There was a new experience for me this week when I gave a talk about my writing to a live audience. And no, they hadn’t been tricked into coming along and then being locked in the room! At least, that’s what I was told.
Category: Ben Westerham non-fiction
Ben Westerham non-fiction related blog posts.
I completed the initial draft of a new novel about three week ago and then the first re-write this week. Sitting back as I saved the document on my PC, I finally had to acknowledge a feeling I’ve been aware of for some time but have been fending off. I need to set myself free.
A close relative has worked in the newspaper business for over two decades, first as a journalist and then as editorial staff. This has provided me with a close up view of what happens to an industry when it fails to adapt to a changing world and, especially, to its customers’ needs and expectations. I can’t help but realise this has some important lessons for me as a writer and publisher.
Every once in a while, I will find myself writing a new character that I know I want to belong very much to a particular time and place. Right clothes. Right interests. Right beliefs. The list can go on and on. There’s a lot to take into account and I want to get things right.
I’m lucky that we have a study, a room in the house with a desk, where the PC lives and where we keep most of our many books. In theory this gives me a place to hide away, free from interruptions, when I’m writing. The thing is, that’s not what happens in practice.
The origins of the British Secret Service can be traced back to 1909 with the establishment of the Secret Service Bureau. Initially staffed by just two officers, Royal Navy Commander Mansfield Cumming and Army captain Vernon Kell, its initial focus was on addressing concerns about German espionage activities based largely on German nationals in Britain.
If you’re of an old enough vintage, you may recall a song by the band Orange Juice where they suggest you might like to rip it up and start again. Well, metaphorically speaking, that is what happened to some of my writing this week. It’s a sad tale but not one without its upside.
Romney Marsh is a large, flat expanse of land on the southern coast of England overlooking the English Channel. Criss-crossed by a seemingly endless maze of dykes and water-filled ditches, and dotted here and there with Medieval churches and old farm buildings, it can feel isolated and cut off from the rest of the world in both time and place.
Seeing how it’s almost the end of the year, I thought it would be a good time to share with you some of my favourite reads of the last twelve months, on both the fiction and non-fiction front.
In truth, I’ve been very disappointed with a number of the fiction books I’ve picked up this year and I stopped reading several of them after thirty or forty pages. Once upon a time, I would have pressed on regardless, but these days I am far less tolerant and more willing to move on to something else. Although this much reduced the pool for consideration here, there were still some good enough ones to be included.
So, let’s crack on, starting with the fiction books.
Realistically, I’ve got about just a week and a half of full-time work remaining before we tumble merrily into the Christmas holiday period and I can’t wait for that. I mean, it’s time for presents, and who doesn’t like that? So, now seems like as good a time as any to take a quick peek back at 2023, especially as it was a big year for me.