Here’s a poem, posted over at The Bilge, by Peter Radclyffe
It really made my day…
There must be some kind of way to publish this, said JB in The Bilge
It’s finished & I must find some way to pay these winter bills
Donn* has already been thru this & this might be his fate
So let us all wish her the best
The hour is getting late
All around the WBF** lookouts kept a view
While sailors, painters came & went
& a few well you know who
Outside in the distance, a Detroit diesel growled,
2 agents were approaching, the wind began to howl
(a little take-off of Bob Dylan's All Along The Watchtower)
Thanks Peter!
*Retired publisher in The Bilge
**Wooden Boat Forum
Showing posts with label The Bilge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Bilge. Show all posts
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Monday, December 7, 2009
Writers Lurking in The Bilge
When I stumbled down into The Bilge, to ask my Question for a Work of Fiction, I had only meager hopes of acknowledgement. After my eyes quit burning and adjusted to the dark, and my olfactory senses deadened, I found that not only had my boat question been answered, but I came across something I had not anticipated.
Writers.
They don’t advertise themselves as such, but under the premise of ‘takes one to know one’, they’re not hard to detect. I quoted TerryLL aka Terry Lavallee a few posts back, and you tell me if this doesn’t sound like what you’ve read on writers’ forums and blogs:
“The danger in spending so much time burnishing one paragraph is that it shines like a jewel against the less-polished background of the rest of the narrative. It's often the case that the first two or three chapters of a novel radiate brilliance, thence to trail off like a dying comet, finally flickering out in some contrived ending.
The key to a page-turner is consistency, a plausible story, compelling characters, and a driving narrative. As for structure, let terseness be your mantra; pray for brevity. Words are a precious commodity; hoard them.”
Although his profile reveals only that he is in Textile Equipment Manufacture, I had a strong hunch he might be holding back. When I posted a quick excerpt from my novel (a sailing race), he responded this way:
“Authenticity is important in a work of fiction, as I've mentioned before, so you should strive to be factually accurate. But there comes a point, when one small detail is heaped upon a vast pile of other small details, that a narrative begins to sound somewhat like a documentary.
One of the most important vehicles to carry your narrative along, and to make your tale tangible and personal, is the imagination of the reader. If you leave no room for imagination, by supplying every last minute detail, the reader is often left on the sidelines, an observer rather than a participant.
Where is the sound of the sails flapping, the whistle of the wind through the stays, the cold spray on the face, the smell of the sea, the thump of the waves against the hull? You need only hint at the visceral, and then let the readers conjure up for themselves those sounds and aromas. When the reader can imagine that cold spray on the face, and hear the whine of the wind, then you have succeeded in drawing the reader into your tale.
BTW, lovely blog.” (oh, I meant to edit-out that last bit)
Now, you tell me—does that sound writerly to you? Inquiring aspiring novelist that I am, I had to ask. You guess right! He has a WIP, a who-done-it set in Seattle, and he’s 80K words into it.
Here’s another:
In my Moaning Chair post, I provided a link to Norm Bernstein’s eloquent description (one I found by Googling “moaning chair”). Come to find out, he is a prolific poster down in The Bilge. In fact, back in early 2001, he came up with a plot for a novel about a terrorist cell in the US, and wrote the novel, his first. He was in the process of shopping it to literary agents, when 9/11 happened… and the similarities of his plot line, and actual events, rendered his novel probably un-sellable.
A good time for the Moaning Chair.
These are just two of the aspiring novelists I came across in my short time down in The Bilge. Many more writers co-exist down there—both published and unpublished. Even those without aspirations of becoming novelists often produce posts that are a delight to read (yes Mr. Left, I'm including you in the mix).
In your travels, have you come across writers in unsuspected places?
Writers.
They don’t advertise themselves as such, but under the premise of ‘takes one to know one’, they’re not hard to detect. I quoted TerryLL aka Terry Lavallee a few posts back, and you tell me if this doesn’t sound like what you’ve read on writers’ forums and blogs:
“The danger in spending so much time burnishing one paragraph is that it shines like a jewel against the less-polished background of the rest of the narrative. It's often the case that the first two or three chapters of a novel radiate brilliance, thence to trail off like a dying comet, finally flickering out in some contrived ending.
The key to a page-turner is consistency, a plausible story, compelling characters, and a driving narrative. As for structure, let terseness be your mantra; pray for brevity. Words are a precious commodity; hoard them.”
Although his profile reveals only that he is in Textile Equipment Manufacture, I had a strong hunch he might be holding back. When I posted a quick excerpt from my novel (a sailing race), he responded this way:
“Authenticity is important in a work of fiction, as I've mentioned before, so you should strive to be factually accurate. But there comes a point, when one small detail is heaped upon a vast pile of other small details, that a narrative begins to sound somewhat like a documentary.
One of the most important vehicles to carry your narrative along, and to make your tale tangible and personal, is the imagination of the reader. If you leave no room for imagination, by supplying every last minute detail, the reader is often left on the sidelines, an observer rather than a participant.
Where is the sound of the sails flapping, the whistle of the wind through the stays, the cold spray on the face, the smell of the sea, the thump of the waves against the hull? You need only hint at the visceral, and then let the readers conjure up for themselves those sounds and aromas. When the reader can imagine that cold spray on the face, and hear the whine of the wind, then you have succeeded in drawing the reader into your tale.
BTW, lovely blog.” (oh, I meant to edit-out that last bit)
Now, you tell me—does that sound writerly to you? Inquiring aspiring novelist that I am, I had to ask. You guess right! He has a WIP, a who-done-it set in Seattle, and he’s 80K words into it.
Here’s another:
In my Moaning Chair post, I provided a link to Norm Bernstein’s eloquent description (one I found by Googling “moaning chair”). Come to find out, he is a prolific poster down in The Bilge. In fact, back in early 2001, he came up with a plot for a novel about a terrorist cell in the US, and wrote the novel, his first. He was in the process of shopping it to literary agents, when 9/11 happened… and the similarities of his plot line, and actual events, rendered his novel probably un-sellable.
A good time for the Moaning Chair.
These are just two of the aspiring novelists I came across in my short time down in The Bilge. Many more writers co-exist down there—both published and unpublished. Even those without aspirations of becoming novelists often produce posts that are a delight to read (yes Mr. Left, I'm including you in the mix).
In your travels, have you come across writers in unsuspected places?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
The 'Moaning Chair'
I just learned a new word over at The Bilge—it’s not just a nautical word, but also a concept:
The ‘Moaning Chair.’
I know, that's 2 words (unless you include 'the', then it's 3).
Without getting all technical on you, here’s how Mr. Left summed it up for me:
“The origins of the "Moaning chair" is the need to sit down and hold your head from exploding after you spent a day and a half doing something completely bass ackwards. Or completely undoing in 30 seconds that it took you a week to do. The moaning chair often has a cooler of beer and a bottle of rum next to it.”
Here's another great description, by Norm Bernstein.
It occurs to me that not only do boat builders need a moaning chair, but so do we as writers, especially those of us who are in the middle of the learning curve. It’s for those times when we learn a new rule, especially something like ‘don’t use Past Participle Phrases.’ Then we realize (after we do the research so we can figure out what the heck the term even means), that our manuscript is loaded with them. Now we’re paranoid about adding ‘ing’ to any word.
Or when we’ve overextended ourselves on word count—we wrote a 150K YA novel without bothering to find out that 70-80K is the outside limit. Time to kill our little darlings.
And then we start second guessing our entire premise (or a good chunk of it), our characters’ motivations, our writing skills and true potential (or lack thereof).
Oh, what’s the use?...
And I won’t even talk about when it’s querying time and all we get is rejection after rejection, and it occurs to us that it could have something to do with the fact that our ‘Women’s Fiction’ is actually Commercial/General/Literary Fiction, and we just blew our chance with a bunch of agents. (I mean really, who ever heard of Women’s Fiction narrated in first person by a guy?! [I know, I know, don’t rub it in].) Surely, it was that and not all those Past Participle Phrases…
Oh, right, that’s only happened to me…
Probably a good time to pull out the moaning chair, cry our eyes out, then take a deep breath and consider all our options (likely, with the help of that beer or rum). I think every writer’s/critique group should have a moaning chair over in the corner so that when we make stupid mistakes, we can go sit in it and think about what we’ve done.
Yes, the moaning chair is there for pitying ourselves, but it’s also there so we can rest a bit, regroup and clarify out thoughts—it’s where we decide there is a solution, where our writing buddies come over and pull us up (or share that beer), and then we get back to work.
When’s the last time you needed a ‘moaning chair?’
The ‘Moaning Chair.’
I know, that's 2 words (unless you include 'the', then it's 3).
Without getting all technical on you, here’s how Mr. Left summed it up for me:
“The origins of the "Moaning chair" is the need to sit down and hold your head from exploding after you spent a day and a half doing something completely bass ackwards. Or completely undoing in 30 seconds that it took you a week to do. The moaning chair often has a cooler of beer and a bottle of rum next to it.”
Here's another great description, by Norm Bernstein.
It occurs to me that not only do boat builders need a moaning chair, but so do we as writers, especially those of us who are in the middle of the learning curve. It’s for those times when we learn a new rule, especially something like ‘don’t use Past Participle Phrases.’ Then we realize (after we do the research so we can figure out what the heck the term even means), that our manuscript is loaded with them. Now we’re paranoid about adding ‘ing’ to any word.
Or when we’ve overextended ourselves on word count—we wrote a 150K YA novel without bothering to find out that 70-80K is the outside limit. Time to kill our little darlings.
And then we start second guessing our entire premise (or a good chunk of it), our characters’ motivations, our writing skills and true potential (or lack thereof).
Oh, what’s the use?...
And I won’t even talk about when it’s querying time and all we get is rejection after rejection, and it occurs to us that it could have something to do with the fact that our ‘Women’s Fiction’ is actually Commercial/General/Literary Fiction, and we just blew our chance with a bunch of agents. (I mean really, who ever heard of Women’s Fiction narrated in first person by a guy?! [I know, I know, don’t rub it in].) Surely, it was that and not all those Past Participle Phrases…
Oh, right, that’s only happened to me…
Probably a good time to pull out the moaning chair, cry our eyes out, then take a deep breath and consider all our options (likely, with the help of that beer or rum). I think every writer’s/critique group should have a moaning chair over in the corner so that when we make stupid mistakes, we can go sit in it and think about what we’ve done.
Yes, the moaning chair is there for pitying ourselves, but it’s also there so we can rest a bit, regroup and clarify out thoughts—it’s where we decide there is a solution, where our writing buddies come over and pull us up (or share that beer), and then we get back to work.
When’s the last time you needed a ‘moaning chair?’
Thursday, November 26, 2009
'Lady Writer' at The Bilge PUB
While studiously researching at The Bilge, I recently received a 'private message' from one of the ‘Senior Members’. Now, I’m used to the bloggy way of doing things, and wasn’t sure what to do about the ‘private’ message. Who was this stranger? I had not seen his avatar on the only place I ever posted—the Question for a work of fiction thread that I started.
The message said: “For some really good stuff come to the pub. ”
Very mysterious…I mean, how would you take that?
Well, I wasn’t quite sure how to take it. What exactly is ‘The PUB?’ I wondered. Sure, I was curious as all get out, but what exactly would I be getting myself into? I was just too chicken to respond.
A day or so later, I received another ‘private message,’ this time from an avatar I recognized, Mrleft8 (he knows a lot of boat stuff). He said that over at the pub, there was ‘a little bit that might be of interest to me in describing a dive bar.’ He was also kind enough to provide directions. It is located on the seedier side of town—it is The Bilge, after all—so I was still hesitant, which, as most of you know, is much a part of my nature.
Undeterred, I grabbed my paper and pad, smoothed my skirt against my trembling schoolgirl legs, sucked in some courage, and stepped through the door. Surprisingly, it was not as seedy as I expected.
Instead, the aroma of Welsh rarebit and a tasty vegetable soup, chock full of tender bits of assorted roots, stems, leaves, and fruits rushed my olfactory senses. I could smell boneless ribeye steak, grilling to perfection over charcoal, to be served with hand cut fries, and a Waldorf salad. The special on tap was Molson Brador. Honestly, just standing there I put on ten pounds!
The crew at the Pub—including Bobby, who first offered the invite—have built a virtual pub experience...and with only words! Imagine that!
When Bobby asked, “Ok, water, wine, beer what’s your drink? Welcome to the pub,” I was still a little nervous.
Hoping no one else would hear, I said, “Okay, please don’t' mock and ridicule—I drink the cheapest and lightest beer I can find. But I'm open to trying pretty much anything.”
Well, before I could flip my writing tablet open, he placed a frosty beer in front of me with a wink. Some of the locals sat at the bar beside me and started making small talk, asking me where I was from. They were a very congenial lot, and I recognized quite a few of them. We continued to chat for a bit as I drank my light beer, but mostly I just listened.
Then I told them, “I'm just going to sit quietly over here at the table in the corner. You just pretend I'm not here and talk about all sorts of boatsie things.”
I guess I didn’t make too bad of an impression, (although they speculated that I was a green apple martini, or cosmopolitan kinda gal, which I'm not).
They even posted the link to this Dire Straits, YouTube video for me, in spite of the fact that they did not get a special mention on my blog post about Researching at The Bilge.
Incidentally, the PUB boasts the most frequently visited and commented on thread over at The Bilge forum, and I consider it a privilege to hang out for a few minutes here and there.
I wonder, when doing research for your writing, have you ever had to go somewhere that made you a little nervous?
The message said: “For some really good stuff come to the pub. ”
Very mysterious…I mean, how would you take that?
Well, I wasn’t quite sure how to take it. What exactly is ‘The PUB?’ I wondered. Sure, I was curious as all get out, but what exactly would I be getting myself into? I was just too chicken to respond.
A day or so later, I received another ‘private message,’ this time from an avatar I recognized, Mrleft8 (he knows a lot of boat stuff). He said that over at the pub, there was ‘a little bit that might be of interest to me in describing a dive bar.’ He was also kind enough to provide directions. It is located on the seedier side of town—it is The Bilge, after all—so I was still hesitant, which, as most of you know, is much a part of my nature.
Undeterred, I grabbed my paper and pad, smoothed my skirt against my trembling schoolgirl legs, sucked in some courage, and stepped through the door. Surprisingly, it was not as seedy as I expected.
Instead, the aroma of Welsh rarebit and a tasty vegetable soup, chock full of tender bits of assorted roots, stems, leaves, and fruits rushed my olfactory senses. I could smell boneless ribeye steak, grilling to perfection over charcoal, to be served with hand cut fries, and a Waldorf salad. The special on tap was Molson Brador. Honestly, just standing there I put on ten pounds!
The crew at the Pub—including Bobby, who first offered the invite—have built a virtual pub experience...and with only words! Imagine that!
When Bobby asked, “Ok, water, wine, beer what’s your drink? Welcome to the pub,” I was still a little nervous.
Hoping no one else would hear, I said, “Okay, please don’t' mock and ridicule—I drink the cheapest and lightest beer I can find. But I'm open to trying pretty much anything.”
Well, before I could flip my writing tablet open, he placed a frosty beer in front of me with a wink. Some of the locals sat at the bar beside me and started making small talk, asking me where I was from. They were a very congenial lot, and I recognized quite a few of them. We continued to chat for a bit as I drank my light beer, but mostly I just listened.
Then I told them, “I'm just going to sit quietly over here at the table in the corner. You just pretend I'm not here and talk about all sorts of boatsie things.”
I guess I didn’t make too bad of an impression, (although they speculated that I was a green apple martini, or cosmopolitan kinda gal, which I'm not).
They even posted the link to this Dire Straits, YouTube video for me, in spite of the fact that they did not get a special mention on my blog post about Researching at The Bilge.
Incidentally, the PUB boasts the most frequently visited and commented on thread over at The Bilge forum, and I consider it a privilege to hang out for a few minutes here and there.
I wonder, when doing research for your writing, have you ever had to go somewhere that made you a little nervous?
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Research in 'The Bilge'
I was this close to thinking Story for a Shipwright was done. Problem was, I couldn’t quell that nagging little notion that the ending needed something more. Then a beta-reader confirmed it. So, like the good little progressive writer that I am, I began drafting out an extended ending, where I introduce a rather tense situation. To break it up a bit, I decided to have Samuel (the shipwright and narrator) engage in some boat work.
Now, this novel is not about building boats, so I haven’t gone all technical with it—in fact there are places where I think it could stand some expanded and authentic terminology. This, of course, requires more research. I do live in a state surrounded by water, but the likelihood of finding a boatyard engaged in launching a boat this time of year is, well, nil.
Of course there are all sorts of online encyclopedias out there, and I have downloaded volumes of information on nautical terminology and boatbuilding how-to’s. I also love pouring over our subscription to WoodenBoat magazine. And, they just happen to have an online forum for boat builder enthusiasts.
There were a number of forums on which I could have started a thread, but I stumbled down to the bottom of the list and found The Bilge. Honestly, I just love that word, and it seemed to be the catchall for things that don’t seem to fit 'Misc and Boat Related' (although I did end up posting there too).
In case you don’t know what a bilge is, here are two definitions that sum it up:
1.
a. either of the rounded areas that form the transition between the bottom and the sides on the exterior of a hull.
b. Also, bilges. an enclosed area at the bottom of a vessel where seepage collects.
2. Slang. foolish or worthless talk or ideas; nonsense.
As soon as I arrived, they politely informed me that I had probably posted in the wrong place. I felt like a schoolgirl walking into a seedy old dive amidst a bunch of salty, seafaring bilge rats looking up over their pint of brew at the new lad (due to the ambiguity of ‘jbchicoine,’ they though I was a guy).
“Real research is done ‘aboveboard’,” they informed me, as one of the other guys pulled out a chair.
“Awe, leave the lad alone—we should be flattered that he’s even asking our opinion,” he muttered.
All at once, they seemed to realize they had a new audience and the advice came pouring in like—well, like bilge water!
Once I collected enough information to get me started, I posted my rough draft and opened it up for embellishment:
I worked the railway winch, letting out the cable, inching it along the gentle incline as Derek and Mitch walked its length, out the back exit, toward the ramp. The cradle creaked and the cable groaned as the motor whined. Metal rollers screeched on the tracks where I hadn’t greased well enough, but it crept along, stuttering here and there. As soon as water lapped its keel, I took Derek’s place. I figured that if the whole thing were going to crash on its side, it might as well put me out of my misery. At the rate this day had been going, I half-expected it.
This is what I ended up with (still open to embellishment, if anyone cares to do so). I think it's way better:
I worked the railway windlass, releasing the cable, paying it out along the gentle decline as Derek and Mitch walked the Marjie B’s length, out the back doors, toward the ramp. I had coated the cable, chains, and pulleys so heavily in grease that they couldn't screech or groan if they had to. Only the trucks grumbled on the tracks, occasionally crunching bits of gravel as they crept the length of the rails with barely a stutter. Surprisingly, the motor purred without any more misbehavior. Once water lapped her keel, I took Derek’s place. I figured that if the whole thing were going to crash on its side, it might as well put me out of my misery. At the rate this day had been going, I half-expected it.
Here’s a well-expressed response I received from one of the guys, TerryLL:
Not bad, but still could stand some tweaking. The danger in spending so much time burnishing one paragraph is that it shines like a jewel against the less-polished background of the rest of the narrative. It's often the case that the first two or three chapters of a novel radiate brilliance, thence to trail off like a dying comet, finally flickering out in some contrived ending.
The key to a page-turner is consistency, a plausible story, compelling characters, and a driving narrative. As for structure, let terseness be your mantra; pray for brevity. Words are a precious commodity; hoard them.
Gotta wonder if he’s in the biz. To be honest, they’re all rather articulate—eloquent even—for a bunch of ‘bilge rats’ (their term, not mine).
For me, hanging out at The Bilge has been the next best thing to the boatyard.
Now, this novel is not about building boats, so I haven’t gone all technical with it—in fact there are places where I think it could stand some expanded and authentic terminology. This, of course, requires more research. I do live in a state surrounded by water, but the likelihood of finding a boatyard engaged in launching a boat this time of year is, well, nil.
Of course there are all sorts of online encyclopedias out there, and I have downloaded volumes of information on nautical terminology and boatbuilding how-to’s. I also love pouring over our subscription to WoodenBoat magazine. And, they just happen to have an online forum for boat builder enthusiasts.
There were a number of forums on which I could have started a thread, but I stumbled down to the bottom of the list and found The Bilge. Honestly, I just love that word, and it seemed to be the catchall for things that don’t seem to fit 'Misc and Boat Related' (although I did end up posting there too).
In case you don’t know what a bilge is, here are two definitions that sum it up:
1.
a. either of the rounded areas that form the transition between the bottom and the sides on the exterior of a hull.
b. Also, bilges. an enclosed area at the bottom of a vessel where seepage collects.
2. Slang. foolish or worthless talk or ideas; nonsense.
As soon as I arrived, they politely informed me that I had probably posted in the wrong place. I felt like a schoolgirl walking into a seedy old dive amidst a bunch of salty, seafaring bilge rats looking up over their pint of brew at the new lad (due to the ambiguity of ‘jbchicoine,’ they though I was a guy).
“Real research is done ‘aboveboard’,” they informed me, as one of the other guys pulled out a chair.
“Awe, leave the lad alone—we should be flattered that he’s even asking our opinion,” he muttered.
All at once, they seemed to realize they had a new audience and the advice came pouring in like—well, like bilge water!
Once I collected enough information to get me started, I posted my rough draft and opened it up for embellishment:
I worked the railway winch, letting out the cable, inching it along the gentle incline as Derek and Mitch walked its length, out the back exit, toward the ramp. The cradle creaked and the cable groaned as the motor whined. Metal rollers screeched on the tracks where I hadn’t greased well enough, but it crept along, stuttering here and there. As soon as water lapped its keel, I took Derek’s place. I figured that if the whole thing were going to crash on its side, it might as well put me out of my misery. At the rate this day had been going, I half-expected it.
This is what I ended up with (still open to embellishment, if anyone cares to do so). I think it's way better:
I worked the railway windlass, releasing the cable, paying it out along the gentle decline as Derek and Mitch walked the Marjie B’s length, out the back doors, toward the ramp. I had coated the cable, chains, and pulleys so heavily in grease that they couldn't screech or groan if they had to. Only the trucks grumbled on the tracks, occasionally crunching bits of gravel as they crept the length of the rails with barely a stutter. Surprisingly, the motor purred without any more misbehavior. Once water lapped her keel, I took Derek’s place. I figured that if the whole thing were going to crash on its side, it might as well put me out of my misery. At the rate this day had been going, I half-expected it.
Here’s a well-expressed response I received from one of the guys, TerryLL:
Not bad, but still could stand some tweaking. The danger in spending so much time burnishing one paragraph is that it shines like a jewel against the less-polished background of the rest of the narrative. It's often the case that the first two or three chapters of a novel radiate brilliance, thence to trail off like a dying comet, finally flickering out in some contrived ending.
The key to a page-turner is consistency, a plausible story, compelling characters, and a driving narrative. As for structure, let terseness be your mantra; pray for brevity. Words are a precious commodity; hoard them.
Gotta wonder if he’s in the biz. To be honest, they’re all rather articulate—eloquent even—for a bunch of ‘bilge rats’ (their term, not mine).
For me, hanging out at The Bilge has been the next best thing to the boatyard.
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