Debi Alper
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Whay a shame you were anxious about posting, Julie. I would have hoped that, by now, you know this is a safe space where it’s OK to post something that’s less than perfect. Is there any such thing as perfection, anyway? I’d say no. There are always more tweaks that can be made – the question is when to stop tweaking and accept that you’ve made a passage as good as it can possibly be. That takes confidence and, honestly, so many of us are our own worst enemies when it comes to that. We’re trained to think that confidence is arrogance, but it really isn’t. We need to be kind to ourselves, distinguishing between our constructive inner editors and our destructive inner censors. So, this is my first message to you: you write really well! There’s so much about this extract that I love.
But, yes, there are also some general points to be made and I suspect they won’t only apply to this short extract.
I want to talk first of all about body parts and physical sensations. There’s been some talk about the heat of panic hitting her stomach, and whether heat is the appropriate word. I’m coming at this from a different angle and would question whether we should be talking about her stomach at all at this point. However we describe them, these sorts of physical responses are pretty generic. That’s why we all know what you mean and people are trying to decide whether it feels like heat or something else. What would distinguish Rachel’s response from anyone else’s is her PD4-5 response – what’s going on in her head at that point, rather than in another part of her body. That’s what makes her unique as a character. Would she swear? Oh shit! Blaspheme? Jesus Christ! Something more restrained? Oh, dear Lord, please don’t let this be happening. If it’s in her character to blend words, might she do that in her head? That’s the sort of thing that can be very voice-y and, as we know, a strong voice in the prose is crucial for bringing a character to life. If it helps to know, I had incan-fucking-descent in one of my novels. I often come across MSs that rely on stomachs clenching etc to portray how a character’s feeling and, nine times out of ten, I reckon they would be improved if the physical sensation was replaced by something more voice-y and idiosyncratic to that character. It might be worth doing a document search on stomach and seeing how often you use it.
Related to body parts, you might not be aware of how much of the passive voice you’re using. Some of this works really well: the reply quivering the floorboards, the coffee smell making her gag. But her hand smacking the door open and Matthew’s arm retracting are both examples of giving agency to the limbs, rather than to the character. Also, retracting made me think of something telescoping inwards, so I’m not sure it’s conveying what you want it to.
Now we come to the issue of using italics for thoughts. I spoke about this in last week’s How Was It thread but you might have missed it. There’s so much to absorb, I know. This is what I said there: If you get the PD slide right, you don’t need to put thoughts in italics or quotation marks. If you feel the need to do that, it’s probably because you’re levering them in to the middle of a distant PD level. If not, you simply shouldn’t need the signalling of italics or quotation marks because it should be abundantly clear that we’re seeing the character’s quoted thoughts.
That’s what’s going on in your final paragraph. The sentence before the italicised words is PD3, as evidenced by the filtering she saw. Converting the thoughts into third person would make them PD4, which would be much smoother than jumping to first person. You could then dispense with the italics. There are some novels that still use them for thoughts but they tend to snag the eye, especially if they’re used for multiple purposes, eg quotes, titles, emphasis etc. Personally, I’d aim for using PD instead when it comes to thoughts.
OK – so that’s a lot of general issues that are likely to crop up elsewhere in the draft. See how much we might be able to suss out from a small extract? One last point: try to make sure that you vary the syntax so that you don’t have too many sentences starting with a pronoun – unless the repetition is intentional.
Anyway, to reiterate, this is all tweaking and polishing and, though it might sound like a lot, I’m aiming for as close to perfection as we can get, right? You’re already a long way along that road.
We need to leave.
It was Rachel’s first thought, on opening her eyes. She lay on her side, staring at the leaning wall, and anticipated the warmth of Lee’s heated car seat on her back. That split hill shrinking in the side mirror, to an insignificant speck. (The very specific detail of something that hasn’t actually happened is throwing me a bit.)
What a relief that Lee’s clammy (great adjective to show Rachel’s discomfort) body no longer wrapped itself around her. She lay for a moment, listening to the drone of a world waking. Distant birdsong. Bleats of sheep. The morning breeze pushing the windowpane. (I really like this gradual dawning of consciousness. Maybe this is where she could anticipate how the morning is going to play out. I’d put a line break here before the next sentences.) A conversation in the room below. A man’s angry voice…
Matthew would never shout at an empty room. She sat up, looking around for a glimpse – even a full frontal (she’s under the sheets – isn’t it unlikely she’d get a full frontal?)– of Lee.
She was gone. She was in the kitchen, with him. (Three consecutive sentences beginning with *She* and the pronoun refers to two different women.)
As Rachel fought to free herself from the dragging sheets, (love that!) Lee’s reply quivered between the floorboards(and that),(I’d make that a full stop, not a comma) ‘No, I won’t!’
She ran down the stairs barefoot-breathless. (Great!) The smell of fresh coffee in the kitchen corridor made her want to (you could lose *want to*) gag. (The coffee suggests something other than an angry confrontation.) Her hand smacked the door open. (Her hand is active in this sentence.) It banged against the wall, but she saw, before they jumped back, their heads almost touching across the table. (That sounds like intimacy.) Why did you have to confront him? We were just going to slip out. (See previous comments about using italics for first person thoughts.) Matthew’s arm retracted to his side. (Matthew’s arm is active here and *retracted* is an odd image.) A heat of panic hit her stomach. (See previous comments. Could this be more voice-y?) He’d tried to strike her (that’s quite formal phrasing – is it right for Rachel’s character?) again. She’d not had a full view, (of what?) but it was there, in his eyes, a fight to regain control.
I love the breathless panic here, Julie. It’s to your credit that I really want to know what happens next! I hope you don’t mind if I play with it. I’m going to try to strengthen Rachel’s voice but do please remember that I can only do a pale imitation and don’t know her like you do. As a result, I will be getting a lot of things wrong for her character.
Rachel opened her eyes and blinked at the leaning wall. Thank Christ, Lee’s clammy body was no longer wrapped around her. They needed to leave but she spent a lazy moment, anticipating the warmth of Lee’s heated car seat on her back. That split hill shrinking to an insignificant speck in the side mirror. Meanwhile, it was nice to just lie here for a moment, listening to the drone of a world waking. Distant birdsong. Bleats of sheep. The morning breeze pushing the windowpane.
A conversation in the room below. A man’s angry voice…
Matthew would never shout at an empty room. Shit! Rachel jerked up in the bed and looked round.
Lee was gone. She was downstairs, in the kitchen. With him.
As Rachel fought to free herself from the dragging sheets, Lee’s reply quivered between the floorboards. ‘No, I won’t!’
Rachel ran down the stairs barefoot-breathless. She smacked the kitchen door open. It banged against the wall, but she saw, before they jumped back, their heads almost touching across the table, Matthew’s arm extended. To slap? Punch? He yanked it back to his side as Rachel exploded into the room.
Damn, damn, damn. Why did Lee have to confront him? They were just going to slip out. But he wasn’t going to allow that, was he? It was there, in his eyes, the determination to regain control.
I hope that’s useful, Julie. Do please remember that I’m being pernickety about a piece of writing that’s already good. And please don’t allow yourself to be held back by a lack of confidence! Your blended word isn’t a rule-breaker. Don’t go creating imaginary rules for yourself.
Great to see you, Richard. So pleased you’ve managed to post this week and hope you will find the time at some point to trawl through and fill in the gaps from week 4. All of the threads will remain here after the course ends, so you can come back in at any time in the foreseeable future. You may feel that PD applies less to your memoir than it does to a novel but I would argue that a memoir is creative non-fiction, ie there’s still a creative process involved in you telling your own story. PD would probably apply in the sense of Richard Now being the distant end of the spectrum and Richard Then being the close-in end. I hope that when you have the chance, you’ll be able to go back to all the week 4 threads and work out how PD would work to bring your memoir to life. I know you’re also writing fiction, so it will certainly be vital for you there.
Anyway, coming to this extract. The insights into the training process for firefighters are fascinating and have the potential for a wide appeal. And then there’s that surprise at the end. I didn’t see that coming! The thing that would elevate this from an informative memoir into a compelling story is if you strengthened your own voice. That may sound strange and you’re probably saying right now that, of course, you’re writing in your own voice. How could you not? But the voice of the Richard we’ve come to know in comments and conversations doesn’t appear here. I think this is the voice you think you should be using to tell your story. If we removed the avatars and names from people’s contributions on the course, I reckon we’d still know who had written a comment. Not just because they’re talking about their own WIP but also because each of us has a different way of speaking/writing, and that comes across on the page or screen. I’m pretty sure that you, in your normal life, wouldn’t use words like uncomprehendingly or quizzical.
Let’s think about this a bit more. In this extract, we have information, in the form of the instructor telling you and the other recruits what you will be doing and what to look out for. That’s inevitable because he is literally delivering instructions. But even this could be made more interesting to read if you used the creative writing techniques of a novelist. You could show this instructor to us, bringing him to life. You could also break up his instructions with some prose. For example, you could show the space you’re all in and the other recruits. You could show your internal responses as the character at the time this was happening. I’ve spoken elsewhere about my mission being to convince people that creative writing needs both show and tell but I’m going to have to say that your whole extract consists of tell, including the minimal prose which punctuates the instructor’s monologue. While the info imparted is fascinating, the writing itself could do much more to entertain and engage the reader. Is this making sense?
There’s nothing that’s actually wrong with what you’ve posted. The line spacing is off but that might be down to copying and pasting from Word. In every other way, it’s clean and free from errors so, on the micro level, it’s job done. But we want more than that, right? The reader needs a greater reward than info. If you pitch to agents, they may well be excited by the concept of your memoir, but they’re going to be looking for a strong voice on the page, just as much as they would in a novel. Let’s drill down into the detail.
A major part of ladder training became what is known as the “carry-down” from the third floor of the training tower. We started with dummies draped across our shoulders using a traditional fireman’s lift until we were proficient, then one day we were paired up and the instructor addressed us. (This is pure *tell* in your authorial voice but there’s no sign of the idiosyncratic voice that we all know you have. Where were you on that day? How many of you were there? What did the instructor look like? Where was he standing? Are the rest of you standing or sitting?)
‘Today you will take turns acting as a rescuer and casualty.’
(Reduce space)
Everyone stared at him uncomprehendingly. (The adverb doesn’t add anything of value.)
Nobody spoke. (Why? What’s going through people’s heads? What lies behind the incomprehension and the silence?)
(Reduce space)
‘The casualty will first climb the one-three-five ladder and enter the window on the third floor. He will be secured to a safety line before the rescuer follows and enters the same window using a standing sill-mount. He will then lift the casualty across his shoulders. It is important that the person acting as casualty is relaxed and does not tense up! It is much easier to carry down a limp and relaxed casualty, than a tense panicking one! The rescuer will then re-mount the ladder using a standing mount, before carrying the casualty back down to the ground. Does anyone have any questions?’ (This is a long and unbroken monologue. Can you show the instructor to us as a character-in-action, so we don’t only have his spoken words?)
(Reduce space)
Everyone continued staring uncomprehendingly. (We still don’t know why people are struggling to understand him. The instructions seem clear enough.)
No-one asked any questions. (Why not? Because they understand? Because they’re anxious but are scared to voice their fears?)
(Reduce space)
He talked us through some emergency procedures and how to direct any oncoming ambulances. (More *tell*, this time in the form of a summary.)
‘In the event of a fall from height,’ he said, ‘part of the primary survey should include signs of priapism, indicated by an erect penis. This is often associated with traumatic spinal cord injuries and can be a symptom of a broken back.’ (I would love to be able to see him when he delivers this killer line. Does he look blank and humourless? Or does he look around with a face that warns people against making a joke out of his words? After all, there’s nothing funny about a broken back. On the other hand, dark humour is probably essential for anyone working in the emergency services and humour can break up tension and be a release. I can’t see the instructor and you’re not giving us any sense of his personality.)
(Reduce space)
I stared at him with a quizzical expression. (You’re describing how you looked from the outside. In PD terms, this is PD2-3 – very distant from you as the character, at the time.)
Some recruits giggled. (Can you be specific?)
I now have a huge challenge. I have no idea how to fill in the gaps because this experience is so far from mine. I also don’t feel confident about trying to impersonate your voice. But I do think you need to do a lot more showing, both of the scene and of you, as a character in your own story. I’m going to have a go at it but, inevitably, I will have got pretty much everything wrong. Apologies for that.
After a few weeks learning the basics, we came to the major part of ladder training ̶ the carry-down from the third floor of the training tower. Up and down the tower we went, over and over again, with dummies draped across our shoulders, using a traditional fireman’s lift. So far, so good. This was fun. I was fit and enjoyed pushing my body to the limits. A couple of the other recruits struggled. It was obvious that one guy, Pete Davis, drank too much beer and smoked too many cigarettes. By the time he’d reached the bottom of the tower, he was bright red and wheezing. Looked in a worse state than the dummy on his back. He dropped out and probably found a nice desk job where he could have long boozy lunches and an easy life. An easy life was not what I was looking for.
The following day, satisfied that we were all proficient, the instructor, Mike Brown, gathered us on the tarmac at the foot of the tower and told us that today we would take turns acting as a rescuer and casualty. He put us into pairs and my partner and I sized each other up. George Sutcliffe was about my size and weight. I reckoned I could hoist him over my shoulder easily enough but wasn’t keen on the idea of trusting him to bring me down safe without us both tumbling down off the ladder.
I’ll stop there. Obviously, I’ve made up the details. I think readers will want to be able to *see* the tower more. The scene is so familiar to you but most people will have no idea what it looks like, where the ladders are etc. I didn’t even attempt to describe that. Can you see what I mean about the balance between show and tell? You’re telling a story, albeit the story of your own life, and you need to use a storyteller’s tools in order to make your story sing. You have such a fascinating tale to tell but it’s you as a person we want to engage with, not the information you have to impart. Hope that’s helpful, Richard.
Hi Gillian. Great to see Simon at a pivotal point in his character arc. I love seeing your comments about themes of anchoring, as a literal description of bridges being anchored to the ground and also as a metaphor for his character needs. I see that apologies are also a recurring theme. Nice. It means Simon is now taking responsibiity for his flaws and attempting to change them. A good reminder that people can and do change and redeem themselves. Hannah works well as a catalyst.
We need to talk about PD. Your jump to first person is a sign that you haven’t grasped how it works yet. Don’t worry too much. It’s a brand new tool, which you didn’t know existed until last week, so it’s no surprise you’re still working out how to use it. The main thing to internalise for now is that a jump to first person is rarely (I’m tempted to say never) going to work so, if you find yourself doing that, take a step back.
The big question appears to revolve around POV and external narrators. You said: I’ve even wondered if I could exaggerate the oddity and make it part of my ‘novelistic style’ … No idea why I find it so hard to get right. I’ve no idea either, but it’s important that you do know how POV works. As I said in the tutorial, you need to understand the rules before you can break them. I wonder if you’re over-complicating it in your head. Novels come to life through their characters. As we said in week 2, they’re the reader’s representatives in this world. At the beginning of a scene, you need to decide whose eyes and ears we’re going to be seeing and hearing through. That’s the literal definition of POV. Unless you have good reason to switch, this will need to be consistent throughout that scene. In the case of your WIP, it will most often be Simon whose experience of the action we’ll be sharing. It certainly will be in this scene. I see no reason at all for the narrator to push their way in. As we saw last week, the narrator’s voice is likely to appear only at the beginning or end of a scene, or to transition from one POV or time to another. If you want us to relate to Simon, and I think you do, most of the prose will sit at PD4, with occasional forays into PD3 or 2. I’ve a feeling that PD5 will be too emotive for you and for this WIP, so I wouldn’t even attempt to go there.
We can discuss possibilities for a external narrator next week (I seem to remember suggesting someone who uses the language of architecture as an obvious choice). Their voice is not going to muscle in mid-scene, so won’t apply here. If it does, the likelihood is that we will be so remote from Simon that it will be hard to invest in him. The key thing is to nail Simon’s voice, so it colours the prose at PD4 (AKA a close POV). Can you see how this covers pretty much everything we’ve done so far, from character, to voice, to POV and PD? Everything is interconnected.
Chithrupa has spotted the typos and I saw your explanation. I hear you but just want to say that this week was supposed to be about polished, final draft writing. It’s so easy to make slips and so important to proofread our own work. Most of the other things I would point out have cropped up in feedback from your coursemates. I love it when we get to this stage of the course and other people start doing my work for me. If, as I hope, you all continue to share your writing with each other, post-course, I know I’ll be leaving you in safe hands. Here’s my deconstruction, much of which will be repeating what others have already said.
Hannah presses go on her internal file and she’s away. (Yes, who’s using this metaphor? It makes her sound robotic, so, if it’s Simon’s perception, I’m not sure if it’s delivered with admiration, respect – or maybe even resentment.)
‘I’m so glad you agree. Jason and his lot have taken off. They’re properly anchored now. Productivity at least doubled.’ (I like her brisk and clipped office-speak and agree about the contradictory imagery of taking off and anchoring.)
He puts a hand up. It’s ignored. (Is it just the two of them in the office? Does he need to ask permission to speak? It makes him sound subservient.)
‘Thanks for the apology.’ She looks straight at him. ‘It means a lot to me.’
‘Oh. That’s all. I thought it must be something important.’ (I can’t work out what he means by this, though it might be clear if we had the context of the preceding sentences.)
‘Simon!’(delete random quotation mark) This is important.’ She faces him. (She was already looking at him.) Speaks slower. ‘To both of us. My reorganisation set the ball rolling. Your change of tack with Jason worked like a multiplier. You did well(full stop) The change (*change* was in last sentence too) in atmosphere has spread right through the office.’ (I can’t help feeling she’s being a tad patronising. Wouldn’t that be hard for him to swallow?)
Simon’s turn to stop. He returns to his desk. Sits. Hand (just one hand?) in lap. (This body language feels a bit passive. He can’t change too much, too quickly.) Takes a deep breath and looks directly at Hannah. He smiles. Eyes too. (You’re relying entirely on external signals to let us know what he might be feeling – but we might get it wrong. Giving us his PD4 thoughts would give us the accurate info.)
‘Thanks(comma before names or endearments in dialogue) Hannah. I’m really glad.’
(Missing quotation mark)That’s OK than (should be *then*). I’ll leave you to get on with it.’ She turns as she reaches the door. ‘Marion says thanks for the apology too. Two of us on the same day. What’s changed?’ She vanishes. (I like the way she leaves the question hanging for him to work out the answer for himself.)
Simon blinks. She’s gone? She hardly gave me time to think. (Switch to first person and a complete and grammatically-correct sentence – which we’re unlikely to encounter at PD5.) The word ‘multiplier’ sinks in. He hears her voice saying ‘you did well’. Three short words make such a difference. Ridiculous. (I’m getting mixed messages and I’m struggling to work out what he’s feeling. The word *ridiculous* is so loaded, but is also open to interpretation. Her praise has meant something to him. Is he censuring himself for feeling pleasure at her praise? There could be some delicious conflict here, but we’re not seeing it because you’re not allowing us to share his internal monologue.)
He renews his energetic pounding of the keyboard.
Something has changed. Ideas assemble themselves coherently and with ease. He approaches the tangle ahead and for the first time in months has the sense of firing on all cylinders. (I like the way he’s now been empowered. It’s just that I needed to see the steps there.) Like putting a hand out in the dark straight onto the light switch. (Mixed metaphor. Choose one.)
As with all your coursemates whose work I’ve commented on so far, there’s lots to admire here, Gillian, but it’s not at final draft stage yet. The golden tool is PD and what’s missing is PD4. I know all our brains are wired up differently and some people have no inner monologue and can’t imagine what it’s like to have one. Conversely, those of us who have inner voices that never shut the hell up can’t imagine what it’s like not to have one. I wonder which category you fall into. If it’s the former, that might explain why you’re struggling to nail Simon’s voice in the prose. It matters though because stories come to life through their characters and, if we only ever see him from the outside, you’re going to have a serious challenge when it comes to getting readers to engage with Simon and care for him enough to want him to change. There are some novels which stick to the top end of the spectrum (thinking of PD as a spectrum, rather than a dimension, should help here) but they tend to be fast-paced thrillers, where what matters most is plot, rather than character. That’s not what you’re writing. Though plot and character should be inextricably interwoven, the very identity of your story is how a character can change. I really think you’re going to have to push yourself to get to know Simon from the inside, so you can pass that onto us as the readers.
I’ll have a go but it’s worth pointing out that you’ve given me very little to go on, so I’m going to have to create a voice for my version of Simon.
‘I’m so glad you agree,’ Hannah says. ‘Jason and his lot have taken off. Properly committed now. Productivity at least doubled.’
There’s a lesson here, isn’t there? Simon could have so easily lost Jason. He’d been clumsy. Insensitive. Hannah had swooped into the rescue. The result? Jason is on board and happy. Better for the project. Better for everyone. And maybe … just maybe … better for Simon as a person.
Hannah looks straight at him. ‘Thanks for the apology. It means a lot to me.’
‘Oh. Is that what you came to say? I thought it must be something important.’
‘Simon! This is important.’ She narrows her eyes at him. ‘For both of us. My reorganisation set the ball rolling. Your change of tack with Jason worked like a multiplier. There’s a different atmosphere in the whole office. It’s called teamwork, right?’
Ouch. She’s right though. This time, her role was to limit the damage he had done. Jason is an asset and Simon had alienated him. Lesson learnt.
He returns to his desk. Takes a deep breath and looks directly at Hannah. He smiles. Eyes too. ‘Thanks, Hannah. I’m really glad things have worked out.’
Hannah returns his smile. ‘That’s OK then. I’ll leave you to get on with it.’ She turns as she reaches the door. ‘Marion says thanks for the apology too. Two of us on the same day. What’s changed?’ She vanishes.
Simon blinks. She’s gone? Hardly gave him time to think. But something has shifted. He can’t yet find the words, but it feels like the change is a Good Thing.
He renews his energetic pounding of the keyboard.
Yes, something has changed, all right. Ideas assemble themselves coherently and with ease. He approaches the tangle ahead and, for the first time in months, he’s firing on all cylinders.
Though I don’t know Simon and will have got his voice wrong, can you see that’s sharing his experience more? I’m happy to talk more about POV. Hopefully, at some point, the lights will switch on and you’ll wonder why you couldn’t see it all before.
Jumping in here to say I don’t know that novel, Kate, but what you’re describing sounds like a fabulous example of PD1.
Here I am, Chithrupa! You did make me chuckle with this: The funny thing is, until I started the course I didn’t realise my project was challenging. It is! But don’t let that put you off. I love the confidence that led you to put your story first, without questioning whether or not it might be ambitious. Don’t ever lose that.
Here’s the thing, which we were edging towards last week. Your WIP turns PD on its arse, which is a beautiful demonstration of how flexible a tool it is. Xander is a powerless witness, narrating the action that he sees. It’s in his voice as the narrator that he’s in PD5! It will also be his voice describing the action, because the whole WIP is in his first person voice, but the visceral emotional stuff comes when we’re hearing his voice as the narrator.
Can I clarify one thing? You said: By the time this scene takes place, Aidan and Xander have worked out two other modes of communication (the key one being through Bentley’s audio system when set at ghost frequency). But again for that they should both be in Bentley. Does this mean that Aidan is aware of being watched by Xander, even if he’s not able to communicate with him at this point?
The scene really is a delight. The awkward flirtation is toe-curling, especially when it’s witnessed by the recently-dead husband of one of the flirtees. One of the things you were concerned about was differentiating between the dialogue and Xander’s take on it and on the action. This is easily handled by inserting some line breaks and also being diligent with the punctuation. A missed quotation mark in a different WIP is trivial but, in yours, may lead to confusion and misunderstandings.
You do need to take care with the tenses. The whole WIP is in the past tense. If that’s the case, the only time Xander would slip into present tense is when he’s PD5-ing. But I don’t think you want to do that too often – maybe not at all. The risk is that it might make us dizzy if we keep ricocheting between past tense action and present tense reaction. I don’t know. If anyone can make it work, you can.
Oh – and I love the aubergine suggestion but remember that in the US, they call them eggplants. Now for the detail.
‘Then, at least, allow me,’ Aidan said with a dramatic bow, rushing to retrieve a cup. The coins jingled in the iron underbelly as he continued, ‘Peppermint, right?’ (Line break to separate Aidan’s dialogue from Xander’s reaction.) He picked the tea (stabbed the button?) before receiving a response (that doesn’t sound like Xander’s voice), scoring a point or two—the bugger. The metal nose hissed, whistled like a congested snore and vomited the steaming liquid. (No need to murder this darling. Xander can be a competent narrator.)
‘You’ve got a good memory,’ Renee said. (Line break) Big deal, tea type was not exactly rocket science.
‘What good is a detective without a near-perfect memory,(question mark)’ Aidan said, tapping his temples,(full stop)’ (the quotation mark is in the wrong place and is the wrong way around – this is the kind of thing you have to be really careful about) it’s (capital I) all in my head,’ he added with a wink. (Line break) The nerve! (This is tense neutral and perfect PD5.) Wait until I get my voice back. (Slips into present tense but the next sentence is past tense.) When I was (past tense) done, he would be (conditional tense) on his knees and cursing the day he was born. (This sentence needs work.)
‘I see,’ Renee said with a chuckle, ‘the memory does not (I’d use a contraction) extend to the present.’ She pointed at the now overflowing cup of tea. The smell of mint hit me like a shot. (Does Xander, as a ghost, still have his senses? Isn’t that unlikely? If the phenomenon of his ghost-status in your WIP is different from what the reader would expect, you’ll need to make a point of it, so we know it’s your authorial intention.)
‘Oops,’ Aidan quipped, (usually, I’d advise against alternatives to *said* but, if Xander would use this word, it’s a different matter) taking his hand off (I think he’d snatch his hand away) the hot water button, ‘…clearly, a dazzling presence distracting me from being present.’ (Ha! Aidan is quite sweet in his desperation.) (Line break here.) He was clearly (you used *clearly* in the previous sentence – if this is Xander’s sardonic voice and the repetition is deliberate, we need to know that) breaching my rule three, and a bunch of others. The over-smart-(not a hyphen) motor(hyphen here instead)mouth—Oh, what would I not give to rip it off his face. The sweet, sweet fantasy.
‘A man of words, a rare find these days,’ said Renee, boosting his dinosaur(hyphen)sized ego. (You can keep this as Xander’s perception but need it to be on a separate line.)
‘Shit…’ (line break) I was pleased to see Aidan’s blistered hands (red, not blistered) shaking the air. Not quite ripping the mouth, (I didn’t get that – it took me a couple of reads) but this will have to do, for now. (Tense slipping here.)
‘Careful. Stupid cup — doesn’t know not to hurt the detective.’ (Double negative but that’s probably right for Aidan trying to make light of what must be painful.)
The dark-purple of Aidan’s cheeks had nothing to do with his burnt hands, (full stop, not a comma. Ask yourself what this is for. To show Aidan’s embarrassment? We’ve already got that from his bumbling uncool dialogue.) ‘Yes, stupid cup,’ he repeated, as he wrapped the cup in a cardboard blanket. (Usually called a sleeve – not sure Xander would choose a cosy word like blanket.)
This is ever so good, Chithrupa. Your creative right brain has come up with something really fresh and original. Now your analytical left brain needs to be ultra disciplined. You need to make your own rules – the only time the *R* word is justified – and stick to them. It’s going to be crucial to establish this on the sentence level, using white space as a tool. I would argue the white space on a page is as important as the words. It certainly has a vital role to play and never more so than in a WIP like yours, where you need to distinguish between action and Xander’s take on what he sees. Here’s my stab at it.
‘Then, at least, allow me,’ Aidan said with a dramatic bow, rushing to retrieve a cup. ‘Peppermint, right?’
The coins jingled in the machine’s iron underbelly. Aidan stabbed the button for peppermint tea before she’d answered, scoring a point or two—the bugger. The metal nose hissed, whistled like a congested snore and spewed out the boiling water.
‘You’ve got a good memory,’ Renee said, giving him a sidelong smile.
Big deal. Remembering what tea my wife liked was hardly rocket science.
‘What good is a detective without a near-perfect memory?’ Aidan tapped his temples. ‘It’s all in my head,’ he added with a wink.
The nerve! When I got my voice back, this clown would be on his knees and cursing the day he was born.
Renee chuckled. ‘Looks like your short-term memory doesn’t work so well.’ She pointed at the overflowing cup of tea.
The smell of mint hit me. Was I ever going to get used to being dead and still being able to smell stuff?
‘Oops.’ Aidan snatched his hand off the hot water button. ‘Clearly, a dazzling presence is distracting me from being present.’
What the—? If anything was clear, it was that he was breaching my rule number three, and a bunch of others too. The oily little clown. Oh, how I would love to rip that simpering smile off his face. The sweet, sweet fantasy.
‘A man of words? A rare find these days,’ said Renee.
Like she needed to boost his dinosaur-sized ego even more. Sweet baby Jesus, this was torture. Aidan was waving his reddened hands in the air. They must have hurt, though it wasn’t as satisfying to witness as the pain I’d dearly love to inflict on him right now.
‘Stupid cup. Doesn’t know not to hurt the detective,’ Renee said with a laugh.
Oh, give me strength.
‘Yes, stupid cup,’ Aidan said, as he slipped it into a cardboard sleeve.
Can you see the difference the spacing makes? You need to help the reader to navigate between the dialogue and Xander’s inner thoughts. Personally, I would avoid using italics as a signalling device. Line breaks make the transitions smoother, in my opinion. Don’t panic, Chithrupa! Celebrate having such a wonderfully active right brain and then work on honing the left-brain faculties. Be aware that most solutions will be relatively simple, but you need to be diligent in imposing them.
I like this a lot, Paula, and I was excited to see you playing with your new PD tool too. This doesn’t seem far off from final draft to me. I presume we’ve already seen the info about the current setting in the lab, which Anja wanted here, before we get to see the contrast with Boyle’s loft. There’s a poignancy about Regina – a vulnerability, which sets us up brilliantly for when we find out that she had killed Boyle. What a delicious twist.
On the micro level, I would tweak the PD a little. You may also have a tendency to over-use adverbs. She folds forward slightly … he pats her shoulder awkwardly. NB: I’m not saying adverbs are all bad, per se, but you need to be sparing with their use. Nothing screams ‘newbie author’ as loud as when adverbs are liberally (see what I did there?) sprinkled throughout. As an experiment, why not do a document search on ly so you can check each one and make sure it earns its keep. I like to think of adverbs as expensive – and you have limited funds. Can you afford each one of them? The same might be true for adjectives. Is it important for us right now to be told Lionel has green eyes?
Because the feedback is on the micro level, and I can’t hear any other alarm bells, I’ll get straight down to the detail.
She thinks back to the lab in the loft of Dr. (don’t need the full stop – we all know that Dr, Mr, Mrs are abbreviations but they’ve been accepted as the norm in their shortened versions) Boyle’s house in London. The cosy (can wood be cosy?) dark wood, the brass telescope, and walls lined with books. That oaky, dusty, papery smell became (I would make this pluperfect: *had become* synonymous with
afeelingof(*a feeling of* is a common qualifier) safety. It was a haven where she and the Doctor (lower case *d* because this isn’t his title) puzzled out problems (I agree that a specific example would work well here) together. A respite in the storm that had been her life until then. (This is where I start to sympathise with her.) If only she could go back to that time. (Really poignant when we later find out she knows he’s already dead, at her hand.)Here, she’s exposed in the harsh desert light, with the glare of Lionel White’s green (don’t think we need his eye colour here) eyes and the media cameras always on her. Slow and clunky, losing her natural flair. Constantly afraid of making a wrong move. (Really tense and claustrophobic.)
Her thoughts are rudely interrupted (that’s a bit of a cliché) when the door flies open, and Lionel White marches in. ‘Regina, I need you.’
Hah. What words from such a man! But it’s a turn of phrase. Nothing to do with him needing her as a person. (Does she need to be needed? Intriguing. I wonder about her real feelings for Lionel.)
Getting up, she checks her hair is tidily (adverb) pinned and straightens her white coat. ‘What is it, Lionel?’
‘Dr.(no full stop) Boyle is dead. Last night, someone shot him.’
She folds forward slightly (adverb), her hand going to her stomach (her hand is active in this sentence) as if she’s been punched. (I’d like to know what lies behind this body language. I know you don’t want to reveal the twist but we’ve been deep inside her head and this feels like the author is very deliberately withholding something from us.)
‘I know, it’s a shocker.’ He reaches out, but she turns aside, (I’d lose that comma) and he pats her shoulder awkwardly. ‘That’s not all.’
She sees (I’d lose this filtering) the flicker of excitement in his eyes.
‘The ice is breaking up in Antarctica, and I mean fast. Everything’s going up. Literally.’ He emphasizes each syllable of the word. (Then I would insert dashes to show him emphasising each syllable. Otherwise, we find out after we’ve *heard* him speaking and have to adjust our perceptions of how he sounded.)
(This should run onto the previous line, making it clear that it’s still him speaking.) ‘It’s time for the White Light Show.’ (It’s very much in Lionel’s character that his excitement about the White Light Show far overtakes his shock at Boyle’s murder. He has the boyish Musk-like enthusiasm that I know you’re aiming for.)
So, this is very much what we hope for this week – a passage that just needs some tightening and tweaking. I’ll have a go at it.
She thinks back to the lab in the loft of Dr Boyle’s house in London. The dark wood, the brass telescope, the walls lined with books. That oaky, dusty, papery smell, which had become synonymous with feeling safe. The place where she and the doctor had worked together, calculating the power of laser beams. Understanding how that power could be harnessed, used as a force for good. They’d thought they could change the world. Save it. That time had been a respite in the storm that had been her life until then. If only she could go back there.
Here, she’s exposed in the harsh desert light, with the glare of Lionel White’s eyes and the media cameras always on her. Slow and clunky, losing her natural flair. Always scared to make a wrong move.
As if to prove the point, the door flies open, and Lionel White marches in. ‘Regina, I need you.’
Hah. Need? But it’s a turn of phrase. Nothing to do with him needing her as a person.
Regina stands, pats her hair and straightens her white coat. ‘What is it, Lionel?’
‘Dr Boyle is dead,’ he announces. ‘Someone shot him. Last night.’
This is it then. She winces and holds her stomach as if he’d punched her.
‘I know, it’s a shocker.’ He reaches out, but she turns aside and he pats her shoulder awkwardly.
‘That’s not all,’ he adds. There’s a flicker of excitement in his eyes. ‘The ice is breaking up in Antarctica, and I mean fast. Everything’s going up. Lit-er-al-ly.’ He emphasizes each syllable. ‘It’s time for the White Light Show.’
There we go. I tried to just give a subtle hint that there’s more going on in her reaction than we see here. Just enough for the reader to think back when the truth is revealed and realise there was a hint there, but without giving anything away. Not much else has changed and it’s all just minor tweaks. I hope that reassures you, Paula. You’ve got this. I see you’re still thinking about the tense. We can talk about that in detail next week, if you like.
Lovely writing, Lucia, and a very different view of Anna for us. I love the ebb and flow of the prose and the PD, reflecting waves and tides. You’ve done a great job of conveying her disorientation after a near-death experience, her senses awakening gradually.
I want to pick up on one thing for clarity about the exercise. You said: I’ve tried to include all the things that Debi wants to comment on. I don’t come into this! The object of the exercise is not include things for me but to show us a passage as it might appear in the WIP. It’s for you, not me! Over on Gill’s thread, I’ve talked about character and timelines more than I have about the prose. In your case, I don’t hear any alarm bells about plot, character etc and the prose is really good too.
I note that you have condensed the scene in the current draft, which was three times longer in the original. Interesting because I reckon you could hold this moment a tad longer. It’s doing what you wanted it to, but it’s so good, I wanted more before she’s physically moved away. For example, I knew the tin foil was a space blanket because my partner used to be a marathon runner and we had a big stack of them (I eventually donated them to a homeless charity) but I can see it confused other people. But this is all easily resolved and any changes I would suggest are superficial. For this reason, I’ll move straight into the forensic analysis.
Rising and sinking. Up and down. (Presumably, this is not a physical sensation as she’s on solid ground now. Is it a muscle memory?) Only this time there was something solid beneath her. (Maybe it would take her a moment to work that out.) Dead, she thought. I’m dead. (The PD3 filtering works well here.) Best to keep my eyes closed. (I’m not sure why she’d think this is important if she thinks she’s dead.) Splashing. Swishing. Birdsong. (Agree this should be the screech of a gull.) The smell of seaweed. (Genius idea from Chithrupa to add taste to the list of awakening senses.) It certainly wasn’t hell. Her fingers touched something smooth, like tin foil. Yes, that was it. Her whole body was wrapped in tin foil. And a man’s voice, from long ago, yet
the speakerso close she could feel his breath on her face. (This is PD3 and works well but *the speaker* makes it more remote and formal than it needs to be.)‘Anna, wake up,’ the voice said. ‘You’re safe.’
Not dead. Dreaming. No need to wake up yet. There would be pain, she was sure of that, but not yet. Lie still and stay in the dream. (Lovely PD ebb and flow in the close end of the spectrum.)
‘Jack,’ she said. ‘You’re here.’ He wasn’t real. She knew that. (I like the blunt simplicity of these statements.)
‘Anna, thank goodness.’
Why was he laughing?’ (Random quotation mark.)
Arms reached under her, raising her up. (Would she be aware of the arms? Or just of the sensation of being eased up?) She opened her eyes and pressed her hands into the earth on either side of her body to steady herself. Not dreaming, she thought. He was real. Jack. He was here. Her hand (we’ve already had the mention of her hands – this one matters more) touched his face. Solid and rough. He laughed again and held her gaze. (This is a lovely tender moment. She’s gone from death to dreaming to grounding herself in reality, but there’s a dreamlike quality in the voice.)
‘Let’s get you off this island,’ he said, helping her to her feet. ‘I’ve got you.’
She lay (should be *laid* – we lay a table) her head on Jack’s chest and allowed him to lead her towards the shore, where the waves slapped the sides of a well-travelled fishing boat, and across the fjord, the glinting peak of Mweelrea pointed heavenward in an uncharacteristically cloudless sky. (Absolutely love this reverse PD slide. We’ve gone from drama, to tender interaction, to a timeless gaze from above. *Well-travelled* is fine because this is the narrator’s voice. It does sound like Jack’s leading her across the fjord though. Is that your intention? It’s a challenge to handle the transition from their character-in-action to this overview in a single sentence.)
OK – great stuff, right? A lot of people confuse the past tense of to lie. Google is your friend here and tells us: <span class=”BxUVEf ILfuVd” lang=”en”><span class=”hgKElc”>Lay means “to place something down flat,” while lie means “to be in a flat position on a surface.” The key difference is that <b>lay is transitive and requires an object to act upon, and lie is intransitive, describing something moving on its own or already in position</b>.</span></span> If you Google lay/lie chart, you’ll find lots of visual reminders of how this translates into different tenses.
Although this is already very good indeed, I’ll have a go at elevating it. As always, this is intended for you to adapt or reject, not as a replacement for your version.
Rising and sinking. Up and down. No, not anymore. Lying down. On solid ground? Dead, she thought. I’m dead. Except there were splashing noises. Swishing. The screech of a gull. The smell of seaweed. A salt taste in the corner of her mouth. If this was the afterlife, it certainly wasn’t hell. Her fingers touched something smooth. Tin foil? Why was she wrapped in tin foil? A vision flickered – marathon runners, wrapped in space blankets. Had she run a marathon? And a man’s voice, from long ago, yet so close she could feel his breath on her face.
‘Anna, wake up,’ the voice said. ‘You’re safe.’
Not dead. Dreaming. No need to wake up yet. There would be pain, she was sure of that, but not yet. Lie still and stay in the dream.
‘Jack,’ she said. ‘You’re here.’ He wasn’t real. She knew that.
‘Anna, thank goodness.’
He was laughing. Why was he laughing?
And then her upper body was being hoisted up. Her eyes flickered open. Not dreaming, she thought. He was real. Jack. He was here. Her hand touched his face. Solid and rough. He laughed again and held her gaze.
‘Let’s get you off this island,’ he said, helping her to her feet. ‘I’ve got you.’
She rested her head on Jack’s chest for a moment and then allowed him to lead her towards the shore, where the waves slapped the sides of a well-travelled fishing boat. Across the fjord, the glinting peak of Mweelrea pointed heavenward in an uncharacteristically cloudless sky.
I’ve only made some small tweaks – very much the kind of thing you’d be looking at in your final draft, when everything else is in place and you want the writing itself to sparkle. It already did! I just tried to make it a bit more, so as to squeeze every drop of potential from a wonderful scene. Hope that’s helpful.
Powerful writing, Gill. Mike’s raw anger is conveyed really well. The thing that strikes me most clearly is that Laura – daughter of Harry and pregnant by Mike – is almost irrelevant. This is a clash between two men and their egos. Neither of them give a damn for her. Given that the reader’s allegiance will definitely be with Laura, which of these men has betrayed her more? Both have used sex to abuse and control her.
I have to admit Mike has taken me by surprise. In week 1, we were told that he fell in love with Laura. That’s wonderful conflict between his professional role and his personal feelings. I was prepared to grudgingly cut him some slack. Yet there’s no sign of that here. Harry is Dick by name and dick by nature. Vile. Makes me shudder. easy to despise. But isn’t Mike’s betrayal much worse? He was the one leading a double life. He’s married with children. Where does his wife think he is? Do her feelings, and those of their children, ever come into his mind? His rage is directed at Harry for having manipulated him into choosing Laura as the person to spy on. Not at Harry being the father who had abused Laura. Having imagined Mike as a man with some wonderful conflicts, I’m now seeing him as a macho arsehole. Laura may be pregnant and vulnerable but, sheesh, she’s definitely better off without this man in her life – and not just because he’s lied all the way along about who he is but because he’s the last person to give her what she truly needs.
Moral dilemmas are wonderful in novels and you’re right – this is the sort of thing that readers love to talk about. My concern is that Mike doesn’t appear to have any. His conflicts are around being manipulated by another man. He’s led a double life, fooling everyone around him and about to father another child. This doesn’t seem to trouble him or even be on his agenda. I hate to say this but I can’t help feeling this makes him more one-dimensional and less interesting as a character. It also makes me feel differently about his death. To be blunt, he seems irredeemably malignant and I’m pleased he got bumped off – as long as Harry is too. If that’s what you wanted to achieve, you’ve done so – in spades – but I do think we should talk more about who he is, going back to week 2 and thinking about his wants and needs and potential conflicts between the two.
Right – so that’s one aspect of the WIP that’s been thrown up by this passage. Moving on from that, the other thing that strikes me is the complexity of the timeline. As I understand it, the main timeline is Mike headed towards a meeting with Harry and thinking back to his earth-shattering discovery – the night before? So now we’re in an earlier timeline, with Mike and Laura in bed together. But, in this timeline, he’s also thinking back to various times further in the past: Laura telling him her abusive father is a cop; Harry recruiting him – which was prior to him meeting Laura; the girl in the building (I’m not sure where that fits); Mel talking about men like Laura’s father (I don’t know where that fits either). That’s an awful lot to juggle and by the time we get to his visceral PD5 rage at the end, I’m not sure if he was feeling that at the time of the revelation, or if it’s now, in the main timeline, when he’s on his way to meet Harry. I could well be wrong but I can’t see the benefit of making the timelines so complex. I get that, in the instant of revelation, his thoughts would be all over the place. His mind would be a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and emotions. To work through all that – while lying next to your pregnant girlfriend for whom you have genuine feelings – would be so meaty! Can I ask why you’ve chosen to have him thinking back on it from the relative safety and distance of the next day?
OK – this is prose micro week and I’ve thrown out a lot of thoughts that are more fundamental for your WIP but they’re things I think you need to consider when it comes to the Big Picture editing. When it comes to the micro, you’ve demonstrated your skill and the writing itself is very strong indeed. It’s also clean and error-free, with a very strong POV voice for Mike. This is the sort of thing that many readers will feel must surely be in first person because we’re so close to Mike’s interiority. We (I!) may not like what we see there (all my loyalty is with Laura) but we’re seeing it all, nothing held back. I’m arrested by the image of pregnant Laura lying next to this explosive and dangerous man.
Now for the detail.
He was caught in the blast for a while. (*for a while* slows it down – the lens has moved away from the immediacy.) Ear drums exploded. Blood on the walls and carpet. (Brilliant metaphor. Metaphors are often more powerful than similes. It’s precisely because this is such a violent image that I think we should see him reeling from it *at the time of the revelation*.)
Laura’s breathing slowed as if she was asleep, and he shifted his body away from hers, repelled by his skin touching hers. Every caress, every kiss, for another man’s benefit. (It’s says so much about him that he’s repelled by her, rather than repelled by the enormity of what she’s gone through, and what he’s putting her through right now and into the foreseeable future.)
Harry could be lying in his bed right now, imagining Mike with his daughter. Grunting as he jerked himself off. Harry fucking Dick. (This is repulsive – as it should be. Is Dick as a surname a bit too neat?)
Mike lay in the dark, and looked back at the past, examining how he’d been fooled. Words had taken on meanings they didn’t need to have. Laura’s father, a policeman. Early on, she had told him. He’d always known. But the man Mike imagined at the peephole was a plod in shiny shoes. (His thoughts are disjointed and scattered, as they would be.)
‘Someone on the periphery,’ Harry Dick had suggested, ‘like those sisters with their bookshop. An operational decision, Mike, yours for the making.’ And Mike made a choice he thought to be free. (This is SO good. It’s back story but with the immediacy he would experience lying in the bed next to her, all this time later.)
Harry had manipulated him while Mike understood nothing. Memories beat at his brain. That girl in the building, on the night of the meet-up, a schoolgirl, Christ. Mel, in the flat, fearful for Laura. ‘Controlling men, like her father. They don’t let you go.’ (His brain is whizzing through memories. This works really well.)
He wanted to smash his fist into Harry Dick’s face, squeeze his thumbs into the other man’s sockets, and pop out his eyeballs. To tear out his tongue and eat it. You fucker, Harry Dick. I’ll kill you. (Brilliant surge into PD5.)
There’s so much to admire in the writing here, Gill, and not a lot I would change apart from the timeline issue. I’m really unsure about him thinking back while walking to meet Harry and can’t see any reason to create that kind of distance from something so visceral, especially when he’s thinking back to when he was thinking back, if you see what I mean. I’ll have a go at tightening it a little because I don’t want you to miss out on the micro, though it’s really not an issue here. The writing itself is excellent.
Caught in the blast. Ear drums exploded. Blood on the walls and carpet.
Laura’s breathing slowed. Was she asleep? Mike shifted his body away from hers, repelled by his skin touching hers. Every caress, every kiss, for another man’s benefit. Mike had loved this woman. Wasn’t supposed to but it had happened, hadn’t it? That was their child growing in her belly. He’d got over-involved. Broken every rule in the book but was still doing his job. His job which consisted of lying and manipulating. Only he was the one who’d been lied to and manipulated. Shit shit shit.
Harry was probably lying in his bed right now, imagining Mike with his daughter. Grunting as he jerked himself off. Harry fucking Dick.
Mike lay in the dark, looked back at the past, examined how he’d been fooled. Words had taken on meanings they didn’t need to have. Laura’s father, a cop. Early on, she had told him. He’d always known. But the man Mike imagined at the peephole was a plod in shiny shoes.
‘Someone on the periphery,’ Harry Dick had suggested, ‘like those sisters with their bookshop. An operational decision, Mike, yours for the making.’ And Mike made a choice he thought to be free.
Harry had manipulated him while Mike understood nothing. Memories beat at his brain. That girl in the building, on the night of the meet-up, a schoolgirl. Christ. Mel, in the flat, fearful for Laura. ‘Controlling men, like her father. They don’t let you go.’
Mike lay in bed next to his pregnant girlfriend but what he really wanted was to run out and find Harry Dick, smash his fist into the other man’s face, squeeze his thumbs into his sockets, and pop out his eyeballs. To tear out his lying tongue and stamp on it. You fucker, Harry Dick. I’ll kill you.
Honestly, I’ve made so few changes there that it was barely worthwhile. That’s clear proof that you have no need to worry about your ability to bring your story to life. I’m happy to talk more about Mike’s character if it would be useful. This is my kinda book and I have to take care not to impose my vision on it.
Oh, how good is this, Kate? Rhetorical question because it’s Very Good Indeed. The musicality of the prose, mirroring the music Harry produces, building to a crescendo, is gorgeous. It’s close to final draft, as far as I’m concerned.
Having said that, it’s true that there are a couple of clichés. If it’s right for Annie as a character to think in clichés, then you have a problem with her being the first person narrator. The reader will assume the clichés are yours, rather than being an integral part of Annie’s voice as a character. And a shout-out to Anja for her comments about using stronger vocabulary, especially verbs.
So, this is back story, with Annie thinking back. I would be interested to know how you linked into it because it has all the flavour of the wonder she experienced at the time, but told through the lens of her adult voice. But you also have a younger voice when she thinks back to how she felt, aged nine. I see other people are questioning this but, for me, you’ve used PD to get the balance spot-on between her adult narration and her younger character-in-action. And, at the end, you link away from the memory and back into the main timeline (at least, I presume that comes next) with the key word afterwards. Works for me.
I’ll get straight down to the nitty gritty.
I was bringing flowers for harvest festival (either add *the* or use capital H and F) and I came upon him practicing (the verb is *practising* – think of advice/advise) the organ. He must have been about eleven, a skinny wisp of a thing, but he played that organ as if his life depended on it, (cliché) sound thundering through the church as though God himself (she would use a capital H) was (this is where we get to how educated her voice would be – strictly speaking, this should be the subjunctive *were*) walking (strengthen?) in the eaves with his almighty footsteps. I stopped, pinned, in the doorway. Nobody ever made a noise (*noise* seems diminutive for the majestic sound it relates to) like that in our church. The elderly organist who accompanied our hymns was timid as a mouse, (cliché) and with nothing to lift them up, our Sunday voices were reedy and half(hyphen)hearted. (I would put a paragraph break here, to emphasise the difference to Harry by inserting a pause.) But Harry didn’t sing, or play, or listen to music like the rest of us. He was music. Music lived inside his hands. (The repetition of *music* works really well. I would reverse these two sentences, so you build up to him *being* music.) I could feel (not convinced you need that filtering) notes crowding the tips of his fingers, some emerging tidily, one after another, everything meant; others tumbling out, pushing and jostling, great crashes of storm and thunder. (A wonderful rolling sequence of short clauses.) Oh(comma) to be able to see them while they were still inside his hands, waiting for him to summon them onto the keys. (So tender and fanciful. Her passion for him is intimately bound up with her love of music.)
I might have been listening to God’s own trumpet blast. (I like that a lot. You could make even more of it.) I was shaking so hard I didn’t dare go inside. But afterwards, (here’s the link back to the main timeline, where she’s narrating from) whenever I saw that lanky boy stumbling (you’ve divided the crowd but I love this! The friction between his confident and effortless playing of the organ and this contrasting image is arresting and beguiling) through the village behind his mother, I remembered organ music booming through the church as if the heavens themselves were falling, and I knew the voice of God spoke through Harry and he was as special as an archangel. (Exquisite.)
It really is beautiful writing, Kate. I know you’re still unsure about some aspects but if this passage is a reflection of your ability to produce stunning prose, then you have nothing to worry about. I’ll have a go at polishing it – largely because I can’t resist. Hopefully, it will still be useful for you.
I was bringing flowers for the harvest festival when I came upon him practising the organ. He must have been about eleven, a skinny wisp of a thing, but he played that organ as if had lived a thousand lives, the sound thundering through the church as though God Himself were striding across the eaves with his almighty footsteps. I stopped, pinned, in the doorway, breathless. Nobody had ever produced anything like that in our church. The elderly organist who accompanied our hymns was timid, the notes he played muted, and with nothing to lift them up, our Sunday voices were always reedy and half-hearted.
But Harry didn’t sing, or play, or listen to music like the rest of us. Music lived inside his hands. He was music. Notes crowded the tips of his fingers, some emerging tidily, one after another, everything meant; others tumbling out, pushing and jostling, great crashes of storm and thunder. Oh, to be able to see them while they were still inside his hands, waiting for him to summon them onto the keys.
I might have been listening to God’s own trumpet blast at the dawn of the Day of Judgement and I was shaking so hard I didn’t dare go inside. But afterwards, whenever I saw that lanky boy stumbling through the village behind his mother, I remembered organ music booming through the church as if the heavens themselves were tumbling down, and I knew the voice of God spoke through Harry and he was as special as an archangel.
If you were unconfident about your abilities, I hope this has reassured you, Kate.
Oh, what fun, Anja. Loving this lively depiction of gossipy salon culture. (Not that I speak from personal experience – it’s 19 years since I last went to a hairdresser.)
You’ve stated that this is Jacoba’s POV, but it’s very shallow. I would argue that, if anything, we’re closer to Hubert’s POV, as I’ll point out. The flow of the scene comes in the dialogue, the minimal prose used for choreography. I don’t feel I know any more about Jacoba than you’ve told us – if that. Maybe that’s right for scenes which are in her POV. Maybe you’re saving a closer POV for Wendall, who’s the character you want us to engage with the most. Still, it needs to be pointed out. It’s worth noting that Alison assumed the POV was supposed to be Marge’s.
A few things on the micro scale. In the UK, single quotation marks are the norm and double are only used for quotes within quotes. The reverse is true for the US. Something like this obviously wouldn’t be a deal-breaker, so I’d just take care to be consistent. What does matter is the spacing. High five to Gillian for spotting this. Actions and interiority should be on the same line as any dialogue spoken by the same character, unless you’re deliberately inserting a pause.
I was pleased to see people talking about reading aloud. This is so important for *hearing* the rhythm and flow of your writing, especially for dialogue. You’re literally giving your voice an audible voice. I do agree that some of the dialogue doesn’t feel quite authentic as speech. A warning for when you said: Tbh, I really liked my dialogue. Don’t get so attached to something that you’re reluctant to change it. Darlings need to be murdered at times and I was pleased to see you saying it can always be improved.
Now for the detail.
“Now, we all know Thomas went to London because of – (I think this is a dramatic pause, so I would make it an ellipsis, rather than a dash) the tragedy.” Hubert’s tone was solemn.
Jacoba nodded. (We could have some interiority here. She’s desperate for the goss.)
“But,(delete comma) who could imagine that tragedy (would) followe
dhim right into London andstruck(strike) him down there with a vengeance?” (I like the theatrical vibe of his word choices. He’s relishing his moment in the spotlight as the deliverer of dramatic info.)Jacoba braced herself. (With relish? Or anxiety that her plans might be foiled?)
(This should be on the same line as the one above.) “What happened?”
The timer went off for Marge’s hair. (Nice reminder of where we are.)
Hubert ignored it – more important matters prevailed. (That’s either his POV or the narrator’s voice.)
“His dog escaped from its leash and jumped in front of a Bus 73, I think it was in the direction of Islington and –” (This line of dialogue needs attention.)
“Hubert!” Marge called. (While I’m not a fan of emotive dialogue tags, the setting and tone might be reinforced if she screeched, rather than called.) “My hair.”
“Coming, love.”
(Run onto previous line.) Hubert strutted (see my comment elsewhere about this verb – I prefer sashayed) towards the sink.
Jacoba’s nostrils quivered with anticipation. (I see this has divided opinion. I like it but would like to know what lies behind the quivering – what it’s a sign of.)
He continued: “Thomas jumped in front of the bus to save his dog, which he managed, the dog was alright with barely a scratch. But he himself was badly hurt.” (This also doesn’t have a flavour of authentic speech.)
“How bad?” Marge said, her head now wrapped in a soft white towel. (Nice incidental detail to keep us grounded in the salon.)
“He lost a bloody eye!” Hubert said, saving the worst for last. (That’s his POV, unless it’s the narrator’s voice.) “Pardon my French, ladies.” (I don’t think anyone would apologise for such mild swearing.) He unfolded the towel on Marge’s head and started combing her blue wisps of hair. He (two consecutive sentences beginning with *He …*) inspected the roots and approved of their state. (His POV) “I hear he looks ever so handsome with his eye patch.” He sighed. “Like a pirate, so romantic.” (Love this.)
“The man,(closing quotation marks are missing) Jacoba said pensively(not convinced that adverb earns its keep), “fell in front of a bus but somehow all he did was lose an eye?”
“Well, no, he’s in a wheelchair, of course. Didn’t I mention that?” Hubert shrugged. “That eye was poked out by his dog, ironically.” He unleashed the blow-dryer from the trolley. (I like the way the action punctuates the dialogue.)
Right, I hope you don’t mind if I play with this. Please note that it’s not possible to do indents here, so I’ve substituted double spaces. That’s not what you should do in the draft.
“OK, ladies, so we all know Thomas went to London because of … the tragedy, right?” Hubert’s tone was solemn, as befits the repository of sensational news.
Jacoba nodded, trying not to look too eager.
“But who could have imagined that tragedy would follow him to London and strike him down there with a vengeance?”
Jacoba met Hubert’s eyes in the mirror and braced herself. Tragedy had followed Thomas to London? Did that mean he was off the list for possible matchmaking with Alexandria? “What happened?” she asked.
The timer went off for Marge’s hair. Hubert ignored it.
“His dog slipped its leash. Ran straight in front of a number 73.” Hubert rolled his eyes for dramatic effect before pausing to add, “I think it was going towards Islington –”
“Hubert!” Marge screeched. “My hair.”
“Coming, love.” Hubert sashayed towards the sink.
Jacoba’s nostrils quivered with anticipation. A dead dog would be sad, of course. Wendall would definitely consider it to be tragic. But it wouldn’t get in the way of Thomas’s status as an eligible bachelor and a match for Alexandria.
Hubert continued his tale while rinsing the dye from Marge’s scant tresses. “Thomas dived in front of the bus to save his dog. So brave! And he pulled it off, would you believe? The dog escaped with barely a scratch.” There was a pause as he looked up, his face a picture of distress. “Poor Thomas though. Not so lucky.”
“How bad?” Marge said, her head now wrapped in a soft white towel.
“He only went and lost a bloody eye!” Hubert said. He unfolded the towel on Marge’s head and started combing her blue wisps of hair, inspecting the roots. “Mind you, I hear he looks ever so handsome with his eye patch.” He sighed. “Like a pirate, so romantic.”
“Wait,” Jacoba said. Was Alexandria the type to be put off by a facial disfigurement or would she also find it romantic? And was this the whole story or was there more to come? “You’re telling us Thomas fell in front of a bus and somehow his only injury was to lose an eye?”
“Well, no, he’s in a wheelchair, of course. Didn’t I mention that?” Hubert shrugged. “His eye was poked out by his dog. How’s that for irony, eh?” He unleashed the blow-dryer from the trolley.
I’ve no idea if I’ve got close to Jacoba’s voice but I don’t want you to adopt my version anyway. I’m just showing what it would look like if you nudged closer to her POV at PD4. Hope there’s something useful for you in there, Anja. It really is a delightful scene. Fun to write, I’m sure, and definitely fun to read.
Following this convo with interest. We have such a rich language! When talking about adverbs in real life workshops over the years, I’ve been setting an exercise, asking people to come up with as many alternative verbs for walked slowly as they can. I then add any new ones to my growing list. I have over 120! To be clear: there are times when walked slowly is exactly what you need – but there are options. Exploring those options by thinking about what you want to convey is exactly what you two are doing here. My money is on sashayed as I think that conjures up the way he would be moving. It’s an unashamedly camp scene and you might as well cash in on it.
Glad Paula has answered this! Am I redundant yet?
It’s been a joy to watch you transforming from a good writer to one whose books we wouldn’t be able to put down, Lucia. Interestingly, I’ve worked with several medical professionals and the same issue nearly always arises. In their (your) professional life, compassion is key but so is distance. Without it, doctors and nurses would soon burn out and be no good to themselves, or their patients. As writers, you have to tear down those barriers and truly empathise with your characters. You know this now. Unleash your creations!
It’s such a pleasure to work with you, Katie. I love the way you soak all this stuff up.
Once you know about PD, you really do become hyper-aware of it, Kate. Hope you enjoy playing with it.
