This has been a strangely trying week for a lot of people in the office block I work in. The main front door has always opened inwards – but not any more. Walking through it is something so automatic that it’s somehow taking a lot to deal with the change. Aside from the rather abrupt moment when you walk into the darn thing at speed, it’s just a bit bothering that something I’ve taken so much for granted has now changed.
This got me thinking about my characters a bit – since the story is very much about turning their worlds upside down. If you really want to shake someone to the core you do need to present them with something that challenges, or upsets, what they take for granted.
That needn’t be a big thing – it could be something very insignificant in fact. Often what we take for granted is little. It’s in the background, it’s comforting and it’s always there. Pull that away and your character will begin to worry and question. It’s a very human reaction, and quite subtle, but one any reader can relate to.
When Elaine returns home, the first hint that all is not well is just such a small detail. The vegetable patch outside the house is scruffy. Not overgrown, just a little unkempt. It instantly tells her all is not well at home, though the detail is lost completely on Lydia for whom this is her first visit. It’s the first whisper of the approaching storm and the first clue to the secret Elaine’s father is trying to hide.
If you’re writing yourself at the moment, why not ask the question “What are the little things my characters take for granted?” When you have that answer, you’ll be surprised what you can do to unsettle them!
Friday, 29 July 2011
Sunday, 17 July 2011
Hitting A Wall
I had my first properly negative bit of feedback today for the current draft. It wasn’t about the plot (which they like) or about the structure, continuity, world, characters or believability.
It was the writing. Or more specifically, the writing style - and that smarts! That’s like hitting a wall because your style is personal. It’s the bit of you that goes into the story and of all the things to take feedback on that’s what’s going to throw you onto the defensive.
“I wrote it like that on purpose because….” Was my instinctive response and I went very quiet whilst the matter was being “discussed”. As any writer would I think (unless very experienced or exceptionally dispassionate). Too wordy, overly contrived, unnecessarily complicated… My writing isn’t any of those things is it?
I’m not about to dumb down. I’d rather a freak accident wiped the lot from hard drive and backup then publish a “Janet and John” level text.
Of course, the feedback is, emotion aside, completely valid. I’m trying to paint a picture not inside my head but inside someone else’s head. Their attention and their time is valuable so it’s not to be squandered in order that I can demonstrate the successful use of a sub-clause. The crafting of a final draft is about painting a picture efficiently as well as vividly. It’s about pace as well as impact. Long sentences are fine and have their place but flow is just as important.
When I read my own work, or even write it, I do so with my own narrative voice. I hear the flow, the emphasis and the pauses as I wish. I am unable to step aside from that and read it with someone else’s “voice”. That is why I asked for feedback in the first place.
So I'm back on page one again. I’ll refine and ease back on the longer sentences. I’ll make the telling of the story more efficient whilst trying not to water down the picture I’m painting or the atmosphere I’m trying to create.
Then I’ll hand it back and say “How is it now?” It’s not personal when someone criticises your style. It’s helpful.
It was the writing. Or more specifically, the writing style - and that smarts! That’s like hitting a wall because your style is personal. It’s the bit of you that goes into the story and of all the things to take feedback on that’s what’s going to throw you onto the defensive.
“I wrote it like that on purpose because….” Was my instinctive response and I went very quiet whilst the matter was being “discussed”. As any writer would I think (unless very experienced or exceptionally dispassionate). Too wordy, overly contrived, unnecessarily complicated… My writing isn’t any of those things is it?
I’m not about to dumb down. I’d rather a freak accident wiped the lot from hard drive and backup then publish a “Janet and John” level text.
Of course, the feedback is, emotion aside, completely valid. I’m trying to paint a picture not inside my head but inside someone else’s head. Their attention and their time is valuable so it’s not to be squandered in order that I can demonstrate the successful use of a sub-clause. The crafting of a final draft is about painting a picture efficiently as well as vividly. It’s about pace as well as impact. Long sentences are fine and have their place but flow is just as important.
When I read my own work, or even write it, I do so with my own narrative voice. I hear the flow, the emphasis and the pauses as I wish. I am unable to step aside from that and read it with someone else’s “voice”. That is why I asked for feedback in the first place.
So I'm back on page one again. I’ll refine and ease back on the longer sentences. I’ll make the telling of the story more efficient whilst trying not to water down the picture I’m painting or the atmosphere I’m trying to create.
Then I’ll hand it back and say “How is it now?” It’s not personal when someone criticises your style. It’s helpful.
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Beginnings...
Where does any story begin? Even with a good idea of the plot and where you're going, picking the starting point for any tale is tough. Does it begin with your main characters? Is the time you pick the moment the characters are first aware of the events that will form your story?
Events seldom have a single, definable starting point. There is always something that happened before, that led to the now. The author needs to know what that is, even if the reader doesn't - but chasing that can lead to an ever-backward spiral taking you away from your plot and by the time you get back the reader may have lost interest!
Storm on the Cathe opens with an event the main characters do not witness. They are unaware of it. Yet it probably does, as near as can be defined, begin the process that turns their whole lives upside down.
"The first scream broke the stillness of the dawn and brought back the vivid memory of a morning long ago. Daren turned away and stared grimly out to sea while the chosen children were roused from their sleep, torn from their tearful families and packed into the boats."
What happens next? Keep reading the blog!
Events seldom have a single, definable starting point. There is always something that happened before, that led to the now. The author needs to know what that is, even if the reader doesn't - but chasing that can lead to an ever-backward spiral taking you away from your plot and by the time you get back the reader may have lost interest!
Storm on the Cathe opens with an event the main characters do not witness. They are unaware of it. Yet it probably does, as near as can be defined, begin the process that turns their whole lives upside down.
"The first scream broke the stillness of the dawn and brought back the vivid memory of a morning long ago. Daren turned away and stared grimly out to sea while the chosen children were roused from their sleep, torn from their tearful families and packed into the boats."
What happens next? Keep reading the blog!
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