Elizabeth Chats With...Morgen Bailey

You know those days when you just can't think what to write about? Well on a day like that, the website run by this month's guest is one of my go-to places. Her writing triggers have got me out of a rut on many an occasion. I'm delighted to be chatting to Morgen Bailey (and yes, that is how you spell her name!)

Hello Morgen; thanks for popping by. Usual question to start with: what is your earliest memory — and how old were you at the time?

Another Change of Direction

I've been trying out a few different approaches to this blog over recent months. Firstly, I finished my year-long series on Writing as a Small Business. This was partly because I ran out of topics; there are only so many things that can be dealt with by a non-accountant, non-lawyer - and it gets boring to continually read (or write) "if in doubt, consult a professional". Also, I wanted to pull all the articles together into a 'how-to' book; and that's my December project (October being sort out the novel in time for a competition deadline and November being NaNoWriMo). And I wanted to widen my topics so I could talk not just to other writers, but to non-writing readers too.

 

Next, I started posting snippets of new prose at the end of each Monday's blog.  I know there's a huge debate on whether writers should give away their work for free or not (and I'm not going to go there today), but I also know free samples are a tried and tested method of marketing in other industries, so I thought I'd give it a go. However, that didn't work too well, as each post ended up way too long. So, I moved my new prose to a Thursday, keeping the Monday slot for factual posts.

 

 

And then I ran out of things to talk about. You might say I was stumped for ideas!  Actually, that's not quite true; as anyone who knows me will confirm, I can always find something to talk about. But something interesting that other people might want to read - well, that's a different matter.

 

So I did what I always do when I'm uncertain of the way forward: I wrote myself a plan!  I plan to post a different type of blog each Monday of the month, which meant sorting out four different types (and an extra one for the occasional month with five Mondays).

 

And here's the new schedule:

• First Monday: The best ...
• Second Monday: An interview with...
• Third Monday: My thoughts on...
• Fourth Monday: How to...
• Fifth Monday: My top ten..

I hope you're all impressed at the thought that's gone into this plan. I'm particularly excited about the interviews I've got lined up between now and the end of the year. I've tried to come up with some interesting questions and will be introducing a range of people from different walks of life, not just writers (although they will feature quite heavily of course).

 

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But today's the first Monday in the month (OK, in most parts of the world, it's actually Tuesday, but somewhere, on a remote island just this side of the international date-line, it's possibly still Monday) so, here are my nominations for three of the best bloggers for writers.  

 

I always read Molly Greene. Molly describes herself as a author, blogger, blogging specialist and coach. She blogs weekly with an emphasis on advice to indie authors. If you hate new twitter followers who send automatic DMs urging you to like their FB page/subscribe to their website/buy their book, then you might enjoy 10 Tweets You Should never Send and, like me, consider sending the link to anyone who commits any of the 'sins' listed. Alternatively, if you read her article on 101 Fabulous Blog Topic Ideas, you will recognise just where my shiny new plan came from.

 

Anyone who reads my snippets of new prose will recognise the name Morgen Bailey. Morgen's writerly activities are so widespread, they run into six lines of menu, including online writing groups, critiquing, book reviews and competition lists! I regularly use her daily writing triggers for my warm-up exercises and find them particularly good for flash fiction.

 

My third blogger is author Matt Haig, who posts periodically on a variety of topics addressed both to writers and readers. Recent non-writerly posts have included a moving piece on depression, What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Weaker and the self-explanatory The World (A Rant). But my main reason for putting Matt on this list is recent his post on 30 Things to Tell a Book Snob. I particularly like numbers 3, 17 and 19. I'm sure you all know people who would benefit from reading that post. I know I do!

 

So who would you nominate as 'best blogger for writers'?

Stone Guardian

Today's snippet comes once again from one of Morgen Bailey's prompts on 25th February 2013. This beautiful picture just jumped off the page at me - and this is the result.



Sourced from morguefile.com and reproduced by kind permission of Morgen Bailey

Long white gown floats above bare feet; grey, curving wings wrap protectively around his back; crossed arms hold flowers, crushed to his breast. He mourns the death of ‘his’ child. She had lived for seventy-nine years, healthy, happy, successful and joyously married. She was tired, ready to leave, quietly, peacefully. Friends and relatives celebrate her life, as she embraces her beloved George once more.

 

But to her Guardian Angel, this lifetime is but the blink of an eye, the flick of a wing, the breath of a prayer. How can you measure the years of a human life against eternity and find it sufficient? Was there something he should have done, could have done, to keep her here a little longer, give purpose to his existence? As her life seeped away, there had been silence in the room, but in his head he was screaming.

 

Now, all he can do is watch over her as she rests, and so he stands, frozen in time, like a beautiful, terrible stalagmite, leaning towards her grave. As the stone settles around him, grows into him and his flowers become fixed in time, he hears a sound: a baby’s cry. A new soul is looking for a guardian, a protector, a guide. But it’s too late for him, too soon for him; for now he will wait and guard. Maybe in another lifetime’s span...

The Cheat

Today's snippet of new prose is a piece of flash fiction arising from another of Morgen Bailey's Story Writing Exercises: Monday Monologue: Her girl/boyfriend is cheating on her [25th February 2013].

 

 

It’s Sally who tells me. She can’t wait to give me the good news; bitch!

 

“Guess who I saw in The Happy Hunter the other night?” she says.

 

“Brad Pitt? George Clooney? Arthur Askey — no wait, he’s dead, isn’t he?” I joke, although I know what she’s going to say. I just don’t want to hear it. Until she says it out loud, it doesn’t need to have happened; I can pretend it’s just a mistake. He wasn’t really out with someone else when I was at home nursing a streaming cold, too ashamed of my blotchy face and snotty nose to let him see me. He was sitting at home, watching television — that RomCom we’d planned to watch together — well, I’d planned it anyway; I hadn’t actually got around to telling him, but I’m sure he’d have been okay with it — well he watched it on his own, didn’t he?

 

Well, no actually, he didn’t, the bastard! I tried to phone him around ten thirty — after I’d given up waiting for him to phone me — and his mum said he’d gone out with his mates. To The Happy Hunter! And I knew what that meant. Girls — lots of girls — free girls — free in all senses of the word, apart from the cost of a few vodka and limes, of course. More importantly, girls who were able to talk for more than a few sentences without stopping to blow their noses. Girls who would be happy to take my Marty away from me.

 

“Your Marty,” Sally says. “He seemed to be having a great time. Good of you to let him go out on his own like that." The bitch really is enjoying watching me squirm. "Most girls wouldn’t trust their fellas out on the town on a Friday night, on their own. You’re so brave, so trusting.” ‘So stupid’ are the words she doesn’t say, but they’re written all over her face.

 

I asked him on Monday if he’d done anything over the weekend. He just shrugged and said ‘not much’ and then shoved a bunch of roses into my arms. And not just petrol station flowers this time. This was an honest-to-goodness florist’s bouquet with raffia and pink cellophane, the works.

 

God, he must have been so bad to need to spring for one of those. I wonder how long I can make the guilt trip last this time. Could be good for some chocolates as well. Now I’ve got my taste-buds back, it would be nice to have something to nibble while we’re watching the film tonight.

 

Challenging Ourselves

What is it with writers and challenges? So many of us attempt different ones each year - and although I don't have any data on the drop-out rate, if my own experience is anything to go by, I suspect it's quite high.

Every November, hundreds of thousands of us take part in NaNoWriMo, a challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days. The emphasis is on quantity, rather than quality - editing and polishing comes later - and in 2012, a combined total of more than 3 billion words was registered on the site. Many people then go on to complete and publish the novels they started this way. I have taken part twice so far: the first time, back in 2006, I managed around 6,000 words before real life got in the way.  Last year, I had another go and reached almost 20,000 words.

For the past two years, writer and columnist Sally Quilford has run the 100K challenge: write one thousand words per day for 100 days from 1st January. Her Facebook group contains 350+ members and there is a handy spreadsheet to allow you to monitor your progress (and compare it with other participants). I had a go both times: last year I lost count around 15,000; this year I more than doubled that, but still didn't manage to finish.

The prolific writer Morgen Bailey posts daily short story exercises on one of her websites and the piece of new prose I'm posting today grew out of one of those exercises. I've recently downloaded Morgen's handy ebook The 365-Day Writer's Block Workbook   and will be dipping in to that whenever I am finding it difficult to get started.

Reading a recent posting by my Swanwick buddy, Vikki Thompson, I was introduced to yet another challenge: Chrys Fey's 30 Day Writing Challenge contains a whole month of prompts to get our creative juices flowing.

I'd love to think that composers have the same sort of traditions: write a piece in C minor, starting with three quavers on G and a minim on E.

Or maybe somewhere, there's an painter working to the following prompt: using only shades of brown, cream and grey, illustrate the phrase 'is that a smile?'.

Maybe it's because writing is such a solitary exercise and we like to think of lots of other people attempting the same task as us, at the same time. Maybe it's nothing to do with being a writer; maybe it's just that all humans, whatever their occupation,  need a goal to strive towards.

Whatever the reason, we keep challenging ourselves and, even when we fail, the word-count keeps going up.  So, this November, I will be having another go at NaNoWriMo and in January, I'll be aiming for 100K again. And in the meantime, there's this idea I've had for a writing challenge...

 

***

As I mentioned above, this piece grew out of a prompt from Morgen Bailey. Random: Fill in a word association word web, starting with the word ‘free’ then pick 5 of the words you created and write a piece including those words. This is the result:

 

Free

Lynard Skynard was playing on the radio; Freebird, my favourite track of that year. I was playing along, practising my air guitar, when I looked up and saw him stroll into the café. His dark curly hair fell across his eyes; eyes so deep, they seemed almost black. His sun-darkened skin was the result of an outdoor job rather than lying around on the beach, I guessed. His blindingly white vest and frayed cut-off jeans framed him perfectly. I wanted him; I didn’t care whether he was alone or not; I was free to be wrong if I wanted to be — and this type of wrong felt so right. I didn’t consider his viewpoint; I forgot he had free will. I just wanted him and that was all there was to it.

Just then, Josie came out of the loo and stopped dead, staring at him too.

“Yes please,” she said - or words to that effect.

“What do you think this is - a free market?” I asked. “I saw him first, so back off.” Well, that was it — there was a real free-for-all.  She tried to push past me, I grabbed her arm. She took a swing at me, I pulled her hair. It took Big Dave and two of his mates to separate us. 

By the time we’d calmed down and stopped glowering at each other, we realised he’d gone! I never did see him again — but I think of him every time I hear that song.

 

***

 

Question: What challenges do you set yourself - and why?