Now then, part two of the miracle is that the first draft of "Mirror Man" is now complete and the editing proces began in earnest today.
With Christrmas fast approaching I'm not sure how far it will be progressed, but I'm on it and that is a significant milestone.
As the season seems to be well and truly upon us, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a healthy and happy 2008.
I sent my pitch for "Mirror Man" in to Bookends, LLC for a critique, a few weeks ago.
The response was not only very complimentary and encouraging - particularly as I'm now first-drafting the final chapter - but it gave me some invaluable pointers on how to polish it further and increase my chances of catching a prospective agent's attention.
The Pitch:
Valentine is a Child of Loki and one of the original Berserker tribesmen of Norse Folklore. With unobstructed access to the minds of his chosen victims and the ability to assume their precise physical characteristics, he takes what he wants, when and from where he pleases. He is the ultimate identity thief, unconstrained by the password-encrypted barriers his human counterparts face. Only a conscience and the inherent loneliness his immortality brings, stand between him and the decadent life of leisure lead by his brothers and sisters.
The Critique:
I love this! I really think this sounds cool. My only suggestion is not to let it dwindle out. Give us the conflict in the last sentence. What is this book about and what does Valentine face? I hope the book isn’t entirely an internal battle for Valentine on whether to use his powers or not. That would be boring. No, I want to know what he’s going to be up against in this book. If you can nail that last line you have an absolute winner here.
I'll get to work in that final sentence of the pitch soon, hopefully incorporating more specifics on the conflict.
Many thanks, Jessica!
No Monday Morning Miracle this week, other than the miracle of not being selected for a jury yesterday on my first foray into the US legal system.
It was an interesting day that began with a head-scratch moment when the jury selection process was explained as the principle of 'Vodyre' (pronounced by all ... Vo Dyer) Investigation lead me to the true phrase, Voir Dire, clearly a French phrase whose meaning was far clearer than 'Vo Dyre'.
After getting put on a panel, from which 12 jurors would be selected, we then spent the day 'seeing' (Voir) and speaking (Dire) with the respective legal counsels until, several hours later, they chose their favourites and let the rest of us go home until the next time.
I suspect the case is going to be a long one so I was relieved to be let go.
The courts, in their generosity, pay $6.00 for the day which, when you take account of parking ($5.50), means that while I may have lost a day's wages, I did make fifty cents. On the principle of 'another day another dollar' I guess my day wasn't half bad.
On the plus side, invaluable research into the legal system was had for free and notes taken for future novelistic endeavours.
I haven't posted too much of late as I've been on a roll with 'Mirror Man' - just two chapters to complete the first draft then the editing begins in earnest.
Hope you're all doing well in the lead up to Christmas and if I haven't been by your blog lately don't worry, it's not you, it's me.
When I arrived in America I was still a smoker so my trips to the store involved conversations such as:
“Do you sell fags?”
“No! Now get out of here, you pervert”
And at work when I’d tell my colleagues I was ‘going out to smoke a fag’ they looked on in terror, expecting me to shoot the rather effeminate security guard.
Having a fag in my mouth, a spare fag, or worse still, asking to ‘bum a fag’ were phases I quickly weaned myself off. Eventually I quit smoking altogether – the potential for embarrassment was too acute.
Other areas of confusion involved the word ‘fanny’ and for months I would cringe when I heard of somebody being kicked in the fanny or scratch my head in wonder if told about somebody falling on their fanny.
Again I was able to adapt, although I still don’t use the word myself. ‘Arse’ is more effective and, with emphasis on the ‘R’, still makes my colleagues and American friends laugh raucously.
But there are some words I am just unable to accept and two in particular, spring to mind:
"Winningest" and "Burglarized"
To put these absurdities into context, here’s a promotional piece of blurb I read about a certain alarm company, several weeks ago:
Homeowners subscribing to [Alarm Company X]’s monitoring program have been burglarized 45% less households subscribing to other providers. That’s why [Alarm Company X] has again won the [subdivision] award for preferred home security provider, making us the winningest Home Security providor in [subdivision] since 1998.
Worse still, when I point out this butchery of the English language, I’M the one who gets ridiculed!
Another thing I have not been able to get used to is “Y’All” and the international use of ‘like’ and ‘you know’ to punctuate a sentence.
I admit that alone, ‘Y’all” is a harmless colloquialism and we all use them. But something about the radio DJs who accompanied me to work this morning, really disturbed me. I'll try and re-create the dialogue that took place between the three hosts of the show I was listening to:
Host 1: [Excited] Ooh, ooh. Y'All! Listen to this, Y'All.
Host 2: Uh huh?
Host 3: What?
Host 1: I was in Y'All's neighborhood on Saturday and I went into, like...you know...Kroger. Y'all have a bigger Kroger than, like, my, you know, neighborhood. Anyway, I'm in Kroger and this guy goes 'You're [minor local celebrity] and I go, like, 'yeah'. You know.
Host 2: You love it when that happens, it's, you know, it like, makes you feel all cool.
Host 3: I bet you asked for like, some free stuff. Y'all do it, I know Y'all do.
At that point I tuned out and started composing this post in my head. I remembered back to when the 'Teletubbies' first appeared on tv; I thought it was a terrible program idea, teaching kids to speak so incorrectly. It seems that I have always had a bee in my bonnet about this topic. Back then I wasn't brave enough to say so. For one thing, it would have been admitting to watching the 'Teletubbies' and for another, my friends would have beaten me senseless, chanting 'Teachers Pet' and 'Mike's a Girly swot.' (Yes, learning was considered a girly activity in my school.)
Don't get me wrong, I don't think we should all rush out and buy a plum to stick in our mouths and talk like the British Aristocracy, but we should at least know how to speak and write properly before we chose not to.
If your job is in the media, surely you should always strive to speak and/or write well? Is it really too much to expect a radio or TV announcer to have the ability to form a coherent sentence without punctuating it with, like, you know, garbage?
By the time I got to work I had some serious doubts about this post and potentially exposing myself in this way. After all, moaning about 'kidspeak' is the domain of the 'old fart', so I eventually, grudgingly, decided to let it go.
Then I got a text message from my daughter. (Yesterday she got a new phone and that's like, a whole 'nother, like, story, right there! You know?)
The message went like this:
'Thanx for da fone. It much better dan da nokia!'
Before I had a chance to lecture her, I saw in the instruction manual, right there in black and white, all about how da kl ppl spk in txt msgs. Dem ppl at da fone cmpny r gr8, rnt dey?
What with these radio muppets in her ear and the cell phone/messenger making my her write 'I luvd da movie, it gr8', my daughter can look forward to growing up with, like, y'know, a totally kl vocab, Y'all.
And even if I do go "listen up, Yo." she just, like, goes "whatever" and I'm like "Wow, this sux."
Dude. Does that mean I am now an official resident of 'Old Fartsville'? I guess it does.
And while I'm at it, I hate the word 'creme' and the phrase 'I'm all about that'.
And it's not 'I could care less', it's 'I Couldn't care less'. Isn't that obvious?
That's it. I'm going home now!
I can't believe this is a genuine article, but I still love:
"What is the big Fucking joke?"
and
"Just this morning I had to tell an English lady...that there were no Fucking postcards."
Swiss Toni’s wonderful Shuffleathon 2007 initiative has exposed me to some great new music and the previously unknown complexity of writing a music review!
The idea of the Shuffleathon is to send ST your name and address and prepare your own mix tape (CD) – representative of what ever you chose. ST then puts all the participants into his very big hat and draws out names. I drew Asta and a few weeks later received an exceptionally well put together disk for review, here on my blog.
All of the artists chosen are Canadian and are currently ‘drawing crowds’ as Asta put it.
Many of the songs have a pleasingly raw, demo-tape quality to them and remind me of many of the bands I watched in pubs, growing up in England. There’s very little over-production or post-recording editing and one thing is clear, they are all ‘real’ musicians.
Not everything was to my taste; some tracks became background musak and some irritated me to skip to the next track but the majority were songs I’m glad to add to my collection and one or two will receive significant overplay for the next few weeks.
So, here goes…
1. The Stills – In The Beginning.
This is reminiscent of the Scottish bands of the 80’s, though I can’t quite put my finger on what particular song it reminds me of. The track starts out promisingly enough and builds up well instrumentally, with tambourine and piano adding to the guitar but the vocals never quite make for me. It just lacks a little ‘oomph’.
2. The Hidden Cameras – Wandering.
On first hearing I couldn’t decide if I liked or hated this mid tempo tune, but I knew I’d fall one way or the other – there would be no in between. I’m usually a fan of the piano ballad but on subsequent listens, the chirrupy repetition of track’s title, ‘wandering’ started to grate. I couldn’t connect with the vocals again.
The song’s too flimsy and soft - something kept making me think of ‘Rainbow’ (Bungle rather than Blackmore).
3. Stefi Shock – Salut Chantal
My Francophone leanings were catered to by this track which opened up with an attention grabbing funky wah wah guitar intro, culled straight from Isaac Hayes.
Coupled with the low, Gainsbourg-esque tone of Shock, I found this a truly likeable offering.
I haven’t yet listened to this while drunk so I don’t know exactly what he’s singing about yet, but the time will soon come.
4. Sloan – Money City Maniacs
A catchy, upbeat tune with a memorable hook. Some nice 80’s style power chords and lyrics that suggest – though I can’t swear to it –they may be taking the piss out of bands touring and the excesses thereof.
Rejection and the art of coping...
With thanks to Dylan Moran for this Monday laugh.
It’s been an interesting week, with a few days spent in Louisiana and a few good solid hours of writing ‘Mirror Man’ each day.
I love the drive home fromhere as I avoid I-10 for as long as possible, taking the scenic route along the edge of the lake and then follow the coast road back into Texas.
In the summer, the drive always brings encounters with wildlife; turtles and occasional gators in the road. I stop and pick up the turtles, saving them from certain reptilian pancakedom, but the gators just get a blast on the horn and a few angry revs of the engine. After that, they’re on their own.
The coast road inspires me to pull over and take a small walk on the sand. I miss living right on the ocean and when ever I find myself on a quite shore, I make a promise that one day I’ll move back to a coastal address, preferably a Caribbean one.
Anyway, back on topic…
I’ve struggled with defining the genre of ‘Mirror Man’. The protagonist is the direct descendant of a Norse God, which might place it firmly in the realms of a fantasy novel, although there is little reference or relevance to his godly heritage, beyond immortality.
I’m a huge fan of Neil Gaiman’s works and I would like to think I could occupy the same genre as ‘American Gods’ or ‘Anansi Boys’.
That being said, there are some gruesome scenes in my novel and some elements that I’d like to believe were psychological horror.
In short, I’m not sure how to classify it at the moment so, as a procrastination tool, I thought I’d set out my understanding of the various genre options.
Mystery/Suspense
Works that usually revolve around a mysterious or unexplained event or a crime that is not solved until the story comes full circle, to keep the reader in suspense. A good mystery/Suspense novel, for me, follows the process of solving the mystery, rather than the event or crime itself. It presents puzzles and red herrings for the reader to digest and analyse.
According to my google searches, subgenres include: historical, detective, supernatural, noir, detective fiction, and Miss Marple type whodunits.
Thriller
Danger-filled plots with high stakes, where the protagonists and their loved ones are in serious jeopardy. Although thrillers, like mysteries, often involve solving of a crime, the primary conflict is often imminent threat that the protagonists must overcome at all costs.
Crime Fiction
Obviously, the plot of a crime fiction novel focuses on the actual planning and perpetration of a crime rather than the detection and bringing to justice, the criminals.
Fantasy
Fantasy works often contain elements that are not of this world, such as mystical creatures, giants, faeries, goblins, gnomes, wizards, and witches. Magic, spells, swords and sorcery, supernatural powers, talking animals, and fanciful kingdoms abound in Fantasy works. Plots often centre around a quest, damsels in distress, epic battles of good verses evil.
Subgenres include mythology, dark fantasy, and graphic novels.
(So far, I think I’m still in this genre…)
Science Fiction
These are stories with a basis in the futuristic - a well-crafted blend of scientific fact andfiction. Science, both real and imagined (but with a basis in reality), contributes to the storyline.
It would seem easy to blur the lines between Science Fiction and Fantasy, wouldn’t it?
Historical Fiction
Stories based in a particular era of the past, often using a genuine setting, place or event such as the American Civil War, The French Revolution, the reign of Elizabeth I, etc.
Historical fiction is often quite literary work and the historical period is expressed in the language of the prose. Even in fictional tales, accurate historical facts and details are employed to bolster the story.
Chick Lit
Usually light, life experience based tales aimed at and about women. The protagonist(s) usually experience conflicts of a love/relationship/career nature. Bridget Jones’ Diary comes to mind.
Women’s Fiction
Again can be simply stated as fiction aimed at and about women. However, women’s fiction tends towards a greater depth and literary tone than chick lit.
Commercial Fiction
Based on heavily conceptual hooks and plots, appealing to a wide audience. The plot is the key in commercial fiction, with a strong narrative storyline, rather than literary prose or internal character conflicts.
Horror
The primary intent is to frighten. Horror can be based in extreme gore, graphic violence, or tense psychological suspense. Supernatural folklore, encompassing creatures who prey on humanity often fill the genre. – Vampires, werewolves and so on. The subgenres list seems endless and almost any genre with an element of terror fits here.
I have some elements of horror by way of a few gory scenes and some psychological suspense. Perhaps it’s a dark fantasy?
Literary Fiction
The quality of writing is valued above all else in literary fiction. Plot and commerciality are secondary to the development of story through prose. Descriptive narratives abound as the art of writing is explored.
Nope…nothing here for me.
Romance
Love stories set against dramatic backdrops, passion and mostly a ‘and they lived happily ever after’ resolution.
I think I’ll stick with ‘dark fantasy’ for now but if I need to change focus slightly, to attract the attentions of a specific agent or publisher, I have a few options.
Right, the sun is shining and the road is clear. I’m going to put the roof down and cruise home along my back roads and coastal routes and hope i don't get pulled over by a local cop with only two teeth, who calls me 'boi'.
This morning's post leans more toward awesome than the usual irreverant.
I received an email over the weekend and the photographs, together with the captions, lead me to believe I was in for an unpleasant experience. I came close to closing the email without reaching the end. I'm glad my morbid curiosity pushed me on, because I was to be surprised!
The pictures were credited to Norbert Rosing, taken in Hudson Bay.
"The Polar Bear returned every night that week to play with the dogs.."
The untold back-story possibilities around this event seem endless, don't they?
This is my entry for Café Writing.
The instructions were: Take seven minutes (you have to use all seven, you can’t go over), and write about class. Any format (fiction, essay, verse) is acceptable.
Forgive any typos – I took the time limit very seriously!
His fat ass occupied most of the rear seat of his Bentley. The simianesque chauffeur, who clearly doubled as his bodyguard, opened the door and stepped aside, fulfilling the secondary role of blocking the sidewalk to allow his employer unobstructed access to the bar.
Almost everybody watched his approach through the large picture window that looked out onto the street; some with admiration, some in awe. I only glanced with a mingled sense of envy and dislike.
The door opened and he swept in, heading for the bar, a modern day Moses, parting a red sea of party people who craved his acknowledgement, no matter how fleeting.
He owned the bar.
He owned every night club in town worth visiting.
He’d just moved into the penthouse of the most expensive new beachfront development for several miles. I worked on the construction and saw first hand his arrogance and unpleasant nature. An unfortunate worker missed a deadline on the day he took possession of his apartment. The worker was physically ejected from the property by the chauffeur and his tools launched from the balcony to the rising tide, twelve stories below.
He took the empty seat at the bar beside me and surveyed this minor outpost of his kingdom until the inevitable leggy blonde joined him, kissed his blubbery face and asked for a white wine spritzer.
With a click of his stumpy fingers, he made her wish his command. My girlfriend, the bar’s newest employee, dashed to attend to him and I swallowed back my anger as he barked: “White wine spritzer and a double Glenfiddich.”
No 'please', not even eye contact.
She returned in record time and set his drinks down on the bar. “Six seventy five, please Sir,” she said, flashing me a nervous smile. Without looking up he dug a hand into his pocket and extracted a pile of bills and random coins.
Her look begged me not to say anything as she sorted through the cash in his open hand, extracting the correct amount and turned back to enter it into the till.
Finally fatboy disengaged from his companion and looked at me.
“How much did she take? Did she rip me off?”
I stood up, drained my beer and put it down gently on the bar.
“You may be the richest man in this town, maybe even this county, but there’s something money will never get you,” I said.
“Oh really? And what’s that, fuckface?” he sneered.
“Class,” I said and walked away.
Later this week I hope to start work on the final chapter of 'Mirror Man', so I may not be too prolific in the blogs. Forgive my absence - I just need some time for myself, you know? It's not you, it's me...
What point of view to adopt has always been a significant hurdle for me, when beginning to draft a story. I used to charge full speed ahead, only to grind to a stop and decide that a different Point of View might be better suited.
Now I spend some time considering who is the best person to be telling the story before I get started. Can the story be properly told by the protagonist, or will it require a narrator? Will a third-person limited approach work or is omniscient is the best approach to allow greater latitude and a God-like knowledge of the characters and events?
In “I Hate You”, a very short story about a young boy of four who decides to run away from home, it was important for me that the reader be allowed inside the head of the child. A first person approach provided the intimacy but problems arose when I realized I was ascribing mature words to the thoughts of a kid. Four year olds don’t think “she infuriates me!” so the challenge was to stick with first person but accurately convey the emotions of the mind I was trying to portray.
I could have switched to second person and told the story from the mother’s pov, as if she were retelling the event to a now grown Son, - You glared up at me, defiant for the first time - but I felt that would reduce the impact of the tale and the overwhelming sense of unfairness the boy feels. Besides, it would have given the story a sentimental, nostalgic feel, rather than the immediate, inexpressible anger and frustration of a child that I wanted to convey.
“Birth Marked” my first novel (a work that I will return to at some point and try to polish into a marketable tale), studied the possibilities of murder, untimely death, redemption and reincarnation. The main protagonist, Nelson, is a man faced with the choice of joining his daughter in heaven or seeking out his soul mate through reincarnation. He interacts with two other key figures – the hit and run driver who took his daughter’s life, and a dying man with ‘perfect understanding’ who explains his choices.
Telling this story in first person wouldn’t have allowed me to develop the characters of the hit and run driver or the dying man – both of which are key aspects of the story. How could Nelson narrate the events of two other individuals’ lives? Events that he was not part of and has no way of knowing? First person was therefore rejected.
A third-person limited approach would allow the narration to jump from one character to another – provided that the switch is always made very clear to the reader! In third person limited, narration describes the events impacting the chosen pov character. This allowed me to tell the story from Nelson’s point of view in one chapter and then in a subsequent chapter, jumps across the Atlantic to the hospital bed of the dying man and narrate part of the story from his perspective.
This was a better option than first person, but caused problems when the characters finally interacted with one another. The question arose: which character would be the focus when two or more were together? I could have opted for Nelson in every instance, but I feared it may become complicated, confusing and possibly too limiting, so I opted for third person omniscient. I don’t know if it was the right choice because the story is still rough as a robber’s dog, but when I finally get back to it, I think I’ll try to stick with that approach.
“Mirror Man” on the other hand is third person limited – everything is experienced from Valentine’s perspective and therefore Valentine is present in every scene. No other narrator intrudes into the story or offer opinions – it’s Valentine’s story from start to finish and I found it came very easy. It helps of course that Valentine has the ability to read the minds of others – a mechanism I employ when the limited perspective requires broadening.
I don’t think I have an affinity for any particular POV at the moment, either in writing or reading. The main thing to remember is, what ever point of view is chosen, it’s always critical that the narrator tells the story, not the author.
Welcome to October! Where has the year gone?
This oldie landed in my inbox this week and still manages to engage me for the full four and a half minutes. Apologies if you've seen it or didn't find it genius the first time around. For those of you who've never seen it before, enjoy!
It has the added bonus of Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn".
I'm struggling.
Mirror Man has reached that stage; the final conflict is afoot and the denouement hot on its tail. The problem is, I am struggling with the motive of one of the players, and each time I try to draft the scene, I have recollections of the Pam Ewing 'season long dream'. Back then I didn't know what "Deus ex Machina" meant, but I knew shitty story-telling when I saw it!
My current dilemma involves the motivation of an immortal character, one similar to Valentine, the protagonist of my novel.
Here's a little more blurb:
Valentine is a Child of Loki and one of the original Berserker tribesmen of Norse Folklore.
With unobstructed access to the minds of his chosen victims and the ability to assume their precise physical characteristics, Valentine takes what he wants, when and from where he pleases.
He is the ultimate identity thief, unconstrained by the password-encrypted barriers his human counterparts face. Only a conscience and the inherent loneliness his immortality brings, stand between Valentine and the decadent life of leisure lead by his brothers and sisters.
The plot thread that's causing me concern is this: Valentine's brothers and sisters, lead my his 'mother figure' want him back in the fold, but I can't seem to come up with a plausible reason why a group of immortals, capable of literal identity theft, would so desperatly need one more in their number!
"Love" is not going to save the day - they are an emotionless bunch - and the reason needs to be something far less noble. Everything I've come up with so far has been so cliché, so clearly contrived, that my desk now has a forehead-shaped dent in it!
I think I have a solution, I type away for several hours then read back what I've written and groan. 'World domination? Is that the best you can come up with?'
If any of you out there are the product of a God/Human relationship, have the power to take on the external appearance of any living thing you can touch, and have more money than you can spend - even in your immortality, what drives you? What goals do you have? What dreams do you harbour?
Throw me a fricken' bone, will ya?
By virtue of the fact I’m male, and probably due to some other external influences beyond my wit, I’ve always tended towards the visual. My first attempt at the spoken word was “lookit!” (Followed soon after, by “Gimme!”)
Although my vocabulary has expanded a little since then, the theme has remained consistent. From enchanting women to elaborate deserts; exotic cars to cutting edge gadgets, my response seldom wavers from some variation of “Lookit!, Gimme!”
When in conversation, I’ll often use phrases like “Do you see what I mean?” and “Look, you’re not seeing the big picture.”
So when it comes to reading – and therefore my writing, too – I get turned off by an abundance of telling. I simply stop listening! Many of the writers I’ve worked with in the past - both in giving and receiving critiques - largely agree with the principle of ‘show not tell’ but some seem to confuse ‘show’ with several paragraphs of descriptive prose. For example, (and I’m deliberately exaggerating):
The black satin Oscar de la Renta dress created a decent cleavage from her normally miserly 32A bust. It cinched in at the waist before hugging her thighs to just above the knees. The dress, coupled with her diminutive, perfectly toned five foot two inch frame, obsidian eyes and cascading ebony locks drew both malicious and longing glances from women and men respectively.
Despite the fact the above passage contains the word ‘frame’ in a character’s physical description, one of my pet peeves (and I have so many of them they could almost be considered commercial livestock rather than pets) it doesn’t allow the reader very much latitude. There is some very specific information (telling) whereas I’d much prefer to be given stimulants for my mind’s eye (showing) and be allowed to build a mental image of the character within certain parameters rather than strict specifications.
So, I could rewrite the above passage as:
It was her first real designer dress and fitted so much better than the department store petite ranges she was usually forced to chose from. She felt sexy, thanks in no small part to Oscar de la Renta’s ability to coax a cleavage from even the most miserly bust. Tonight, for the first time, she was the sultry, dark temptress drawing looks from men and women alike.
What I prefer about the second approach is that the reader can decide how small a petite woman is, based upon his or her own perspective.
The reader dictates what constitutes small boobs, taking me out of the firing line!
The character is clearly meant to be a beautiful woman in both passages yet in the second, her eye and hair color, the length of her hair and her body type are also left to the reader to decide. That way, even if the writer and the reader have differing views on what defines beauty, the women in the dress should remain beautiful to both of them. Of course, if her hair length, eye color etc. are crucial to the plot then I’ll introduce those details, but again, I’ll see if I can ‘show’ her hair is long by allowing her to unpin it and let it fall rather than tell the reader she has shoulder length hair.
For every person who likes to be shown, there is another who reads my work and says it’s lacking a few paragraphs of descriptive prose because they simply can’t picture the cottage without knowing the make and model of the fridge or the pattern of the curtains in the living room.
All I know for certain is that I learn better when shown rather than told.
Just ask my wife!
I have an aunt who looks a lot like Pam!
The New Royal Family of LA!
When I first started writing with a view to getting published, my methods were quite haphazard. I’d come up with an idea or find a prompt in a literary magazine competition and allow the kernel of a story to roll around in my head like a snowball, gathering weight and girth, until I was ready to start writing.
At some point along that writing path I would go back to the beginning, essentially to refresh myself of the premise, and find myself spending hours – sometimes even days – fine tuning a single scene. I would become so caught up in the detail that the story itself lost momentum. Additionally, I invested so much in the scene that it became a cast in stone element of the story, regardless.
By nature, I lose interest easily. I’m not quite Homer Simpson - The problem with first person POV is…Oh look, a split infinitive! – but, when the story doesn’t move from my head to the screen at a fair clip, my mind starts leaping ahead to the next idea. That dictated a more structured approach to drafting would be required, if I was going to successfully complete a story.
So I started writing a brief scene-by-scene draft:
1. Danny prepares a birthday surprise to bring to his girlfriend’s apartment and wake her with breakfast in bed and an expensive gift.
2. Danny arrives to find her ex-boyfriend’s car in the drive. Internal struggle = silent retreat or confrontation?
3. etc.
This approach gave me a direction from the outset and immediately improved my ratio of completed to commenced stories but new problems arose; while I was not dropping back into earlier scenes and fine tuning them to death mid flow, I was still writing each scene in full detail before moving to the next. The effect was, by the time I’d reached the end of the draft I had no energy or enthusiasm to go back and improve the areas that needed work. I can see this in some of those earlier stories if I read them back now – they are still not bad, in my humble opinion, but they could be so much better if I’d aggressively edited them after finishing the first draft.
Now I have employed yet another system which, based upon the speed and ease “Mirror Man” is approaching the end of the first draft, is my most suitable yet. I started out by writing a synopsis of the story. I then took a notebook and jotted down brief physical and mental characteristics of the main players, details of anticipated locations and any other pertinent information that needed to be carried throughout the story.
From there I drafted the outline of the story, usually writing a sentence or two for each intended chapter - sometimes a little more if I had some vivid ideas for the scene.
Once that outline was completed, I looked at it globally, to see where foreshadowing and back story might be useful and then set off writing the first draft. While I wrote that first draft, new ideas came to mind, secondary plot threads, enhanced character details etc. but rather than get bogged down, I made notes and moved on.
I expect to finish this first draft in the coming weeks and at that point I’m going to put “Mirror Man” away for at least two weeks before taking out those notes, returning to Chapter One, and enriching the prose.
For example, Chapter 1 begins:
A glass-walled restaurant, slowly revolving 800 feet above the bright city lights of Las Vegas seemed a far from ideal dining experience for a man afraid of heights, confined spaces and crowds.
"Agora-acro-claustrophobia?" Valentine asked, eyebrows raised.
It sounded too ridiculous to be true and, squeezed into a large red Hawaiian shirt and cargo pants, the little man looked as if he should be joking; he was the embodiment of the Pillsbury doughboy on vacation. The expression on his face, however, was as sober as a ‘Mothers Against Drunk Drivers' meeting.
Pillsbury took a handkerchief from his pants-pocket and dabbed at the sweat that ran like a mountain spring from the dome of his bald head. "I'm not sure that's a real word, but yeah, it sums up the condition pretty well."
"So what possessed you to have dinner at the ‘Top of the World' restaurant?" Valentine continued, hoping conversation might distract the man from his impending coronary.
"My psychiatrist said I needed to face my fears," Pillsbury said, unleashing another barrage of finger-prods upon the elevator's call button.
"Sound advice, no doubt, but are you sure he meant you to face them all at once?"
Last week was special! You'd be forgiven for thinking that a work week which began on Tuesday would feel shorter than usual, wouldn't you?
Here's hoping that this week doesn't drag it's ass quite so much.
This clip, gave me quite a giggle last Wednesday, when it popped up in my inbox, despite having spent 8 hours in a pointless meeting that kept me at work until gone 7.00 pm. I hope it brings a smile :)
Happy Monday.
Of course, the first day was a beach day - everybody was the color of polished mahogany except the three of us - so we selected a spot by the infinity pool, made friends with a waiter and settled in for some reading, rays and rum punch. I finished "American Gods" just as the sun melted the glue and half the book blew out to sea.
I was interested to see that in Mexico, what restaurants in Texas call 'Mexican' food, is called 'Texan' food in Mexico. 
A picture from inside the Cenote. The 'strings' trailing down from the top are roots, stretching to reach the water.
Chichen Itza, once the political and economic centre of the Mayan Civilization, has been named one of the new seven wonders of the World - due in part to the incredible understanding of astronomy, mathematics and acoustics demonstrated in the construction. Words and pictures can't adequately describe this awesome site!
The trip to the city also involved a bathroom break, where I didn't meet any politicians or aging pop stars loitering in the cubicles, but I did see this equally unwanted occupant!
The next excursion took us to Coba for a day combining adrenaline rushes with cultural education where, in addition to a more 'hands on' Mayan Ruin, we rappelled 60 feet down into a cenote, did a bit of cave diving, flew across a croc-filled lake on a zip line, ate iguana, received a blessing from a Mayan priest, explored the jungle and generally felt like Indiana Jones!
Ariel view of the temple at Coba, (no, I can't fly - I scanned a postcard!).
The same temple from the base, 120 steps from the top!
A Mayan Ball Court - perhaps the precursor to basketball.
The game, called “pok ta pok,” involved keeping the ball off the ground and putting it through the ring on the wall using, primarily, the hips and thighs! In 'special' games, during times of need, the captain of the winning team was beheaded as a sacrifice to the gods. Winning truly wasn't everything in Mayan culture!
Inside the Cenote
Rappelling into the (bloody cold) water. In addition to the temperature, the water is also very fresh and salt free, making it incredibly easy so swim like a brick!
Lastly, a few pictures of the other jungle natives!
Other trips involved a Jungle tour by speed boat and snorkeling on the reef, both fantastic experiences but without a waterproof camera, the memories are confined to my head.
Though I started out this post by deriding the intoxicated teens of Cancun, we imbibed our fair share (and then some) of the local spirit, and brought home some souvenirs that I'm enjoying on a nightly basis rather than go cold turkey.
For those of you that haven't seen one, here's the beautiful view of a Tequila farm!
After a week in Cancun I can honestly say, chose the time of year that appeals most to you (on or off season) and get down there. Just make sure you set aside at least two days of sobriety and see the other wild side!
Cancun was fantastic and absolutely nothing like I expected. I think the heavy rains and wind that accompanied the outside edge of Hurricane Dean swept the streets clean of drunk American teens and their stomach contents, leaving us with a truly beautiful, and extraordinarily quiet Caribbean setting.
We have several hundred photographs of climbs up Mayan temples, abseiling down sinkholes, cave diving and of course tequila-fuelled adventures, but I need to organize these into coherent thoughts before attempting to convey them.
I did come back home to a rather intriguing request to re-write a short story I'd submitted a long time ago to a literary magazine. They suggested a re-write with a change in POV to third person.
I've spent the best part of today turning it around because I really had planned to focus on finishing Mirror Man before the end of the year and leaving the short stories alone until then.
So, here is the re-write. If anybody sees something I missed, there's a Chunky Caramel Kit Kat in the mail with your name on it.
I'm also open to title suggestions because I think this one sucks.
In two hours I'm out of here and headed south. I you all have a great week next week and don't forget me while I'm gone!
While I'm away, here’s another of my short stories that my Mum saved for all those years and recently returned to me. Sadly this one isn’t dated but, judging by the writing style, I would guess at being around 12 or 13 years old when I penned it. I know I based the character of Matt Gordon on a man I still detest to this day. I think I did a pretty good job of characterizing an arsehole!
Funny how the height of sophistication to my mind back then was a flat in Kensington and a Burt Reynolds style Pontiac Firebird (an automatic, no less!) and listening to Chopin! Also interesting is my abject failure to grasp the actual cost and time involved in car repair!
Again, grammar, punctuation and spelling are included here exactly as they appear in the original. I hope you enjoy!
After using the chorus of the Ramones "Blitzkrieg Bop" as my post title, I realised that the way they sang it made it sound a lot more punk than the way it's written.
"Hey Ho, let's go" sounds more like something Enid Blyton might have written.
Anyway, I've spoken with people on the ground in Cancun and it seems to be business as usual after what fortunately - for human life and property sake, rather than my vacation plans -turned out to be a night of strong wind and heavy rain.
Come tomorrow evening, all systems are go and we'll be on our way to Mexico.
Rather than leave with concerns as to what the churning seas may have done to the golden sandy beaches and crystalline Caribbean waters, my daughter is convinced that some previously undiscovered pirate treasures will have been unearthed and are lying there just waiting for her to snorkel past.
Sticking with the theme of previously undiscovered treasures, I received a form rejection letter from a literary agent yesterday - in relation to a three chapter submission they'd requested over eighteen months ago!
Eighteen Months to respond to three chapters they asked me to send them!
In a way I was pleased it was a rejection. If they'd asked me to send in the rest of the manuscript I can imagine I would have needed to change the genre of the novel to historical fiction by the time they'd finished with it.
The next thing you know, Demi Moore will respond to the love letter I sent her when 'About Last Night' came out!
No? Ah well. With scarcely a day to go, I have some preparations to make. I hope to write up another of my childhood stories that my Mum found, one I was particularly impressed with when I read it last night. I'll try to post that before we leave.
Hey ho, let's go.
I don't know what further posts my schedule will allow this week, but with my head full of writing ideas, my calendar full of pointless guff and the news full of wet and windy pictures of my hotel, I'm sure there'll be some venting to come!
Have a great week!
My parents and their generation all seem to know exactly where they were and what they were doing when JFK died.
For me, it's Elvis.
The first gift I ever bought for somebody else with the sole intention of using it myself was the "G.I. Blues" L.P. I got my Mum for her birthday and then proceeded to wear it out on my record player.
I adored his movies, I liked most of his songs and I thought he was the epitome of handsome-cool in his pre-jumpsuit days.
And the day he died? I was playing stingball in my cousin's front garden in Ilfracombe, North Devon.
My Mum and Auntie came outside in tears, distracting me long enough to take a wet tennis ball at full speed on my bare thigh. I joined in their tears, but only as a result of the red welt my cousin inflicted on my leg - boys didn't cry over dead celebrities back then, no matter how cool they'd once been.
Anyway, I saw this somewhat cheesy, somewhat emotional duet with Elvis and Lisa-Marie and felt like sharing my favorite ballad by the King, during this anniversary period.
The movies may not hold up to much scrutiny any more but the songs will live on forever.
A visit from my Mum has brought with it a wonderful, nostalgia-filled manilla envelope.
As a kid I loved to write short stories and she loved to read them. What I didn't know, what I hadn't even contemplated in the three decades since I wrote them, is that she kept them all!
There are literally hundreds of the little buggers, ranging from about two to seven pages in length, all hand written in an ever-evolving script.
For my benefit more than anybody elses, I thought I'd read through them and post any that I think deserve the light of day.
I'm going to open with a little number that gives a ten years old's view of preconceptions. I've re-written it here in it's exact form - grammar and spelling mistakes included.
