The Ignition of Revision (1)

What was it that caused me so quickly to begin a revision of Vengeance Will Come, when it had literally been the farthest thought from my mind?

In the months since putting the manuscript in the mail, I’ve been mulling over how I wrote it. One problematic issue has risen to the surface of my consciousness like foul oil sitting on the top of clean water. The frequent point-of-view (POV) swapping and I’m now convinced it’s a problem.

While some POVs lasted for an entire chapter, there were many, many more far shorter. Someone wise once coined the phrase, ‘a picture tells a thousand words’, obviously that person has never played Pictionary on my team… My lack of drawing skills aside, here’s a picture to demonstrate. (All the yellow highlights are scene changes).

VWC POV changes.PNG

(Wow, even though I knew it was a problem… this display makes it clearer – and me dizzy).

At the time of writing, I thought that the rapid POV/scene changes added to the speed of the novel… but I’ve gradually decided that too many rapid POV-shifts disorient to the reader. Possibly also, my constant POV changes hinted at a weakness in my writing. I believe it’s easier to head-jump than describe the same thing through one character’s brain.

Recognising this flaw, the main change I am going to be doing through revision is cutting down on the number of scenes and POV changes. Small POVs will either be discarded or made meatier.

Do you agree – does frequent and short POVs confuse or annoy you as a reader?

(Next writing-related blog post, I’ll show you the first ‘real’ scene of chapter 1 and explain why it’s now lying on the cutting room floor).

Advertisements

Well, I didn’t see that coming…

Just a week ago I wrote that I didn’t want to spend any longer on my novel Vengeance Will Come. As I discussed, it had been sitting idle for months.

And then I began to read it…

…and I fell in love with it all over again (if I can use the term loosely).

But the months of “resting time” (as they say in cookbooks) has made me aware of some of it’s flaws…

So now I’m going to start do (another) final revision of it. And this one – I promise – will be the last revision that I will initiate. (You may have noticed that I left enough room in that statement for a parade to pass through…). A final revision and then I plan on releasing *somehow* as an e-book.

I may be late to the party but I have started to use Scrivener, and although it isn’t entirely intuitive to me, I am starting to like it. I am very appreciative of the generous try-before-you-buy program of 30-days of actual use. Sure, it doesn’t have everything I would want but it’s a pretty good product. I’m 99% sure I’ll be a customer before the end of my trial period. I’m also keen to try out their mind-mapping product Scrapple.

Highlights from ‘The Dragon Reborn’

My highlights from book 3 of The Wheel of Time series, ‘The Dragon Reborn’:

It was not that he seemed merely capable of violence and death; this man had tamed violence and death and kept them in his pocket, ready to be loosed in a heartbeat, or embraced, should Moiraine give the word. (page 47)

This is a wonderful description of violent potential. It has been tamed and kept in his pocket. It speaks of complete mastery. Violence wasn’t something to be feared in the slightest, but ever-ready on his person.

“‘The blood of the Dragon Reborn on the rocks of Shayol Ghul will free mankind from the Shadow.’ (page 70)

The Wheel of Time, with it’s philosophies of rebirth and destiny is full of prophecy. It sets up a deep world and lays out mountains of coming-lore which must be weaved into the future volumes. (Notice too, how it’s vague. It gives us a location, but nothing more = a promise easily kept).

“Men always seem to refuse to admit they are sick until they’re sick enough to make twice as much work for women. Then they claim they’re well too soon, with the same result.” (page 205)

I swear I’ve never complained during man-flu. (Just don’t tell my wife I said that… Also, best not to ask my family or work colleagues either).

Only one who can channel can be turned in this way. The weakness of our strength. (page 230)

To give it context: only those who can use magic can be made (against their will) to serve evil. It’s a law for good magic systems. Those who have powers must always have weaknesses, and it should be in balance. A great power must come with a great weakness. Otherwise the world is unbalanced.

The pin was the smallest part of a pair of scissors, and the easiest made, but without it, the scissors cut no cloth. (page 380)

It’s little insights like this which I find to be rich little parables or observations. Note also it’s Perrin (the blacksmith) making the observation. No doubt he may have constructed scissors, and so he has an appreciation which explains his knowledge.

For the young, death is an enemy they wish to try their strength against. For those of us a little older, she is an old friend, an old lover, but one we are not eager to meet again soon.” (page 418)

(I obviously just liked it. I can’t say why now).

For a heartbeat that took centuries he hung, wavering, balanced on the brink of being scoured away like sand before a flash flood. (page 604)

This I like because it explains that in reality it took next to no time, but for him it felt as through it was painfully slow. Like the working week.

Vengeance Will Come

Vengeance Will Come was the title of my first fantasy adventure novel.

Back in September 2017 the first 3 chapters of the manuscript began the journey from Australia to a US publisher. The potential wait, as advertised, was up to 6 months. On the publisher’s website they stated if you hadn’t heard back within 6 months, re-submit as it may have been lost.

I say the manuscript began the journey, because I don’t know where it’s journey ended. Sadly, after waiting months I had heard nothing. I don’t know what happened to the manuscript. It could be sitting in the bottom of a postal bin a kilometre from my house for all I know. It might be gathering dust in the publisher’s basement or dropped into the ocean by a drunk deckhand on the mail ship. My preferred option is that it was intercepted by a mail-reading fiend who has enjoyed it so much they are keeping it close, like a certain Precious ring.

I just don’t know. Learn from my experience: pay whatever it costs to get a delivery confirmation. If you’re going to wait for months it’s worth paying to know it actually arrived at it’s intended destination.

The way I look at it, I have several options:

  1. Re-send it to the same publisher, and wait another 6 months
  2. Send it to another publisher
  3. Indie publish it through Kindle Direct
  4. Banish it to the “draft drawer” (never again to see the light of day)
  5. Imprison it in the “draft drawer” (one day, it might escape either as-is, or be re-written).
  6. Release it for free

Making the decision isn’t easy, and honestly I feel like a weather vane in rough weather. And I don’t like being indecisive.

Traditional Publisher. Part of the reason why I wanted to go the traditional publishing route was for vindication and gate-keeping. I don’t want to add to the torrent of books available unless the quality of my book is reasonable. I wanted the support of professionals to advise me on how to improve the book.

I wrote the book, expecting it to be the part of a series, but now I am less sure that I will write the sequels. Although the book is definitely a beginning of the story, I believe it’s also enjoyable on its own merits stand-alone. However, if I sold to a publisher I’d expect to be locked into finishing the series in short order… and I’m not sure I’d want that.

The “Draft Drawer”. It could go there, but then the hundreds (probably, thousands) of hours I spent on it feel completely wasted. And the premise of spending longer on it (later) for a re-write isn’t appealing, especially given my uncertainty over the series and objective quality.

Kindle Direct or release for free. These are the last two options. If I were to release to Kindle, I’d be doing it for a nominal sale cost ($0.99). As all authors do, I doubt the quality of my work. I suspect it has ‘first-book problems’ and I wouldn’t want to overcharge for it. For the price of $1 I think readers should be more forgiving. I’d be going through Amazon for the chance of reaching a broader audience, not for the small amount of revenue it would generate.

If I released it for free, I have no sense of guilt about questions of quality, and it feels like less work to do it… but then would anyone actually read it???

Any suggestions?

When you don’t like your main character

She’s so perfect I just puked a little. I apologise for the grotesque (and cliché) expression.

But the cliché fits and it’s how I feel about Sue-Le, my main character in The Rebel Queen. And I don’t mean perfect in a good way. She’s idealistic and only wants the best for her people. And unlike modern politicians, she actually means it. Her only flaw is she’s  innocent to the point of naivety.

This doesn’t make her endearing to the reader, it makes her annoying. In summary: she’s trite, sickly sweet and ultimately annoying. (Is now a good time to ask for beta readers???)

But all is not lost. I’ll put her through the same tumble dry as I have my other characters. I started off with a cast of bland and cliché characters and have redesigned them into interesting, multi-dimensional characters. Sue-Le is going to take a tumble or two more.

I’ve twisted the characters a fair bit to make them interesting. Instead of having a paragraph or two of “who they are”, I now have a page or two. They are richer and deeper. This also makes them more challenging to write. It’s easy to say “write this from the perspective of an older woman”… it’s harder for me to do that as a young-ish male 🙂

After spending most of 2017 revising Vengeance Will Come I must admit I’d rather be writing a new story than revising still… There is also a temptation to say The Rebel Queen is written, and only doing a skin-deep revision. But I wrote earlier that I’m wanting to do a thorough revision, to improve the story as much as possible.

That means I’m re-writing entire scenes and I’m treating the plot as ‘branch A’ instead of a ‘blueprint’ of what must be.

On to writing… have a great day/evening.

The Rebel Queen, Scene 1

For this week’s post I thought I’d share scene 1 of The Rebel Queen.

The genre is a political drama set among an alien species. The story runs parallel to a section of Vengeance Will Come, which I discussed here.

It’s a longer post (approx 2,000 words) so make yourself a cuppa and get comfortable as you read. Please, do let me know what you think in the comments below.


“When Deckarians are looking for a planet to colonize they seek isolated and inhospitable planets. They prefer geologically stable, arid planets with thick crusts into which they can burrow.

The new colony begins the slow and methodical Deckarian terraforming: diverting surface waters into underground reservoirs, making the planet’s surface more hostile.

It is both a camouflage and a comfort to the Deckarian mindset that thrives underground. To be above ground is to be foolish and invite trouble; to be deep below is to be safe.”

Diary entry of Dr Susan Passive

– – –

The female Deckarian, Khuel, was half-hidden in the dim lighting of the drinking hole. The lighting matched the mood: unpretentious and quiet.

Having nothing better to do she watched the viewing screen with idle interest. Two human males circled each other in the Fighting Pit. Like all humans, both were lanky, long of arm and leg by Deckarian standards and covered with soft, fragile skin. One brandished an axe, the other a long knife. Both wore fear on their faces as they contemplated death.

Khuel was slumped forward so her leathery grime-covered forearms rested on the polished pine counter. Her dirty appearance suggested she’d come straight from work and was looking for a drink, not company. Even still, she’d already cast aside three hopeful males.

With her peripheral vision she saw a male Deckarian enter the drinking hole. He chatted with the pourer just long enough to prospect the room. Picking up his drink the male walked over to sit next to Khuel as though the rest of the counter wasn’t empty.

Here it comes, Khuel thought as the male turned to her, “I’ve seen you in here a few times but we’ve never been introduced. My name is Hun,” the male gave her a friendly smile. Khuel picked herself up slightly off the counter but continued to spin her empty glass without looking at him. Hun persevered, “Looks like you’ve had a hard day?”

She said nothing, but let out a long sigh. She pushed the glass away from her as a sign of completion.

“Don’t be in such a hurry to leave. Let me buy you a drink to improve your night,” Hun offered quickly and signalled the pourer. Khuel didn’t stop him ordering the drink, so she turned and gave him a weak smile in payment.

Hun wore the steel-studded collar of a clutch leader, marking him as modestly successful. He looked ten years older than her.

“There, is that better? A free drink or two and someone nice to talk to, the night is looking up,” Hun said. He hopes, Khuel thought with a slight smile.

“Sure, why not,” Khuel said, sitting up straight and turning her attention to him. Hun’s face lit up like a forming star in response to the encouragement.

“You haven’t told me your name yet?” Hun prompted.

Khuel smiled mischievously. “The drink will get you a smile, if you want my name you’ll have to do better than that.”

Hun smiled as though he’d just struck Rhodium and deployed a well-worn line. “You know you’ve got a pretty face when you smile.”

“So I’m not pretty when I don’t smile?” Khuel rolled her eyes and took a large gulp of her drink, “I bet you say that to all the females.”

Hun noted the rapidly diminishing drink and his window of opportunity. “So, you work in this sector?” he asked.

“I spend my working hours in near-darkness, elbow-deep in fertiliser, harvesting mushrooms.”

“That’s a valuable job. Food production is vital to the wellbeing of the colony.”

“Valuable, perhaps, but very dirty,” Khuel examined her mud-stained fingernails. Hun wasn’t very choosey, but given the age gap between them…

“Oh there’s no shame in the side-effects of hard work,” Hun said with pride. “Better to stink of sweat than smell sweetly like some who do no work.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Khuel agreed with a sigh. Nothing like a little class hatred to draw friends together. “There seem to be more perfumed preeners in the colony every year; I don’t know where they come from,” she replied.

“Most preeners are pilots of course,” Hun said, “they walk around the colony as though they’re our betters. Some of the soldier class too. And then there’s the occasional worker-“

“Not many,” Khuel interrupted, “It’s not in the nature of us workers to consider ourselves better than others. Even if we were, we wouldn’t say it.”

Hun nodded.

“Have you…” Khuel started and then looked around to check they wouldn’t be overheard, continuing in a whisper, “heard the rumours that the rebel Queen favours the worker class?”

Hun had his glass halfway to his mouth but immediately put it down. He shot her a glare and checked their surroundings too. He leaned in close, but his tone was hard and pointed like a freshly sharpened pick, “Such talk is foolish. Dangerous. Definitely not for public airing; it could be seen as treasonous.”

Khuel put her hands up in tired surrender, “Sorry, I didn’t meaning anything by it. I wasn’t saying I wanted a new Queen, just repeating the rumours that I’d heard.” Hun looked at her sideways. The hunter had become skittish prey.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Khuel pouted, “you’re the first actually nice male who’s talked to me tonight. Sometimes I just think too much…”

Hun didn’t say anything and just sipped his beer with a grim look on his face. I’ve spoiled it, Khuel thought. In several quick gulps Khuel emptied her glass and then started to spin it on the counter. The pourer quickly rescued the glass before drifting away.

“Do you want another?” Hun asked, opening the door to more conversation. Khuel shook her head. Hun grabbed at the bowl of roaches on the counter and began to eat them. Hun spoke quietly in a conciliatory tone, “There’s nothing wrong with thinking anything, you just have to be careful what and when you say things.”

Khuel nodded in understanding and let the silence linger to defuse the tension. “I just thought that maybe some fresh ideas could improve life in the colony for everyone, not just those at the top,” Khuel reasoned.

“Do you really think that?” Hun whispered.

“Sure, why not? Just to be clear I’m not advocating for a new Queen, so don’t freak out on me… I just think some things in the colony could benefit from a change.”

Hun took a slow and very deliberate drink.

“So you’re optimistic and cute… I promise I won’t freak out on you,” Hun said and spoke conspiratorially, “I’ve heard a thing or two about this rebel. She has a lot of interesting, unconventional ideas.”

“Really? Like what?”

Hun gave a knowing smile. Khuel leaned in so that their faces were almost touching. She whispered to him, “Even though I’d never support another Queen, there’s something intriguing about her ideas. And the whole conspiracy – rebels hiding out somewhere in the colony… there’s a danger and a mystery about it which I find… more exciting than I should.”

Hun nodded slightly as he took another drink. “I suppose I could tell you what I know.” Khuel swiveled on her stool toward him and a shrewd glint appeared in Hun’s eye. “Not here; we can’t talk about it in public,” he said.

“Are you just trying to get me back to your bunk?”

“Yes,” he said candidly, “but I do know quite a bit about the rebel group and the Queen’s plans for the colony.”

There was a pause before Hun repeated her own challenge, “A smile will get you that much, but you’ll have to do better than that for more information.”

“I am curious,” Khuel admitted, “but how do I know you’re not just leading me on? Swear on G’Nar.”

“May G’Nar crush me if I’m lying,” Hun said with his hand on his head. “And what will I get in return?”

“I promise on G’Nar we’ll have a night to remember,” Khuel replied. She looking at his half-full glass, “have you finished your drink?”

“Almost,” Hun gulped down the last of his drink as though dying of thirst on the planet’s arid surface. He enthusiastically dug credits out of his pocket and placed them on the counter. He winked at the pourer as he followed Khuel out of the drinking hole.

Outside of the drinking hole the corridor was awash with Deckarians and humans slaves. Like the old saying went, ‘only the dead rest in the colony’, and everyone was about their work duties. They crossed over the crowd and into a quieter side-tunnel.

“Where are you bunked?” Khuel asked.

“Dormitory 14.”

“I know somewhere closer that is just as discreet,” Khuel whispered and led him through several corridors before getting onto her hands and knees and sliding into a narrow access-tunnel. Hun laughed as he climbed in; the crawl-space was so narrow it forces them into each other’s arms. Khuel kissed him and Hun returned the kiss with twice the vigour. Khuel broke free from his kiss and whispered into his ear, “You will tell me everything?”

“Yes,” Hun promised breathlessly, his hands beginning to explore. Khuel smiled as Hun started to nuzzle her neck. Her arms around his neck, she twisted the silver ring on her finger, exposing the hypodermic needle hidden inside.

“Yes you will,” she said, and drove the needle into the soft tissue behind his ear.

He reacted instantly, trying to pull away from her in the tight space. The look of pain and surprise on his face became fear as he crawling backwards, but losing momentum fast. Khuel tucked her legs up into a sitting position as she watched Hun collapse to the ground, like the sack of garbage he was.

Khuel wiped his saliva from her mouth and rubbed it disgustedly on the wall. She smiled her first real smile of the evening; the Queen’s Sting had just captured another rebel sympathiser. Perhaps he would be the one to finally lead them to the rebel Queen.

END OF SCENE 1

Comments?

The Allure of Rings

I recently had an idea for a story. Whether the story will go-on, and when, who knows. But here is the first section. What do you think?


August Thomas sat in the café chair, almost laying, his long legs extending to the vacant chair across from him. It was a sunny morning, which excused August’s sunglasses and hid his bloodshot eyes. He picked up the coffee cup with a faint clink as his silver ring touched the china. He sipped the bitter coffee which was equally too-strong and overpriced. He pretended to be reading the newspaper, peering over it’s top edge to those around him.

Though the trendy café was bustling with breakfast patrons, only a few of the outdoor tables were occupied. At the centre sat two ethnic men arguing about anything and everything in raised voices. It was hard to gauge if they were smoking more than arguing, both were in abundant amounts, each seemingly fuelling the other.

A few tables away a young woman’s laugh was cheerful and as bright as the floral dress she wore. She laughed as though the man with her was a comedian, tucking her auburn hair behind her ear. Her ring finger was noticeably bare, but expensive earrings hung from her ears and matched her purse. Her companion, encouraged by her body language joined in on the laughter. Her eyes locked on to August, and he smiled.

She pointedly turned her attention back to her date. A polite smile wouldn’t have cost you anything, August thought.

August went back to looking at the paper as he habitually spun his ring with his thumb. He was reaching the end of his coffee when his peripheral vision caught movement at the table. The young woman had risen and was walking into the café toward the fruit buffet. Her purse remained on the table, as her date watched her depart and then started thumbing through his cell phone.

August stood and tucked the newspaper under his arm. He was weaving his way through the empty tables, as he pulled a cell phone from his own pocket.

“Oh crap,” August cried as his cell fell from his hand, hitting the ground accompanied by the sound of smashing glass. The amateur comedian turned to look at the wrecked phone, before reaching down and passing it to August.

“Oooh, bad luck,” the man sympathised.

“It’s the second time I’ve done that.”

“I hope you’ve got insurance.”

August smiled weakly. “I don’t leave home without it,” he said as he dropped the phone back into his coat pocket.

August walked briskly and weaved through several blocks before stopping in the service alley of a Mexican eatery. He took the newspaper from under his arm and unfolded it, revealing the woman’s purse. It had been easy: at the sound of the phone hitting the ground the man’s attention had been drawn away; plenty of time for August to slide the purse into his paper. The woman wouldn’t be happy when she realised he’d let her purse be stolen, August smiled. He opened up the purse, and pocketed the hundred and thirty in cash.

Thanks, Alanna,” he muttered as he examined the woman’s driver’s license. He tossed the license and her credit cards into the dumpster, emptying out all personal belongings carefully.

An hour later, after selling the purse to his favourite ‘broker of used goods’, August arrived home two hundred dollars richer for a few hours work. In his arms he carried two six packs of beer.

“One for you, and one for me,” August said as he put one on the coffee table. His housemate, ‘Blue’, was stereotypically sitting on the couch, stoned.

“Thanks,”the word filtered out slowly from Blue as August began to walk away. “Hey, what have you been up to?”

August turned around at the accusation. He shrugged. “Around, like normal. Why the interrogation?”

Blue looked at him wary, as though he’d grown a second head. “There were some people here, August. Looking for you: what did you do?”

“What kind of people?”

“Two men, scary looking. Looked like the Feds, but didn’t show no badges. Creeped me out. They were asking a lot of questions about you.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Not much. I was already high, so I just rambled for a while and they gave up and left.”

August approached the window and peered out cautiously. “Well there’s no one around now.”