Archive for the ‘plot lines’ Category

Writers – Tools of the trade   Leave a comment

A quick look at some of the posts here from people who want to be published has thrown up a very obvious flaw – many do not seem to have a grasp of proper English. It is not enough to rely on editors and proof readers to pick up poor spellings and grammar. As in any business, it is necessary to arm oneself with the tools of the trade.  As writers, words and how to use them correctly  are the tools of our trade.  If you want to give yourself the best possible chance of being picked up by a reputable publisher, then you need to show from the off that you are a professional who can produce polished work.  You wouldn’t be impressed by a tradesman turning up minus his most essential tools, so why should anyone expect a literary agent or publisher to be impressed by a shoddy, ill-spelt letter of introduction, enclosing an equally shabby, ill-spelt, ungrammatical MS?  These people are busy. They are innundated with thousands of manuscripts every year.  In fact, they are only looking for an excuse to say no and free up some space on their desks. Prepare properly. Give yourself the best chance of turning that no into a yes! To put it bluntly, if you can’t be bothered, why the hell should they?  They’re not there to wave a magic wand and turn a pig’s ear into a silk purse.  The silk purse should arrive at their offices as beautifully constructed as you can make it.

This post isn’t intended to shatter anyone’s dreams  – on the contrary, it is a wake up call.  The world is full of rejected, dejected writers, many of whom with a bit of extra effort could quite feasibly go on to achieve that dream. No excuses! We have more help at our fingertips than ever before, Thesaurus, dictionaries, spellcheckers – all on line too, so you don’t even have to go to the expense of buying them.

Finally, I make no apology for not softsoaping.  The world of publishing is dog-eat-dog and the ego takes one hell of a battering. Arm yourself in whatever way you can.

Good luck!

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Already accomplished today   Leave a comment

A new chapter of my book, a loaf of home made cheese and onion bread cooling on the rack, pears in red wine gently poaching and perfuming the air with delicious spicy smells.

And no more having to schlepp in and out of London on crappy South Eastern!   Happy Friday!

Good to be alive!   Leave a comment

Blue sky outside. Cat sitting on the windowsill miaowing at me for no good reason. Peace and quiet indoors. Words flowing – in all the right order. Wonderful husband, family and friends.  Nice one,  God!

Alzheimer’s   Leave a comment

There’s a peculiar tint in the sky tonight, a darkish lavender, thin spread like damson jam between two thick-cut gloom-laden evening clouds. I used to know the name for them once – all the different clouds. I won a prize at school.  A book. Now all I remember is that they are called clouds, the clouds of evening. I turn away from the window, from the clouds and the lavender tint that brings to mind vague recollections of a dress I once had. It matched my eyes, someone said. I don’t recall his name, no more than I recall the name of the book or the name of the clouds.

“Excuse me,” I say politely to the man sitting reading a newspaper at the table. “May I have a pen and paper?” His head is bent low, glasses perched on the end of his nose. Light bounces off the metal frames. Daddy? The word hovers on my lips as I try to place him in my life, his white hair and tired, lined face.  He feels my confusion, rises, catches me gently by the arm and leads me to a seat beside his own, pats my hand. His own hand is warm, capable, clean nails cut square across the top. I have the urge to kiss them.

“What do you want a pen for?” His voice echoes up from the past, tugs at a loose seam and memories spill out. Summer, a picnic, laughter, ham sandwiches with curling edges. A lavender dress. He is my husband.

“To write,” I tell him. “I need to write it all down. Now, whilst I still remember.”

He straightens up and the light glints off his glasses once more and the wet sheen that has gathered beneath. I rise and go to stand once more by the window. The lavender is all gone now. Night has come.

(c) Tara Moore 2009

I love your hands   Leave a comment

I Love Your Hands

I love your hands
Your fingers as they stroke your love
Across my face
And linger on my lips
For a kiss
I love your hands
The way they trace
A path along my body
Gentle, thrilling, setting me on fire
With desire
With grace
I love your hands
The strength, the tenderness
The way you turn a page
Or make a point
Or simply hold a cup
I love your hands
At rest, so calm
And, oh, my love
You’ve caught me in your palm

© Tara Moore 2009

Bloggy Hell Fellow Writers – I’ve given up and jumped on board!   Leave a comment

Tara

Okay, so this is my first attempt at a blog – reckon I must be mad making more work for myself, but everyone keeps telling me I should have one. I should have a million quid too, but that’s another story.

Anyway, I’m struggling with writer’s block at the moment and looking for displacement activities and this strikes me as as good a displacement activity as any – well, maybe not quite as good as some I can think of, but they’re not on offer.

Okay, time’s up – back to the manuscript for some more blank staring – I’m working (correction – trying to work) on VIP, which is the second book of a two-book contract for Orion. RSVP, the first, is out at present – I had writer’s block when I was doing that too, but got there in the end. Hopefully, I’ll get there in the end with this one too. Or someone will come up with that million quid and I won’t need to. Stop sniggering at the back!