My ABNA Blog

Take a look in case it's removed by the authorities!

I'm the proud owner of an Amazon blog that I don't think I'm entitled to. They seem to be just for authors who have a book selling on Amazon, or the Chosen One Thousand in due course.

But I thought it would be a good promotional tool for my profile page. So I tinkered about, clicked here and there, filled in this and that, gave up - and it appeared on my page. Woohoo!

You can see it here.

The cartoon I use for my Amazon profile is by my daughter. I like it so much I'm putting it here as well.

Thinking about Mills & Boon...

What makes good writing good (and bad writing bad)?

I listen to the radio while I work; BBC 7, Classic FM and Oneword mostly, and today I happened upon the Mills & Boon serial, The Greek's Chosen Wife by Lynne Graham.

It was immediately obvious what it was, as I came in on the statutory bit at the end where the conflict between the hero and heroine segues into declarations of hidden love. And it was quite bad. Not just the predictability of the plot (arranged marriage turns to true love) with its stock characters - he gorgeous and commanding, she beautiful and feisty - but the quality of the writing, which was both overblown and inept.

Nick, the golden-eyed hero, seldom says anything; instead, 'Nick imparted wryly', 'Nick censured huskily' or even 'Nick slotted in'. 'He found her mouth' had me jeering at the radio, below her nose and above her chin, now there's a surprise.

The book was plain bad, just as Jane Austen's are plain good. But what about good bad books, like the Famous Five series, or Dracula? Or bad good books, like À la recherche du temps perdu?

Your nominations?

ABNA update

Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award closes its list...

Yesterday it was announced that entries had reached the 5,000 mark. Writers who missed out could go on a waiting list, and hope a registered writer would fail to submit.

The competition forum has been seething; anxious people unsure how to interpret the rules, and trying to help each other out in the almost total absence of Amazon admin. We won't be told our submission has 'qualified' until November 12th. No-one knows how rigidly the rules will be enforced; will you be disqualified for not having one inch margins? Or inadvertently leaving your name in the header? When they say 'a thousand-character synopsis' do they really mean a blurb? You can't check your submission, or go back and change it.

I wonder if they expected so many entries that the list would fill two weeks before the deadline?

Now it's just wait and see...

Single Point of View...grrr..

A sacred cow of our time?

Can anyone tell me why we are all told to stick rigidly to one POV in each scene, with the limitations that entails? The idea took hold quite recently, towards the end of the last century. Why is it such a good idea? Whose idea was it? (My theory is that the person responsible was a thwarted writer running a class for other unpublished writers).

Switching POVs is something that doesn't bother a reader unless he's studied writing. My daughter (a voracious reader) is fine with it, though she pounced on my one bit of authorial intrusion like a terrier on a rat, despite the fact that she’d never heard the expression. ‘You’re telling the reader what to think,’ she said.

My favourite authors use multiple POVs. In Fire From Heaven by Mary Renault there is one scene at a horse fair where the POV goes all over the place; Philip, Alexander, Hephaistion, the royal horse trainer, the slaves, the horse seller and even the horse. I'd never thought there was anything wrong with the scene. A more recent example of an author who ignores the ‘rule’ is Philip Reeve, in Mortal Engines.

I switch POVs in scenes between two people, where I want the reader to know what each of them is thinking. Sticking to one POV impoverishes the scene. In the episode where Jervaid is intent on seducing Tor, while she plans to enlist his help with stealing a dragon egg, I want the reader to be party to the thoughts of both, and root for Tor and Jervaid.

And don’t tell me it’s confusing. If you genuinely find it confusing, all I can say is, you’re very easily confused and should probably not be allowed out on your own.

I think it’s a rule made to be broken, unlike say, rules for apostrophes, where you are either right or wrong. (Switching topics, it astonishes me that so many would-be authors don’t bother to look up and learn the few, simple apostrophe rules).

I suspect that one day, single POV will go out of fashion like the dramatic unities theory that had such a crippling effect on French drama, while Shakespeare didn’t give a damn about it.. Swap Shakespeare for Moliere and Racine? I think not…

Aspiring writers' quiz

Have you got what it takes to be a writer?

It's been a while since I've redirected my loyal readers to a quiz. This one is by Holly Lisle, an American author with an extensive and very useful website. I learned a lot from it when I started writing. And she doesn't mention single POV once.

Go to Are you right for writing? and see how you score. (Disregard the repellent colour scheme of beige and pink. And the decorative photo to the left of this post, which is clearly an actress pretending to be an author. Probably Jane Austen).

Oh, since you ask, I got 47. She says: 30 - 49 points -- There's hope; you suspect some of the darker truths about the profession, and have an idea of what some of the rewards are. If you really want to do this, you'll face some disillusionment, but also stand a good chance of finding the real joys of the profession.

Now I think this could be fun...

Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest

If, like me, you have a novel that, unaccountably, has not yet been pounced on with cries of delight by the publishing industry, this may be your opportunity.

They will accept 5,000 entries; you send your completed novel, and the first 5,000 word extract. Up to a thousand writers will be selected for the short list, then the extracts will go online for the public to vote for. Eventually, three contestants will go to New York for a prizegiving, and the lucky winner will be published by Penguin. It sounds as though Penguin will consider publishing the runners-up, too, if they are good enough.

Take a look at Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest (not the snappiest of titles) for details.

I say, there's a huge hole in that chapter...

Oh. Didn't notice that. Rats.

Have you ever had someone point out a huge improbability in your plot? Small ones are okay, you can usually put them right by a sentence or two deftly inserted before the dodgy bit.

Something like, Alice mused that she had been fortunate indeed, having a father who'd insisted she take Tae Kwon Do classes to black belt standard, so that, should she ever be attacked by three men, she would win. Phew. So much for the doubter who said a girl would never have been able to defeat the baddies single-handed in Chapter Ten.

But what about the ones that wipe out your plot? In Lord of the Flies, Piggy's spectacles become crucially important as the only means of making fire. However, and isn't it lucky that no-one pointed this out to William Golding, Piggy is short-sighted. His lenses would have been concave, and useless for focusing the sun's rays.

Similar thing in the film Casablanca. The 'letters of transit' that guarantee the holder free travel anywhere in German-occupied Europe, that everyone is desperate to get their hands on? No such thing ever existed.

As for the plot holes that have been drawn to my attention in my two novels...you didn't think I was going to tell you what they were, did you?

G K Chesterton

'A good novel tells us the truth about its hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author.'

This quote is from G K Chesterton, a favourite of mine. He is best known for the Father Brown stories (with which, it is said, he incidentally converted himself to Roman Catholicism). But my favourite book of his is The Man Who Was Thursday, worth reading if you haven't.

He wrote poetry too. One I like so much that I have learned it (no easy task for me, it took weeks) is The Last Hero.

It is a poem full of wild romance, about a hero who is having a truly terrible day. His enemies have taken over his ancestral home, and are hunting him down. He has walked twenty miles through pouring rain, knowing they will overtake him. The woman he loves hated him. But he remains cheerful and full of appetite for life.

I recite it to myself when feeling hard done by, or when caught in a downpour. Great stuff.

Inspiration, re-drafting, rewriting...

What would you do if you lost your manuscript?

This actually happened to Jilly Cooper, who left the one copy of her just-finished novel on a bus after a good lunch with her agent. One can only imagine the weeks of hope and despair before the poor woman sat down to write the whole thing over again...

But without the excitement and discovery of a first draft. Flipping between trying to recall the old version, and just writing it anew. Thinking it still possible that the original might turn up...and being completely certain that the first rendition was better.

I have experienced this in a minor way, when I suffered a series of computer crashes over a period of months. I bought a second computer (belt and braces) then, come the next failure, discovered that they had not been programmed to back each other up at night as I'd thought. In the end, after a week of nail biting, it transpired I'd only lost one scene. But, do you know, I still think it lacks something the original had.

Now, in case the workshop burns down, I print out the books every two thousand words or so, and take them home, where I add them to a wobbly stack; geological layers of Rising Fire and Trav Zander, going back through time to my earliest efforts.

An egg or a nest?

The difference between a short story and a novel...

A short story is an egg, a novel is a bird's nest. For me, a short story pops into my head in one piece, and by the time I've written it down, it's finished, complete, and I'm unlikely to make any but the most minor changes. This process takes four to six hours.

A novel is quite different, and takes much longer. I start with an idea of what it will be like, then as I write I go back, make alterations, add scenes, and incorporate things I observe day to day. Like the blackbird who built a nest in my balcony bay tree; string, cellophane and the odd bit of wire she came across in the urban landscape were all woven into the construction, and the earth below was littered with discarded twigs and leaves.

As I queued for fish in Waitrose, a man pushed in front of me. I remonstrated, he was rude, and another man took my side. The instant aggression that sprung up between the two men was startling. It seemed they might hit each other.

My one thought was, I've underwritten the altercation with Farren and Edric...must change it.

Says it all...

"Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him to the public."

Sir Winston Churchill

Metaphors and similes

A good metaphor or simile is a lovesome thing.

When I wrote, 'He felt as weak as a fly on a cold day at the end of summer', I felt ridiculously pleased with myself, because I don't often come up with descriptive phrases like that, and they do make prose more vivid.

What about the bad ones, though? 'As quiet as a mouse' - anyone who has tried to sleep with mice rampaging round the room will wonder how that saying achieved common use. And 'touch pitch and be defiled'; as a jeweller I sometimes use pitch for repousse, and it's really not that messy. 'Touch a car's engine and you'll be black from fingernail to elbow' - now that's the truth, but it doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

From the master of metaphor and simile, P G Wodehouse;

She gave me the sort of look she would have given a leper she wasn't fond of

He was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and had forgotten to say "when!"

Her eye swivelling round stopped me like a bullet. The Wedding Guest, if you remember, had the same trouble with the Ancient Mariner

Her face was shining like the seat of a bus-driver's trousers

As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight

Gosh, he was good. I've really got to work on this.

Colons

Today we will discuss the colon. Briefly.

Extremely fond though I am of the semi-colon, I never seem to think to use a colon. George Bernard Shaw, that talented yet irritating man, used them to excess. He probably used up my share, and a lot of other people's.

I am not sure what a colon does that a full stop doesn't do better.

In the whole of Trav Zander, I use one colon. When it is published, there will be a small prize for the first person to locate it.

(Don't all rush at once, you'll trip over the ellipses).

The ultimate query letter?

Literary agents are a picky bunch.

We all know a manuscript has to have the best opening sentence ever, and deliver an intriguing plot on page one, in a genre which the agent believes might be the Next Big Thing. A hopeful author will, of course, also need a snappy synopsis that makes the agent rush to read more.

Now, alerted by my friend Alan, I realize this is not enough; one also has to have the perfect query letter.

I have downloaded How to Write a Great Query Letter by Noah Lukeman, and am halfway through reading it. Some of the advice is common sense; don't use cheap or coloured paper, or an unusual font, don't write more than a page. He has some useful insider knowledge, having been an agent himself for many years; apparently, it is a convention in the publishing industry that book titles are set in caps; 'This alone can signal a pro'.

Some advice, though, is kin to my daughter's superstition that for exam success, it's as well to wear spotty socks, and the brighter the spots the better. Using A4 paper is bad, for example; it needs to be 8 1/2 x 11 inches. Can this be true?

I have now got to the nitty-gritty about what to put in my Three Paragraphs (you're only allowed three) and there's still seventy pages to go.

I know what I'm going to be doing over the next month.

Here is one of my favourite quotes, from Nerve, by Dick Francis. The hero is talking about what he learnt from his mother, a pianist;

'Professionalism, for instance; a tough-minded singleness of purpose; a refusal to be content with a low standard when a higher one could be achieved merely by working'.

Is it done yet?

How do you know your book is finished?

I am sure Dickens, who wrote detailed outlines of every chapter before he started, knew when the job was done. Those of us who write in a more haphazard way, starting in the middle or at the end, randomly putting down scenes as they pop into our heads, are less certain. With my first book, Rising Fire, I didn't even know what happened in the second half of the book when I began. I worked it out by deciding what the characters would do next in that situation. Episodes I thought would occupy the central section ended up near the beginning. More like making a rag rug than knotting a carpet.

In preparation for Print on Demand on Youwriteon I have revised, read aloud, polished, checked the spacing after every full stop (gah!) and for the moment, I think that's it. But is it? After it's lain fallow for a few weeks, will new thoughts of how I can improve it sprout in my mind?

Should I still be nurturing Rising Fire and Trav Zander, or is it time for them to leave home, find a job and a flat, and make their own way in the world?

Talking dogs…

Once upon a time, there was a man who angered a great Emperor. The Emperor ordered his death.

‘Oh Most Powerful Lord,’ said the condemned man, ‘only let me live, and I will teach your dog how to talk.’

Now the Emperor was very fond of his dog. He stroked its ears as it sat beside his throne. Most likely the man was lying; it was an improbable offer, but just supposing he could do it? What, after all, was there to lose? So he said,

‘Very well. I grant a stay of execution. If, at the end of a year, my dog can talk, you will go free. If not, then you will die.’

The man bowed low and thanked the Emperor, then left the room to prepare the canine speech classes. His friends rushed up to him.

‘What was the point of that? You’ll never teach a dog to talk.’

The man answered, ‘Many things can happen in a year. I may escape. The Emperor may die. Or, just possibly,’ and he smiled, ‘the dog may learn to talk.’

* * *

I heard this story long ago, I don’t know where, and it stuck with me. If ever anything good and extremely improbable happens, I mutter, ‘What do you know, the dog learnt to talk.’

Gold star on Youwriteon

Yesterday my short story, Comforted by Darkness, made the best seller chart on Youwriteon and got its gold star. It's currently at number eight. My other short story, Showing Them, is now at number two.

Comforted by Darkness qualified by staying in the top ten for more than twenty-five days in a three month period. In fact, it was hanging around the lower reaches of the top ten for eighty-three days, which I'm hoping may be a record.

So I'm really pleased.

The ultimate rejection letter

Any unpublished author will be familiar with rejection letters. I came across this on the web. No attribution, so if it's yours, let me know.

Herbert A. Millington, Chair - Search Committee
412A Clarkson Hall,
Whitson University College Hill,
MA 34109

Dear Professor Millington,

Thank you for your letter of March 16. After careful consideration, I regret to inform you that I am unable to accept your refusal to offer me an assistant professor position in your department.

This year I have been particularly fortunate in receiving an unusually large number of rejection letters. With such a varied and promising field of candidates, it is impossible for me to accept all refusals. Despite Whitson's outstanding qualifications and previous experience in rejecting applicants, I find that your rejection does not meet my needs at this time.

Therefore, I will assume the position of assistant professor in your department this August. I look forward to seeing you then. Best of luck in rejecting future applicants.

Sincerely,

Chris L. Jensen

While on this topic, have a look at: The Devil's Mailbox

27th August 2007 I've found the author! Still not entirely sure who he is, but see; http://www.ufobreakfast.com/archive/00000194.htm

Trav and Isolda in the rain

Another extract from Trav Zander. Trav and Tor have returned to Carl's catital to rescue Katrin. While waiting for dark, Trav goes into the city to look for Isolda. Tor suggests he gets some apples while he is there.

* * *

It had started to rain, which was good; it meant Trav could wear his hood, and if he kept his head down he was unlikely to be recognised. He knew he would be lucky to find Isolda. In this weather she would most probably stay indoors, but he wanted to see her so much he had to go and look. People were clustered by the shelter of the stalls in the central square. Trav walked round, then looked into the shop windows, but Isolda was not there. He saw a fruit stall and went and bought some apples and a hessian bag to put them in. Pocketing his change, he glanced up and there she was, coming out of the glovemaker’s, as if summoned by his wish. The elegant way she moved made her unmistakeable though she was shrouded in a cape and hood. She was alone. He followed her down a narrow lane. The rain grew heavier, and she took cover under an overhanging building. He joined her there.

‘Wet day for a walk,’ he said. Her head turned sharply and he smiled at her. It was so good to see her, and he could tell she was pleased to see him. His spirits soared.

‘Trav? You’re mad coming back. Carl is thirsting for your blood. What are you doing here?’

‘Oh, I just came to get some apples…’

‘Fine, don’t tell me then.’

‘…but since I am here, and we happen to have bumped into each other, why don’t you come away with me?’

She looked at him.

‘What, now?’

‘Why not?’

‘You mean, leave Carl, leave all my belongings, walk away with you now to wherever you are going? In the rain?’

‘Right. That’s it exactly. If you get a better offer today I’ll be surprised.’

‘But I hardly know you…’

‘You like my stubble.’

‘I don’t know where you live.’

‘Doesn’t matter, I don’t live there any more, Carl knows the address.’

‘So you want me to join you on the run? You’re insane.’

No one was about. Trav put his arms round her and kissed her, savouring the delicate lily scent of her. Apparently she still liked him…quite a lot, it seemed. This thought made him smile too much to go on kissing her properly, so he stopped and said, ‘Come on, Princess. Trust me, it’ll be great.’

She leaned back against his arms smiling and gazed into his eyes. ‘You know, I really like you, Trav. But I’m not quite crazy enough to run away with you.’

‘If I kissed you again, would you get crazier?’ He bent his head towards her. She stopped him with a hand on his chest.

‘It’s no good, Trav, you’re very nice, I find you very attractive, but you’re just not the sort of man I go for.’

Trav saw that she meant it. His confidence and excitement of a moment before evaporated. The colour leached out of the day, leaving it grey and flat, and he became aware that his left boot was leaking. Everything seemed heavy, complicated and barely worth the effort. He let go of her.

‘You mean I’m not rich?’

‘Yes, that is what I mean. I’m sorry.’

‘So you prefer a rich bastard like Carl to someone you like who’s poor?’

‘I like the life. I like money, nice clothes, someone else doing the cooking and cleaning. Good food and wine. Not having to get up at dawn. I’ve tried being poor and I didn’t like it.’ Isolda was getting into her stride now. ‘I’m not going to go back to it for anyone, and if you’re honest I bet half of what you like about me is the gloss that wealth produces; the way I dress, the way I smell, the fact that my hands aren’t red and cracked and my face isn’t careworn from a life of petty worries. I doubt you’d have looked twice at Isolda the kitchen maid in her grubby rags.’

‘You think that’s what attracts me to you? Your clothes? Okay, I like the packaging, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, but it’s not just that. It’s you I want, Isolda, the real you that I can talk to. You when you’re being kind and funny and understanding. Carl only cares about your looks. For him you’re the beautiful mistress who adds to his status, that he bought like any other expensive object in his palace.’

There was contempt in Trav’s voice, and Isolda thought not all of it was for Carl. She flushed.

‘I am my own person, not yours, not Carl’s. I am here because I choose to be. If you don’t like the way I live my life, that’s too bad. It’s none of your business.’

‘You can’t have it both ways, Princess. You’re paid to do what Carl wants, however you wrap it up. You’re his down to the last polished fingernail.’

‘I think you should go.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m going.’

Her hand moved towards him uncertainly. ‘Trav – take care of yourself.’

‘Sure.’

He went off through the downpour. Isolda stood as he disappeared round the corner. There was a lump in her throat, and a piercing sense of loss in her heart. Part of her wanted to run as fast as she could after Trav, frantic that it might be too late and she’d never find him. She turned and walked in the opposite direction back to the palace, rain mingling with her tears.

Okay, so I'm a blockhead...

Doctor Johnson famously said, ‘No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.’

The picture, by Henry Wallis, shows Dr Johnson at Cave's the Publisher. Is the maid waiting for him to finish some last-minute revisions so she can run it to the printer’s? Or perhaps, given the fancy frock, it's a daughter of the house admiring an eminent author.

Lots of us write without being paid, though I guess most of us cherish the small hope that we will be published one day, and maybe even reap a modest profit. My writing folder is ironically entitled FAME AND FORTUNE, because I dimly remember hoping this would be the result of my efforts, in the far-off days when I knew nothing at all about it.

I have another quote from Doctor Johnson, who lived in a time lacking worldwide communications;

‘I would not give half a guinea to live under one form of Government rather than another. It is of no moment to the happiness of an individual. Sir, the danger of the abuse of power is nothing to a private man.’

Happy state of ignorance. The great man wasn’t right about everything.

I looked up these quotes on The Samuel Johnson Soundbite Page.