What have you got to lose by just writing your ideas down and seeing how they pan out?
You can’t edit fresh air – but once your words hit the page… then you have something to work with.
Go for it – you might surprise yourself!
Too many writers seem to be locked into a formulaic way of expression and the Hollywood obsession with stories, series, prequels and sequels. It’s never too late to change, to adapt and to re-think. I’ve written radio plays, stage plays, screenplays, adaptations, exam syllabuses, reports, TV commercials and even a book!
We all need guidance and should welcome a shake-up of our ideas. It’s good to be challenged, but don’t let anyone tell you how to write your story.
Why? Because it’s just that – YOUR story.
An idea can be presented in many forms…
But that doesn’t mean ignoring good advice, especially from more skilful and accomplished writers. Writing is a skill. It’s communication with others.
Consider your purpose. Who are your readers likely to be?
To give an example, I was writing my Memoir a few years ago. I’d hit a rock. My road was blocked by my own lack of energy. I was describing a scene as I remembered it, but with too much detail and far too many medical descriptions.
BORING!
Whilst on a memoir-writing course it was suggested I experiment with some direct speech. Immediately I could relate that to my scriptwriting days – resulting with an obvious improvement and a sudden injection of enthusiasm into my book.
See what you think:-
Walking to the door, I remember gathering my thoughts and considering that at the age of fifty-nine it’s certainly not unheard of, nor even unexpected. But I doubt that anyone’s day could ever be quite the same afterwards. Mine moved into a kind of greyness, like in a steam-bath. Everything crystal clear all around me, but strangely muffled and out of focus.
Rolande burrows, notes in my margin – no ordinary life
Did the consultant really say: “I can confirm, you definitely have cancer.” Delivered with incision sweetness. “There are no doubts. It’s across more than half of each of the three quadrants.”
I snapped out of my fog. I had to focus. I needed clarity. I had questions…. surely… I must have questions? What are they? What should I ask him? So much to take in. Lots to think about – but Here. Now. Not next week.
The next hour was one of my more important improvisations. A new play was being written today, all about me and what my options were. A life and death play – with no minor characters. And my immediate thoughts? What about my girls, who have all just moved back to Cornwall to be closer to their mother… terminally ill… with cancer!
I was asked if I had any questions. Did I? Only thousands… which finally, my fear funnelled-down to just one: “Is it operable?”
He suggested I speak to Angelica. She would be my surgeon should I choose to continue my treatment at his hospital. Luckily she was free. We went directly to her office. “And so Mr Burrows – may I call you Rolande?”
I nodded, slightly numbed by the images crashing about in my head.
“And so… Rolande…” she continued, “…from your biopsy we have a very clear picture. Mr Ahmed has already explained. It’s all very definite. Fortunately this is very common and we know it is a very slow-acting cancer and can often take many years to progress to the point of urgency. So you have choices.”
“Oh good,” I said, “It’s nice to be given choices.”
She suggested I talk to others and steered me towards a consultant at Guy’s Hospital in London, who in turn said I should also speak to another specialist pioneering some treatment using rods which responded to sound waves. I spent a month travelling around hospitals, speaking with those at the leading edge – and asking to see their results.
Results tell you a lot. A younger demographic usually creates better data. Beware the physician bearing gifts of success. Thus I’d learned to be ‘cynalytical’.
I returned to Angelica. I trusted her. I explained who I’d spoken with. She said that she would be happy to have me as a patient. But bluntly told me that her surgical procedure was basic, simple, quite crude, could leave me incapacitated and was better suited to the elderly.
Then she added: “If you were my father, I’d send you somewhere else. If you’re set on removal and not on a prolonged treatment, go back to Guy’s Hospital.”
And so I did. Although my heart stopped for a moment when I was stretchered to the theatre doors and greeted there by my surgeon – who wished me well and explained that he wouldn’t be accompanying me into theatre.
“No, Rolande. The team will take very good care of you… but I shall be operating on you from a room down the corridor!”
The new science-fiction age of computer-controlled robotic surgery – and even back in 2007, it was still the best decision of my life.
Well, at the time. My open-heart surgery wasn’t to be for another twelve years!”
Lesson learned!
It’s liberating to try something new. It stops your own work becoming too precious.
Branch out, embrace change, listen to advice and don’t be afraid to be original.
Find out more about Rolande and his wonderful Memoir: ‘Notes in my Margin – No Ordinary Life’ here.
