The view from the top of the mast was so fascinating that “a minute” turned into ten. From there Elaine had a view of the entire harbour from the merchant wharves, through the general shipping to the navel yards. Three tall ships were in loading with wool, wood and ale; the three main exports off the island. The navel yard was empty but for a few small supply vessels. Out in the centre of the bay a small frigate was swinging heavily at its anchor. It seemed to be the centre of remarkable activity with boats plying from it to the main waterfront and back again.
The smells of the port were all familiar to her: tar, rope, fish, seaweed and that curious salty shoreline smell which carries out to sea and is so welcome to sailors returning from a long voyage. The sounds of the port were distinct to her ears, though to Lydia they mingled into a general cacophony: the chanting and stamping of men working to a rhythm, shouts of men calling from one ship to another seeking news or information from others of their cargo, a fair bit of cursing as the waters were busy and smaller craft often got in each others’ way, singing and music from the taverns on the waterfront, laughter from a party of sailors who had already had a few drinks too many.
This was a different world to Wescliffe, but it was Elaine’s world. This was where her father and she brought their catch on those rare and precious occasions when they were able to put out of CovTol and fish.
“Are you staying up there all day?” Lydia’s call broke in upon her thoughts and brought her back into the here and now.
Saturday, 17 September 2011
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
What Happens Next?
There’s an amazing quote from a Tom Clancey novel (Debt of Honour I think): “Days of fire and death start like any other....”.
A particularly timely thought this month as we look back ten years to an event that shook the world and, for the majority of people, happened on what started out like any other day. For the writer too, this truth is worth remembering because it is an important factor in how you manage the suspense and impact of large events in a story.
You make a decision to what extent the reader has a little bit more information then the characters about what is to come. There is no right or wrong, really, but the reader experience differs with the approaches you take.
The reader being aware that something terrible is approaching whilst the character is blissfully unaware does create a certain type of suspense. It engages the reader as a “third party” to the story - they are willing the character to “wake up” and see what to them is inevitable. It’s an effective technique and can make compelling reading.
The other is to give the reader as much forewarning as the character themselves. This approach is less about tension and more about impact. Events explode off the page with an immediacy that allows the reader direct empathy with the character and their emotions as they too face the unexpected.
There’s a middle approach too, of course. Give the reader just enough information to suspect something dramatic is imminent but not enough that they know what that might be! Create several potential scenarios - conflicting influences that may impact upon the characters for tension. Then have the thrill of the reveal when the characters are plunged into events and have to deal with them. Trying to build tension without sacrificing the direct empathy is quite a tough one to get right - but its a great challenge for any writer and if you nail it, you will blow the socks off your readers!
Outside of writing, I should add, the powerful truth of Clancey’s quote is that when you start each day, take some time for your loved ones. Keep in touch with family. Because you don’t really know today will be “just another day” do you?
A particularly timely thought this month as we look back ten years to an event that shook the world and, for the majority of people, happened on what started out like any other day. For the writer too, this truth is worth remembering because it is an important factor in how you manage the suspense and impact of large events in a story.
You make a decision to what extent the reader has a little bit more information then the characters about what is to come. There is no right or wrong, really, but the reader experience differs with the approaches you take.
The reader being aware that something terrible is approaching whilst the character is blissfully unaware does create a certain type of suspense. It engages the reader as a “third party” to the story - they are willing the character to “wake up” and see what to them is inevitable. It’s an effective technique and can make compelling reading.
The other is to give the reader as much forewarning as the character themselves. This approach is less about tension and more about impact. Events explode off the page with an immediacy that allows the reader direct empathy with the character and their emotions as they too face the unexpected.
There’s a middle approach too, of course. Give the reader just enough information to suspect something dramatic is imminent but not enough that they know what that might be! Create several potential scenarios - conflicting influences that may impact upon the characters for tension. Then have the thrill of the reveal when the characters are plunged into events and have to deal with them. Trying to build tension without sacrificing the direct empathy is quite a tough one to get right - but its a great challenge for any writer and if you nail it, you will blow the socks off your readers!
Outside of writing, I should add, the powerful truth of Clancey’s quote is that when you start each day, take some time for your loved ones. Keep in touch with family. Because you don’t really know today will be “just another day” do you?
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Chapter Two excerpt
As the household at Wescliffe was settling down for a quiet night, another household was being disturbed. A cloaked rider, braving the cold and damp, arrived at the residence of Fain-Arn’s Governor at the gallop.
The rider sprang from his horse, ran to the door and hammered upon it muttering curses under his breath as the servants hurried to answer his summons. The gentleman who opened the door to him was of advanced years. He’d served as butler at Math Calran for just over forty years and little now could trouble him.
“May I help you sir?” The rain was heavy and the night dark so he raised the lamp to better see this nocturnal guest.
“Indeed you may. I wish to see my father.”
“Master Tristan?” The old man’s voice quavered and the lamp trembled.
“Of course. Did you think, or hope, that I had left for good?”
“You are not welcome here!” The door began to close but suddenly it sprang inward, trapping the servant behind it and slamming him against the wall. The lamp tumbled to the floor, shattered and went out.
“Then an unwelcome guest I shall be!” Tristan replied shortly and strode into the building. A flick of his hand slammed the door shut against the night, and allowed the servant to slump to the floor where blood now mingled with the lamp oil.
Galvin D’Shan was in the library. He looked up as the door opened suddenly without warning and met a pair of eyes as strong and unyielding as his own. Gently, he closed the book.
“Father.” Tristan stepped into the room yet his face, like the rest of him, remained partially hidden within a cloak that appeared to generate a shadow all of its own.
“Tristan. You should not look for welcome here. You left under a shadow of your own making. Your time since has been spent in darkness of a worse sort, if I hear aright.”
“You were always well informed, father,” Tristan replied evenly. “You cast me out, and I have been forced to find a path for myself. I have learned much, and now I have decided to return.”
“Why? There is nothing for one of your kind here.”
“There is everything for me here!” Tristan’s voice rang with anger. “Am I not of your line? The Governorship of this island is mine to claim. And I feel the time is close when I shall do so.”
“Indeed?” The Governor rose to his feet slowly, wincing slightly as he did so.
“Age lies heavy upon you, father, does it not?”
“Not so heavy as you would wish, son.” Galvin’s eyes met those of the son he had disowned with a mixture of sorrow and resolute anger. “Your claim to my title was removed when you left. The King would not recognise you, nor would he ever tolerate your presence here. As your father, I give you leave to go free this night – but be warned that the sentence of banishment is upon you and if ere your face is seen again you will suffer for it.” Tristan took a swift step forward, his hands raised to strike. “NO!” The Governor of Fain-Arn raised his walking stick to protect himself and Tristan recoiled.
“May you rot in eternal suffering,” the younger man hissed venomously as he backed away. “Very well, father, you need time to think. I say this to you. I have returned and I am here to stay. If you attempt to thwart me, if you set yourself against my will, then you shall pay a high price indeed. I will break you. I will bring sorrow to you and any who oppose me. The King cannot aid you and there are non in the entire Kingdom with the power to set themselves against me. I shall allow you a few days to consider this. Good night – and take care until next we meet.” He spun about and departed the house, leaving his father to discover the corpse in his front hall.
The rider sprang from his horse, ran to the door and hammered upon it muttering curses under his breath as the servants hurried to answer his summons. The gentleman who opened the door to him was of advanced years. He’d served as butler at Math Calran for just over forty years and little now could trouble him.
“May I help you sir?” The rain was heavy and the night dark so he raised the lamp to better see this nocturnal guest.
“Indeed you may. I wish to see my father.”
“Master Tristan?” The old man’s voice quavered and the lamp trembled.
“Of course. Did you think, or hope, that I had left for good?”
“You are not welcome here!” The door began to close but suddenly it sprang inward, trapping the servant behind it and slamming him against the wall. The lamp tumbled to the floor, shattered and went out.
“Then an unwelcome guest I shall be!” Tristan replied shortly and strode into the building. A flick of his hand slammed the door shut against the night, and allowed the servant to slump to the floor where blood now mingled with the lamp oil.
Galvin D’Shan was in the library. He looked up as the door opened suddenly without warning and met a pair of eyes as strong and unyielding as his own. Gently, he closed the book.
“Father.” Tristan stepped into the room yet his face, like the rest of him, remained partially hidden within a cloak that appeared to generate a shadow all of its own.
“Tristan. You should not look for welcome here. You left under a shadow of your own making. Your time since has been spent in darkness of a worse sort, if I hear aright.”
“You were always well informed, father,” Tristan replied evenly. “You cast me out, and I have been forced to find a path for myself. I have learned much, and now I have decided to return.”
“Why? There is nothing for one of your kind here.”
“There is everything for me here!” Tristan’s voice rang with anger. “Am I not of your line? The Governorship of this island is mine to claim. And I feel the time is close when I shall do so.”
“Indeed?” The Governor rose to his feet slowly, wincing slightly as he did so.
“Age lies heavy upon you, father, does it not?”
“Not so heavy as you would wish, son.” Galvin’s eyes met those of the son he had disowned with a mixture of sorrow and resolute anger. “Your claim to my title was removed when you left. The King would not recognise you, nor would he ever tolerate your presence here. As your father, I give you leave to go free this night – but be warned that the sentence of banishment is upon you and if ere your face is seen again you will suffer for it.” Tristan took a swift step forward, his hands raised to strike. “NO!” The Governor of Fain-Arn raised his walking stick to protect himself and Tristan recoiled.
“May you rot in eternal suffering,” the younger man hissed venomously as he backed away. “Very well, father, you need time to think. I say this to you. I have returned and I am here to stay. If you attempt to thwart me, if you set yourself against my will, then you shall pay a high price indeed. I will break you. I will bring sorrow to you and any who oppose me. The King cannot aid you and there are non in the entire Kingdom with the power to set themselves against me. I shall allow you a few days to consider this. Good night – and take care until next we meet.” He spun about and departed the house, leaving his father to discover the corpse in his front hall.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)