Litopia's 1st Anthology

The end began with a whimper, where the Sun had always been at its most fervent: Rome, and in all the cities, regions, and countries clinging to the equatorial line. By the time Alfredo Giancarlo was born, the end was unalterably established and advancing without much fanfare.

It's a good time of year when you are told that a piece of your writing has been accepted into an anthology of work - finally. Phew!

Back in January, Litopia announced it's first anthology, in association (and all hard work carried out by) Nemesis Publishing.

"And?" I hear you say. "And?"

Well, I'm in it. Naturally! My 5,000 word response to visiting Rome for the first (and only) time - so far - which I'd drafted up back in 2008, has been accepted to join the work of other Litopians. The piece is called Dreaming of Flora and emerged from my experience of the heat of Rome and the stone and flora and how, like Christianity across antiquity, one can consume the other.

The first ever anthology of short fiction by Litopians will be published later this year – and all full members have the chance to be involved.

It will be a collection of the finest short fiction that Litopia has to offer, published in print and as an e-book, with the release scheduled for mid-November...

For full details visit Litopia.

I'm really pleased, as I'm sure you'd appreciate that I would be. It is a good day. The anthology is set, at present, to be published by the end of November.

Controlling the Narrative - ***Adult content Warning ***

First and foremost, here's a warning about adult content! Don't go deeper if you don't want to!


There are two ways of writing a narrative!

Bold statement indeed. Please follow...

In the first, the writer is not holding anything back. And I don't mean they're avoiding maintaining suspense. I mean, their story is unfolding with a clearly established scene involving a couple of characters who are immediately set in the reader's mind, and whose dialogue / action is clearly visualised and understood.

Now then, there is a second way of writing... and is favoured by some brave souls when opening a story. An opening such as mine - one in which I am attempting to deliver myself whilst being brave but possibly without the nous to pull it off.

This second way involves the development of a feeling of senses or style rather than immediate understanding. It's meant to bring along the narrative but does so in a way that is trying smoothly to deliver an experience instead of simply stating: "Here we are, this is what we're doing".

Still with me?

Okay, imagine this... or rather, read it:

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man came in, for she had never seen one before; but-

Rapunzel withdrew as the Prince leapt in from the window, forcing the awkward placement of his rapier to the side. His circlet of gold shone in the sun’s heavenly light and yet Rapunzel felt ill at ease from his arrival. The jut of his codpiece was unnatural; unnecessary and distracting. His face lacked, like the Old Witch, all feminine charm. But he might have seemed easy to behold, appealing even, had it not been for the intensity of his gaze; Adam regarding Eve for the first time. What could he want with her? What were his intentions?

-the Prince spoke to her so kindly, and told her at once that his heart had been so touched by her singing, that-

A strange sensation akin to nausea (but not so repulsive) bloomed within...

Here we have the opening of my latest work (after the preface you have already read, of course). In it we have two narratives that relate directly to one another.

1. The words from the fairy tale "Rapunzel" - begun mid-story - and pasted exactly as the Brothers Grimm intended. This is a narrator's voice, no?
   
2. My own narration of Rapunzel's meeting with the Prince, after he climbs up her golden tresses.

Is that easy to follow? I'd imagine so.

Now then (this does relate to my previous post on dealing with questions as they arise in the reader's mind, BTW), the narrative swings back and forth between Brothers Grimm and myself for just over a page as the BG narration moves on unfalteringly, but my own narration places Rapunzel and the Prince in bed with each other.

But, I don't want to deal with the reader's question of: Well, why are we having to listen to the BG narrative as well? What's the point.

Because if I did so, it would ruin the effect I'm trying to create - an effect I'm hoping will lead the reader on rather than bore or confuse.

The problem arises that if the reader does become confused, then I, the writer am not controlling the narrative.

This is exaserbated when my narration swaps the third-person pov of Rapunzel and the Prince with the first-person pov of me... okay, well not, me! Per se:

-she put her hand in his and said: “Yes, I will gladly go with you, only how am I to get down out of the tower? Every time you come to see me you must bring a skein of silk with you, and -

He held her down with the heat of his body alone. And she, open to his advance, floated in that ruby sea and drew up its velvet waves in her fists, exclaiming her elation with a hoarse cry that roused the night dwellers of that great wood. Breathless, she could not be fulfilled.

-I will make a ladder of them, and when it is finished I will climb down by it, and you will take me away on your horse.” They arranged that till-

I spread myself beneath him, let him push against me. Felt the heat flushing from me, chest to neck to face, as I cried out. Again! Let him thrust. Take me! I wrapped my legs about his waist, let him deeper.

-the ladder was ready

Forgive me! I write like this under the lame pretense of literary wantonness. :)

So, while I'm lost to my own excesses I'm failing to keep the reader attuned. They get to the change in tense and think: "I've lost it! The narrator hasn't a clue, and neither do I. Why the double narrator? And why the change in tense? Is this a schizophrenic narrator?"

This is made worse when, half a page later, my narrator discusses a whole new scene while the BG narrators continue.

The fact is that literary curlicues and clever tricks require grounding so that the reader feels that they are being led by someone with a map and compass. Not someone who's going to take them through this field, turn about... look at the horizon for a clue about where they're going... you get my point.

So, in controlling my own narrative, the above passage can be changed to:

He held her down with the heat of his body alone. And she, open to his advance, floated in that ruby sea and drew up its velvet waves in her fists, exclaiming her elation with a hoarse cry that roused the night dwellers of that great wood. Breathless, she could not be fulfilled.

-I will make a ladder of them, and when it is finished I will climb down by it, and you will take me away on your horse.” They arranged that till-

I spread myself beneath him, let him push against me.

The two characters entwined atop Rapunzel’s tower were gone. They had suddenly, and without my wishing, escaped my day-dream. Replaced by Holden and myself. My much shorter braid was coiled above my head and the sun-starved body of the Germanic prince was now the chocolate colour of an African-English boy. I tried to hold that moment, tried to ignore Mr Gimli’s droning narrative, or the rest of my English List class who were listening idly along with me.

It felt insalubrious to have such thoughts in public but after the fire of imagination Rapunzel’s story had started within me, I couldn’t help myself. I could see Holden pause above me, pushed up on his arms so that we could regard each other, allowing me to run my palms over his chest. My hands so pale against his dark skin.

He came on again. I felt the heat flushing from me...

Does that make it clearer? As I said, I didn't want to have to break the effect I was creating, but I have a responsibility to the reader. I was going for the effect drawn by movies when a voice over narration continues over changing visuals - but of course, the visuals will speak for themselves. We'd see the characters change from Rapunzel and Prince to... err... "Rapunzel" and Holden.

But Why? When a Reader Asks Questions

[Don't leave the reader with too many questions]

When a reader sits down to read your manuscript (obviously once it's all been polished and reshaped into a rectangle box filled with yank-free toilet paper) they do so on the pretense of a good story.

However, the one way street we all so assume we're creating here. Listening to one of Peter's Pitch responses recently and also in a discussion I had last night with MG, it is clear that the act of reading is a one way experience certainly: the acceptance and absorption of story. However the total experience does not end with boredom, annoyance, tears, joy, or thrills.

There is a separate and entirely essential element: questioning.

Writers are constantly looking for ways to hook the reader, if it's not simply to get them to start reading, then it's to keep them reading, keep them thinking, keep them guessing. The easy genre for this to work in is mystery and crime: Who dunn'it, will the cops get the badguys? Will the detective rescue the heroine in time?

But, these are your standard quizzies - look closer, there are more important, more basic questions that pop up in a reader's head as you woo them with story. Questions whose answers - answered / ignored /alluded to but put off - may have a stronger bearing on whether or not the reader gives up.

In my latest attempt at a manuscript I've started very late in the plot's development. So much so that MG asked why would I do that, considering the important facets I was leaving behind and would therefore have to deal with in flashback - not a great dramatic tool (and remember we're trying to be dramatic to hold the reader's attention.

But then, I've taken the choice to unveil the flashback as a series of vignettes throughout the novel to force the reader into changing their view of a couple of characters. Let's hope that works.

In doing this what I'm essentially doing is making my reader have to deal with a lot of unexplained issues, background elements and character motivations that I may elude to but not wholeheartedly explain (for fear of giving the game away). I cannot, however, ignore the fact that as a reader reads, questions are raised, points of interest that they instinctively want dealt with so that they can file it and move on in the narrative.

If I avoid considering these questions, and then fail to answer them at the point in the narrative when the reader thinks of them, then I'm going annoy them. Certainly, I won't be deemed the authority on my own work and therefore why should the reader keep reading?

How many books have you read that failed to tie up certain niggling plot points - and you were happy about that? None. Because we want resolution, we want to know - it's the gossip in all of us, the need to understand the truth of the matter.

Same principle with those little questions, that wish for the author not to skip ahead while the reader is still dwelling on the brief mention of the dead mother, the lesbian who used to be friends with the protagonist, what kind of town the characters live in, how that character got from A to B.

If you can't consider these for yourself it may be worth asking your beta readers to write down questions that emerge in their head as they read your work - they may not all be relevant, or the same. You may specifically wish to hold back. But if you raise too many unanswered questions, you're not on a winning streak.

Twilight

You quote something as being like your own intended manuscript and what must you do next? Read it. *SIGH*

I'd heard that Stephanie Meyer's book wasn't as good as the movie (I was forced - honest - to go and see the movie before Christmas - dragged there I tell's ya) and that many critiques were particularly critical about the book (the series in fact) for not being written brilliantly.

I guess that's a bonus for Meyer since poor old JK Rowling gets slated personally for failing to be a great writer. Meyer's got away with only her books being bad - not her.

Anyhoo, so, I've picked up a copy and found the preface pretty straight forward. All well and good. Nice hook. So, I kept reading... and I'm not sure how much further I can go.

The girl whose book I borrowed claimed that she got really annoyed by Bella's narration but still loved the books (that's a big pointer right there that the book might not be my thing). Bella's girly insights and her self-obsessed moodiness and commenting on absolutely everything, while SHOWING us her character also serves to cause the narrative to jackrabbit down the road rather than drive smoothly.

Case in point, this from the opening chapter, provided by TheTwilightSaga.com:

Oh hang on, they've got a funny way of editing their excerpt! Try this section instead from only a few pages in:

"Where did you find it?"
"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.
"No."
"He used to go fishing with us during thesummer," Charlie prompted.
That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.
"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."
"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.
"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine - it's only a few years old, really."
I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

Does this girl have to comment on absolutely everything? And she seems so bitchy about it too! I only wonder because it allegedly gets worse.

What this does show us from a learning point is that in order to get us to know the protagonist we need to have a sense of who they are, and Meyer does this by bringing forth Bella's anxiety over the new car. We definitely get a sense of her character.

A New Fairytale

So, a new year, a new story idea.

Tis one I've been thinking on for over a year now - just no time to get it down - and obviously that perpetual fear that if I try, it won't come out right and I'll have wasted an opportunity.

Anyhoo, after a feverish few days of really consolidating the story plan I've committed to an opening paragraph (the actual plot is going to take a lot more effort as I'm actually trying to work out the chronology of what to tell when, and what flashback to use where, for maximum suspense and effect).

Without much further a'do, here is the opening to my contemporary Fairytale (imagine: Twilight - Vampires x Brothers Grimmest ala Angela Carter)

Fornitale, or as I originally conceived it, Wrapped Around Your Finger:

Rapunzel! They spun out my new name in breathy whispers. Spreading the message behind my back while I lingered on thoughts of the night before. Subconsciously I felt their attention, just as I'd felt certain on my way to school that everyone knew what I'd been up to. But I pushed the guilt away, consoling myself that my secret was safe. No one could know. I scooped my braided hair from one shoulder to the other and cradled it across my chest as I lost myself to my childish mistake. Little did I realise how my indiscretion had already gone to press, weaved into the fabric of the school consciousness by the note soon to spiral over my shoulder and skitter across my desk. Its arrival was to be heralded by a fanfare of sudden quiet. A wake up call I'd feared, but long needed.

Anyone have any thoughts?

Oath Breaker - Wolf Brother 5

It's funny how the book world works. In movies, films are released on a Friday. Until recently, preview screenings were on a Thursday, but at least you knew where you stood. Films on DVD and Singles and Albums are always released on Mondays.

But books... it's as if the retailers don't care - so, I was able to buy Michelle Paver's Oath Breaker (book 5 in the Chronicles of Ancient Darkness series) on Tuesday instead of its official release date of Saturday 6th.

Crazy!

And, I've finished it. Another great stream of narrative, broken between the three leads, Torak, Renn and... no not Stimpy, but Wolf. There filters in another character's cracked up narrative for a brief moment to develop the plot and build tension but we stick rigidly to these three characters for everything.

And Paver makes sure to entwine us with the emotions of these characters, endearing them to us even when they're making the wrong choice, getting lost on the quest, or beating themselves up for their failings.

Sometimes there's no warning. Nothing at all.

Your skinboat is flying like a cormorant over the waves, your paddle sending silver capelin darting through the kelp, and everything's just right: the choppy Sea, the sun in your eyes, the cold wind at your back. Then a rock rears out of the water, bigger than a whale, and you're heading straight for it, you're going to smash...

Torak threw himself sideways and stabbed hard with his paddle. His skinboat lurched - nearly flipped over - and hissed past the rock with a finger to spare.

Streaming wet and coughing up seawater, he struggled to regain his balance.

'You all right?' shouted Bale, circling back.

'Didn't see the rock,' muttered Torak, feeling stupid.

Bale grinned. 'Couple of beginners in camp. You want to go and join them?'

So it begins, and while the last book started more thoughtfully, and this one with a spruce of action, we can already see that Paver is a master of maintaining her style and garnering reader interest.

And I've still learnt so little of these skills.

Sigh.

Anyhoo, Oath Breaker... out now. Read it. It's good stuff.

Dramatic Modes - The Dramatic Narrative

How ever did I miss this?

It's one of those very important writing tools that I've been ever so desperate to emulate, and failed to grasp.

The question is why? The answer is that I had not correctly analysed the elements and therefore hadn't named them.

As we all know from Ursula le Guin's Earthsea: To name something is to have power over it.

Back in January (my, that's a long time ago), I evolved my concept of Narrative Focus, and listed 9 elements:

1. Reflection - narrator / character reflects on the past / present / future
2. Action - physical movement, physiological movement / reaction, interaction with others / object
3. Intention - decision / impetus / drive to perform an act
4. Observation - senses, dialogue delivery
5. Perception - like observation but subjective
6. Wish / Need - future reflection
7. Feeling - how the character feels generally or their observation towards a situation / object / person (with feeling)
8. Relating - reflection vs feeling / observation towards a situation / object / person
9. Resolving - intention vs feeling / observation towards a situation / object / person

But what I couldn't grasp was the flow from scene to scene. That effortless movement that, in some fashion, propels us not simply from location to location, as if we were watching ye olde films with their static cameras, but through the world and the narrative - exactly as if we're on steadicam, at one pursuing the characters, then into montage, and back again.

A friend bought me James N. Frey's How To Write a Damn Good Novel. But, aside from dipping in and out (I have such difficulty maintaining interest in how to books, where it's all this is how it's done, now go and do it yourself - I know, that's how they all are), I never got further than halfway.

However, towards the back of the book is where the nuggets are, and where, in this particular case, Frey explains the concept of Dramatic Modes.

There are, points out Frey, three distinct ways of splicing the narrative, or three different modes, if you will.

1. Dramatic Narrative
2. Scenes
3. Half-scenes

Let me cover, point 2 first: we all know what scenes are. They're the definable units of action, where we see our characters interact with one another, develop, and conflict. When I am writing, these are the formal elements of my prose - the bits I am conscious of setting up and writing about.

Why did I cover scenes, first? Because they're exactly what they say they are - and even the worst of writers can write a scene (rightly or wrongly).

Thirdly, half-scenes are a meshing of scenes and dramatic narrative, so we don't need to cover them.

So, to the crux of the post... what is dramatic narrative?

In dramatic narrative, the narrator relates actions, shows character growth, and exploits inner conflict, but does so in a summary fashion.

- James N. Frey (How To Write a Damn Good Novel)

I touched upon this while talking about Earthsea, some months back - or at least I was thinking about it.

Dramatic narrative separates true writers from the amateur, relating to the reader this elements I laid out (above) with regard to narrative focus - the narrative topics and direction that take us slightly out of the scene and evolve the story beyond what is happening within a said scene.

AA

Doc! I've got a serious problem. It's with my writing see... I... well... there's several things really.


In order to overcome our weaknesses, our shortsighted endeavours and our verbosity, we need to face them and learn to overcome them. It's a shame I have so much trouble in that regard.

So, let me stand up and say, for the record and the group, I am an alcoholic... er- anti-brevite. I can't help myself. I seem to write only for me, and I get lost in the scene. Maybe I should break it down so that we can all see just how superficial my writing is:

1. Pretty plates
   
   Here's a term pointed to by Solvejg regarding Exposition. In my case I laden my magnificent castle of a plate, with all its shimmering shell-like adornments, raised parapets, and hanging balustrades, the glazed windows overlooking the table edge and the conical towers that point skyward like spears, with a bean. One, single, bean. And that's my plot. A bean.
   
   Personally... I blame Solvey ;) No, it's half-an-half. I needed to learn to write beautiful descriptions. It's just that I now need to let it go and use it sparingly. I suppose I'm always too busy writing for myself - I fail to see that I will be returning to these particular locations again, and because of the way I've filled out the first scene, there will be nothing left to describe. Of course, there's also the problem of no interaction between the character and location - this surely has to be my biggest sin.
   
   This eeks across to the literary quality of the piece (which prolongs reader pain, elicits confusion and closes the book). I have to, have to, have to throw away my pretensions of writing literary YA. There's a time and a place. It isn't now.
   
   
2. Lack of character interaction
   
   I never give my characters enough to say. They pretty much serve the basic need of the scene and little more. We don't get a sense of character, we don't learn anything about the wider world/scenario, just what is going on at that particular moment - and this in spite of some character template generation.
   
   
3. Stuck in the scene
   
   And yet, despite the above, I hang the entire scene on masses of pretentious description (it's not pretension when it leaves my brain, I assure you) because, specifically, there's not enough to fill the scene and last a good number of pages.

At the moment, my previous chapter looks like a fluke. I must concentrate to avoid my consternate.

Character/Narrator POV and Interlaced Descriptions

Coming out of another dark spot of self doubt I've been reading much and wide - recently finished Scar Night by Alan Campbell (who worked on Grand Theft Auto). Brilliant book, had me gripped all the way.


After my last slap down I got angry with myself, my inability to write something pacy, coherent and interesting - then I reworked my opening chapter... again. But I'm still not happy, despite Solvejg giving his thumbs up (with caveats). I was worried that there was still no pace to it (though, I'm probably too close to it at the mo' to realise - a kind of word blindness). I felt that the reader just floated along with the description. And it just has no place right up there at the front. So... I needed a breather. I'm kind of wrong, despite needing to do some more work (always more work), but what could help?...

What's great about Scar Night is that it's begun to yield some secrets about the construct of chapters - and, at times, I've begun to make use of them in my writing (mostly subconsciously). Let's look at the opening:

Chains snarled the courtyard behind the derelict cannon foundry in Applecross: spears of chain radiating at every angle, secured into walls with rusted hooks and pins, and knitted together like a madwoman's puzzle. In the centre, Barraby's watchtower stood ensnared. Smoke unfurled from its ruined summit and blew west across the city under a million winter stars.

Huffing and gasping, Presbyter Scrimlock climbed through the chains. His lantern swung, knocked against links and welds and God knows what, threw shadows like lattices of cracks across the gleaming cobbles. When he looked up, he saw squares and triangles full of stars. His sandals slipped as though on melted glass. The chains, where he touched them, were wet. And when he finally reached the Spine Adept waiting by the watchtower door he saw why.

'Blood,' the Presbyter whispered, horrified. He rubbed feverishly at his cassock, but the gore would not shift.

The Spine Adept, skin stretched so tight over his muscles he seemed cadaverous, turned lifeless eyes on the priest. 'From the dead,' he explained. 'She ejects them from the tower. Will not suffer them there inside with her.' He tilted his head to one side.

Below the chains numerous Spine bodies lay in a shapeless mound, their leather armour glistening like venom.

'Ulcis have mercy,' Scrmlock said. 'How many has she killed?'

'Eleven.'

Scrimlock drew a breath. The night tasted dank and rusty, like the air in a dungeon. 'You're making it worse,' he complained. 'Can't you see that? You're feeding her fury.'

'We have injured her,' the Adept said. His expression remained unreadable, but he pressed a pale hand against the watchtower door brace, as if to reinforce it.

'What?' The Presbyter's heart leapt. 'You've injured her? That's... How could you possibly...'

'She heals quickly.' The Adept looked up. 'Now we must hurry.'

Scrimlock followed the man's gaze, and for a moment wondered what he was looking at. Then he spotted them: silhouettes against the glittering night, lean figures scaling the chains, moving quickly and silently to the watchtower's single window. More Spine than Scrimlock had ever seen together. There had to be fifty, sixty. How was it possible he'd failed to notice them before?

So begins the Deepgate Codex. A brilliant entry point into a series that is well founded on equal part description and action, with a pace that never lets up. It's not often that I finish a 500+ page book in a week, and when I (a slow-slow reader) do, the book must be good - Shirley?

Here we have the prologue entry, a 7 page section that precedes the main events by 2000 years (hmm... let's not get into a discussion on the finer points of prologues and whether they should be used or not - here it's employed specifically to introduce 2 main characters: the Angel Carnival, and the city of Deepgate. Being 2000 years before the main narrative, it sits better as a prologue).

Anyhoo, let's look at what we get...

• Paragraph 1 - The character of the city of chains is evoked in one punchy paragraph. Description to set the scene and locale.
• Paragraph 2 - A "real" character walks onto the scene and as they arrive, we have them interacting with the scenery, showing clothing but always making it act or react to the location. It never tells us what he's wearing. Instead we know he had a lantern because the lantern's swing knocks against the chains and throws light about, illuminating the scenery. He wears sandals, we learn, because the floor is slippery. And finally we arrive at a specific place (The watchtower door) and another character.
  
• Paragraph 3 - Brief dialogue and character reaction to... blood! We learn he's wearing a cassock because he rubs the blood onto it. Emotionally, we get "horrified" and the "gore would not shift"
  
• Para 4 - We meet the 2nd character, and have a quick bit description with dialogue - and here came a big epiphany...

The narrator, in Scar Night, is third person limited, but... the narrator, having chosen the first character to align with (Scrimlock), describes things from the chosen character's pov. So, when the narrator writes: "The Spine Adept, skin stretched so tight over his muscles he seemed cadaverous, turned lifeless eyes on the priest", it's not so much the narrator's observation but Scrimlock's.

And this is what I've not noticed prior to this book. That 3rd person pov is not an excuse to separate ourselves from what is going on; the emotion, the feeling of being there. Why didn't I see this before?

This explains why later in the book we get recaps of certain things we have already covered - because we've entered a new character and now they're observing it.

Scar Night - Official Website
Chapter 1 Extract - Pan Macmillan

The Memoirs of Ludlow Fitch

The anti-climactic ending to F.E. Higgins's The Black Book of Secrets does not detract from either the message of natural justice or stark setting of a victorian age... at least I thought it was victorian. Dark Dickensian influences were abound.

The narrative turns that utilised the full extent of Higgins's three-way setup (Ludlow's diary, the confessions and the 3rd person narrator). They were ways of presenting information to the reader without relying upon other convoluted or contrived methods that would either have required out of character (for the book) info dumps or multiple povs from a many number of characters.

The ending is muted somewhat by its very nature with crisis averted and the reader informed as to what has been concerning Ludlow with his nightmares - and it's not strong enough to carry the suggestion that he has been weighed upon heavily by his "sin". The frog was too obvious a setup (but then, I am an adult... aren't I?) and Joe's reveal was as expected.

And yet... and yet, I couldn't put it down! Higgins has great ability to streamline her scenes, dip in and out and along with ease.

This in particular is of great importance to me at the moment since I seem incapable of choosing when to start a scene, how long to wallow in it, and when to get out again before the reader's eyes roll back in their head. While Higgins spends many a paragraph in describing the characters I waste many of mine in relating past incidents I hope will inform the reader upon the character. I don't feel that either is of particular importance, but then, I've still to learn much about brevity.

So, Higgins... a good read, and the concept stays with you even if the story itself disperses.

The Black Book of Secrets

In Higgins's the Black Book of Secrets we have a narrative structure composed of three separate narrators. A brilliant decision that works well to keep the reader enthused with the story. As with many published books it is a masterclass in the ways of doing things right.

As Higgins writes in the blurb:

I came across Joe Zabbidou's Black Book of Secrets and Ludlow Fitch's memoirs in a rather curious manner. They were tightly rolled and concealed within the hollow of a wooden leg. When I unrolled them the pages were brittle and water-stained, and much was illegible. The fragments are reproduced here exactly as they were written. As for the parts that were missing, what could I do but draw upon my imagination to fill the gaps?

I pieced the story together as I thought best. I do not claim to be its author, merely the person who has tried to reveal it to the world.

So it is that we have:

1. Fragments from the Memoirs of Ludlow Fitch - 1st person pov, past tense
   
   When I opened my eyes I knew that nothing in my miserable life prior to that moment could possibly be as bad as what was about to happen. I was lying on the cold earthen floor of a basement room lit by a single candle, no more than an hour's burning left. Instruments of a medical nature hung from hooks in the beams. Dark stains on the floor suggested blood. But it was the chair against the opposite wall that fully confirmed my suspicions. Thick leather straps attached to the arms and the legs were there for one purpose only: to hold down an unwilling patient. Ma and Pa were standing over me.
   
   
2. Narrative purportedly to have been made up by Higgins to fill out the gaps in the memoirs - 3rd person pov, past tense
   
   It was not easy to describe Joe Zabbidou accurately. His age was impossible to determine. He was neither stout nor thin, but perhaps narrow. And he was tall, which was a distinct disadvantage in Pagus Parvus. The village dated from times when people were at least six inches shorter and all dwellings were built accordingly. In fact, the place had been constructed during the years of the 'Great Wood Shortage'. The king at the time issued a decree that every effort must be made to save wood, with the result that doors and windows were made smaller and narrower than was usual and ceilings were particularly low.
   
   
3. Extracts from the Black Book of Secrets consisting of confessions - 1st person pov, present and past tense
   
   My name is Obadiah Strang and I have a terrible secret. It haunts my every waking hour, and at night when I finally manage to sleep it takes over my dreams.
   
   I might only be a humble gravedigger but I am proud of it. I have never cheated anyone: they get six feet, no more, no less. I have always led a simple life. I need very little and I ask for nothing. I was a contented man until some months ago when I fell foul of my landlord, Jeremiah Ratchet.
   

Higgins has used a different voice, particularly for each of the confessions, and their use breaks up the narrative structure to give a different view and feel. It works, maintaining (for the moment at least) my interest. Each has varying levels of info dumpage (check out the 2nd style)

Opening Hook, Line and Paragraph

Openings can be either amazing, encompassing themes, plot, or simply functional and drive us straight into the action. Just started reading Philip Reeve's Mortal Engines which opens with:

It was a dark, blustery afternoon in spring, and the city of London was chasing a small mining town across the dried-out bed of the old North Sea.

How crazy is that? Straight into the action, but, more importantly, straight in there with the high-concept idea that cities are great big traction engines, many stories high, that feed on each other for resources.

I spend forever on my opening paragraphs, and still get them wrong. What follows are the six variations of the openings to my latest project, a YA fiction. As I have tried to find my voice, the style of the piece, where the best place to open is (start late, leave early, etc), and who I want to focus on, I have refined my choices of theme and the narrative concept itself... until I reached version 5. Then, of course, it required others to point out how slavishly I was devoting myself to a sustained bit of action between the protagonist and and a contagonist (check out Dramatica for more on that kind of talk) and really pouring over the pain felt in every limb and inch of the protagonist, with confusing bits aside, and irrelevant descriptions during the climactical moments of the scene.

What had I forgotten to do? Relate it back the protagonist! He may have been suffering but did the reader really connect with him and understand what the pain meant to him? The situation?

No. So, it led me to another rewrite (and I don't me a quick one-two). I rewrite a chapter whole and then edit all the bloody juices out of it until it's a fine sculpture - it's a shame that so many people point out that I've accidentally carved the face off and left both arms. Alas! My Venus!

Anyhoo. The final version opening leads straight to the protagonist and relates to the themes and story message directly...

Version 1

Libraries are many things to many people. The Babylonians used them almost four-thousand years ago to store astronomical charts and constellation maps. They hold all sorts of information; facts, stories, maps, and charts; the most stalwart truths and the greatest of lies.

Version 2

‘Put those down, child. Put those down and come with me,’ said Penthera Discordia with disarming charm.

Version 3

‘Listen to my voice. Relax, child. You must put down those books and accompany me.’ The command slithered through the humid air like a python through underbrush, carving a trail towards its intended victim. The words hissed hypnotically across the counter, eased into sleepy ears by the heat rising to the vaulted ceiling.

Version 4

… and the page shivers. A sliver of polished stone, the width and breadth of a man’s chest, floats up from the book and curls over. Paper thin. In the half light the movement is barely visible.

Version 5

Skull splintering pain. Pain, like the head of a cliff shearing away from a rock face. Its cry resounds off mountains and valleys with the skreee of shattering stone as it avalanches away.

Version6

Charles James Sanura had always been afraid of words. Growing up in the city had taught him how wicked they were, spoken to deceive and written to ensnare. One word, he had learned on the streets, was enough to provoke love or fear. Two, he knew from his school texts, could equally pardon or put to death. It required as little as three – and this he did not know – three words to change the fabric of the universe.

As you can probably tell... my mind won't select an opening scene and stick with it. We have an overview, two critical fight scenes (rewritten over and over), 1 scene with the central mcguffin, disassociated pain felt by the protagonist and then my current fave (though it is still hot off the press... so that could change any time soon).

Explaining the Setup

"Sparrowhawk, if ever your way lies East, come to me. And if you ever need me, send for me, call on me by my name: Estarriol."

At that Ged lifted his scarred face, meeting his friend's eyes.

"Estarriol," he said, "my name is Ged."

Naming is a big thing in Ursula Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea. Not only is it wrapped up in the themes - to know the name of something is to have power over it - but over the first 70 pages that lead up to this extract the reader has a good understanding of that names have a special place in this world.

We have had a great setup with Le Guin clearly developing the nuances of names, so when we reach this part, and we get the explanation (info dump if you will). It is a big tell that follows:

Then quietly they bade each other farewell and Vetch turned and went down the stone hallway, and left Roke.

Ged stood still a while, like one who has received great news, and must enlarge his spirit to receive it. It was a great gift that Vetch had given him, the knowledge of his true name. No one knows a man's true name but himself and his namer. He may choose at length to tell it to his brother, or his wife, or his friend, yet even those few will never use it where any third person may hear it. In front of other people they will, like other people, call him by his use-name, his nickname - such a name as Sparrowhawk, and Vetch, and Ogion which means 'fir-cone'. If plain men hide their true name from all but a few they love and trust utterly, so much more must wizardly men, being more dangerous, and more endangered. Who knows a man's name, holds that man's life in his keeping. Thus to Ged who had lost faith in himself, Vetch had given that gift only a friend can give, the proof of unshaken, unshakeable trust.

but then, how else do you set that out clearly? Would we have understood the meaning to Ged without it having been stated here?

This also raises a point about the difference between Show and Tell... what we have with the old S&T debate is that writers must show, in order to maintain reader interest - integrated descriptions of action, emotion, characters and setup that weave together.

The character was angry... is a tell.
The character threw down his ale an unsheathed his sword... is a show.

With exposition there is only so much showing that can be done. It's essentially an info dump and in order for the reader to understand fully what they are being told, the writer cannot flourish with a show. They must tell.

The Info Dump

George Lucas always places his info dumps at roughly 1/3 of the way through. In the insipid Phantom Menace (sorry George, I dig what you were trying, and you certainly set up a brilliant Episode 3, but Menace ain't too good) this is the scene around the dining table at Anakin's slave quarters when Qui Gon discusses Jedi's, pod racing, Anakin's ability et al. After the initial setup of action and intrigue an info dump is always required to set the ongoing tone and direction of the piece - though it doesn't necessarily have to occur where George specifies, though consider any number of quests - Raiders of the Lost Ark, James Bond, etc - after the initial opening (which in the case of both the aforementioned have the culmination (Act 3) of a different/separate story) we cut back to be told by the professors or M what the mission is going to be and its importance.

Of course, info dumps occur throughout a story - they're essential to fleshing out the piece - and as with my previous post "Stop starting" I showed how information can be slid under the reader's nose without distracting (too much) from the forward moving narrative.

The info dump I'm talking about is the big one that consolidates the "why we are here", and, as with Inkheart, there is just such a scene - though this is pulled off another site (I don't yet know where it appears in the book itself because I've not got far enough):

So, Inkheart has the following blurb:

Meggie lives alone with her father, Mo, a book restorer. But a frightening new chapter in their lives begins the day a strange figure from the past called Dustfinger arrives at their door. He warns them that a villain named Capricorn is looking for a precious book in Mo's collection. And he will stop at nothing to steal it. The dire warning forces Mo to reveal an extraordinary secret — that when he reads a book aloud, the fictional characters come to life. It is revealed that long ago, Mo accidentally brought the villainous Capricorn into the world. And now Capricorn has returned to destroy the last remaining copy of the book. Soon, Meggie discovers she shares her father's gift. If only she can use her newfound powers to send Capricorn back between the pages where he belongs.

But, the brunt of that info dump is given here.

As you can see from the excerpt, it is reeled off in dialogue form - since the reader hasn't come across this news already in their reading, there is no loss in having the conversation here (though were another character to be given this info we, the reader, would not want to sit through it a second time). Also, as it's in a specific character's voice they can embellish and use their own witticisms, giving us a feeling for them rather than having to listen to the droll of the narrator.

Stop starting

A recent post on Litopia covered a specific problem in creating a join from a developing situation/observation to a memory. This is something Solvejg has touched upon over on the MaggotFarm, with regard to considering what he can use to spark a memory link (not that I can find the post right now).

Having fleshed out a join the user decided to come up with a different approach, citing that someone had pointed out she does too much stop starting - moving from dialogue to backstory and then back to the dialogue. Her excerpt on its own linked a smile from one character to that of the narrator's husband. Working it out a little made the excerpt very effective - it's something I've not tried myself yet, but, reading Cornelia Funke's Inkheart has shown this up too (funny coincidence since I've been waiting for Inkheart's arrival for three months and it should pop up now when someone asks the very same question I found myself asking as I read the first chapter).


While I think this is a great way (as with all things - in bitesize chunks) to move the action, info drop, develop and relate to character, I was thinking to myself that perhaps Funke was relying upon it a little too much (taking me away from the action - though I can see how much worse my own writing must read now).

So, first off, here's the link to the excerpt. It's in a printable format, but just open it in a new tab or window.

Let's breeze over the opening paragraph though it's a masterclass in itself, evoking atmosphere, telling us the protagonist will be alive in many years to come, setting it off almost fairytale like with this "look back on things" view:

Rain fell that night, a fine, whispering rain. Many years later, Meggie had only to close her eyes and she could still hear it, like tiny fingers tapping on the windowpane. A dog barked somewhere in the darkness, and however often she tossed and turned Meggie couldn't get to sleep.

The shift in time almost doesn't work for me - it is slightly distracting and pulls us immediately out of the time of the book - but it is effective.

Anyhoo, throughout the text we are developing the story and our understanding and attachment to the two main characters, Meggie and her father, Mo. However, here is a perfect example of just what the Litopians were discussing:

Meggie frowned. "Please, Mo! Come and look."

He didn't believe her, but he went anyway. Meggie tugged him along the corridor so impatiently that he stubbed his toe on a pile of books, which was hardly surprising. Stacks of books were piled high all over the house— not just arranged in neat rows on bookshelves, the way other people kept them, oh no! The books in Mo and Meggie's house were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of the rooms. There were books in the kitchen and books in the lavatory. Books on the TV set and in the closet, small piles of books, tall piles of books, books thick and thin, books old and new. They welcomed Meggie down to breakfast with invitingly opened pages; they kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad. And sometimes you fell over them.

"He's just standing there!" whispered Meggie, leading Mo into her room.

Right in the middle of intrigue - WALLOP - we get a chunk of information shoved down our throats. I don't deny that both characters love reading and that we need to appreciate this earlier than later as it is pretty much our description of their home, but what an info dump, especially when all we're interested in is who is standing outside and what they want. Just read that paragraph again - it takes us way out of the current situation - intriguing that Funke gets away with it, isn't it?

The key is not to do it too much - like the use of adjectives. So, let's look at a slightly different use of this tool (from a few paragraphs earlier):

Suddenly, he turned his head, and Meggie felt as if he were looking straight into her eyes. She shot off the bed so fast the open book fell to the floor, and she ran barefoot out into the dark corridor. This was the end of May, but it was chilly in the old house.

There was still a light on in Mo's room. He often stayed up reading late into the night. Meggie had inherited her love of books from her father. When she took refuge from a bad dream with him, nothing could lull her to sleep better than Mo's calm breathing beside her and the sound of the pages turning. Nothing chased nightmares away faster than the rustle of printed paper. But the figure outside the house was no dream.

Here we have a brilliant segue from Meggie's room to Mo's, giving us not just knowledge of his keenness for reading, but that he allows Meggie into his bed when she suffers from nightmares and that she is calmed by him.

And just as importantly, Funke has linked the paragraph back to the preceding - realigning and reminding us of the potential danger.

Character Templates

My most recent big problem with writing is that, though I've thought about my characters and set them against one another in a scene I've not thought properly about their angles, their needs and only briefly about their objectives.

I then spend much of my time filling out white space with descriptions of the walls, the sun and the feeling of pain a character is feeling. So, going back to basics, I've compiled a Character Template that needs to be filled out for each and every main character.

The purpose of this is two fold: 1) You know everything about your character, physically and socially. Never again will you mistakenly write that your black protagonist was a red head, or that your 4 ft 2in dwarf was able to get the cat down from the top shelf. 2) You know them psychologically in-and-out. You will be able to really understand what your character wants out of a scene, how they will react to others and, most-importantly, you will know where their idiosyncrasies lie, what they are hypocrites about and why they can't make a decision between two evils.

Give it a go yourself... maybe I should try this for my locations too!

Writer's Digest

Thanks to Donna, who stumbled upon the following link:

Writer's Digest - What's in and out, what's no longer shaking about.

Indispensable for us all, especially considering the tightening noose of recession that is putting the squeeze on the industry, knowing what is hot and not is the best way to prepare our writing for the future.

And while you're there, don't miss the brilliant list of sub-genre descriptions.

Writing from the Heart

I haven't written from the heart for so long I have forgotten how. Much of my writing in the beginning was automatic, was characters interacting, taking action, talking, fighting, evolving... but that all changed the day I realised I couldn't write proper like what real writers do, and over the recent years I've yearned and pursued a better way of life - resolute description that is fresh and new.

Alas, I have come unstuck. What I've been concentrating on has been the editing, the second stage after the initial draft in finished, and yet that has been before or while I have been writing the first draft. I type away for a paragraph and then go back and edit, re-edit, re-edit ad infinitum until I think I like it (for the night). I never move on and though the descriptions have (recently) become blessedly punchier I'd not realised my mistake - I've been writing from the ego.

If you're coming from you ego when you write, you're missing the magic and music that appears from your deeper self. By being willing to reach down into your unconsciousness, you'll give your fictional characters greater dimension, complexities, and human qualities (warts and all).

... says Rachel Ballon (author of Breathing life into your characters).

This is important for more than simply the reason of character (though that is primarily why I have submitted to picking up a book on how to write - I must do this more often). The first exercise in the book takes the reader/writer down memory lane and asks that you write for 15 minute with feeling on a moment in your life when you experienced great emotion. Feel it and write it... simple! And powerful, since what I wrote is in the moment - it may not be spectacularly written (I haven't greatly edited it or poured time in perfecting) - is filled with so much stuff that writing with the ego does not generate:

They befriended us first with pats on the back and smiles and group in-joking. We already felt on edge since these older boys were just that: older. We were still fairly young, on the cusp of moving from primary to secondary school. In comparison these boys were much broader, far taller, even than me.

We had ridden our bikes down to Millpond for a laugh during the holidays, just to go that far and take in the lake, free of adults. Now, with the group of 3, or was it 4, lads closing in around us, we knew we were out of our depth.

The questions are easy at first: non-threatening and no reason to expect the unexpected. It didn't take them long to lead us off the path and drag us, bikes as well, into the bushes. Thick and green looking from the outside, they'd seemed impenetrable, but once inside amongst the twisted trunks and roots it was big enough for them to hold us and the bikes and keep us surrounded. We were so close to the path and yet too far from help. We'd seen no one else on our travels.

That's when the fear kicks in. The two of us, on our own, far smaller and outnumbered. What did they want?

We couldn't just run and leave them with the bikes. What would our parents say? Were the bikes what they wanted?

One of them was speaking: threatening words that I can't now remember, but we'd look at each other, panicky, feeling their heavy hands on our shoulders, wrapped about the crossbars of our bikes.

Be quiet!

What did they want? What would they do to us?

We lied right from the off, pretending to be cousins. One lived in the town, the other had come with his parents for the day. There were adults waiting for us. There was no reason for the lads to believe otherwise. We were family members, not just friends. If only we'd said they knew where we were and were coming to pick us up!

I was crying. My friend, silent. Pensive, of course, but stoic. He always was. Stronger in body and mind despite being shorter than me. Brave like dynamite. I've never been so. I have too many fears.

I cried quietly, so afraid of being beaten up, or worse. What could they do? What did they want with us? I told them I suffered from migraines, pleading that it was a serious one. It could only get worse and I had to go home... be gone. It hurt so bad. We had to go so that I could take my medication. Our family would be waiting.

They were understanding. Their threats and strict faces were so understanding and let they let me go. They turned my bike around for me and passed me out through the wall of green. I was back on the path, making my way back the way I had cycled in, back to freedom. I was shaking and balling. My face was hot and red, my cheeks soaked. And as I walked away up the path I trembled and realised what I had done.

I had betrayed my friend to them. I had left him behind with thoughts of myself.

I had forsaken him in their clutches, alone, to do with as they pleased. A knot that had sat in my stomach double-knotted itself as I looked on myself and my cowardice and kept on walking. What had I done? Surely we'd been safer together? What had I done? I kept on walking.

He came screaming past me. His hand was clutched to his ear and he was cursing and crying. He went tearing away from me in tears, yelling that they'd hit him. I saw that he had left his bike behind, that they had stolen it and paid him with a punch.

I threw down my bike at that thought. I swept away the cowardice, my fear for my own safety and with him gone into the distance, I turned around. I lurched into life and charged back into the bushes, fleeing from my cravenness. I had betrayed my best friend and let them hurt him.

I ran screaming into the bushes, cussing and throwing my fists. I gave no thought to myself. He had taken a punch for me and his bike was forfeit. That wasn't right. I charged into their lair to lay waste to them or take my share - whatever it took.

But they were gone.

I pushed both bikes along the path, followed only by my shame. Eventually I found my friend on a bench. He'd failed to find help. We were still alone. We never saw those boys again and in time our friendship passed away also, though the shame lives on.

Hopefully you can see that 15 minutes of writing without thought to place, character names, or fear of failure, evokes a far stronger piece of writing than anything I have produced recently. Perhaps I had better go back to writing my first drafts and then tying them up afterwards?!

It is certainly possible that we can write from the ego and create something beautiful, but, I am beginning to believe that in order to write more broadly, more freely, and with the possibility of calling on a wider vocabulary (or making the writing appear more verbally, the way great writers can move between subjects, subplots, descriptions and back again) free writing is the way I must go.

Contrasting

A wonderful skill in writing is to establish a place/setting/feeling in relation to a character - setting some emotional weight - and then bringing them back to contrast that feeling against the reverse. This provides an excellent way of showing change in the environment or situation, or, more importantly, in the character.

On page 41 of A Wizard of Earthsea, Le Guin places Ged in the House of the Wise at the beginning of his apprenticeship in Roke:

As their eyes met, a bird sang aloud in the branches of the tree. In that moment Ged understood the singing of the bird, and the language of the water falling in the basin of the fountain, and the shape of the clouds, and the beginning and end of the wind that stirred the leaves: it seemed to him that he himself was a word spoken by the sunlight.

On page 68, after Ged has unleashed the shadow and suffered greatly from its attack he returns to the House of the Wise and the new Archmage:

So Gensher ended, and was suddenly gone, as is the way of the mages. The fountain leaped in the sunlight, and Ged watched it a while and listened to its voice, thinking of Nemmerle. Once in that court he had felt himself to be a word spoken by the sunlight. Now the darkness also had spoken: a word that could not be unsaid.

The Earthsea Quartet

I have been reading Ursula K. Le Guin for the first time this past month. I first came across her as a 12 year old in the school library, but like all books back then I didn't want to read. It looked fantastical and yet I couldn't commit to something that meant the work of actually reading.

Sigh! If only I hadn't have been so short sighted I might not be in the pickle I found myself as I tried to learn to write proper.

Ursula did, back in the 60s, what many writers still strive to do: the creation of an amazing world with tightly bound characters, histories, mythologies and conflicts. Just like Terry Pratchett (some 15 years later) she charged her work with cunning and intrigue.

As Pfangirl states in her blog - Pfangirl Through the Looking Glass:

I finished the first story of Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Quartet, A Wizard of Earthsea. People close to me will know that I’m generally very disdainful of traditional high fantasy as a literary genre – seeing as it tends to be dominated by bad, superficial writing and endless clichés as far as I can see it.

However, I have been making the effort to read some of the acknowledged classics (many of them classified as Youth reads), like the Earthsea books. And I’m pleased to report that out of 20th Century fantasy pioneers I've read: Tolkien, Lewis and Le Guin, Le Guin is the most skilled of the writers – her stories are essentially powerful parables and she writes in a style that is appropriately simple, but strangely “otherworldly”, as if told by one of the Earthsea storytellers themselves.

What follows in the next few blog posts are my observations of some of her skills as she employs them in the first book - A Wizard of Earthsea.