Write Here Write Now Anthology

inspiration
and ideas
to get you
writing
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devised & edited by
River Wolton
with original writing by
Alice Corker
Ashley Cheung
Daniel Greaves
Katherine Robinson
Liv Bradshaw
Nina Moss
Tom Williams
Design by mooli.com
Copyright 2011 individual authors
contents
Introduction & Acknowledgements
Warm Ups
Lists
Poetry Forms
Random Ingredients
11
Prompts: Planetary Weather
12
Pictures: I, Monster
15
Collaborative Writing: Mutiny on the Pied Piper
19
Nuts and bolts of writing:

Building Characters
23
Point of View and Tense
27
Writing Action Scenes
29
Redraft; rewrite; reword; edit
31
Author Biographies
35
Further Reading
38
Introduction
This booklet emerged from a Write Here residency, part of Writing East
Midlands' programme of residencies. In Derbyshire, Write Here is run in
partnership with Derbyshire County Council Literature Development, and
as part of the project we set up a group in Chesterfield Library for 16 to 25
year olds. These talented young writers have diverse interests and it has
been a challenge to devise exercises that develop their potential. We
wanted to share these with a wider audience and also to showcase their
work. The examples given here were written in the sessions or as
homework. Paul Kane and Marie ORegan were two of our visiting writers;
thanks to them for letting us include their I, Monster exercise on page 15.
Over many years of working with groups Ive gleaned ideas from hundreds
of writers. In the Further Reading list youll find some of the authors Im
indebted to. Its not always possible to remember where the original spark
for an exercise came from, so please forgive any omissions, and if Ive ever
written with or alongside you, consider yourself warmly thanked.
If you run writing groups, or are just looking for some ways to get started,
I hope that you find something useful here.
River Wolton
July 2011
With Thanks to
Ali Betteridge, Literature Development Ocer,
Derbyshire County Council
Catherine Rogers, Writing East Midlands
Paul Kane
Marie ORegan
Sally Goldsmith
Chesterfield Library
4 Write Here Write Now
Warm Ups
Writing is a physical act. Even if were typing, our bodies are involved. Even
if were dictating to a scribe we are using our voices, were breathing,
engaging our lungs, our minds and our muscles. Like athletes on the track,
it works best if we can warm up first. It may take a few paragraphs or pages
to find our writing energy, or we may hit on something that interests us
straight away. But when we keep the pen moving for long enough we cant
help but connect, and when we connect anything can happen.
This kind of writing is sometimes called free writing, flow-writing, hotpenning, freefall writing or stream of consciousness. The term I prefer is
Natalie Goldbergs Writing Practice because it reminds me that, like playing
tennis or poker or the oboe, this is something to practise, something to
keep doing if we want to get better. Here are some of Natalies rules that
Ive adopted or adapted:
Keep your hand moving

Dont cross out or re-read
Dont worry about spelling, punctuation or grammar
Catch the first thoughts
Lose control
Dont get logical. Dont be afraid to stop making sense
If you get stuck return to the first words and keep repeating
Words can be in any shape, size, form
You cant write the wrong thing
The blank page can be daunting. The voices of doom easily sabotage the
act of making our mark. Who do you think you are? This is terrible. You cant
even spell properly, let alone have an original idea. The more we linger and
dwell with them, the stronger these voices become. The best way through,
I find, is just to write, interrupting the urge to stop and the conviction that
its going to be a waste of time. Set a limit say 6 minutes, or a page or two
pick a starting word or phrase, and then GO.
Write Here Write Now
Here are some places to start:

I remember
Everything I know about (mud, toes, green, fire, etc.)
I (he, she) struck a match and
When s/he came in
What if
What I really want to write about is
I opened my eyes and
Anything can be a starting line. Open a book and pick a random line;
get a friend to suggest one. Free writing can be the basis for longer
writing exercises.
Heres an example by Ashley Cheung:
She struck a match, but to no effect. She tried again, but still it was a
wasted effort. She fiddled through the packet, desperately trying to find
one that was dry. If not, she would have to try lighting a fire, like she had
seen on television, hitting rock against rock, attempting to spark life onto
a pile of dry leaves. The panic had eased during the hours in the dark, but
a prevailing sense of discomfort still hung heavy. Had it ever been this
dark before?
She gave up with the matches, and decided that starting a real
fire would be ridiculous, consoling herself with the option of sleep, and
the wait for the morning. Strange that such panic could come from a
mere power-cut. She was sure that she would feel foolish when the rays
of the sun came around. She slowly felt her way back to the safety of her
bed and looked out through her window towards the sky, willing the
stars to appear. Disappointed, she lay back, and tumbled into an abyss of
unconsciousness.
Next morning, she woke to the shrill cries of birds populating
the morning air. She had never been a fan of birdsong, not quite able to
grasp its apparent 'peacefulness'. However, all remained dark. She had
woken up at the prompting of her bodys clock, and in time to hear the
mating calls of the birds, but all was still shrouded in gloom. She opened
and closed her eyes several times, each time with increasing desperation.
She palmed the area around her eyes, as though shed find something
there, obstructing her vision, but there was nothing.
Lists
Some days even a sentence is a stretch. So start with a list. Most weeks
we make lists, even if theyre just in our heads: milk, bread, cat litter,
kumquats. Heres a list of lists devised by the Write Here group:
Things that make you smile
Things that make you frown
Favourite tastes (smells, textures, sounds, sights, tastes)
Things that you feel bad about that youre trying to put right
Things that remind you of other things
New Years Resolutions
Things youd like to tell people
Things you dont want to tell people
Things you hate
Things you love
I could write a list of the things I like about lists, but here are just three:
1. You dont have to tell the truth (this goes for all writing:
you could call it lying, or you could call it imagination).
2. Lists can be instant poems.
3. Lists cut to the chase if youre developing a character.
Heres a list we wrote as a group (which may or may not tell you
something about us):
Things I Did This Week

Got a tattoo of three stars and was on an endorphin high for a day
Sat at home writing fantasy fight scenes
Found a tenner on the floor by the camera shop in town and spent it
on lottery tickets
Went to London and sat in Queens Park, Croydon in the middle
of a thunderstorm
Watched an episode of Peep Show
Went to Scrivens second-book shop in Buxton and bought a
copy of Pickwick Papers
Went to France, had a flat tyre and took it slow on the road home.
And heres a list from a character in one of Ninas novels:
Ellysias New Year Resolutions

Nina Moss
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
Stop biting nails

Stop eating so much junk food
No more killing
Gain at least some control over magical powers
Find a way to stop war between witches and the unseelie court
Poetry Forms
Poems come in every shape, size and form. Whether youre an old hand or
a newcomer to poetry, its good practice to try out traditional forms such
as haikus, sonnets, villanelles, pantoums etc.
I think of form as the cake tin of poetry, providing a useful constraint
within which the writer can exercise their ingenuity and precision. And if
the mixture spills over, or the form is subverted in some way, that can be
all the more delicious. Heres a summary of villanelles (from Writing Poems
by Peter Sansom):
five tercets (three line stanzas) and a concluding quatrain (four line
stanza). There are only two rhymes (the as sandwiching the bs).
The first and third lines are repeated, alternately, as the third line of
subsequent stanzas throughout the poem until the final stanza,
where the repeat lines become the final two lines of the poem. We
give the repeat lines capital letters, and since they rhyme
distinguish them by numbers:
A1 b A2, a b A1, a b A2, a b A1, a b A2, a b A1 A2.
If that sounds complicated, heres an example to make everything clear.
Once you know the rules, you can go ahead and vary them, for added
interest as Katherine has done with the repeated third line.
Zombie Villanelle
Katherine Robinson
It isnt very nice being a zombie,
Existing only on a diet of brains,
And everybody out to shoot me.
Being dead means I cant walk properly;
I shamble along like an old man in pain.
It isnt very nice being a zombie.
Bits and pieces are falling off me;
Being dead means that I smell like a drain.
All the humans are out to shoot me.
Theyre terrified of zombies, you see.
They think Im going to eat their brain.
It isnt very nice being a zombie.
They usually scream when they see me.
Sometimes they dont kill us, but keep us in chains,
But most of them are out to shoot me.
They act like theyre in some kind of movie,
Where if they kill me it will be alright again.
It isnt very nice being a zombie,
With everybody out to shoot me.
Random Ingredients
Another good way to get going is to put a bunch of words together and see if you
can make them link up. Conjure some things from thin air, for example: a person, a
place, an object, a catch-phrase. It can work for prose or poetry. Here are some
ingredients we came up with one evening at the group:
an elephant
a newsagent
Specsavers
someone giving directions
and heres what they turned into:
Sometimes Elephants Can Forget

Daniel Greaves
An American elephant left the newsagent and loaded the magazines into his
trunk. He got behind the wheel of his car. Suddenly his phone rang. He answered while
reversing and crashed into another vehicle. The driver got out, pulling out a long rifle
as he did so.
Im sorry, said the elephant.
Im not, the man replied. Im an elephant-hunter.
He pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. CLICK.
Oh fiddlesticks. I meant to pick up some ammo after I went to
Specsavers, the hunter said. I say, good elephant, could you direct me to
the nearest ammo shop?
Yes I can sir.You go up this hill, take a left, a second right, then straight
on past Queen Street, left, then left again. Itll be right in front of you.
Thank you, kind elephant. Now will you wait right there? Ill be back.
The elephant waited a few minutes for the hunter to drive out of sight
and then he legged it.
Later that night the elephant switched on the television for the local news.
Today a short-sighted elephant-hunter drove into the canal. He was pulled
out by police assisted by local firefighters. The man was babbling about ammo, police
have detained him.
The elephant opened a beer and collapsed on the sofa laughing.
Oops, looks like this elephant does forget.
Write Here Write Now 11
Prompts: Planetary Weather

Many of the writers in the group are working on sci-fi and fantasy novels. I
happened to be reading about planets and the extreme weather found in dierent
parts of the galaxy. I handed out the weather facts below, with the proviso that we
could make the planets atmospheres more or less tolerable for humans.
Mercury: Temperature varies from 430 degrees C to minus 150, but some polar
regions are in continuous shadow with temperatures never above -180 C. Home to
myriad craters, giant impact basins, and broad lava plains. Sodium and potassium
ooze from the surface.
Venus: Its day (243 earth days) is longer than its year (225 earth days). Temp 460 C.
Clouds reach hurricane force at the equator but only 2-4 mph at the poles. Episodic
volcanic eruptions.
Mars: Fierce global dust storms engulf the planet for weeks. Temperatures almost
always below freezing point. Has seasons. Run-o channels in the old highlands
have been interpreted as valleys of ancient rain-fed rivers that emptied into basins
perhaps containing shallow seas.
Jupiter: Many high-pressure storm systems swirl around the planet, among them
the Great Red Spot is the largest known storm in the Solar System, apparent for
over 300 years. Counter-clockwise winds in excess of 250 mph. Bands of hydrogen,
helium, methane and ammonia create stunningly coloured cloud formations.
Saturn: Tempestuous weather with winds in excess of 1,000mph. Numerous
dough-nut shaped clouds, cyclones and severe electrical storms. On Titan, one of
its moons, icy ammonia and methane, stored as cryomagna, explode into the
atmosphere like a fizzy drink released from a shaken bottle.
Uranus: Its days are 42 years long. A blue-green gas giant with some of the
brightest clouds, numerous cloud bands. No measurable internal heat source.
Temp in upper clouds is minus 200 C. A dark cloud about 27 degrees north of the
equator is a giant vortex.
Neptune: Deep blue in colour. Bright cirrus clouds of methane ice crystals cast
shadows on the cloud deck 30 miles below. Its winds reach gusts of up to 600
metres per second, around the equator they approach supersonic speeds.
Temperatures average minus 214 C. Triton the largest of its moons has temp of
minus 235 C, with geysers spewing icy material 5 miles up into its atmosphere.
Planetary info abridged from Jane Green.
Astronomy Manual; The Practical Guide to the Night Sky. Haynes. 2010
Extract from
Nina Moss
Shock Storms
The first thing you need to understand is the weather here. Outside of our
electronically controlled bubble, its unpredictable. I mean snow storms to a
heat wave in thirty seconds (trust me, Ive timed it). Its also deadly. The
lightning can last thirty seconds a strike, and some storms are filled with
toxic gases. Carbon monoxide is the most common; it kills you so slowly
you dont even feel it.
The next is that I told her to go back, and she wouldnt. I asked,
pleaded, cajoled and bullied. She decided that today was the day to grow a
spine, and refused. She was as difficult as I used to be. I guess she wanted to
be like her big sister. I didnt want to waste the climb; I was the worst kind
of selfish.
Fine, I snapped, Stay close. The last words I spoke to her were
so spiteful.
I guess youre wondering why I would risk going to the surface
after Ive been told its forbidden. Hell, I even admitted how dangerous it
was at the time, and you know what they say about forbidden fruit.
The truth may sound strange to you, but I can tell you in two
words: the sun.You wouldnt believe how good the sun feels on your skin
after so long trapped underground. The first, cautious look out of the vent
to check its safe and it blinds you for a second, forcing you back into the
shadows, calling you forwards, slowly this time.
Your face feels like its glowing as your eyes adjust to the new light
and you see the nothingness that surrounds you. Its pure freedom.You
clamber out of the vents, feeling the new, glorious heat shining through you.
Everywhere it touches, the light gives life. In the tunnels, its like
youre suffocating, and no-one else can tell. The sun stops the feeling of not
getting enough air. It shines through to your soul, chasing away the shadows,
heating all the way to your bones.You lie on the ground and feel it relax the
muscles you didnt even know were tense. Its heaven.
I felt free as I lay down on the sun-heated ground. I could feel the
light in my bones, strengthening everywhere, creating a bubble of pure
happiness to rest my spirit on.
The sky was a new colour, it was blue, the same colour as one of
the shirts in my wardrobe, stretching the impossible distance from horizon
to horizon. Though I didnt know it at the time, I was looking at a clear sky
for the first time in my life.
I heard Rachel lay down next to me, we both sighed in

contentment. Now she knew my secret, and we could share it. I wouldnt
be alone up there any more. I was optimistic ... no, I was stupid. I genuinely
believed that nothing could go wrong. I missed all of the signs.
The first was a slight, cool breeze that gently disturbed the still
air. It cooled my overheated skin, lulling me to sleep, wrapped in false
security. There must have been other signs, but I was too deeply asleep to
notice them.
It was the heat that woke me. The temperature had risen to the
point where my sweat simply evaporated straight off my skin, leaving a
faint trail of mist when I moved. The sky had changed from calming blue to
a violent shade of orange and was rapidly darkening to red. The light of the
sun was blocked by the blood-red clouds. Every breath I took burned my
lungs as the soaring temperatures began to burn my skin.
I shook Rachel awake as the winds picked up. She was blearyeyed and unsteady at being awoken from such a deep sleep. I ran, dragging
her behind me. She cried in pain at the bright red burns on her skin. I
pushed against the resisting winds as they increased in strength. I was too
slow, too weak.
I forced the vent open. The lid was stuck. I had to use both
hands. I climbed in and turned to help her follow me. She should have
gone first. I reached out and grabbed her arm again. We were both too
scared to scream. It would have been pointless if we had. Nobody was
close enough to hear us.
The wind picked up another notch and the temperature rose
even more. Blisters formed and re-formed on Rachels skin. I couldnt feel
the ones on my arms, the only parts of my body outside the sanctuary of
the vent.
My hands were wrapped around her upper arms. Her nails
gouged paths into my skin. I battled with the wind for my sisters life.
Victory was within my grasp, but then the poison came. My luck had run
out; this storm was filled with carbon monoxide. My head started to spin
as the tasteless, colourless gas took effect. The remaining strength leaked
out of my muscles. I wanted to sleep, to give in. Our hands gave way at the
same moment. We both went limp.
I fell down the chute alone, as the winds carried my sister away. I
was unconscious when they found me, burned and broken, at the bottom
of the vent.
Pictures:
I, Monster
Monsters are a crucial ingredient of the fantasy, horror or sci-fi genres.
Monsters have great appeal, whether theyre vampires, werewolves,
zombies, dragons, aliens, demons or humans. But how do you create a
scary yet believable monster and write about them in a convincing way?
Paul Kane and Marie ORegans top tips are:
remember that monsters often stand in for something else for example
they are metaphors for the fear of radiation, the fear of alien invasion, the
fear of nature & the wild
try and take something out of context and tweak it to make it frightening
if a monster has been used before, try and find a new take on it
make your monsters a little bit sympathetic so the reader can identify
with them
Pictures to Build Monster Stories Around
Paul Kane and Marie ORegan

extract from Shadows

Tom Williams
Carl woke twice that night. The first time, his eyes snapped open in the dark:
there was something in the room. He felt more than saw the things. Watching
him. Waiting. He knew they were there, and fear flooded his body like ice water,
pinning him to the bed and drawing a long, shivering moan from his throat.
They wanted to kill him. He knew that with a strange certainty. He pulled the
covers over his head and huddled, shivering, until feverish sleep reclaimed him.
The second time was worse. There were no nightmares, but when he woke,
gasping and clutching the covers as if he were drowning, the fear had not left
him. It curled in his stomach, a snake without its bite; cold and slimy. He clicked
the lamp on.
He screamed.
There were handprints all over the quilt as if some gruesome game of
twister had been played on his sleeping body.
Someone had been crawling over him whilst he slept. But the house was
empty... save the corpses sleeping in the next room.
The image of his murdered wife and daughter across the hallway suddenly
dried his mouth.
He leapt out of bed, and in the brief second between the blood rushing to
his head and realising that it hadnt all been some horrible dream, he saw the
mirror.
And screamed again.
The room was empty. Not a single living being stood between him and the
mirror, and yet in the depths of it, standing and watching him he knew they
were watching him were two shadows; shadows standing without bodies,
watching without eyes. Behind him, the lamplight flickered.
He took an unsteady step forwards, walking without realising that the
warmth on his feet was pooling on the carpet in crimson puddles. As he
reached the mirror, every muscle thrumming, tensed, every hair on end, mouth
dry, on the verge of screaming and clawing out his eyes, suddenly the fear
snapped into brittle rage, and the rage bloomed like a scarlet flower in his chest.
What do you want with me? he screamed, slapping his hand against the
mirror. He recoiled sharply, horrified at the warm, pulsing feel of it, and turned
away to run back to the safety of the bed. Then the lamp went out.
He screamed as something hit him, pushed him hard backwards. He slipped
on the blood on the floor, and in the few seconds when he dropped through
empty space, Carl Mason saw something worse than death. He saw
There was a familiar crack as his head made contact with the glass, and then
the rasp of his back as it slid down the drawers.
Then silence.
In the splintered glass, either side of the exact same place Katies skull had
struck it six years ago, the two shadows dissipated like smoke. Then there
was nothing but the silence and the body of a murderer slumped in a
puddle of blood in the deep shadows of night, like a puppet whose strings
have been suddenly and viciously cut.
Collaborative Writing: Mutiny on the Pied Piper

There are many ways for writers to collaborate, in the form of novels,
chapters, blogs etc. Yeats is Dead! is a collaborative novel written in aid of
Amnesty International by 15 Irish authors including Roddy Doyle and
Frank McCourt. Finbars Hotel is another serial novel based, needless to say,
in a hotel.
The starting premise for the Write Here group was a ship, lost at sea on
New Years Eve, with a mutiny taking shape. We christened the ship The
Pied Piper, en route from Southampton to New York. Each writer picked a
dierent character (captain, stowaway, first class passenger etc) and wrote
from their point-of-view.
The Stowaway
Ashley Cheung
I grab a drink from a nearby waiter and nod my thanks. Maybe I'll make a
thing of this. It's funny, pretending to be a rich man of the elite, mixing and
mingling, becoming the best of friends with these people just to take what I
can. And on a cruise as well!
I walk around, going through a mental list of the party members, a list of
victims if I'm honest. No, it's a break, and there's plenty of time left. Anyway,
the thing is, with this place, this collection of goods, it's above the rules I
learnt as a youth. Any person I pick would be equally as good as another.
I down my drink and walk towards a cranky old man surrounded by an
entourage of young ladies. It seems he's complaining about the salmon.
Goddamn rich folk, they really do amuse me.
Relax George! Have another champagne on me. Waiter! Champagne! I
shout with a wide smile on my face, snapping my fingers furiously in a drunk
fashion. I play the friend game, one arm on the near shoulder, the other on
the chest, soon to drop down and delve into the man's trouser pocket.
I say, who are you? Unhand me now! He shrugs me off.
Just enjoy the cruise George, you've worked hard for it. Enjoy the view. I
gesture to the ladies, laying on the false, stupid rich-boy charm, and get a
giggle for my efforts. Maybe I'll go for some of them after this guy, I always
like to use my powers of attraction.
With George momentarily distracted, I steer him away from the crowd
and towards the edge of the ship, separating him off. It's like a pack of
wolves hunting. I always imagined myself the lone wolf, the outsider, the
outcast.
You must have me confused with someone else, I'm Waldo, he protests.
George, Waldo, I was a bit off. Ive always liked playing the name game, it's a
good distraction to calm the nerves.
Oh yes, of course, Waldo. Sorry, I forgot, how rude of me. Remember
me? Its Martin. We met during that corporate golf retreat thing last year.
That too is a stab in the dark, but well, it's a stereotype for a reason.
Did we?
Yes.You were telling me about drives and putting remember? Ha, I still
can't get it right you know. I pause as I catch a whisper of a familiar face. I
stand there, mouth open, body immobilised, not hearing the irrelevant drivel
coming from Waldo, as I stare into a face of the past.
Half an Hour Till Midnight

Nina Moss
Who decided a Titanic themed party was a good idea? I thought. I was
bored out of my skull. What complete and utter idiot oh wait that
would be me. Not exactly my greatest mental achievement. I sighed.
There we were, in ridiculous 1910s clothing, in the middle of the Atlantic
Ocean on New Years Eve. I wished I was at home. What had made me go
on a cruise with Marie instead of staying with my family?
I looked at my watch. Half eleven. I threw myself into the conversation,
thanking God for the amount of booze.
Music pumped up to full blast shook the room. The main lights went out.
Everybody flooded to the dance floor. I took the opportunity to down a
couple more drinks before joining them. I drank and shimmied, shuffled and
jumped to my hearts content.
The room started to spin. Id had way too much. I made my way to a seat
at the edge of the dance floor. Ten minutes to midnight.
I dozed.
The next thing I knew I was being dragged up by my arms on to the
floor. Marie and Martin stood either side of me in the circle. The clock
struck midnight. A new year. We held hands and sang Auld Lang Syne very
loud and off key.
The music stopped. The party was over. I could go to bed. The entire
congregation moved slowly towards the door.
A bell rang, signalling a message from the captain. An unfamiliar voice
spoke.
Good evening passengers and a Happy New Year. I hope you have
enjoyed the celebrations. I must inform you that our destination has been
changed. Thank you for listening and goodnight.
I made my winding way to the cabin. Changed destination? Where were
we going? I pushed the thought aside. I was much too drunk to deal with
this. Maybe in the morning I thought, before the rocking of the boat
lulled me into a dreamless sleep.
extract from Hostages

Daniel Greaves
on the Pied Piper
Inside the ballroom Captain Hawk was talking to one of the first class
passengers when the doors exploded open and the gang rushed in, firing
warning shots into the air.
Ladies and gentlemen, Tom bellowed. My suggestion to you is to hand
over all your valuables to my colleagues here or they are gonna shoot you
where you stand.You hold out or try to resist, youre dead.
Passengers and crew started to remove wallets and jewellery from their
person and hand them over. Several of the hostage-takers had spotted the
solid gold candlesticks, silver cutlery, crystal condiments and had started
bagging them up.
Thank you ladies and gentlemen, were now leaving there were sighs
of relief from the hostages to search your rooms and finish clearing you
out.
He turned to Alice. Stay here with Team A and watch this lot. They resist,
kill them. Alice simply nodded. She knew what Tom was capable of.
*
Back at the boats Henshall was getting restless.
We wont be long, he muttered to himself mimicking Tom. Shivering in
the cold air he breathed into his hands. They were gloved but still cold.
Flaming British weather. He had been up for taking the boat hostage when
they got to New York, would have even paid for his own ticket. Theyd
better not forget his share. If they had waited till New York he wouldnt be
outside freezing his backside off right now.
Suddenly he heard a noise on deck. He pressed his back against the boat
and waited, watching the four rope ladders. No one appeared. He couldnt
see much thanks to the dark winter night. Toms crew had disabled the deck
lights so spotting anyone moving about at the top was impossible. But there
was definitely someone there. There was a scraping sound and hed almost
swear he could hear heavy breathing.
Better check it out. If someone was walking around up there and
bumped into the guys and gave them grief, Tom would kill him.
Henshall climbed up the ladder and dropped silently onto the deck. He
pulled a prized possession from a holster, a Colt 45, a present from his mum
for his sixteenth birthday. He peered into the darkness and listened. The
deck seemed deserted. Better make sure though. He heard a noise behind
him and whirled round.
Nuts and Bolts of Writing: 1. Building Characters

Its helpful to know a great deal about your central characters. Most of this
information wont find its way into the finished writing, but as the writer
you need to have thought about it in order to write convincingly. If youre
stuck on creating or developing a character, here is a comprehensive list of
questions that the Write Here group came up with.
What are they afraid of?
What do they want?
What do they keep secret?
What objects have they kept from childhood?
What recurring dreams do they have?
Who is their enemy?
Who are their friends?
What do they believe in?
Where are they from? What is this place like?
Whats their name?
How old are they?
What makes them special?
What do they look like?
What drives them?
What would they lie about?
What would they be willing to die for?
Whats their day to day life like?
Do they have superpowers and if not which one would they want?
What are their weaknesses?
Whats their favourite smell and why?
What were their experiences at school?
Whats their favourite chocolate bar?
What do they prefer to wear on their feet?
What is their job?
What are their views on ethical issues e.g. the death penalty, abortion etc?
What do they do on a Friday night? Why and who with?
Who was their best friend as a child?
Whats the most expensive thing that they own? Was it a gift or did they
buy it? If so how did they justify it?
Are they on a quest/adventure? If so, what kind?
What would they do if they saw a wounded animal?
How do they treat people who are not as powerful as them?
What kind of intelligence do they have?
How did they meet the other characters in the story?
Do they have any scars / aches / pains and how did they get them?
Brannild: Character profile

Katherine Robinson
Name: Brannild
Age: 28
Hair: Black
Eyes: Dark (black? brown?) Height: 66
Where is he from? What is this place like?

Brannild is originally from Ostigard, a port city, where his parents worked
in his uncles tavern. Brannild remembers it as a grey city: grey streets and
grey buildings; grey clouds and grey sea; grey-faced people clad in grey rags,
huddled in grey doorways; grey rain in summer and grey slush in winter. He
remembers how the rich men and women stood out like peacocks among
pigeons in their fine coloured silks, and he always likened them to his
mothers flowers growing on the windowsill; from an early age he came to
associate grey with hardship, and colours with prosperity and comfort.
When he was six, Brannilds parents moved to Fallow, a lakeside
town to the south, to work in their own inn. The family quickly became
popular with the townsfolk for their easy-going manner and good ale, and
their inn became the social hub of the town. Here, they told stories of the
ghosts that haunted the shores of the lake and the ancient king buried on
the hillside. Brannild will always remember Fallow as a place of colour
the roofs were thatched with gold, and the rolling green hills that
surrounded the small town were good for exploration (though he never
found the kings grave).
How did he meet the other characters?

He has known Sanesstav (later nicknamed the Snake) since they were
children. They met when they were six, when Brannilds family moved to
Fallow, where Sanesstav was born, to work at one of the inns there.
Brannild and Sanesstav kept their magical abilities secret from the
superstitious townsfolk, but after an accident playing on the lake with the
other children they discovered they both had the same gifts. This drew
them together, making them at once best friends and rivals. As they grew
up, their petty rivalries grew more serious, until in a fight over the same
girl they destroyed half the town. Stories of the damage caused reached
Rovenar Vilsova, who then took it upon himself to teach the boys how to
use and control their powers.
Is he on a quest/adventure?
No. Brannild actively tries to achieve nothing more than his next meal: he
knows from Sannesstavs experiences that wizards quests have far-reaching
consequences. After one accident too many, where a number of innocent
people are hurt, Brannild renounces his magical gift and the accompanying
ambition, and attempts to live as a normal person. Unfortunately, adventure
tends to follow him wherever he goes, and so he spends a lot of time
wandering, trying to escape the trouble that is never far behind.
2. Point of View and Tense

Point of view (POV) refers to the style of narration you choose when you
write. Is the story told from a first-person perspective (I), third-person (he,
she, they), or less commonly the second-person (you)? A third person
POV covers a broad spectrum from intimate (the thoughts and
perspective of one main character) to omniscient (the thoughts and
perspective of all characters).
In a first draft it can be easy to get the verb tenses mixed up, but unless
these are consistent the reader will get confused. I mix up (present tense);
I mixed up (past tense); I will mix up (future tense)
Check back on the Collaborative Writing section, can you identify the
POVs and tenses for each piece? If the writing has worked, and appears
seamless, then these shouldnt jump out at you:
The Stowaway: first person, present tense.
Half and Hour Till Midnight: first person, past tense.
Hostages: third person omniscient, shifts to third person intimate
(Henshall), past tense.
In Trick or Treat Katherine Robinson uses two dierent first-person POVs
to tell a short short story in the present tense.
Trick or Treat
Katherine Robinson
I skulk in the shadows amongst the scuttling brown leaves, just beyond
the neat little gardens lit by the welcoming light streaming from
windows and doors. I lurk beyond the gate of one warmly lit house,
gazing at the little group in the doorway, longing to join them; but I am
an outcast. My shadow in the moonlight looks almost like a man, but
under the bright lights of civilisation the scars of my creation are
hideous, and I am turned away from every door. I crouch and watch
jealously as the woman bends down to the little girl, the man stands
laughing behind her. With a smile and a wave, the girl turns away and
skips down the garden path. I tense in anticipation; I know I shouldnt
do this, I know its wrong, but a monsters got to eat...
***
I hear a scream from outside, and look out the window to see Little
Red Riding Hood running down the road. At the bottom of the garden
path, a boy dressed as Frankenstein gathers up her basket of sweets.
Angrily, I wrench the door open.
Hey! What did you do that for? If youd asked, wed have given you
sweets too.
The boy skulks closer, crouching in what he probably thinks is a
threatening way.
So you say, but experience has taught me otherwise. I am what I am.
David looks up from the bowl of sweets that are supposed to be for
the kids.
Leave him, hon, hes obviously in character.
Kids today, I say, closing the door. David nods in agreement and
offers me the bowl.
3. Writing Action Scenes

Action scenes arent just for fantasy or spy novels; almost every story
contains some action. How do you get it right? How do you convince the
reader? Matt Knighton, an occasional visitor to the writing group, emailed
us with this advice:
I have a thought on fight/action scenes. My advice is to go and find
out how things like swords work. Ive read too many fantasy novels
where the author has clearly no idea. Its worth at least talking to
someone who is in a historical re-enactment or fencing group, and if
possible having a go at using some of the weapons. This will give you
a more hands on understanding of how that kind of fight would be.
As someone who is involved in that kind of thing (Im a historical
fencer) I can tell you that fights are short and quick; they do not allow
for lots of fang around and a minute is a long time.
Other useful tips for writing action: make good use of punchy verbs; keep
dialogue short; speed up the pace. And, as always, read the work of writers
whom you admire, and watch what they do.
Here are some starting lines for action scenes:
1. X was blinded, s/he turned her/his head away, wrenching wildly
at Ys arm
2. What was that sound? he/she whispered
3. I looked at X. This is going to be bad, I said
4. Then something blotted out the light. X just had time to see Y
staring at her / him in horror.
5. They came from nowhere, riding out of the desert in dusty
pick-up trucks
6. The first thing they sensed was noise
Plus an example by Liv Bradshaw:

The first thing they sensed was noise, an unbearable shrieking that beat
inside their ears with every slight movement they made. Edmund pulled out
the sword from his belt-loop and drew it upright, using it to slice through
the deep fog as the team edged on.
The noise seemed to swoop on the winds through the mist that pushed
at their backs, leading them further along the unseen path. Then they sensed
an unfamiliar presence approaching. A streak of colour passed by their eye
and was gone. The noise stopped. A deadly silence fell. It drew them on. A
shadow seemed to stalk them in the fog. It moved closer, Edmund raised his
sword, and struck
Redraft; rewrite; reword; edit

Any writer will tell you that most of their time is spent re-writing. The
initial burst of inspiration, ideas and energy is followed by the dogged,
patient, unglamorous work of editing.
If you want to be a writer you need to learn to love editing chiselling
away at your words, sentences, pages, poems, chapters. Is it clear? Is it
concise? Is it convincing? Is it compelling? Is each word vital? Your
readers have much to distract them from your story, will they keep
turning the pages?
Sometimes your most cherished sentences will be precisely the ones
that need to go: kill your darlings is the term in the trade. Find your own
way of letting go of them. If its too hard to start editing straight away
put the writing in a drawer for a week or month, and wait until youve
got fresh eyes for it.
Its usually easier to edit someone elses work, so heres a garbled version
of A World Without by Alice Corker (all the added mistakes are my
responsibility not hers), followed by a version showing the changes, and
the finished edit. See if you can edit the first version. Read it carefully,
there are one or more things to change in every sentence. Look out for:
the wrong tenses
unnecessary adverbs (words that end in ly)
repetition
extra adjectives (be suspicious of more than two in a row)
missing or extra punctuation
random nonsense words
Of course editing is subjective, and a question of taste. Some great
writers (Virginia Woolf, James Joyce) can seem verbose and rambling,
but they knew what they were doing. To break the rules you need to
know what they are, and to develop your own voice and style you must
carve it out of your work, as a sculptor carves marble.
extract from A World Without

(garbled version)
Alice Corker
We thought, it was just one long, sweltering, hot, dry, boiling summer. After a
few weeks of drought they did the normal things - enforced a hosepipe ban,
put gradual restrictions on tap use, put the cat out. It was nothing to worry
about, they told us, no need for panic or getting panicked.
We waited and waited and waited and waited through the autumn. The air
cools but still, not a drop. The skies turned steely grey and everyones saying,
Its coming, wait and sea. Its coming now... And still it did not arrived.
The churches generally filled up as we prayed. Gradually gradually the
stories started to spread. One stranger told of a town in Arizona whose whole
system had collapsed in a state of collapse. Starved of water, high in the
mountains and surrounded by desert, they gradually dieds. In the plains of
Africa enormous, elegant elephants lay down in the sun, too parched to keep
searching.
We began pumping ricidulously the sea for water, but it became apparent
that even the sea wouldnt last forever. The Eskimos made money by selling
their ice; it was flown to China to to melt over the rice fields. Things become
ridiculous. People laughing at the dried dinners that required you to just add
water like that was the simplest thing in the world.

(showing changes)
Alice Corker
We thought, it was just one long, sweltering, hot, dry, boiling summer. After a
few weeks of drought they did the normal things - enforced a hosepipe ban,
put gradual restrictions on tap use, put the cat out. It was nothing to worry
about, they told us, no need for panic or getting panicked.
We waited and waited and waited and waited through the autumn. The air
cools but still, not a drop. The skies turned steely grey and everyones saying,
Its coming, wait and sea. Its coming now... And still it did not arrived.
The churches generally filled up as we prayed. Gradually gradually the
stories started to spread. One stranger told of a town in Arizona whose
whole system had collapsed in a state of collapse. Starved of water, high in the
mountains and surrounded by desert, they gradually dieds. In the plains of
Africa enormous, elegant elephants lay down in the sun, too parched to keep
searching.
We began pumping ricidulously the sea for water, but it became apparent
that even the sea wouldnt last forever. The Eskimos made money by selling
their ice; it was flown to China to to melt over the rice fields. Things become
ridiculous. People laughing at the dried dinners that required you to just add
water like that was the simplest thing in the world.

(original edited version)
Alice Corker
We thought it was just one long, sweltering summer. After a few weeks of
drought they did the normal things - enforced a hosepipe ban, put gradual
restrictions on tap use. It was nothing to worry about, they told us, no need
for panic.
We waited through the autumn. The air cooled but still, not a drop. The
skies turned steely grey and everyone said,
Its coming, wait and see. Its coming now... And still it did not arrive.
The churches filled up as we prayed. Gradually the stories started to
spread. One stranger told of a town in Arizona whose whole system had
collapsed. Starved of water, high in the mountains and surrounded by desert,
they gradually died. In the plains of Africa elephants lay down in the sun, too
parched to keep searching.
We began pumping the sea for water, but it became apparent that even the
sea wouldnt last forever. The Eskimos made money by selling their ice; it was
flown to China to melt over the rice fields. Things became ridiculous. People
laughed at the dried dinners that required you to just add water like that was
the simplest thing in the world.
Biographies
Ashley Cheung
I've been participating in the Chesterfield Creative Writing Group for quite
a few months. The classes have been hugely enjoyable, and I feel that with
the support from my fellow writers, I've been able to develop the seeds of
something that I will take with me throughout my life. My interests
include philosophy and psychology. My favourite writers are Terry
Pratchett, J.D. Salinger, and a range of graphic novel authors. Books that I
think everyone should read are: 1984, To Kill A Mockingbird, and The
Catcher In The Rye.
Alice Corker
I'm currently doing A levels at school. This group has been great for
getting me writing again and de-stressing; I love it but finding time for it
can be dicult! My writing started sometime in primary school and then it
was all I wanted to do. Maths and science justweren'tinteresting, but of
course no teacher appreciated my views on those subjects. I like the
possibilities of creating whatever I feel like when I write - the lack of rules
is brilliant. Awkwardly, my favourite place to write is outside, but being in
England I dont get the chance to do that enough. At least not without
getting soaking or freezing. But put me next to a window with a pen and a
bit of chocolate cake, and Ill find something to write about.
Daniel Greaves
Daniel Greaves currently resides in Chesterfield; he was famous for
quoting about his writing My writing will never be inspirational, truthfully
Im just here for a pay cheque. When questioned about his criminal record
with the United States he looked baed What records? Ive never even
been to the States. A CRB check later proved that he was right and he had
no criminal record. Daniel is currently looking for work within the
Administration or Media industries. He has previous experience working
in an oce doing administration and working in a furniture store selling
and cleaning. Daniel can easily be described as a jack of all trades. This has
to disqualify heavy lifting and working full time which Daniel is not able to
do due to kypho-scoliosis, congenital myopathy and spinal muscular
atrophy. If you have any job/position that you think Daniel will be capable
of filling, please contact the number below.
Liv Bradshaw
Im Livvy and I'm 17, I just left college to write full time! My pen name is
Lexi Michells (so if anyone wants to follow my fb fan page look me up). I've
been writing forever and my oldest character has been killing people
inside my head for 10 years now :D I wanna be published one day and
have the time to just be silly all day long and write in a garden with lots of
pretty things or in a studio with a big window to look out and a lock on
the door. I have two favourite ways to write, at my desk in my studio
(bedroom) with the door locked so people can't disturb me, or sitting
about in the house when no one's in (I move around, start in a chair, move
onto the floor, table, on the bed, back on the floor). And all of the above
involve food which probably explains why I always buy chocolate when
I'm working withNina Moss:D *away*
Nina Moss
The word I use most often to describe myself or explain my actions is my
name: Nina. I am a twenty year old, five foot two brunette (when my hairs
its natural colour) with a bit of a crazy streak (though this only really shows
if you know me well). I like to read, write, knit and cook. I am making a
jumper, writing several ideas, and on Saturdays I cook. I make a nice
chicken and mushroom pie and I enjoy using sarcasm, even if it is the
lowest form of wit.
I am the strange one in pretty much any group. I laugh at inappropriate
moments in my favourite TV programmes which include Vampire Diaries,
Buy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. I like them so much it borders on
obsessive. My favourite body part is my eyes, because they change colour
(blue, green and grey) occasionally they have yellow in them.
My favourite place to write is curled up on the sofa with some kind of junk
food within reach and the people around me watching some drek on T.V I
love getting new ideas. A character will pop into my head, introduce them
selves and basically roll the film. My head is currently crowded.
I have been known to talk about my characters like theyre real. Hell, I even
have full-blown conversations with them in my head. Dont worry, Im not
actually clinically insane, I just have an over-active imagination. Thats why
I cant watch horror movies any more, or anything with insects in (but
thats a whole separate issue).
Anyway, thats me in a nutshell. A rather large nutshell with writing in it as
opposed to a nut, but hey. Then again, I could be lying.
Katherine Zena Robinson

Katherine wrote her first story when she was seven, about a family of
rabbits who redecorated their house (it was terrible). Since then her
writing has improved marginally, and her imagination fed by the stories
of Brian Jacques, J.K. Rowling and David Eddings has improved greatly.
She gets some of her ideas from songs, but most of them seem to wander
in from the cold, looking for a welcoming imagination to give them
shelter. Her non-writing related hobbies include reading, climbing and
playing guitar, and her favourite food to eat at any time of the day is
chocolate.
Tom Williams
I'm a 17 year old A-level student at Netherthorpe School, Staveley. I don't
know when I started writing, and I don't know when I'll stop; so long as
the ideas keep coming, my pen will keep going. I mainly write poetry, but I
like song-writing and fiction too, so I guess I'm something of an allrounder. After all, trying is the last step of failure, but the first step towards
success, and I don't think you can't write without a healthy dose of both.
My self-published collection of poems and stories is at
http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/2076906
To find out more about writing opportunities, or to get in touch with the
writers above, contact Ali Betteridge, Literature Development Ocer on
01773 831 359 or alison.betteridge@derbyshire.gov.uk
Further Reading
ed. Gillie Bolton, Victoria Field, Kate Thompson.
Writing Works. Jessica Kingsley Publishers. 2006.
John Fairfax & John Moat. The Way to Write. Penguin. 1998
Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down The Bones, Shambala. 2005.
Wild Mind. Bantam US. 1990
Ursula Le Guin, Steering the Craft: Exercises and Discussions on Story Writing
for the Lone Navigator or the Mutinous Crew. Eighth Mountain Press. 1999
Peter Sansom, Writing Poems, Bloodaxe Books. 1994
Lynne Truss, Eats, Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to
Punctuation. Profile Books 2003
Writing East Midlands
www.writingeastmidlands.co.uk
Derbyshire County Council Literature Development
www.derbyshire.gov.uk/literature
NAWE Young Writers Hub
http://www.nawe.co.uk/young-writers-hub.html
BBC Writers Room
http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/
River Wolton
www.riverwolton.co.uk
Paul Kane
www.shadow-writer.co.uk
www.arrowheadtrilogy.com
Marie ORegan
www.marieoregan.net
Write Here Write Now emerged from a residency with the

writer River Wolton in Chesterfield Library. This booklet
showcases the writing of seven talented young writers
aged between 16 and 25, and oers ideas and inspiration
for anyone who wants to write.
The classes have been hugely enjoyable, and I feel that
with the support from my fellow writers, I've been able
to develop the seeds of something that I will take with
me throughout my life.
Ashley Cheung
Writing East Midlands is the writer development agency for

the region. We support and promote writing through services
such as critical reads, bursaries and professional advice. We
create opportunities for writers and run residencies and live
literature events across the East Midlands. Visit
www.writingeastmidlands.co.uk to find out more.
Derbyshire County Council Cultural and Community Services
provide advice to writers, and develop a wide-range of literature
projects, writing workshops and events, through the Literature
Development programme. We also send out a monthly writers
e-newsletter which gives details of author events, workshops,
competitions, writing groups and opportunities for writers taking
place across Derbyshire. To find out more, or to receive our free
writers e-newsletter please contact Alison Betteridge, Literature
Development Ocer on 01773 831 359
or email: alison.betteridge@derbyshire.gov.uk
or visit: www.derbyshire.gov.uk/literature

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inspiration

Prompts: Planetary Weather

Collaborative Writing: Mutiny on the Pied Piper

Nuts and bolts of writing:

Point of View and Tense

Writing Action Scenes

Redraft; rewrite; reword; edit

4 Write Here Write Now

Keep your hand moving