The Word Cloud

If truth be stranger and more curious then fiction I'm finding it very difficult indeed not to write real people into my novel. I mean just how do you do it? Please help! How do you create characters that are nothing like the people you have met in your life? It's impossible surely? I guess you do the obvious of course-you change names and descriptions. And you should steer away from real conversations you have had. But that's one of the hardest temptations I'm having to resist-conversations. Some real conversations I have had would make great dialogue when put into the mouths of my characters. There's one particular character in my novel who is based on someone that I once had a bit of a fling with in my youth. In real life the sex was OK-nothing earth shattering but if I make him in my novel out to be an absolute sex God would I be forgiven for using the odd bit of conversation? I'm being a little tongue in cheek here but maybe it could be about a question of balance. Many first novels have an autobiographical element and mine is no exception. The Mother of my protagonist is very like my real one. She's of a similar background with similar life circumstances so how the hell do I write without offending my own dear Mother?? I'm finding it so hard to separate my characters from real people which is probably the sign of a bad writer but maybe with a bit of practice and some advice from you guys I can avoid an expensive law case but most importantly not upset those I love and care about.

Back to writing... or not. Maybe back to thinking because I'm still trying to fulfill a craft order and so the writing is on hold and I'm only able to ponder my tale.

Was Soames Forsyte a bad man with good tendancies and Irene a good lady who goes sadly wrong, or the other way around? I couldn't work it out and I got to thinking that Galsworthy painted his characters so true to life that it's hard to tell who are the 'goodies' and 'baddies'. Then I wondered about the characters in my new story and came to realise that they simply are not good enough. I thought they contrasted well, each had a story to tell and different character fasits were to be revealed as we went along, but they are not as effectively drawn as they should be.

Without well drawn characters, I might as well not bother.  Of course, many of the character 'layers' will come with the numerous rewrites, but I need to start with a different emphasis and so I'm beginning again. I'll keep the original chapters in the computer as I always do, but not use them for this story. Although the story-line is basically the same, my characters need to change. 

Mmmh... still thinking. 

As a published author, I thought it may be interesting for those who have not yet been published to follow me as I write my new story. I hesitate to call it a book until the contract has been signed. My last story didn't make it to a contract. My agent liked it and thought it would sell easily because it was what she called 'fresh'. She said there was nothing else like it out there. Well, there still isn't because it wasn't picked up!

I write children's adventure stories of about 70,000 words. I have no idea how long this one will be, but I doubt the length will vary much.  I have spent a couple of weeks thinking it through. I have the detailed plot in my head and no notes written down. This is unusual for me, but this time it all seems to fit together without any.

I spent a lot of time finding the right names as I feel it's important that they fit the character exactly. This can take weeks. Today I found the name of my lead boy, a lad of about fourteen, I think (Q). The nick-name of the girl (C), who is about twelve, came to me about a week ago, but I don't know her real name. I'm still w0rking on that.

The first couple of pages are vital. In fact, the first paragraph is. Children will not slog through several pages to see if they like a story. They will toss it aside if they are not instantly hooked, thus, the entry point is important. I've already changed it once. I will need to establish the characters quickly, while leaving certain things for the reader to discover as they progress through the pages.

I started the first chapter yesterday. Strange things are happening and the intention is that the reader will want to know why.

I'll keep you posted! 

So, maybe I had calmed down by this time...? There seems to be less anger, agression and general naughty word...ness. I do seem to have slipped into "90's young duuuude" mode and not in any enjoyable way. I've cleaned this up a bit - spelling mistakes plus "gonna" and "coz" have been, for the most part, culled. Thankfully. My aplogies if this is going off the "boil", I was well chilled by now...

                                                       ***

Ok, today's entry is about the language I use. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I like the following ideas; TLA's spelt out (Yuessohay) and I've extended this - more later. George Bernard Shaw's fabulous fish; GHOTI. So now I have two languages and I use them in two different ways. Don't panic, if you get confused I'll, um, carry on regardless… Let's face it, I really haven't got a bloody clue myself so you don't stand a hope.

So let's start with the language of emohem. Mind Over Matter, remember? Oh ffs, you are useless - look back. You don't have far; this is still a new blog ok? Lazy buggers.

Right so that's all well and good but how to divide up the words, as every word is now it's phonetic first letter, you would for example end with one word like this; Tecuebeefjayohteelde. (The Quick Brown Fox Jumped Over The Lazy Dog) Which is a gobfull and no mistake; soooooo. We need a rule to help and what better rule than the rule of three? Every third letter is a new word. Tecuebe efjayoh teelde. Spanking! Now, the important thing to remember is that this is a magical language. So, where all other languages are interpretable, this one isn't. It just isn't. How do you know that the above three words don't mean Tiny Queen Beatrice Finally Judged Olaf The Latvian Demon? You don't. And that means that it's a good language for the mysteries of emohem. Of course, the emohem expert needs to know, so with every use of the language the speaker/writer/whatever leaves a tiny blob of explanatory emohem - like a wax seal. Goddamn this is good.

 

Now what if our emohem is an expert? Let’s call him and emohemee. Ooooo, these are longer than three but not so long as to make sense; An emohem ee. That just looks shite. So, lets use the fantasy writers most over used tool; the apostrophe. Now, we are taking the piss a bit really, 'coz let's face it, how many times do you see those wonderful names and foreign words (and we know their foreign 'coz they've got an apostrophe in 'em, geddit?) split to help us with our diction? All the time, no?

 

Here we go; emohem'ee. Hmmmm, nearly but not quite; How about em'ohemee? Oh yes.

Ok, a quick squiz down the alphabet and set the words up;

A=Ay, B=Bee, C=See, D=Dee, E=Ee, F=Ef, G=Gee, H= urk! Um, come back to that one…, I=Ay… awww tits, come back to that one too…, J=Jay, K=Kay, L=El, M=Em, N=En, O=Oh, P=Pee, Q=Cue, R=Ar, S= Es, T= Tee, U=Yu, V=Vee, W= eh? Ah…uh…fuck it, back to that one too…, X=Ex, Y=Wy, Z=Zee or Zed
Whoop!
Although, I reckon you can prolly spot what is fundamentally wrong with the old language. Yep, there is an awful lot of EEEEE's, so many my heads spinning…

 

Ok, new rule needed; Where we have two vowels together, like say "Up Is Down" (a direction altering chant to be used when faced with towers that need to be climbed or something…) How the fuck should I know? I'm just pigging winging this as I go. Shut up. So Up Is Down would be Yuaydee - which is a bit of a mouthful when spoken for the first time BUT if we say that every time a double vowel hits the beginning of a word we swap the second vowel to the actual vowel… hold on, I’m getting lost here… oh, yeah so the second is left as a real one;

YuiDee - Yoo-eye-dee (much easier to pronounce).

If, on the other hand, the vowels are together at the end of the word, then we make the first vowel the real one; Level Eighty One is Eleeoh so it becomes Eleoh. Get it? No? Tough, it's happening. And it's in there by the bucket load!

 

Ok, one more slight hitch; triple written vowels; Level Eighty Four looks like this Eleeef, which just looks stupid, so lets get rid; new rule; written triple letter vowels; the double is shortened to a single; Eleef looks better.

One more rule just because I thought I was fucking brilliant; at the end of a word E is replaced with I but still pronounced EE;

B=Bi, C=Si, D=Di, E=i, G=Ji, P=Pi, T=Ti, V=Vi, Y=Wi and Z=Zi

This way when discussing the novel you'll be in a secret society that knows how to pronounce the words properly won't you? My advice; don't correct their mispronunciation, just look smug knowing they are soooo pathetic and have not cracked open this blog. Winner. Or you could be the novel guru that does correct them and help them by pointing them toward this blog. If you wanted…

So, still have a bunch of issues; H, A & I, and W

Here's how I got round them;  H = Aitch, or Aich or Aytch but mostly avoiding using those words if you can…! A=Ay or Eigh (as in Eight) and I=Aye. Ha!

So we'll wang up some basic emohem practitioners;
Em’ohembe – MOMB – Mind over matter beginner,
Ayem’ohembe – AMOMB – A mind over matter beginner,
Tiem’ohembe – TMOMB – The mind over matter beginner;
Em’ohemyu – MOMU – Mind over matter user;
Em’ohemee – MOME – Mind over matter expert;
Em’ohemti – MOMT – Mind over matter teacher;
Em’ohempi – MOMP – Mind over matter pupil;
Ha! You get the idea. So that pretty much wraps up the magical language. Lot's of chanting and shit; some written toss yada yada yada.

Now, the names of the characters I've already explained, and as I come up with some more; I'll drop 'em on here. Honest.

So I came across another piece of advice in one of those bloody books from EzBird;
Place.
Oh for fucks sake, what now?
It is important for the reader to have a sense of place.
Eh?
When reading a new novel, no matter what, it is good to have a sense of familiarity.
Oh crap.

But, now, there's the place names that need thinking about. Like, whilst I'm not interested in telling the tale from the beginning; On the planet blah in the land of bleh, I might just as well write it was a dark and stormy night… Oooo, that's pretty good actually, no, no, you can't… can you…? No. Stobbit. Stupid.

 

Back to place. So, according to the long and… dreary … article, dear readers, apparently you lot get lost finding your arse. Maybe I'm only selling me book to bright readers? Ok, maybe not. I figure that make it a really niche, niche, market. You know I'm only kidding right? Right? Hey! Where are you going? I was only joking, oh come on! Maybe I'll tell you about the article on not thinking you are smarter than your readers another time…!
:o)

So, back to place; the theory is that if you write your novel about, say New York, then knowing the place and making the odd reference helps the reader settle into the "place" especially if they have been to or live in New York themselves. In fact, there is a bit of a "Hey! I know where he's talking about! It's just over there! Behind that car. That's on fire."

 

But, in my novel there is no such "place" - not in reality; it's all in my head. So how do I get you there? How do I describe what I really feel awkward about? How do I tell you that the world is unknown, I have no idea how big the planet is? Oh god! Do I have to know how the solar system works too? The Universe? Are there stars? Moons? Shit, how would I know? Oh Christ this is going to be a complete fuck up isn't it? Pull yourself together. The audience is listening.

 

So let's see, a good start is to name the village. Now that is easy; I'll nick it from a couple of Ozzies I know (That's a whole different story). Hell, I nick so much from them already, how the hell would they know? So here goes; Leicestershire. Loughborough. Or as they like to call it looga barooga… You gotta love those antipodeans.

So Sariro comes from, ah, let's wheech it around a tad; Luga B'ruga (Gotta have an apostrophe, no?) There ya go.

 

Now, these guys run to "safety" so where are they running to? A place in the mountains but they'll not get there without passing thru another place. Big breath. Ok, this one is for EzBirds brother (also RIP, damn this is depressingly regular); he was taking Bird (his girlfriend of the time) on holiday. She wanted to go somewhere exotic. He didn't. So he told her he was taking her to Mablé Torpé. Or, as we in the UK know it; Mablethorpe…! The guy was a genius!

So, as he was the quintessence of "Live" as in "Live your Life", I dedicate that to him. I am Living my dream, he lived his. Thankfully computers can't kill you. They can't… can they? Computers? Kill you? Can they? Hell, why am I asking, you lot? Sheesh. I must be going mad.

Ok, so that's language and stuff covered. Now what else was I going to tell you? Oh yeah, Beasties. Hmm - now this is the reverse of reverse psychology… or psychology as I like to call it… (chortle). Here's how it goes; pick up a book called "How to interpret your dreams" or some such and spin through it looking for natural or supernatural imagery and you'll get pretty the much same thing; unicorns = penis, horses = penis, dragons = hot penis; cats = soft fluffy…penis (?). What I'm trying to say here is that no matter what animal you chose, real or imaginary it's your penis. If you are a women, well that's different. It's someone else's penis, obviously…

So, take that and spin it on it's head a touch. And we have my pincipia Eydeene. Eydeene is this planet. Did I not mention that? Ooops. I D N E. It Does Not Exist, simple. Are you getting any of this?

The point is every mythical (in our world) beastie is not a personification of some male organ (on Eydeene); but rather a power trip of “mankind”. This means that every beastie I introduce will have started with a man. A plain old simple bi-ped. Dragons? Bi-ped. Centaurs? Bi-ped. And so on and so on. How about that?

The next update may jump around a bit…! As, originally, this journal was my procrastination from the novel and now I want to, er, procrastinate from this too - because I’ve forgotten where I was and all that. As you can see; this is sooo planned. Oooooo; planning! Yes, that's what I'll talk about, er… tomorrow?

                                                      *** 

What I found interesting is the way that the novel has actually evolved. Some of this blog is still pertinent but some, such as the"chants", are not; the dialogue is relatively free of this made up language, although there are some references still. And it is evolving still; the latest iteration may make some more of this language redundant. Truth is, though, it was still necessary to go through this thought process. (Maybe not the blog though...!) It is so strange looking back, even only a couple of years!

Hey ho. Reflective mood today. Maybe it's the sunshine. So it won't last long then...!

Ez

Here we go - the third installment of drivelling nonsense. By this time I must have had a coffee or something. It seems slightly less... aggressive.
The warnings still stand though; there are scenes of an adult nature and biology. Ok, there aren't, but if it gets people reading it then I'll do anything. Well, not anything. Obviously not anything. Most things. Anyhoo... on with the (other) drivel...

                                                           ***

Right, more characters…
Ok, so what we have here is a book about dreams. With absolutely no dream sequences in it… yet. Time to get jiggy with the dreamy shit.

So, the truth about the legends is the crux of this series. I'm looking to convey the vast difference between the glorious gung-ho stories of war and the gritty reality. I heard on the radio when I began this book about soldiers during the Second World War shooting over the heads of the enemy because they couldn't bring themselves to actually kill. Now if it's true and not hype, that is an amazing revelation. According to the story, it was very common too. The bit I don't get is how millions of front-line bods still lose grip with mortality when no-one is shooting at anyone…

Based, very weakly, on this premise I have my storyline; Bad guys are not so bad, the majority are press-ganged (or in fantasy terms; enthralled) into service, ergo reticent to play ball, but compelled to do so. Haven't worked out how or why just yet, but I'm getting there. Good guys are a bunch of dumb shits; because they get to come back to Paradise after they die, their lives tend to not be so… valuable. One or two heroes will just be some poor sod in the wrong place at the wrong time being given a damn good shagging by lady luck. And, because it's just not a fantasy novel without one, we will have a traitor… dun dun duuuuun. Cool.

So, our heroes; Halfir, Grinii we have met - maybe we'll give them a crew; lets see; A couple of fit young birds, some buff blokes and of course Mr Obligatory Traitor Esquire, I Thank You. 

Names.
Right; for the biog and all that shit;
Ok, One guy's going to be called Mad Adam Two Swords. At some point he can wax lyrical about the state of his armour. ROFL. Ahhh, man that's good. Google - trust me. Soddit; Lee Tanith! Madam Two Swords… damn, is mine far enough detatched to be non-plagiaristic?
Ah, fuck it. Who cares? It's there as a giggle. And Lee's book is not the same either. And she's a she… Madam Two Swords that is. Oooo, I wonder if the wax lyrical bit's in there. Toss. Best' go see if the library's got a copy…

Ok, onwards; My all time favourite name in the world bar none; Henrietta Chicken. Google… WTF? A naked rubber dog toy… man there are some real sick people on this planet. 

Who's next; Leonorah Spit. (Chuckle) Ahhh, I so cannot call her Spitroast, that would just be too unsubtle … can I? Hmmm… thinks…

Ok, another couple of Hero's; Oooo, bad guy; Gol Myne… oh yes, it says greed, it says dwarf, it says dirty, it says traitor! As for why; his brother… Sil Myne (snigger)… lost his life because of Halfir's incompetence and Gol has held a grudge ever since. Liiiiike it!
How about this… Gol and Sil did not die to get into Paradise…! So how'd they get in then? Aha!!!! There are two ways! You die OR you accompany someone who was born here!!!! Testing his theory, Irsi,  (Remember him - he's our bad guy, or protagonist, yeah baby! Boy I am learning sooo much from these books!) takes Gol and Sil into Paradise because, get this; Irsi was born there. Yes! So now, Gol and Sil are poodling around in Paradise illegally, and when Sil pops his clogs due to some as yet unknown stupidity of Halfir's, everyone is expecting him to return. But he doesn't! Because, he doesn't belong there! Yeeeeha! Soooo, where is he? Well, I'll tell you. He's only on the baddies side isn't he?! His appearance has changed; because, let's face it even Irsi rewards his faithful, up to a point… So he's going to be one of the other crew;

Right, the "baddies"; Ahh, my old favourite from my AD&D days with Penfold and Scoob… christ I was young… Bungus Iteer. Geddit? Give me a chance, I was… *cough* twenty *cough* or so when I thought that gem up. He has a brother… ahem. Chukkus. (Chortle) Ahhh Those were the days.  

Anyhooo - These are the gnarly veterans. Plus, lets see… two more "regulars"…ah. Ok. Deep breath. We have the quiet, unassuming burly minimal talker; Pall Martan. A play on EzBro1's real name. RIP. A tribute to my older brother. A true hero, honest, upright, honourable. And a right miserable git to boot. Bless him. 

And let's see, ah my own true hero; Hairy Henry. Or as I like to say T'hairy Henry… in a slightly French accent. Thinking Football. No, not football, football. Oh all right; soccer then. It's still bloody football. The other is just armoured rugby…  

Right, now; coz the bad guys are press-ganged we need a bunch of press-gangedee's… Or something… LOL - god my sides hurt! This naming stuff is a piece of piss! For her birthday I bought EzBird a gardening book; not that she likes gardening you understand but it's something for her to do whilst she's locked outside while I work in here in the warm… just kidding. She does have green fingers. They were blue but now they've gone mouldy… ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ahhhh. Anyway…
So she does like gardening…ok?

In her book there are two types of mud one of which is ericatius - see where I'm going with this? You got it! Eric Atiusoyl. Eric Atuis Soil. Goddamn this is puuuuure genius! Ok, wandering into the kitchen we have… eccinatia tablets. Oh yes. We now have another guy, Equin Atia. Whoop!

Ok, this one's an odd one; Izzit. Young lad, I reckon. Bit of a klutz. We'll pad these guys out a bit in their biographies' later.  

Ahh. Now, this next chap is important. He's a minor-ish character but suffice to say he is my morality tale. Arth Rytchuss. (Arthritis) Is a very old man and does not want to be here at all. I'll be killing him off somewhere near the middle of the story. He's going to die out of fear. You know that saying; "you have nothing to fear but fear itself"? Well, whoever said that wants to come live round here for a fucking day or two.  

So there we are; nine baddies, oh wait that's only eight. Tits. What the fuck was I thinking? Oh yes! Sil… or, as we shall introduce him… Plazt Iq'nabaal. (Plastic Nipple. Ok, by this time I was running on empty and needed help. Don’t blame me, blame my nephew. ok?)  Just check google; yep surprisingly few Plazt Iq'nabaal's in the world. Oooooo, do you reckon people will start naming their kids after these characters…? Dear god I pity those kids, they are going to get the royal shit kicked out of them when they start school… Not just for their names but because their parents are so… thick.

Interestingly when I Google Plazt Iq'nabaal it says "No matches; did you mean Platz Iq'nabaal?" Oho? Thinks I. Let's check out this. Yes, I Say, I did mean Platz Iq'nabaal. What a silly typist I am. Ok says Google. No: Your search - Platz Iq'nabaal - did not match any documents… LOL.

What you people have to realise is; this is the third post and I'm still catching you up; as in you have a loooong way to go yet. That is if there is anybody out there… is there anybody out there? How do I get this bloody thing working? You know what I need? I need someone who is aux fait with IT, that's what I need. Oh, wait… ohhhh, now I get what they meant by "get out you useless lazy fat fucker…" Sheesh, if they had only said what they meant. Man, I don't do subtle.

So, we now have our cast of characters; all bar the dragons and some magii. But we'll come to them later. Except one Magi; 'coz you're going to love this…! He's the one, right, that controls the weather… ok? following me so far? Cool. Well he has got to be called something like John Kettley or Ulrika Johnson, oh wait no, too girly. So I plump for; da da daaaaaa Michael Fish! And why? Here you go you pseudo intellectuals; check out GHOTI. GB Shaw wanted to simplify the Ingrish language; and pointed out (by ignoring some fundamental rules) that GHOTI could be pronounced FISH. GH as in rouGH, O as in wOmen (Wimmin. Not wimmin, wimmin ahhh how crap that looks written down Mr Hill…) and TI as in naTIon; GHOTI. FISH. See? Ok! So our weatherman is Mr Ghoti. Now, Michael. Mick? Mick Ghoti? Mike Ghoti? Oooo, Wiki; are you ready for this? Albania! Not the Southern dialect (Tosk) but the Northern dialect (Gheg); is translated as Mhill. So now we have Gheg'mhill Ghoti. Michael Fish.

And we sooo do not want to be wasting opportunities like this! F = GH? Ghuckin' priceless mate. LOL.
How about a sword called… Nog'huque… work it out… ignore the apostrophe's they mean jack. Awesome. Ahh, I so need to get out more…

Next time, emohem words and language, place names and magical beasties and weapon…ies…

                                                      ***

Can you stand the pace? Seriously? Please, if you want me to stop, I will. Just send me a snail mail; addressed to me, naturally, but written on the finest 80gsm, slightly yellowed, antique parchment written in rare blue squid ink from the great barrier reef, and sealed inside a sharp folded, crisp £50 note...

:o)

Ez

This is the second installment of my original blog - don't worry, only three more to go. Same style as the first one - so once again, my apologies for the use of bad language. Oh, and the swearing too... It does seem that I had not yet read the chapter "less is more".

                                                                                ***

Right, so this is Tuesday ok?
Geddit? Tuesday
Not Thursday but Tuesday…
Good

Off we go then…

Yesterday *cough* I gave you a brief synopsis on the book. So, and this is the best advice I can give any aspiring writer; Write. You do not have to write clever JKR quality stuff at first. You do have to edit it. And edit it. And then edit it again. Best edit it again. Now get someone else to edit it. Honest, trust me on this. Oh, and don't use friends or family too heavily; they are biased. EzBird was a godsend, however; "You want me to read what? Sword and sorcery like shit?" (sic). She's a chicklit lover and refuses to watch The Lord of the Rings. For a whole day. End to end. All 12 DVD's. Plus Dorito's… Which means that when she blags the first chapter she's tough. Not in storyline or plot; but right where it counts: Speling (sick)… :o) and "scan"; as in, I can't be arsed reading this shit it doesn't scan properly… I'm telling you, editors like her are worth a pigging fortune. And she's all mine! Get your thievin' mitts off! Get yer own!

Ahem. Anyhoo… So the what. Sariro lives in an idyllic world; simple farming and constant sunny days, no wars, etc. That's because, get this, he lives in Paradise! He doesn't know it yet, or maybe not for a chapter or two. So here's how it goes; Sariro thinks "The End of Times" is a premonition but he is wrong;
Its not a future event; it was an historic event! Fuck me, this is brilliant!

 

Ok. So why does Sariro have dreams? They don't just happen… oh… wait, yeah they do… tits. Nah. I have a better idea. In my dream, (remember that? It was soooo long ago) Sariro was battling the bad guy who was excavating an old citadel. He was digging to release a… dragon. So what if the dragon is there from day one? Right, so Sariro is not "magical" until he… sleeps near the dragon. Dragons, whilst sleeping, and they can sleep for years, exude magic (or emohem as we will always call it). So Sariro sleeps with the dragon. Oh for heavens sake; will you keep this clean purlease. Near the dragon. The dragon is buried under this excavation jobby so… Sariro gets lost in caves. Cool.

Ok. Why? Why was Sariro in the caves, the daft twat? Got it! Oh you are going to love this! Ready? Sariro and his best friend… are camping in the forbidden lands (as a dare) and get lost in some caves…
Shit. Another character. Right. This will take a day or so, so give me a mo will you?

Ok here we go; Sariro's younger, shorter (I bet you have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this! I know that because… I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with it…) best friend is Phollebir. Oh yes!
Phollebir Jare (Folie Begere . . . ) geddit? He he he he. So, Sariro's nickname for his younger, shorter (wait for it, wait for it) best friend is… gnome. Oh yes! This is called a self fulfilling prophecy - shit I am good! And Phollebir is the bad guy doing the excavating during the third book. And at the end of the third book… oh no you don't! Like I'm going to tell you that. Not until I've worked it out properly anyway…

So,  type type type, blah blah blah.

First chapter begins with the two boys arsing around some caves, long story short; earthquake (dragon snoring…?) new holes; boys fall through; sleep near, not with, near Dragon. Job done. Lots of rewrites, edits and days later; it's pretty good, even if I do say so myself.

 

Right, where's that writers workshop website, I remember seeing something about the first chapter. Aw, crap; Start with a bang; leave the background until later.

Eh? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

It means, old chap, that those 2,500 words beautifully describing the cave and how emohem seeps into your soul from sleeping dragons will bore the living tits off anyone dumb enough to pick up your pathetic novel; probably in the bookstore, which means… buy your book? You'd think they would…

Aw for fucks sake. What else?

Right; To attract a publisher or literary agent…
Good, good, that's the plan.
You have to grab and retain their attention in the first 50 pages…
Uh?
If they don't want more after 50 pages you're writing is fucking shit and they'll throw you to the crows.

Well I may have paraphrased that a little, but you get the idea. Piss.

Ok. Scrap the cave bollocks. Start with… oh I dunno… oooooo, let's start with the end! Yeah, yeah, yeah, like I don't know it's been done before. Get a book on it baby; every fucking thing has been done before. It's not what you do; it's how different you are in doing it.

So, where was I?
Oh, yeah; The first 50 critical (no pressure then) pages. So; We're at the gates of Paradise and Halfir stands in front of Irsi. Grinii is smeared on the ground in front of him, having been creamed by the Evil Gnome before we get there. Halfir curses, Irsi sneers (all bad guys sneer. It's what they do, s'true). Irsi wangs a nasty at Halfir who ducks. But Irsi is smarter than that - he doesn't aim for Halfir. No, he aims at the stonework above his head. Bang! Down comes the arched doorway and turns our glorious last hero to pulp; without the hit records (If you don't understand, Google it; if you did understand and just didn't think it was funny, then this book is soooo not for you…) In goes Irsi. All hell breaks loose… literally as this is literary. (As opposed to littery. Which it may be…)

Awesome!
Ok, Chapter one, continues with some chat between Kentse and Sariro; ooooo, I know! Sariro recounts the legend about the end of the world. But his dreams don't precisely follow that line! Perfect! So the legend has been… exaggerated, no… embellished. Yes! Chinese whispers (Google should so be your best friend by now) means that everything is wrong. Oh yes everything! Well, nearly everything… Holy shit! This is a cracker! So Sariro and Kentse do some chatter about the legend. Then he talks her through his first dream. He describes the land, the people, the fortress and a citadel in the middle. Oh oh, wait up; after writing 8,000+ words describing this world it’s no good. Well, when I say no good, I don't mean no good, obviously it good but it's just "describing sunsets". And an action, fast paced, beat 'em up doesn't stop to describe sunsets; otherwise the reader (that's you lot. Oh yes it fucking is. I'm not doing this for love y'know. I'm doing it for the money. So get your wallet out and go buy a copy. Stop reading it in the library you tight wad) otherwise the reader (that's you… oh, done that already) gets bored; at best skips all your hard work, at worst puts the book down. Both fatal for sales of the sequel, or in our case treacle… ROFL. Geddit? It’s a play on words! Oh come on! It's a trilogy! The third book is a triquel! Goddamn you people are hard to please.

Anyway; just like painting when you were five years old; you take one great fat blob of colour and smear it all the way from one side of the canvas (well, paper) to the other. So it is with writing; grab every paragraph and make each one a chapter.

Sixteen chapters, all with a bit of sunset in 'em. Yay! Perfect. Ok now what?
Plot
Eh?
Plot.
Yeah got that; Irsi, gnome of darkness; paradise, Sariro stops him yada yada yada.

No
No?
No
No.

Plot is the characters having a mission and what they do to obtain that mission; sucking out their personalities and spitting them at the reader without dropping sudden solutions or unrealistic dramatic situations out of nowhere (Deus ex machina - I've read books like this and boy, was I pissed at the end, and no, I will not be reading that author again.)

 

Ok, so Sariro has to have some goal and a path to his goal and a whole bunch of options to choose from. I get it. Plot. Fucking hell, this is difficult.

 

Here we go; Sariro has to deal with now being intelligent, when before he was… thick. He has to grow up. Quickly. So what's to stop him? Himself; He's reticent at first to embrace this new him. Bit of a wimp then? Ugh. Yeah. Not good; no-one likes a wimp. Ok. We need to balance wimpy Sariro with overtly bloodthirsty… um… oooo, I know; Kentse.  His muse, Kentse, a bored rich girl is a hero worshipper! Perfect! Ok, so his lack of action pisses her off which means… he has to do something. Why? Um… because… he's in love with her…? (Hopefully) Ok. (Nods, slowly) We can use that. Yeah, he loves her. Unrequited love; bingo! Ok, so he does something wimpy, Kentse throws a right royal wobbler and she dumps him. No, not dumps him, coz she never went out with him. She… refuses to see him. Oh yes. Right. Wow. Ok, now we have a taste of a plot… Cool.

At some point during this last three months I have managed to write quite a fair bit of this novel. All based on this concept. The main thing to realise is that I am not just juggling this book but I have to bear all three in mind. And then I have a bit of an epiphany. Another book. That's four;
1.) Paradise Falls
2.) [Hell] Falls
3.) Paradise Regained
and now
4.) Hero Trials (Like the ten trials of Hercules only with Halfir, Grinii and ultimately Irsi)

Um, whilst I'm at it there are at least another… let's see… two after this;
5.) Dragon Thieves, which is the tale of how Irsi sneaks into the Dragon realms and steals the 25 eggs of the Dragonatomies that feature in Book 1. (EzNote: This title has changed since I regurgitated this garbage; it is now called The Egg Thief.)
6.) Mist Trials; Which follows Kentse's return to her native land/people and how she causes mayhem.

Ok, lets see; what's next?
Sense Impressions.
Eh? Pretend to be a smell?
No, you twat; what strikes the other senses? Smell, Touch, Taste, Sound? Lots of sight, but not much of the others.
Ahhhhh, gotcha!
Right.
Whizz through the chapters and make sure that all the senses are catered for!

 

Ok, Smell.
Smell? What the fuck smells? The book (I now have a book by the way…) says go out and smell around. Uh, ok… I live in a bit of a rough neighbourhood but if it's for my art…

Ok, so that was the dumbest fucking idea I have ever heard. Damn nearly got the living shit kicked out of me; Sniffing around I get accosted by some dick with a crew-cut, scar and scowl.

"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Hmm? Oh, don't worry; sense impressions" says I, happily.
"You calling me senseless?"
"Eh?"
"C'mere you prick" (Smack)
"Aww, for fuckth thake! Thath my fuckin' nothe!"

"Did you just call me a twat?"
"Eh? What?! No!"
"C'mere you prick" (Smack)

At this point play sound of running (away) feet.

Sense impressions my fucking arse.

Tomorrow, *cough*, we'll go through the chapters; add in some more characters etc. If I can be arsed.

 

;o)
                                                      ***

Ez

Women portrayed in Science Fiction may be the most maligned species in the Universe of this Genre. I say this more as a point of discussion, however, when I look back at my old Pulp SF books, graphic novels and I see the princess of Mars characters often beautifully illustrated by the likes of Boris Velejo. Women are often sexy cyber-chicks like the bespectacled assassin in Neuromancer, or helpless busty blonds who needs to be rescued from her virginity to save the Universe. True or false?

Where next for Woman?
I write with female characters and I'm finding that I envisage them to be beautiful, highly intelligent, adaptable, and high adept at many skills. I wonder though whether I'm missing the point about using female characters. Should they be just people who happen to be female, or should the feminine and the female become a representation of the modern. Should woman become the new man in the future or does the woman transcend sex and develop into something more than either male or female?

Society
Female utopias and dystopias have been written about such as Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale where there is a tipping of the balance in favour of women, or where the female has found that society is more stable without the male. I’ve yet to explore this area. I do wonder if this concept is maybe outdated as feminism has moved on considerably from the eighties let alone the sixties.

Body
Still I find myself looking at women’s physical beauty as being a major theme in many books, comics and other visual media. Is this simply the adoration of the female form or titillation? In the book of Genesis Women comes after man. This, to me, is not a signifier of women’s inferiority as I know for a fact that women are anything but inferior, I would say from my male perspective that God got the body better with Mark II than the Mark 1 version, probably the same with their minds. Evolution would suggest that there could come a time where we gain a critical mass of change and become something different – this will be inevitable as our environment changes, but what effects do our thinking and society have on our evolution?  

Mind
What literature is there that explores the way women think. Am I being sexist in thinking that women think differently? I don’t think so as women do. They perceive life issues differently and can solve problems using different approaches. Of course there is a problem with that thought as people think differently but I’m sure people can clarify that better than I can here. I wonder if the way that a woman’s brain operates is more efficient or simply adapted to the roles undertaken of millions of years. If that’s true will women in the future think faster than men or develop senses that man does not have. Some say that is already the case when looking at mothers with their children.

Men
Now as you may know I’m an artist by background and I love figure drawing especially women I see, as countless artists before me that the female form has transsexual appeal. The male figure is not something that men like to talk to other men about but it’s funny how they can spend so much time working on keeping their body good; quite right too. I should exercise more often rather than typing on a computer. Men and women’s bodies representation over the last thirty years seems to have changed so much. So will women’s bodies change in the future? If there was no need for menstruation, natural birth and longer life span would women become more like men or something different all together. If we did not need to physically ‘interact’ with each other, in other words have sex, would become similar?

Superwoman
The obvious theme of women is where they have become superior to men, they become stronger and more aggressive – Amazonians. Six foot goddesses with laser guns. There we go now I’m doing it. The Barbarella movie springs to mind now. In the real world, women are now doing more of the jobs previously considered male only. The soldier is now a brave young career woman, a devoted mother, a prudent house owner and a loving wife. That’s a tall order. 

I think men have a problem dealing with this multi-role lifestyle. Yet there are already so many women who take on incredible responsibilities. Where next? Prime Minister. Well Margaret Thatcher was proof that a woman could lead a country (joining ranks with Boadicea). Women politicians I feel can be really scrutinised by the press looking for an excuse to discredit them. Jacky Smith has had a hard time – her husband let her down. I tell you chaps we’ve got to do better. I should say we’re not all the same, but we all have our moments.  

So is what new areas of the female condition can we explore? We’ve covered: boy meets girl, girl meets boy, girl thinks about girl but feels obliged to meet boy, girl think boy is rubbish and goes for the other girl, girl doesn’t need to meet boy or girl, and girl knows best and is better than boy. What does girl do now? 

Do I need to be a woman to be able to do this? I hope not, otherwise I’m in trouble.

As ever I will love to read your feedback and advice.


For information on Feminism in Science Fiction visit:
Feminist Science Fiction on Wikipedia 

I've come to the conclusion that we writers are rather strange. When viewed by the rest of the population, that is. I prefer to think it's the other way round and that civilians (as I regard non-writers) are the odd ones.

Isn’t it natural to enter a room of people and want to stand in the corner, watching them all and taking mental notes? Or when sitting in a restaurant to ask the person you’re with to stop talking because you’re so transfixed by the conversation taking place on the next table?

This can, of course, create the wrong impression. Civilians can think we writers are nosy (up to a point, Lord Copper) or standoffish (no, merely born  observers and often shy). A few years ago I decided to try writing a crime novel. So I began to think seriously about motives for murder. Living in a small village where I knew most of the neighbours and was privy to all the gossip, I heard all sorts of stories that triggered my imagination. Occasionally, when completely stunned by the fictional possibilities of what I was hearing, I would forget myself and blurt out something like ‘That sounds like a fantastic idea for a murder!’ or ‘Why hasn’t someone bumped her off?’ People would stare at me nervously, or remember they’d left something on the stove, and leg it. I’m sure they were very relieved when we moved away. They probably thought I was on the run from the police.

My attempts at writing crime didn’t work so now I’m having a go at chick lit. We’ve only been living in our new village for just over a year, and I’d like to live here for a good deal longer, so I can see I’ll have to be very careful about what I say when talking to neighbours. If I start mentioning the romantic possibilities in everything that happens, it could lead to all sorts of embarrassing misunderstandings.