropped off a pair
of Tardis pants. Actually, this would explain a lot, because the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pocket Oxford English Dictionary</i> has a
companion - the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pocket Oxford Thesaurus –
</i>and it would take a pair of Tardis pants to contain this dynamic duo.</div>
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The ‘pocket’ moniker is a
misnomer, but this is still an excellent small dictionary. It fits nicely in
the hand and is a joy to flick through. Its definitions are crisp and clear.
It’s the dictionary you reach for when you think you know the definition or
spelling of a word, but you want to be sure before committing to it in writing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I bet those folk at the OUP were happy when they closed
out the book with ‘Zygote’. The symmetry is almost Zen<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a>:
the end of words is the beginning of life.</div>
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Perhaps I’m reading too much into it. </div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-20896239161615134602012-06-11T19:37:00.000+08:002012-06-11T20:58:22.431+08:00Slate Audio Book Club<style>
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I am listening to Stephen Metcalf, Katie Roiphe and Julia
Turner discuss <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eat, Pray, Love</i> by
Elizabeth Gilbert on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Slate Audio Book
Club</i> podcast.</div>
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Metcalf hates <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eat,
Pray, Love</i>. Did he just say that he hates the book, hates the author, and
hates anyone who would try to defend either the book or the author? It’s hard
to tell. It feels as if Metcalf makes sentences by pulling words from an
enormous bag, a bag that contains adjectives
and adverbs in high proportion. He takes these words and flings them into the air, creating
sentences of sidereal splendour, sentences that are as inaccessible as the
stars – at least for me. He is a caffeinated personality, Metcalf, and I like
him.</div>
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Roiphe loves <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eat,
Pray, Love.</i> She has written an article for Slate in which she describes it
as “…a transcendently great beach book.” She is suggesting to Metcalf that he
take a breath, that his hate is irrational, that the book has heart, even if it
is pulseless artificial heart - a Dick Cheney heart. Metcalf can rant all he
likes, Roiphe will not placate him; she is not that kind of woman. There is a
palpable tension between them, but they have more in common than they realise. And
he likes her: of course he does.</div>
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Turner likes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eat,
Pray, Love.</i> She is ready to talk about Gilbert’s book, but finds herself,
rather reluctantly, in the middle of a group therapy session. She wonders if
her colleagues, Metcalf and Roiphe, will leave the room holding hands, but she
dare not say as much.</div>
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Metcalf is vitriolic. He detests Elizabeth Gilbert and tells
his fellow book clubbers this in emphatic tones. The listener, in this case me,
sees through Metcalf’s wordy criticism. His dislike of Gilbert is simple: she is
a manipulator - her book reveals this - and Metcalf will not be manipulated by
a woman. Oh no, Metcalf likes women who play it straight - like Katie Roiphe,
for example.</div>
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I love the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Slate Audio
Book Club</i> podcast. It’s informative. It makes me laugh out loud -
literally. It’s the book club you wish you could belong to.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3198920207252400526" name="_GoBack"></a>
You can subscribe to it through iTunes.</div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-24547588952409726662012-04-27T16:49:00.000+08:002012-04-27T18:24:55.686+08:00Zen In the Art of Writing<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">An Amazon.com reviewer writes that Ray Bradbury’s book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Zen In the Art of Writing,</i> “…is the best book on writing I have ever read.” Reading this review left me wondering if I felt the same way. Is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Zen In the Art of Writing</i> the best book on writing I have ever read?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Before I answer that question, let me tell you a bit more about the book.</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Zen In the Art of Writing </span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">is a collection of essays taken from Bradbury’s extensive oeuvre. This is not a book about how to write - in spite of a liberal peppering of typewriter related anecdotes. This is a book about the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feeling</i> of writing. It’s a book about Bradbury’s experiences as a writer.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Bradbury’s style is accessible and friendly. He comes in close beside his reader. He speaks in low, rhythmic tones. He is a parent encouraging his child to take heart and not give up. He is an aged rebel encouraging the next generation to shake their fists at this life-giving, death-threatening, universe of ours. He is telling us writers to be brave, to trust to our own inner voice, to practice, to practice and to practice. He is reminding us that we write for love and not for recognition or money. He is telling us to boldly go and split the infinitive for world peace.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">This, then, is what Bradbury’s book delivers. It is not a book on typing; it is a book about being a writer. Is it the best book on writing I have ever read? Well, no. Is it a worthwhile read for the aspiring writer? I think so.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">If you want to be reminded why you write, then buy this book. If you want to learn the difference between transitive verbs and elephants, this is not the book for you.</span></div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-74741925123286968592012-04-19T19:01:00.001+08:002012-04-19T19:01:30.895+08:00How to Write a Sentence<style>
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There is a quotation on the inside cover of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How to Write a Sentence</i> that reads, “If
you know sentences, you know everything. Good sentences promise nothing less
than lessons and practice in the organisation of the world.” This quotation
comes from the book's author, Stanley Fish, and at first sounds like a bold
statement. But if you read this book, as I have, you may well end up a convert
to the truth of these words.</div>
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Fish tells his reader that, while the content of sentences
may be infinite, the forms and shapes of sentences are finite. If, through
study and practice, we become familiar with these shapes and how they work, we
can use them as vehicles for how own words, for our own message.</div>
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This method, sentence deconstruction, is preferable, Fish
says, to examining sentences through the cold lens of English rules and
grammar.</div>
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Fish uses examples of excellent sentences throughout the
book. He cracks these sentences apart, revealing their inner workings and bones.
How could we not see these things before?</div>
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This is not a simple book; at least I did not find it so. But it is useful, inspiring, and I wanted to begin it again as soon as I turned
the last page<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a>.</div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-68174147731039851582012-03-29T18:31:00.001+08:002012-03-29T20:41:18.538+08:00There’s a Fanatic in my Attic<style>
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According to the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Little
Oxford English Dictionary</i>, a fanatic is someone who is too enthusiastic
about something. Is that a bad thing?</div>
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If you want to win gold at the Olympics, if you want to
achieve spiritual enlightenment, if you want to become a world champion
Scrabble player, if you want to be great at just about anything, you must
practice as if your life depended on it: you must become a fanatic.</div>
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Becoming a fanatic will set you apart from the also-rans and
rank amateurs. Your fanaticism is the difference between you and those who are
not prepared to devote their lives to the achievement of their goals.</div>
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This message came to me in a blinding flash as I devoured
Stefan Fatsis’ book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Word Freak</i>. Fatsis introduces his reader to the
world of elite Scrabble. It’s a world in which obsessive-compulsive word nerds
memorise tens of thousands of nonsense words and anagrams in an attempt to
become the world’s best Scrabblers. Their devotion to the game is both pathological
and inspirational.</div>
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You might scoff: “Who cares about Scrabble?” And you might
have a point: Scrabble is just a silly board game. But your goal is not silly. My
goal is not silly. And, speaking for myself, I am not prepared to be out out-fanaticked
by a bunch of Scrabble geeks.</div>
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Are you?</div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-56414749257566798922012-02-28T16:33:00.000+08:002012-02-28T16:46:03.456+08:00Free Book Inside<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I don’t think Thomas Monteleone will mind me telling you that his book, ‘The Complete Idiots Guide to Writing a Novel’, doesn’t actually tell you how to write a novel. His book is not about the laborious task of typing a very long story. It is about, well, everything else.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here’s what I got out of it:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If you want to be a world famous novelist, you have to write a book that appeals to a lot of people;</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Most top selling novels fit into a genre;</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There’s more to selling a novel than banging out 300 pages and sending them to a publisher.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If you dream of becoming a published author then Mentelone’s Idiot’s Guide is well worth your time. However, if this doesn’t sound like your kind of thing, you could try something completely different.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Steve Hely’s novel, ‘How I Became a Famous Novelist’, examines the world of literature form the point of view of a Gen-Y male who wants to be famous. The New York Times Book Review described this novel as ‘A gleeful skewering of the publishing industry and every cliché of the writing life.’ What better way to get the facts?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I have a spare copy of ‘How I Became a Famous Novelist’, which can be yours – free. Leave a comment bellow telling me why you want to write a novel; I’ll send the book to the person who leaves the best comment.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Three things:</span><br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m the judge of this contest.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The competition closes on the 31 March 2012.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The book is a little worse for wear.</span></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Good luck. </span><br />
<div>
</div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-21033679033685995472012-02-13T18:07:00.000+08:002012-02-13T18:13:57.033+08:00The Business of Loving<style>
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The sun was all light and no warmth the day I first saw you.
I sought shelter in the public library; alone – yes – achingly so. Do you
remember how my fingers brushed against you as I walked past? It was no
accident.</div>
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<br /></div>
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After that, for the next two weeks, we were inseparable. You
cast a spell upon me that made my eyes open a little wider. New life started to
blossom in the desert of my heart.</div>
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You were my delight.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But I knew from the first that you belonged to another, that
I could not in could conscience keep you as my own.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The separation was bitter, yet I took solace in the changes
you had wrought in me. Because of you, I no longer felt alone in this world. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It was because of this, because of my fond memories of you that, years later, I tried so hard to find you. I scoured the Internet searching for you. But
my memories did not make suitable search terms. I could not search for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Love</i>: of course not.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I looked for you until, one day, after years of searching, I
made contact. We were to meet, and I knew that this time you would be mine.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was nervous. I wondered if you had changed since last I
saw you. And at first, it seemed that you had. There were times I worried that I
barely knew you. But slowly the memories flooded back, and it soon felt as if the
intervening years were but moments.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The eyes-wide-open feeling you engendered within me when I was young has returned. I am so glad that I have found you again; so glad that I can hold you again; so glad to be reading you again.</div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-3644462962731797262012-02-10T15:53:00.001+08:002012-02-10T15:53:42.429+08:00The Unwritten<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh Story of a Love Letter, how long will you elude me? Your twists and turns, the gentle curves of you, have proved too subtle for my cumbersome prose.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I sat with you, in the midst of your broken sentences and your un-linkable paragraphs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat, typing endlessly, constantly trying to find the right words to express you. But, even as I worked, you were moving away from me.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The closest I got to you was this:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But, as he approached the letterbox, John realised that it wasn’t a flyer at all: it was an eggshell-blue envelope with a postage stamp placed perfectly in its top right-hand corner.</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It seems I was not ready for the next sentence. I was not ready to hear your secret.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now we must part company, and I am left wondering: were my efforts in vain?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But perhaps, my dear Story, we will meet again? Maybe when my novel is in its tenth chapter, you will come back to me and share your sweet words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until then, stay safe.</span></div>Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-68791882599839056672012-01-30T17:03:00.000+08:002012-01-31T12:55:32.121+08:00When the Wind BlowsLast night the wind raged. It roared through our pine tree sending loose bark and small branches down upon the roof of our little house.<br />
<br />
I lay in bed and tried to estimate the weight of that tree: 30 tonnes, perhaps? What if that angry wind tore down our ancient conifer, pulled its mighty boughs from their heavenly home and brought them crashing down upon our earthly one. If that happened, would my small family make a sound, I wondered.<br />
<br />
I thought, if that tree falls, it would spell the end of me lying in bed thinking about what would happen if that tree falls.<br />
<br />
And, as I drifted into sleep, a menagerie of wild images swirled around in my mind. Pines and spines, sap and sinew, limbs and limbs, all overlapping each in a bizarre collage, a phantasmagorical nightmare.<br />
<br />
By morning the wind had abated.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-43590054520715692942011-11-28T16:20:00.003+08:002011-11-28T17:00:35.641+08:00VoicedThere will come a time when you will be asked to read your writing aloud. You will be in a room with other people. They will stop what they are doing; they will turn their full attention on you; and they will listen as you give voice to your precious words.<br />
<br />
Preparing for this time – reading your work aloud in private – has two benefits. First, you will learn to read in a way that is engaging and interesting. Second, you will gain a deeper insight into your own writing.<br />
<br />
How our work sounds is not something we writer’s necessarily think about as we write. We think about punctuation and grammar, we think about syntax and sentences, but we don’t automatically think about cadence and meter. We should.<br />
<br />
When words are read aloud, letters, punctuation and sentence-structure are replaced by subtle changes in rhythm and breath. Interesting writing – writing that is enjoyable to read – captures the nuance of spoken language. This is why listening to the spoken word can inform one’s writing in ways that reading silently cannot.<br />
<br />
But there’s no use whispering your story to your computer screen. Engage your vocal cords, give voice to your words, listen to what they are telling you about your writing.<br />
<br />
I have found this to be helpful.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-44746821117834614662011-11-16T15:12:00.000+08:002011-11-16T15:12:14.077+08:00Lights! Camera! Huh?I can’t write scenes in which people are doing things. This is a new discovery for me.<br />
<br />
Stuck for a blog idea and itching to write something, I sat down and started a short-story. The story was to take place on a bus. My main character had to get on the bus and pay for his ticket. The bus would then take off, forcing my character to stagger down the aisle while trying to find an empty seat. He would eventually find a place to sit that was next to an old man with spiky hair.<br />
<br />
Should be easy to describe that, right?<br />
<br />
Not for me. Turns out I’m more proficient with adjectives than adverbs. Apparently I prefer ideas to action.<br />
<br />
I tried to write those opening man-stagers-to-empty-seat sentences. Nothing sounded right. My words sounded clunky, heavy, and, worst of all, boring. In the end I gave up.<br />
<br />
Here’s what I wrote instead:<br />
<blockquote><i>James sat next to a wispy haired old man and closed his eyes.<br />
</i></blockquote>What’s wrong with that, I hear you ask. Well, nothing, if you’re writing a short-story. I’ve taken the reader straight to the action without all that unnecessary stumbling around. But what if I was writing something longer? What if I was writing a story that encompassed more than one scene? Is my character going to magically appear at the right place at the right time in every scene?<br />
<br />
Probably not, right?<br />
<br />
So here’s what I’ve decided to do: I am going to write that man-stagers-to-empty-seat scene. I am going to get my man on the bus and into his seat if it kills me, or him, or both of us.<br />
<br />
I’ll let you know how it goes.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-86588572914087086442011-11-14T17:07:00.000+08:002011-11-14T18:09:24.799+08:00God Bless AmericaA large number of my readers live in the country that is the new home of the English language: the United States. These people seem to have found my work by chance, which isn’t surprising when you consider that more than half of the world’s native English speakers live in America, and most of them have access to computers.<br />
<br />
I grew up believing that American English was inferior to the British variety. Americans, I was told, play fast and loose with the language. Americans have no real love for the subtlety of English; they do not understand its nuances. <br />
<br />
One only has to read <i>Shane</i>, or <i>To Kill a Mocking Bird</i>, or <i>Lake Wobegone Days</i>, to realise that this view is wrong.<br />
<br />
This view of language in the United States is particularly unhelpful to the aspiring author. The American book market is massive when compared to that of any other English speaking country. To ignore it is foolhardy to say the least. The American book market creates trends that influence the kinds of books that will be written in the future.<br />
<br />
If you live outside of the United States it is worth considering whether your story will make sense in America. Did I mention that more than half the world’s native English speakers live there?Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-18864593305616695612011-11-11T15:48:00.000+08:002011-11-11T17:49:45.207+08:00You are the Best WriterSome writers are so good at what they do; reading their work makes me want to hang up my pen and call it a day.<br />
<br />
But I don’t.<br />
<br />
Overcoming the weaknesses in one’s own writing can be an enormous task. It is like climbing a mountain: you struggle you sweat, and, just as you’re approaching the top, you see that the mountain you are on is but a foothill for a much greater mountain.<br />
<br />
Learning the art of writing takes time. The early days can be humiliating. Your little story is full of mistakes and you know it: everyone knows it. Your mistakes are the small object which, when held in front of the eye, can blot out the light of the sun.<br />
<br />
Ah, but there it is. The aspiring author has seen the faults in his writing, but he has also seen the sun that is his story. It is this knowledge, the knowledge of the greatness of the story, which keeps him from hanging up his pen.<br />
<br />
If you have a story to tell then nothing will prevent you from telling it. The desire to tell your story will burn within you, and you will work tirelessly until your story is told.<br />
<br />
The movie <i>Midnight in Paris</i> has a wonderful scene in which the protagonist meets Earnest Hemingway. Hemingway is young and full of machismo. He tells the protagonist: “If you’re a writer, declare yourself the best writer…”<br />
<br />
You are the best person to tell your story.<br />
<br />
You always knew this.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-55813723327377356862011-11-10T12:03:00.000+08:002011-11-10T18:33:15.953+08:00Over the Hill and Far AwayEnglish novelist John Galsworthy was nearly thirty before he published anything. This is what the blurb on the back of his book <i>The Man of Property</i> tells us. The implication is clear: writers get old early.<br />
<br />
Great works, the books that changed your life, were probably written by reasonably young authors.<br />
<br />
Harper Lee was 33 when <i>To Kill a Mocking Bird</i> was published. J.D. Salinger was 31 when <i>Catcher in the Rye</i> was published.<br />
<br />
I could go on.<br />
<br />
I have heard authors say that they felt pressure to publish before they turned 33. Jesus was 33 when he died, you see, and if one man can save humanity for all eternity in 33 years, then another should be able to knock out a great book.<br />
<br />
There is more to it than that, of course. We humans tend to be on fire with new ideas when we are in our teens. We are idealistic and alive. This fire is already starting to cool in our twenties. We are cooling but we are learning and we are full of ambition. We began to gather the intellectual tools we will need if we are to succeed.<br />
<br />
In our late twenties we stare into the embers of our dying passions. We stir these embers trying to encourage a fresh flame. We become driven; time is running out; we feel our uniqueness slipping away. We spend many a sleepless night trying to work out how we will share our passion with the world.<br />
<br />
This is make-or-break time. This is the time for foolish risks. This is the time when he (or she) who dares wins.<br />
<br />
This is the time when we humans are most likely to have the combination of passion, motivation and drive that leads to the creation of great novels. These things also give the young writer the pluck to believe that their work should be published. Sometimes they are right.<br />
<br />
If one reaches their mid-thirties and still hasn’t been published – well – there’s always the garden, isn’t there?<br />
<br />
C.S. Lewis was in his fifties when <i>The Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe</i> was published.<br />
<br />
There is still hope for me.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-73261984233221683022011-11-09T16:47:00.000+08:002011-11-09T16:47:17.742+08:00The Writers' GroupA light clicked on automatically as I approached the old house. I instinctively froze in my tracks and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I took a deep breath and tried to relax before proceeding to the front door.<br />
<br />
There was a light on inside. I peered through a screen door and wondered what I was letting myself in for. In my hand I held three of my most recent pieces of writing, a small black notebook, and a blue ballpoint pen.<br />
<br />
“Come in,” someone called from inside.<br />
<br />
I opened the door and stepped into a well-lit kitchen. The room had a farmhouse feel that appealed to me and reminded me of kitchens I’d been in in the past.<br />
<br />
I began to relax.<br />
<br />
A small woman with welcoming eyes entered the kitchen from an adjacent room. She introduced herself and told me to make myself a cup of tea. We chatted for a while and she described how the writers' group worked.<br />
<br />
It became clear that no one else was going to be joining us so we sat down, sipped tea and talked about writing.<br />
<br />
She read me a couple of her stories. One was a twisted tale with a fairly obvious twist. The other was a fine story with a slightly incomplete ending.<br />
<br />
I told her I liked her stories and she seemed pleased.<br />
<br />
She asked me if I wanted to read something I had written. I chose a story that told of a moment straight after a small accident.<br />
<br />
I read the story nervously and perhaps a bit too quickly.<br />
<br />
I finished and looked up expectantly.<br />
<br />
“You started a lot of sentences with ‘I’,” she informed me.<br />
<br />
“Yes,” I replied, “I thought that the protagonist would be thinking about themselves a fair bit straight after an accident. Also, I wanted short sentences. I wanted Subject-Verb sentences. I wanted punch.”<br />
<br />
She was unconvinced.<br />
<br />
“Well,” she told me in a conciliatory tone, “it has a beginning, a middle and an end.”<br />
<br />
She didn’t like my story. She didn’t get my story. I was crestfallen.<br />
<br />
I wasn’t invited to read another story.<br />
<br />
We talked for a bit longer and then decided to leave. I picked up my notebook and pen. I picked up my unwanted stories and headed towards the door. She said she would see me next week. I wondered if I would come back.<br />
<br />
Rain was falling as I turned my car towards home. My windscreen-wipers tried furiously to keep the rain from within their domain. I stared out into the blackness and thought about my unliked story.<br />
<br />
I was hurt, I realised, but my determination was not diminished. And, as I walked up the dark steps towards my house, I whispered to the night: I am a writer, whatever anyone else thinks.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-83418998283640080122011-11-08T15:07:00.003+08:002011-11-18T16:44:30.402+08:00Port of last ResortSome people feel that creating an amazing novel is their last hope of doing something truly great. They want to paint their name in big bold letters across the sky. I understand this feeling.<br />
<br />
When I was young I could run fast. The speed in my legs was the manifestation of the thunder in my heart. The world needed to know this about me. I dreamt of running and the world cheering me on. <br />
<br />
This was not to be. Others overtook me.<br />
<br />
When I was a teenager I played the guitar. One night I dreamt I was standing on the precipice of a great mountain. I strummed my guitar and music shock the earth like a mighty earthquake. The people of the world looked up and saw me. They were in awe of my enormous power. They cheered for me. I looked down at my feet and saw that I was floating on air.<br />
<br />
Then I woke up.<br />
<br />
When I was in my twenties I started a small business. I started a small business that was really the seed of the world’s largest business: at least that’s what I thought. I dreamt of success. I dreamt of people wanting to know how I’d managed to achieve so much from such humble beginnings.<br />
<br />
My business folded after six months.<br />
<br />
When I was in my thirties I found myself sitting behind a desk chained to a dead end job. I would become a writer, I decided. I would write a novel that would shape the world. I would tell a story so real, so relevant, that the world could not help but notice me. I would be compared to some of the greatest people who ever lived.<br />
<br />
I would accept these comparisons.<br />
<br />
I started to type. My main character began to take shape. He was a small and shadowy creature, hardly human at all. He was afraid of the world but, even so, he had thunder in his heart. I wondered where this character was coming from. Who was the person I was writing about? I reached out a metaphorical hand to him. He looked up at me and, for the first time, I saw his face.<br />
<br />
It was my own.<br />
<br />
Some people feel that creating an amazing novel is their last hope of doing something truly great. Perhaps they should think twice?Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-29746491547508589872011-11-02T17:11:00.002+08:002011-11-02T17:11:56.479+08:00Twilight PaperI don’t want to read Stephanie Meyer’s ‘Twilight’ quadrilogy. She would not be surprised to hear me say this: I am not a teenage girl; I am not a woman wishing to relive the high emotion and angst of my younger years.<br />
<br />
I haven’t read any of the Twilight books, but I hear that they have sold very well. Some readers will have neglected their homework or skipped school in order to read these books. Some readers may even have neglected a screaming child just so they could find out what happened next.<br />
<br />
There were people, respectable adults, who bought these books in electronic form so they could read them in public. These people sat in the park, reading Twilight, safe in the knowledge that there was no book cover to give them away. Their secret was buried deep within the circuits of their eReaders. Their secret was buried deep within the circuits of their own minds.<br />
<br />
Lost in the pages of a Twilight novel, these devoted readers had escaped the mediocrity of their lives. They had become a part of something truly worthwhile: a universe-rending tragedy.<br />
<br />
This is something most readers of fiction can understand.<br />
<br />
My attitude towards the Twilight series hasn’t always been so relaxed. I was a scoffer, I admit it. But then I thought: who am I to sit in judgement of 116 million readers? It was then that I reached a sense of peace with the whole Twilight phenomena. This peace was sorely tested when, one evening, I was sitting in a movie theatre, waiting for my movie to start, when a trailer for the latest Twilight movie begin to play.<br />
<br />
Forever is Just the Beginning, it declared without offering any further explanation as to how this might be.<br />
<br />
No, it isn’t, I grumbled.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3198920207252400526.post-40662042663704648272011-10-31T17:29:00.000+08:002011-10-31T17:29:28.215+08:00Stillness<blockquote><i>Meditate within your heart on your bed, and be still.</i> – Psalm 4:4</blockquote>In a recent interview American novelist, Anita Shreve, was asked if she agreed with fellow author Jonathan Franzen, when he said: “You see more sitting still than chasing after.”<br />
<br />
Shreve answered by saying: “…the word ‘still’ in that sentence is the most interesting to me because there <i>is</i> a place of deep stillness.”<br />
<br />
Shreve says that finding stillness is an important part of her day. I think I understand what she is talking about.<br />
<br />
It is like this: a group of sprinters are waiting for the starter to fire his pistol; they are silent and focused. The crowd is also silent. They are full of expectation. Time stands still.<br />
<br />
Stillness is the moment before the starter fires his pistol.<br />
<br />
Stillness is the moment before the Big-Bang creates the Universe.<br />
<br />
Stillness is the space between the past and the future, and in stillness we find freedom from entanglement in both past and future. Stillness is the point from which an infinite number of possibilities could arise, but only one will.<br />
<br />
Some storytellers pause in the moment of stillness. They reach into the pool of possibilities keeping their hand steady so as not to upset the surface. And from that pool they extract one single strand - a chain of events: a story.<br />
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Anyone who knows stillness can write their own story.Matthew Daltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03704001586258964634noreply@blogger.com1