Pen and Paper or Computer?

We all have our own writing techniques and preferences. What works for one of us doesn’t for another. What is most important is getting those creative juices flowing, bringing the words out of our heads and ultimately into our stories.

It has to be pen and paper for me. Even writing this blog it has to be pen and paper first. I can’t think creatively on the computer, that is for tidying it all up. Besides, I like the pen and paper part of it, that’s the bit I enjoy most, then the tidying up.

writing

I’m not a disciplined writer. I don’t set aside so many hours a day to write, it has to be when I get the burn. I’m the sort of person who likes everything done yesterday so novel writing which takes months and years is a contradiction to my nature. Healthwise there are many days when I don’t have the energy to think, much less pick up a pen. Other days I know I have a book on the go, know where I’m going with it, have notes guiding me into the next chapter but I just can’t rouse myself to pick up the pen and A4 pad – and my scribings! As you can see I could never get someone else to type them up for me, too many crossings out, words changed, sentences added or removed, plus as I type it up something might sound better and I do enjoy that part too, gathering it together. The only book I wrote straight onto the computer was the latter part of my second memoir Better or Dead and I wrote it from notes that I’d made.

So that’s my writing routine, pen and paper for the creative flow, read through and make adjustments several times until I’m happy with it, only then does it go onto the computer, and even then I make minor adjustments.

What’s your routine? I’d love to hear either in blog comments or Facebook/Twitter, whichever’s easier.

laptop

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Will and Ava – Spitfire Love

Wilhelmina Schmidt – or Will as she preferred to be called – had never been a girl’s girl. She’d never liked girl’s toys, boy’s were much more exciting, cars and aeroplanes. The pretty dresses her mother dressed her in were always dirty and torn from playing boy’s games. As she grew she had no burning desire to wear make up and only wore the minimum to conform. Sexually she’d been drawn neither to boys nor girls but had never bothered to wonder why. Then she met Ava.

Forbidden wartime love Spitfire

Ava Greatbach by contrast was a girl’s girl. Had loved her dolls as a child, loved her make up as she grew and especially loved pretty cotton summer dresses. She’d also had boyfriends. Then she met Will.

3D

They were drawn together as if by a magnetic silken thread. It wouldn’t have mattered what gender they were, their souls called to one another. The power that drew them was stronger than they were – but it was wartime. Lives were destroyed. Love was torn apart.

Spitfire II for blog

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https://www.amazon.co.uk/Over-Spitfire-Sherrie-Lowe-ebook/dp/B01GCFFR6S/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1532169891&sr=1-2&keywords=sherrie+lowe

 

Inspiration

Inspiration. That force vital to an author. Where does it come from? Mine has curled up and died of late but whilst it slumbers I’ve been thinking of its past appearances.

I always loved writing stories at school. Composition it was called back in the day. My English teachers always wrote on my reports that I had a vivid imagination. I always thought somewhere in the recesses of my mind that I’d write a book when I got older.

Then my mother died.

That kindled my inspiration. I felt I must write about it but not at that point, it was too raw. Life took over and inspiration once more receded.

Then I became ill.

That meant many hours alone when my sons were at school. Newly divorced the loneliness drove me crazy so I relived my childhood through my pen, the good times and the bad. I bought a typewriter – had no idea what to do with a computer, that came much later after the many rejections of my first attempt at the book that I’d intended to write for so long.

Memoirs 2

I joined a creative writing class. I learned to write properly, to create characters, write fiction as well as memoir and inspiration danced on fairy light footsteps. Stories came to me, my characters held conversations in my head, raced through my dreams at night, woke me at dawn with dreams of their own. For a time I couldn’t write quickly enough: the only thing holding me back was my health, many days I didn’t – still don’t – have the energy to think.

Now my inspiration is suffering from its own lack of energy. It occasionally comes out to play when I’m in the bath (I’m Pisces, a water sign, there must be a connection.) It rises with the steam and the fragrance of the foam bath, those conversations between characters, the settings they walk through.

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My current work in progress has enjoyed scenes at The Chelsea Flower Show and has sent its characters home with a promise but here the author sits penning this blog instead of getting on with the story. I’ll blame it on the heat of the wonderful summer of 2018 drying my inspiration up with the parched and cracked earth. Who’d have thought we’d be praying for rain in the UK where it never usually seems to stop, but perhaps that’s what my inspiration needs, a good downpour.

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https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=node=341689031&field-keywords=sherrie+lowe

 

The Weekend Guest

I’ve got two fur grandsons, Rooney and Ralphy, belonging to my sons and their families and I look after the dogs – separately – when they are away. It was the turn of Ralphy to stay for the weekend this time while his Mum and Dad were at a wedding.

Ralph garden

He usually brings a few toys to add to the ones I’ve got here and one of his favourites is a parrot which has got a look of a window cleaner I had doing my windows many years ago so I named it Doug after him.

Ralph and Doug

Ralphy is a quick learner and soon got used to the new command of ‘bring Doug’ and he’d fetch the parrot for me to throw so that he could catch it, his favourite game. His other toy is a moose which was a goodbye present from his much loved dog walker when they moved house. I named it Milly. It took him a while to get used to ‘bring Milly’ not so easy a sound as Doug but he was learning. Here are his thoughts on the matter.

Ralph and moose

Ralphy: I’z back here at Nana Shuffs house. Not much goes on here and I does a lot of sleeping but it is my meditation retreat – she sits in her recliner chair, I snoozes until somebody rings the bell or walks past the window then I sez ‘I iz here and in charge. Nobody passes unnoticed.’ I need to tell Nana Shuffs of their presence you see. How duz she know else?

When Nana is  playing with those light up boxes that all hoomans play with I know there is no point in me bestowing a toy upon her – doesn’t she understand what an honour that is – but as soon as she takes her glasses off (I hear them click when she folds them) time to stretch, yawn and select a toy. Which to choose? I az a green thing with a big nose, Nana calls it ‘Bring Doug’ so that must be its name like I iz Ralph. As well I az a soft thing with a big nose that az lovely stuff that I can rip out of its innards and make patterns all over the floor – she throws this stuff away, I never knows why. I did az a nasty mishap today and a bit of the stuff got stuck in my throat and I coughed and coughed until my eyes watered but it went in the end. Nana Shuffs calls this soft chewy creature ‘Bring Milly.’

I az to say I iz a mite disappointed. I heard by dog grapevine that she put live entertainment on for my cousin Rooney, a running creature that he chased down the garden.

Ratty in the snow

I’d love to have done that! All I’ve ever chased have been flapping creatures on the fence or a thing with a bushy tail. Not close enough to have a little nip at but quite fun, especially when Bushy Tail had to disentangle himself from the tree, woof woof!

Squirrel feeder

Ah well, it’s tiring jumping round the room after Doug and Milly. Time for bed methinks. Nighty night.

Ralph snoozing

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