How Writers Write, but Not Me ©
By
Michael Casey
Oh no, not another self indulgent piece, I just want a STORY. Well if you Listen you may just discover something to help yourself to Write your own stories, then you won’t need me, just like Nannie McFee. So a writer will begin with an idea and then sketch it out, then he’ll put his first words on the page. I gave up the page in 1989, yes 30 years ago. I decided that I wanted things on a computer so I bought an Atari 520 which cost the earth, 300quid back then, maybe a month’s wages. But I was single and no wife or kids, a bit like being Gay or Lesbian, without the gay of lesbian bit. In clear English no Family, so no outgoings. Gay and Lesbians are the richest because a family costs money.
I had written 238 pages on a typewriter, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker was finished on Leap Years Day 1988. After I finished I made two photocopies which I may have in a plastic bag somewhere. The original is lost. Then I got my Atari. I’m thinking maybe I actually got it at the end of 1988 and not 1989. Anyway I wanted my masterpiece to be on computer, and scanning wasn’t even thought of back then. So I thought I’d copy type it and so have it on a computer.
This was so boring a process, and new ideas formed so I wrote an expanded version of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. It then ended up as 616 pages or so.I had also written Shoplife my comic play masterpiece, which was accepted by a Professional Theatre, though not finally produced. I wrote a couple more plays too, including They Are Knocking Our Street which was based on one chapter from BBU. So When I was writing an expanded version of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker I used the play as material to go back into the book. A circle so to speak, from chapter 8 to play then back into chapter 8.
I did not do any rewriting, or more “drafts” So effectively everything I write is first draft. Yes I don’t have a Monet on the wall like Jeffrey Archer, but he does 13 rewrites I believe, and that would kill the love of words in me. Maybe if he reads this he’ll send me a photocopy to hang on my wall, assuming I like the Monet, he can send an email first with a photo in, then on approval he can send the photocopy framed.
So there you have it, I am a storyteller, I hope you’d give me a seat by the fire and a glass of Stella Artois to wet my lips with. I sit here in front of the screen and let the story drip out or pore out as the words dictate. You could say I turn the tap on the cask and the story comes out. I don’t know how big the cask is, or even what is in the cask. I just hope it tastes good and is not bitter to the taste.
Because of my age and because of my decades or listening to stories on BBC Radio4 and watching hundreds of films, and reading 100s or even a few 1000s of books, as well as watching 100s of bands perform in an upper room I have an idea of how a story should sound. Even a lifetime of going to Mass and listening to the Readings and the Priests give sermons all of this means I know words. Yes that’s a pompous statement perhaps, but I’ll say it anyway, I know words. I know nothing of:- cars, or electrics or brick laying, or carpentry, I’m not a carpenter’s son, I am the son of a Kerry Blacksmith.
Being a radio listener for so long before I started to write, 20 years of constant Speech radio, means I notice words, they mean more to me than most people. A mechanic knows by the sound if a car is wrong, just as a plumber or heating engineer will also know. So that is my only skill. Now that my Health means I have a pain day, then a good day, a no sleep night thanks to Tinnitus and all other manner of health annoyances, this means being able to Write means more to me than the average illiterate blogger.
There are nuances of words, just as there are nuances of pain. But lets stick to words. I write and I let it pour out, generally I don’t stop and rack my brain for a word here and a word there. If the words aren’t coming then finish the story. I’m old enough and experienced enough to know if what I’m writing flows or not. A story has its own life, it’s own flavour. Take an egg you can do this literally later on. Boil one egg, scramble one egg, poach one egg, fry one egg. Now taste test it, you can do it while you have it for tea with your old mum. Each egg tastes different. Scrambled and fried would be my favourite, hard boiled would be third, as for poached I’d give that to the cat. You could mix in Heinz beans as you scramble eggs and then you have another flavour. Or soak the egg into bread before frying it, then you have French toast which I discovered in 1980 in Boston Mass.
Now accidentally I’ve given you a cookery lesson. A paragraph ago I did not even know I was going to write that. I have SatNav that gets me to the bottom of the page, the path of words leads the way, leads the story. Just as I didn’t know a sentence ago that I’d write the path of words, SatNav led to the choice of the path of words. Yes it really is that quick and random.
This morning at breakfast I said to my girls that my body was all broken and cracked with pain, just like Humpty Dumpty, would I, could I even be put back together again whole and pain free? One daughter laughed aloud, she’s sat in the corner like Little Jack Horner revising for her A levels. I added the Humpty Dumpty line in the morning because it’s Easter and we had Easter Eggs, so it was a subliminal line, just as Little Jack Horner was a second ago.
Subliminal influences feed the fire of my imagination, but having over 50years of memories and more, maybe 56 years of memories as I can remember when my sister came home from hospital as a newborn. There is a pool of memory to draw from, or in my case an Ocean to draw from, so I cast my net and pull the fish ashore, and then I feed the Page and all my readers . That’s all I’m going to say now as my stomach needs feeding, and no I won’t be eating Birds Eye fish fingers.
p.s. try always to finish with a smile line, then you’ll be remembered
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