Category Archives: Writing Experiments

Friday Writing Experiment No. 11: My Life As A Musical

by Andrew | 1 Comment

This week I was very lucky to attend the world premiere of the film Les Misérables. Yes, I lead that kinda life. Well, maybe – we thought we were just going to a preview, but it turned out our names weren’t on a list so we were sent over to Leicester Square where we, um, walked the red carpet also trodden by the stars. Anne Hathaway wore Givenchy. I wore cords, a Barbour, and Blundstone boots.

And even then we thought surely the stars must be in the other Leicester Square cinema (a premiere so grand it had both the Empire and the Odeon Leicester Square). But no, the producers and director and writers were there to give a charming welcome, and then to introduce the stars – all of them: Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway, Amanda Seyfried, Eddie Redmayne, Samantha Barks, Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen, and the already very accomplished child stars Isabelle Allen and Daniel Huttlestone. It was rather star-studded, but it was also possible to pick up on the real sense that this was a down-to-earth team brought together through their collaboration on a creative project they felt about passionately: this was work.

And the movie’s pretty fabby. I imagine some people might find the pace at times slow or uneven, and in dramatic terms perhaps we rush through some key moments, relatively, but hey: the music makes up for that. Soak it up. And then look at the source material, too. This is 1,200 pages of nineteenth-century soap opera: episodic, expansive, and (we like this) socially aware. The grit and the shit are really gritty and shitty, the scabs are really scabby. This is a proper film: big sets, crowd scenes, close-ups, loud.

And does that music soar! Some super numbers. Really super. Pretty much the whole film is sung, so all those haters who gripe about the artifice of players bursting into song in musicals can instead enjoy a seamless progression of music – there’s a lot of what is called recitative in opera. What’s really striking is the way in which the singing was all shot live, rather than lip-synced to playback songs: it’s really raw. And not all the songs are performed like West End belters either, which for me tilts on its head a bit that whole issue of perfection in performance. I’ve seen various comments in various forums nitpicking about the quality of this or that, but yada yada (they remind me of opera queens one-upping each other in the comments on YouTube – ‘Lucia?! Her Queen of the Night is nothing compared with Mimi’s’, etc.). In Les Misérables many of these songs are so powerful because the singing is throaty and fragile and forced and stretchy and reaching. Wow.

Some of it is pretty potent. Anne Hathaway’s ‘I Dreamed A Dream’ (used in the trailer) is one single take of wow. And Samantha Barks is pretty fantastic, especially considering this is her first movie (and she was a runner-up rather than winner in one of those tv talent shows):

I did not realise that 60 million people have seen the stage show. Another wow.

My enthusiasm probably got a little carried away. I mean, some critics were very critical. I guess I am constitutionally prone to getting swept along by rousing overtones and big set pieces, and my own critical faculties switch off. Which isn’t always a bad thing, I tell myself.

And when the movie came out I read an article that’s no longer around that suggested that we as a culture have forgotten how to watch movie musicals. And that got me thinking …

As a writing experiment, reconfigure your life as a musical.

For starters, think up some scenes that can plot and emote and (melo)dramatise your life into a sequence of numbers that are brassy and showstopping, or maybe more reflective, or adding comic relief, or perhaps focusing on secondary characters, or tugging at the audience’s emotions, or simply stirring us to come along for the ride (hey, by the end of Les Misérables I was beginning to feel the lure of French Catholicism). And maybe you also need a Bollywood dream sequence starring Debra Messing, Anjelica Huston, and Uma Thurman?!

Don’t forget the big rousing number to end Part One (and repoint the narrative), and then the resolution of the finale and maybe an encore and reprise (nice way to think about shaping yer narrative arcs).

Then create some song names. For example, for a certain family member of mine I can already see the opening number in the programme: ‘The May Queen’s Maid Wears Monkey Boots’.

You can also:

* cast the movie

* create some sets

* choose a focus for your storyline (e.g., the last year of school)

* adapt this idea for other stories or pet projects – novels, as well as life stories

* write your own little elevator pitch (remember, sometimes these are kinda unlikely: ‘A woman leaves an Austrian convent to become a governess to the children of a Naval officer widower’, according to IMDB)

* create your own playlists or mixtapes for your own jukebox musical – but also imagine some numbers of your own making (someone else can write the lyrics or the music, if you wish – writers sometimes delegate too)

This is more than a weekend’s work. This is a lifetime project. But it might also be a fun way to outline a longer work too, for example. Thinking about those big musical numbers can help you think about the major plot points in a novel, for example.

Meanwhile – see you at Les Misérables! Of course, I have to go again.

Friday Writing Experiment No. 10: Saint’s Day

by Andrew | Leave a comment

St Andrew

Today is St Andrew’s Day. He is the patron saint of Scotland, Greece, Russia, Sicily, and Romania. Andrew was one of the twelve disciples, and the founder of the Church of Byzantium. He was apparently crucified by Emperor Nero, but before that sorry end he is said to have brought the boy with the five loaves and two fishes to Jesus. I always loved that miracle. I ended up loving my food, too.

Various traditions associated with St Andrew’s Day involve single women looking for lurve, e.g., dreaming of your future husband on St Andrew’s Eve. Or husbands coming from the direction where you hear dogs barking. Or husbands being suggested by the shadow of molten wax. Or throwing shoes at doors.

Some Romanian traditions involve wolves, who, it’s said, can eat all the animals they want on that day. Apparently they can speak too on St Andrew’s Day, but anyone who hears them will DIE.

(Isn’t it weird that if you repeat your own name to yourself often enough you start wondering if that really is your name?! Maybe that is some sort of magic too.)

Patron of wolves, ropemakers, and fisherman. A motley selection. And some bizarre superstitions.

This week’s writing experiment tasks you on a bit of research into your own name’s saint, or your saint’s day (the feast day associated with your birthday). Or just make one up: create your own fireside goddess, or household deity, or holy man or woman. Someone to look over you. Maybe you can even print out a picture and create a little shrine of associated objects.

Then, write a story or a poem about your own saint or saint’s day. Something fun, something with life, something in some way or other holy, and wholly your own.

Friday Writing Experiment No. 9: A Word

by Andrew | Leave a comment

Take a word that seems current to you: fox, or chase, or November, or ash, or drink, or because, or whatever, or no, or nail, or index. Choose something new, emerging, fresh. Probably not something you’ve dealt with before.

Then, do some research on that word. Look it up in all six dictionaries you own (you do own six dictionaries, I assume?), look it up in a thesaurus, look it up in dictionaries of foreign languages, in an etymological dictionary, in the glossary of specialist reference works, in an encyclopedia, on Wikipedia. Google it. Take a page of notes (a page, no more – it’s okay, you can write really small if you have to).

That could go on forever, so ration yourself. It can be good to place a time limit on your brainstorming, e.g., fifteen minutes. (You can do more, but a short, sharp hit of looking can be effective for clarifying the thought process and enlivening your instincts.)

Then: without referring to those references again, and only using your page of notes, write a page about that word, or embodying that word, but without using that word. Prose, poetry, what you will. Just don’t use your chosen word, or variations thereof, at all.

Continue at your leisure.

Friday Writing Experiment No. 59: Words Words Words uses generated words in a particular way where this delving into word history might become relevant. And you can also apply this process specifically to your revising: Friday Writing Experiment No. 60: Word Power.

PS Yes, we took a week off last week. Because we can. It’s not the Every Friday Writing Experiment.

Friday Writing Experiment No. 8: NaNoWriYear

by Andrew | Leave a comment

Okay, okay, that was rather a cranky post I made yesterday about the start/onslaught of NaNoWriMo. So in an effort to be nice/compassionate/not bitter, this weekend’s writing experiment is devoted to the idea of writing a novel within a specific span of time.

But here, let’s be a bit more measured. Patient, realistic. Let’s think about a longer span. I’m suggesting a year (which is the duration of the Telegraph’s Novel in a Year – super piece by Louise Doughty at that link). Or maybe, if you want something a bit more concentrated and can spare the time, three months, or six months, or even nine months. But make it one of those spans of time – multiples of three, magic numbers after all – to be started at some finite point in the future, e.g., 1 January 2013. (I’m assuming we all survive the end of the world that was apparently not prophesied by the Mayans for December 2012 – if you are worried about that, though, do NaNoWriMo, and then use the first 22 days of December for revisions. And then PRAY, while the rest of us look forward to Christmas.)

So here goes – a few suggestions:

* This weekend, find a couple of hours to plan some bare bones of your novel. Use those two hours wisely, and with a deadline.

* To start, brainstorm. Write lists, draw mind maps of things your novel will contain.

* Answer this question: What is the purpose of this novel? What is your intention? The answer might be slow in emerging, and this might be something you need to revisit throughout. Allow it to mutate, if need be.

* Then start to shape your narrative content. People, places, scenes. Prioritise, itemise.

* Create a structure out of this content – e.g., a three-act structure. You don’t have to outline in detail, unless you are an effective outliner, but perhaps you can start to divide your story into three acts, and work out what goes into each act. And to get yourself started, maybe just map out some of the chapters or scenes in the first act, to get yourself going. You can also think about writing patchwork-style, with sections from anywhere in the book that will be pulled together later.

* Then create a schedule of action: deadlines for parts or chapters evenly scattered throughout the year. Give yourself a start date, and an end date, and work out how much writing you need to do each week, for example. Maybe also build in some time for research – you might be able to start that sooner, in fact, but also factor in an end time for finishing initial research and then a start date for the actual writing. Research can, if you let it, go on forever. The goal: a complete first draft by the end of three/six/nine/twelve months.

* And then the work will begin (1 January 2014? 1 April 2013?): the processes of revising and self-editing.

Of course, you’re going to need to think about all the other things a novel needs: if you don’t understand what’s meant by three-act structure, or want to know more about creating strong characters, or using voice or point of view, or simply need some prompts and direction, you might need to create a course of self-study (resources are available everywhere – start here, or your local library). Or even take a course. I’ve taught such courses in the past, and its best to note that such short courses are usually not about writing a novel in, e.g., six or eight weeks, but about six or eight weeks of equipping you with the tools to write a novel. And then you go away and write it. A concentrated month can be helpful. But remember too that writing a novel is not a race, and few of us are sprinters.

(Updated 26 October 2013.) 

Friday Writing Experiment No. 7: Ghost Story

by Andrew | 1 Comment

Tis the witching season.

* Write a story or a poem about a ghost.

* Include some trove that you uncover via a chance operation. Either: (a) Reach for the nearest book to you, open it at a previously decided page (‘I’ll open this at page 41’), and select the first interesting word. Or: (b) Look out of (or into, if you’re outdoors) the nearest window, and choose the first interesting object to strike your attention. Or: (c) use some random reckoning of your own. Then somehow wrap your story/poem around the word/object that you found.

* Write by candlelight, or the spectral glow of your computer screen (there are ghosts in the machine).