Debi Alper
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Always via character-in-action, Chithrupa, and only if it matters for the plot, eg if he is overweight and struggles to move fast, or is too short to reach something off a shelf.
I’m excited to hear about these new ideas, Gill. Scribble them down and work on them – a bit like rough sketches an artist might do before working on a painting.
This is a dream result for week 2, Chithrupa. You surrendered control and listened to your character and, as a result, Xander is now leaping off the page in your redrafted version. The opening seems fine to me and I can’t see any concerns with the pacing. Honestly, you know what you’re doing! You don’t need validation from me. Head to the chill out room and put your feet up.
Two things to pick up on here, Anja. With the UK/US spellings, I really wouldn’t worry too much. Something like that certainly wouldn’t be a deal-breaker. In any case, publishers have their own house style and something like this would be dealt with at the copy edit stage. For you, I would just try to be consistent, which projects a professional attitude to a submission.
Now for the second point, which definitely would be a deal-breaker. You said: A few years ago, an agent said I was trying to write *two* stories and that I should chose; either the romance part or the psychological development part … But Debi, can’t I have both by putting it in an adventure?!
It’s a valid question, though you might not like my answer. If you had this feedback a few years ago but rejected it, you’ve clearly made a choice about what compromises you are, or are not, prepared to make in order to give your story its best chance of being published. I can see where the agent was coming from. As an industry professional, they know who reads romance, and they know who reads action thrillers, and those readers are not necessarily the same demographic. It would make the book really hard to pitch to readers. I’m not sure what you mean by psychological development. The story is definitely not a psychological thriller. If you mean that Wendall changes and grows as he moves through the story, that would apply to any genre.
Yes, you can have both. If you’re writing purely for your own pleasure – and that’s a perfectly valid reason for writing, in my opinion – you can do anything you like. But if you’re hoping for this book to be published, this issue is something you can’t ignore. Think about the Indiana Jones franchise. They’re action adventure, not to be taken too seriously, and there’s always a romantic component. But here’s the thing … those two threads – action and romance – are inextricably interwoven. What you have in this draft is a story that starts and ends as a romance, but the middle section – the bulk of the book – has a completely different identity. Someone who starts reading what they assume is a romance is going to feel cheated when the story becomes something other than it promised to be. Meanwhile, lovers of action adventure probably won’t start reading anyway, assuming this book is a romance. If you want the story to be both, you have to find a way to sustain the romance element, eg by Alex coming out to Turkey, or working with Wendall, helping him solve crimes from afar.
Obviously, only you can decide what changes you’re willing to take but, if you do want the story to be published, you can’t avoid making radical changes.
Same point applies then, Anja. We need to be engaged with him as soon as we meet him and, if that’s in the opening lines, they’re the ones you need to think about. Hopefully, the things you’ve picked up this week, both on your own thread and the others, will enable you to check that he comes to life straight away. The main key to doing that lies in voice, which is what we’ll focus on in week 3.
Enjoy your visitors, Alison. I’m really happy that the exercise has resulted in these revelations.
Going to jump straight in and say I love this, Julie. You’ve created a wonderful immersive scene, with a character who’s on the edge, literally and metaphorically. The setting is urban, yet gothic, which sets us up for the time-slip. We also know from last week that the storm is the link to the prologue, which precedes this opening chapter and our introduction to Rachel.
There’s an exhilaration to her character-in-action, and in her engagement with the elements and the power of nature. She’s a risk-taker. I didn’t mind that we couldn’t be sure at first if she’s contemplating suicide. As it happens, I didn’t think she was. There’s honestly not much I would change here. There’s a bit of repetition with her heart beating, and some confusion with pronouns – she sometimes referring to Rachel and sometimes to the girl who had jumped, but that’s trivial and easy to fix.
While I’m mentioning pronouns, a side-note to Anja, who said: “Someone, a girl, had jumped off here last month, hadn’t they?” You move from singular to multiple person here. That’s perfectly acceptable in English and they is often used to refer to an individual. That might be the kind of subtlety that could be missed by someone whose first language isn’t English.
As you’re the last person I’m coming to this week, Julie, I’m going to break my own rules (I know – what am I like?) and comment on the whole extract, even though it’s double the word count we asked for.
On this dark evening, the biting rain took people off the streets below. Rachel Meaux (full name) was glad of that. No-one saw her, near the top of the multi-storey car park, leaning out into the cold wind, watching the flashes of light on the horizon as the sky rumbled.
Rachel loved storms. (That’s telling us what you’re about to show.)
The reverberating thunder, slashing rain. The flash that swiped a dark sky. Vitality that made her heart beat. (She’s a thrill-seeker and embraces the power of the elements.)
Rachel’s fingers grasped the steel pillar, (risky in a storm but her need to engage with the destructive power of nature overcomes any thoughts of danger) as she leaned out above the grey town, toes aching with her weight on such a narrow ledge. (She’s physically active and fit.) She breathed spattering rain, leaning a little further into the darkness. (She’s pushing at the boundaries.) It hurt her arm, but her heart beat fast. (Pain is a small price to pay for the exhilaration.) As loud as the distant thunder. This way. Come this way. (I can see how that might suggest a compulsion to jump but, for me, it was further evidence of her being at one with nature.) But it hung on the horizon. Tantalising flashes of ice-fire. She stood another moment, on the concrete ledge. Freezing pins in stinging skin. The wind drove into her bones. Numbing wet. (You’re really holding this moment. We have the sense of someone courageous, perhaps to the point of recklessness.)
She turned to the dark interior, where the wind continued its journey, taking sweet wrappers and skeleton leaves. They whirled together, rising in a column, past the few grey cars that remained. Nearly everyone was gone, but the storm formed words as it flew to the cars that remained, as if urgently seeking someone. It was just the wind. But it sounded like… ‘Nooh!’ (Wonderful urban noir.)
Her feet hit a pool of water on the concrete floor as she landed, feet tingling from the impact. (She’s agile.) Someone, a girl, had jumped off here last month, hadn’t they? A smiling face, on social media, a report she’d skimmed over. ‘Tragedy of kind-hearted shop worker.’ Was it the top she’d gone off? She couldn’t remember, but suddenly it was important, (she cares about others) watching the whirlwind of rubbish raise an entreating arm of rotating plastic. It wasn’t this floor, was it? She died later, in hospital. She (that’s where you need to replace the pronoun with Rachel’s name) knew that for definite, gripping the steel pillar as the discarded wrappers flew out into the air. Must have been the top floor. (This preoccupation with the girl who took her own life reflects well on Rachel. It bothers her that she doesn’t know the details. The darkness of the scene, matching with the darkness of her thoughts, creates the impression of someone with demons.)
A strong pulse, moved through her leg, like she used to get running around the field at school, trying to keep up. An aneurism? (Her first thought is that it’s something life-threatening. Hypochondria might seem unlikely for someone who seemed so unafraid but I reckon it makes her even more intriguing as a character.) No, it didn’t vibrate within her. It was her coat pocket. Her mobile. Someone wanted to speak to her. (That’s got my attention precisely because it’s stated. Here’s a young woman, on her own at night in a deserted car park, seemingly surprised that someone might call her.) The phone was wet, slipping in numb fingers as she stared.
It was Ryan. (I wonder why you haven’t said anything about who they are to each other. Is it a surprise that he would be calling her?)
The wind pummelled her face, pushing down her lashes. Down on the street were two lines of light from a leaving car, tiny torches. The phone vibrated again. She gripped it hard, staring at his name, her breaths taken, like the world that had suddenly shrunk and moved away from her. (I love the portentous tone here. This is not an ordinary phone call. She can’t know it yet, but her life is about to change.)
Ryan. She was in the wind, a wrapper rising high, reaching out. (I love this wistfulness. I don’t know what it means but I definitely want to read on to find out.)
You have nothing to worry about here, Julie. It’s an incredibly compelling opening to the novel and you’ve created a character in Rachel that will hook our attention and not let go. Ticks all the boxes.
Oh Julie! I’ll start a separate comment for your feedback but couldn’t ignore this. Please don’t apologise. Grief messes with your head in so many ways and I’m just glad you have a fictional world to escape to. Sending love and a gentle hug. x
Hi Anja. Wendall is already worming his way into our affections. There’s something so endearing about a male character who’s this unconfident. He’s trying desperately hard to be cool, bless him, whereas Alexandra oozes effortless sophistication and poise. Talk about being out of his league. That, plus their very different backgrounds and political attitudes, is going to give him a mountain to climb if they’re going to end up together. I’ve looked back at your exercise from last week and see most of the action in the novel seems to take place in Turkey, with the Russian plot. That does make me wonder again about the nature of the story. The opening chapters look like a light-hearted and heartwarming unlikely romance between two mis-matched characters who have to beat the odds to find love with each other. It looks like the closing chapters continue this thread. Does Alex disappear completely for the bulk of the novel?
Can I just check that English is your second language? I have endless respect for anyone who writes in a language that’s not their first. No matter how fluent a person can be when it comes to speaking and writing, there are often subtle slips. There are very few in what you’ve posted but something like Alex sounding more English than Texan is the sort of thing you may have missed. Have you made a deliberate choice not to write in Dutch? Anyway, kudos for pulling off this incredible feat to the extent that you have.
You’re not the only person in the group to have posted something from the middle of a scene, rather than our first meeting with the character. I think the heading you helpfully provided holds the key to your choice and is worth talking about. Show the protagonist being active … is your wording. When she set the exercise, Emma asked for: your main character’s first important appearance as a character-in-action: the moment when you hope they will first come alive to the reader. Action can be internal, as well as external. Can we talk about why you plucked this part of their conversation in particular for the exercise? I don’t know where you actually start in the draft. Wendall getting on the train would be action. Wendall’s first impressions of Alex would be internal ‘action’ and reaction. Assuming we’re in his POV, seeing her through his eyes, we would get to know a lot about him before we get to this exchange. If he appears as soon as the story begins, we should have already formed an opinion of him by now.
The great thing about him as a character, and which is demonstrated so well here, is the gulf behind what he says and what he thinks. The is fertile territory to explore in a novel, which brings me onto my next point. The excerpt you’ve posted is very dialogue-heavy. Almost all of your word count is taken up with the things they both say out loud. The endearing humour lies in the contrast between Wendall’s spoken words, which are quite slick and authoritative on the surface, and his inner demon, which would be berating him for looking like an idiot in the presence of this gorgeous woman. That’s the part that’s missing from the passage, but it will be easy to resolve, so you can show him from both the outside (the blushing, bowing his head etc, as well as his spoken words in dialogue) and the inside (his internal monologue).
Let’s move onto this, which has come up a lot. You said: I’m still on the fence about Wendall’s lying – it does show a certain aspect of his character … The issue is you stating *he lied* – which is the narrator *telling* us it’s a lie. I think you’re misinterpreting the feedback. Everyone wants Wendall to stop lying … no, that’s not what people are saying. It’s important for his character to lie. The issue is the way we’re given the information.
Something else that’s come up: I’m gonna google if women from the South still call their father ‘Daddy’ or not … I do agree it sounds childish. I really wouldn’t rely on Google for something like this. You can only possibly get generic answers. Alex is not ‘any old Texan cow-girl’ but is a unique character in her own right. If it’s right for her character to refer to Daddy, then that’s what you should use. Just make sure that we know she’s an adult and where she’s from before she says it, and we’ll know she’s not a child.
Now for the detail.
“Expecting any mad cows in the country, are you?” he said. (He’s aiming for witty repartee.)
Alexandra narrowed her eyes and replied: “I’ll have you know, my daddy stopped a shooting at a church once because he happened to carry his Glock.” (I love the scenario and her defence of gun ownership, which would be so alien to Wendall. There’s lots of comic potential in stopping a shooting – with a gun. To my ear, her dialogue doesn’t sound Texan but English home counties.)
Wendall turned beet red. (He’s embarrassed by his social awkwardness but this is the external manifestation of his discomfort. You could replace this with what he’s thinking – maybe berating himself. How he would do this would be tied into who he is as a character. For example, saying, *Oh dear sweet baby Jesus, she must be thinking he was a complete idiot* would convey a different character to one who says: *For fuck’s sake, Wendall, get it together*.)
“I didn’t mean to offend you – things are different in America, I’m sure,” he said soothingly. (The adverb is shorthand and *tell-y* An alternative would be to go deeper into his POV and show how he’s desperate to claw back the lost ground.) “I’m just saying, our countryside is safe and so are our churches.” (Ha. Love this contrast between the quintessential quaintness of rural England and the lawlessness of gun-toting Texas.)
There was still a coolness in her demeanor (a small point: you’re going to need to decide whether to use UK or US spellings. As Wendall is English, and he’s the main character, I would default to English) and the cute dimple in her cheek had vanished. (This is good *show* of Alex. I might like more. What does a cool demeanour look like? Is she glaring at him? Turning to look out the window at the fields racing past? Is the dog on her lap? Does she turn her attention to the dog instead?)
Here was this adorable single woman with a dog and he –. (We learn so much more about him in the prose than we would if we only had his dialogue to go on. His *wants* are abundantly clear. He loves animals and is desperate for a relationship.)
“Your Constitution says,” he started, “you have the right to bear arms, and I appreciate that.” (He’s desperate to please, rapidly backtracking. This is a good starting point for a character arc – he’s going to need to grow a spine and own his opinions.) He bowed his head and said in a humble tone: “It was very necessary after what we did in 1776.” (He’s well-educated and retains information. There’s a lot of comedic value in him going so over-the-top to appease her.)
She raised her chin and said in a glazier cold voice: (She’s not making any concessions. She’s haughty and uncompromising.) “I am well aware of our Constitution and all its amendments, thank you very much.” She turned her face towards the window and petted the pup quietly. (Can you pet an animal noisily?)
Wendall lied: “Mother (the mention of his mother and using a formal title for her indicate that she’s a dominant feautre of his life) and I are go to a magnificent church. It’s rather famous, Heptonstall’s Octagonal Church.” (He’s trying to impress and has no idea that mentioning his mother is hardly likely to create the impression of a cool and debonair persona.)
Oh, the church was beautiful indeed but he never went. (This is where we can see that he’s lied, so you didn’t need to tell us. I think *he’d never been inside* would work better.)
Wendall comes over as hapless and adorable, though I suspect we’ll also want to shake him. It’s a good intro to Alex too. Many a romance starts with the couple in apparent conflict. The thing that will bring him to life even more is if we explore his internal landscape. This is where we’ll see the changes he goes through as the story progresses – probably before those changes manifest in his behaviour. The coming weeks should help you to access this internal voice.
Lucia – I type directly in the box here, using the default ‘visual’ view, and that seems to work fine. To make sure I don’t lose anything, I copy/paste every few sentences into Word as a backup and then delete the Word doc once I can see everything has posted and looks fine.
What an explosive start to your story, Alison. You’re plunging us straight into the action. Are these literally the first words in the book? Because it feels like we’re partway through a scene and, though it’s certainly attention-grabbing, it doesn’t feel like the opening of a story. I’m hoping there are a few lines preceding this passage.
We know you’ve already published the first book in the series but, ideally, you will want to attract new readers with each one that you publish. That means bearing in mind that these new readers will know nothing of these characters and their world.
Picking up on this: I’m wondering if you need to know the meaning of it at this stage (you get to know quite quickly). Will the need to know what’s going on draw readers in, or will they give up because it’s confusing? This is a good question. Debi – help! It *is* a good question and I’m pleased you’ve raised it. I don’t think we necessarily need to know about the black holes and eclipses in detail yet, but you do need to bring readers up-to-date with any revelations that came in the previous book. We won’t need much and it could come in interiority, with Noah thinking about strange climate phenomena that have happened prior to this scene. If you keep his voice tight and urgent, it won’t slow the action down.
That neatly brings me to the next thing that came up in discussions: ‘He seemed not to hear her’ – Noah can get caught up in his own thoughts. We see everything through Noah. So, perhaps it would be better to say, ‘Noah didn’t hear her’. What do you think? This is intimately bound up with voice and POV. He seemed not to hear her but continued to look up as if waiting for something. This is a very shallow POV. The voice is that of an external narrator, who’s describing Noah from the outside and isn’t sure what Noah is thinking or feeling. That means we’re being held at arm’s length from Noah as a character. Hold onto that thought as all will become clear in weeks 3 and 4.
The advantage (for me!) of coming in later in the week is that people often come up with their own solutions before I get here. This is the perfect example: Been thinking…to add more of Noah’s character into this high action beginning, I could drop Nell from it altogether. Then I could replace the dialogue between those two, with Noah’s internal thinking. I like this idea a lot. There’s only so much we can absorb from the opening lines of a story. The dramatic scenario is wonderful and showing Noah in the unpredictable landscape is plenty to make us read on. Adding Nell into the mix gives us another element to absorb and risks undermining the power of the scene.
One more thing since it’s come up: Increasing their vocabulary isn’t a bad thing. It’s finding the balance. I don’t want the vocabulary to put them off. I think I would prefer to veer on the easier side so as not to discourage the poorer readers. I wouldn’t dumb down too much. The best children’s books have a story that is so consuming, young readers won’t even notice they’re learning new things and expanding their vocabulary. If the meaning of a word is obvious from the context, as is the case with many of your adjectives, readers won’t trip over it.
Bearing all the above in mind, let’s look at what we learn about Noah and Nell.
As a massive branch crashed to the ground close behind them, Noah yelled, “Faster, Nell!” What began as a gentle rustling of leaves had rapidly turned into a violent thrashing of branches, with the mild breeze morphing into a powerful wind. (Instant jeopardy and drama. Some people might freeze but Noah is proactive in trying to reach safety.)
They didn’t stop running until they emerged from the woods and burst onto the village green. The pond churned like a raging sea, with frantic ducks tossed to and fro. (Great scene setting.)
“Wow, that was insane!” Noah shouted above the roar of the wind, “Didn’t see that coming! I thought…” (He’s full of energy. Seems to be excited, rather than terrified. His dialogue is breathless and urgent. It also feels authentic for his age.)
They both froze as an ominous darkness gradually enveloped them, as if a colossal shadow was smothering the sun. And then, just as suddenly, the sun returned, peeking through the racing clouds. (I would like to see this moment held for longer. It’s not clear that the sun has actually been eclipsed, rather than hidden by a dark storm cloud. The phenomenon of the eclipses is tied into the story’s identity. Is this the first time it’s happened? If so, Noah might think about what he knows about eclipses, which usually last longer. If it’s not and they occurred in the previous book, this is your chance to bring us up to speed. The drama of the storm is so great that we could easily skim over the significance of the sun’s disappearance.)
“Let’s get home! The world’s going crazy!” Nell called urgently. (Nell’s urge is to run and hide. Not strictly connected to character, but I would be wary of using adverbs that are superfluous. Her spoken words *show* her urgency. The adverbs *tells* us. )
The perturbed ducks had taken off in alarm for the cover of the woods.
Noah stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the sky in wonder and disbelief. (He’s fascinated, more than scared. Good contast between the two of them.)
“Noah! Come on!” Nell urged. “What is it?” (She waits for him, even though her urge is to run to a place of safety.)
He seemed not to hear her but continued to look up as if waiting for something. (This is where you could allow us into his head, accessing his thoughts, so we can see him from the inside.)
Nell tugged at his arm in impatience, breaking his trance. (She’s steadfast and loyal. More cautious than him but her priority is to make sure he’s safe, rather than leaving him to it.)
“Something’s happening, Nell…” (He’s more contemplative. He trusts in his own intuition, whereas Nell is more fearful and reactive.)
“Come on, time to go!” (She’s not giving in.)You’ve stretched the two of them far apart and that’s great. It’s additional conflict for them both, and characters come to life through their conflicts, as well as in the gaps between them as characters. My feeling is that this isn’t the conflict we should be focusing on right now though. For that reason, I think it’s a really good idea to remove her from the scene and keep a tight focus on Noah. He’s a wonderful creation and I’m sure young readers will recognise him and root for him. Strengthening his POV voice will make all the difference, and that’s what we’ll be looking at in the next couple of weeks.
This intro to Jacqueline, and to the world of your story, works really well, Paula. You’ve packed in loads of action, setting and interiority. I see people saying it feels like you might be giving us too much, too soon, and I agree. You could slow down and make a lot more of this. You’ve identified your own creative process as writing ‘short’, so I want to take a moment to talk about that, even though it’s not directly connected to character.
Roughly speaking, authors are either adders or subtracters when it comes to editing an early draft. Clearly, you’re an adder (so am I, by the way). Adders tend to have short first drafts, maybe around the 60,000 word mark, meaning they need about 20,000 more words to have a final draft. At the editing stage, adders need to identify any building blocks of plot and character they’ve skated over in their rush to get the complete story out. Subtracters over-write their early drafts and the editing process focuses on tightening and ensuring that every word (and, on the macro level, every scene and character) earns its keep. Knowing which type of writer you are is crucial, and you’re already aware of your tendency to write short, as you put it. That’s an important starting point.
I also just want to pick up on this: I’m itching to get on with tweaking my WIP, but Debi has been firm on this point – so I will hold back. To clarify: we mean you shouldn’t yet touch the draft, but there’s nothing to stop you playing with alternative openings, or rewriting scenes in different ways, in a new document.
And one more thing: I’m also not sure if this is adult commercial or young adult genre – in which case potentially she could be a little younger, as she’s a student – but her romance with Graye means we don’t want her too young or it might seem creepy. YA isn’t a genre – it’s the target readership. But I wouldn’t sweat this too much. Write the story you want to tell and let agents and publishers decide how to pitch it to readers.
When thinking about ways to slow this opening down, I spotted this in one of your replies: … a subplot that there’s been a viral plague that nearly decimated lions – Shem is the hero who managed to save them with his inoculation program. I think I can drop more of this in early and make more of it. It’s why the wild cat collection is missing lions too – they’ve almost been wiped out elsewhere. That sounds amazing! I’m not sure it is a sub-plot as it seems to fit so neatly with the main plot. It also seems to be key to the story’s setting and speculative genre. That’s exactly the kind of thing that would make this opening even more powerful. And look – you came up with this yourself, which is ideal. I think what we’re seeing here is a lack of confidence, both in your story itself and in your ability to do it justice. This is a story only you can tell, and we’re here for it.
Now let’s look at Jacqueline, given that this is character week. She’s young, driven, able to conquer her fears and push on through. This all equips her well for what lies ahead. She wants to succeed and is proactive in pursuit of her aims. There’s a wonderful evocation of the setting too, as well as an introduction to Shem. These ingredients are already there in the opening words of the draft. At some point, we’ll probably have a conversation about your decision to use present tense but let’s concentrate on character for now.
Jacqueline Boyle (full names can be useful but, at this stage, I think I’d take out her surname) holds the mewling lion cub firmly on the ground, feeling its strong body squirm under her hand. (You’ve plunged her straight into action that’s specific to the WIP and to her as a character. She’s competent and practical.) The heat is oppressive, and flies buzz in her face, trying to get to the liquid in her eyes. She wants to bat them away, but she’d lose her grip. (Tough, focused and determined.)
Wiping sweat from her nose with her shoulder, she sees her tutor, Shem Msasi, from the corner of her eye. He watches, impassive. Immune to the discomforts of the African bush, he stands motionless, rifle at the ready, alert for the return of the cub’s mother. His stillness makes him blend into the landscape. Like an ancient baobab tree. (Even though he’s motionless, he holds our attention, radiating strength and calm. You might want to think about having an African sensitivity reader at some point. Black people will be aware of potential tropes that well-intentioned white authors may not have realised they’re tapping into. Using foodstuffs to describe skin colour is one I often come across and have learnt to spot but I could easily miss others and, as it happens, there’s no one in this group who would be more likely to pick up on them.) If she works hard enough, could she be like him one day? (She respects him and aspires to be like him.)
‘Be brave, Jacqueline.’ His voice is deep and insistent. ‘Time to get it done.’ (He’s steadfast, encouraging, rather than bullying. Definitely a good person to have around in a crisis. This is where it might be worth adding something about him having created the innoculation programme, which will indicate that the story is not set in our contemporary world. If you *tell* us about him using Jacqueline’s POV voice, it will also help us to understand who she is, building on the impression we already have.)
She feels an itch on her side. Has an insect got under her shirt? Is it a tick? She hates ticks. What if it sinks its head into her skin and starts sucking her blood? Infecting her with something horrible, encephalitis, Lyme disease. (Legitimate anxieties.) Stop. Breathe. (She’s good at self-calming.) Counting backwards from five, the way her mother taught her, (the mention of her mother makes her seem much younger – maybe concentrate on what Shem is teaching her) Jacqueline settles her nerves. The itch dulls. She knows she’s prevaricating. (Self-awareness.) Using her teeth to tear the wrapper off the hypodermic needle, she swiftly plunges it into the cub’s shoulder. (That’s too easy on the practical level, as the others have pointed out.)This has a lot going for it, Paula. Just take your time. This blog might be useful for identifying tropes etc. https://writingwithcolor.tumblr.com/Navigation2
Ooh, I like this a lot, Kate. You start at a point of change in Annie’s life. She’s about to be wrenched from all that’s familiar and her future is uncertain. There’s a poignant tenderness in her relationship with Aunt Clary, who’s obviously been a surrogate parent. Her aunt’s evident sadness is intriguing too and will make us read on. Is she sad because she will lose her companion and be left alone in that house of ghosts? Or, as an adult, is she more aware of the potential dangers that might lie ahead for her beloved niece? Though the action at the beginning is minimal, it carries so much instability. Lovely stuff.
This is followed by a chunk of tell – and it works really well. Every novel needs ‘tell’ as well as ‘show’. So many debut novelists over-internalise an injunction to ‘show, don’t tell’ – but it’s impossible to show everything. As a guideline, anything that’s a building block of the plot or character arc should be shown. More on this in the coming weeks. The point is, we need to have this understanding of who Annie is and you’ve delivered it in a way that’s both elegant and economical. Her voice here is young, close to how it might have been when she was fourteen.
The third paragraph is interesting because it raises the question of where she’s standing when narrating this story. You’re writing in first person and you’ve created a strong voice for her, which feels appropriate for the era. She’s both the narrator and the character and it occurs to me that she seems very literate for her age and class. That might be worth thinking about. In the third paragraph, she seems to be narrating from a point in the distant future, her voice being older and imbued with the wisdom of hindsight and experience. Because you’re writing in past tense, you need to keep asking yourself where she’s standing: in the future, looking back, or at the time when these things were happening. This all needs to be a conscious decision. Don’t push yourself to come up with these decisions yet – put them in the ‘pending’ file because it’s intimately bound up with the way that psychic distance works in first person.
There’s not a lot I would change here, to be honest, as long as the chunk of ‘tell’ is followed very soon by us seeing her acting and reacting in an unfolding scene. There’s only so much you can do with the opening words of a novel and you’ve given us a strong sense of what this story will be and who our character narrator is. Let’s look at the detail.
The day I turned fourteen, my aunt Clary announced that Mrs Fisher was taking me out of school. (You’ve got our attention straight away. We know who/what/when/where – in general terms at least – and *something* radical is about to change. A compelling opening sentence.) I was going into service (establishes her class) at Bell House. (I might like to have an idea what Bell House is. Take your time and give us a bit more info, so we can sense what might lie ahead.)
“You’re lucky,” Clary said, (Clary is trying to be positive) “that you’ve stayed at school so long (another indication of class and era – working class girls were not expected to need an education) and learned so many things.” But I could tell she was unhappy because her voice was like gravel, deep inside her throat. (That’s a really poignant way to show Annie’s perception of Clary’s sadness. Her voice here is very childlike and it will be impossible not to worry for her.) A queasy stillness settled over me, as if the air had changed and I was suspended in some other kind of space, not quite the same. (This is the only sentence that didn’t work for me. It’s the wrong kind of ‘tell’ and it no longer feels like we’re in touch with the child she was at the time. I’m not sure she would have thought about being suspended in space. It’s also very tentative: *as if … some other kind … not quite …* Perhaps you could project forwards to her as an older woman, with something like: *Little did I know then how right she was to be concerned.* Or, if you want us to stay with her as she was at the time, perhaps she could say something like: *Was she scared to be alone there in that little old house?* That would link us into the description of where they live, which follows. Or maybe something like: *She wasn’t the only one to be unhappy. What might the future hold for me, out there in that big old mansion, so far from all I knew and held dear?*)I lived with my aunt in a two up two down at the bottom of the village. Apparently (that word carries so much weight) my mother lived there once too, and my uncles, who left for the Great War and never came back, and my grandparents, who were old even then, and who died of grief and old age. (I really like this list. Every family member carries the weight of untold stories: the mother she’s only heard about; the uncles who died in the war; the grieving grandparents.) I never knew any of them, only Clary. (Clary has passed on the family stories. Their bond is very close – and they’re about to be separated.) There was no other side, no father (she never knew her father and was probably illegitimate) with his own brothers and sisters, grandparents or aunts, to balance me out, (I really like that idea of her not being balanced by having two family trees) and there was enough drama in my mother’s strange history (ooooh!) without wanting to dig out any of my father’s skeletons, so I didn’t ask. (Wonderful hints of family secrets and scandals. I presume Clary is her mother’s sister.)
I was never sure if I could remember my mother. Perhaps those hazy images I counted as memories were stories made up over the years, just so I could have something of her. Either way, when I made an inventory, they didn’t amount to much. (This is heartbreaking. At least she had Clary, and she’s about to lose her too.)
This is a fabulous way to enter Annie’s world, Kate. There’s so much to hook our interest. We said last week that all stories start with a promise. The promise here is that we’ll find out the family secrets, both her mother’s ‘strange history’ and her father’s identity. We know from what you’ve already told us that the story will fulfil this promise. We might still need to talk about where the story begins, but this is a wonderful introduction to Annie.
Oooh, this is good, Lucia. I thought it would be, given the success of your memoir, and you’ve more than lived up to expectations.
I want to pick apart some of the things that have come up in feedback, and your responses to them.
Both your coursemates and the agent said the same thing: Get us inside her head and let us know why she is there and what the stakes are. It’s always good to have such a clear consensus, and your coursemates should feel vindicated to know they picked up on the same things as an industry professional.
You also said: Anna appears earlier on in that scene, but I felt the earlier bit did not reveal much about her character so I started here. Although there’s not much narrative preceding this passage, I would ask the same questions of you that I just have of Gill. Is this a sign that she doesn’t lift from the page as soon as we meet her? I’m wondering if we should have been inside her head, prior to this extract, at the point when she makes the decision to visit Margaret. She might tell herself it’s because she cares, but she also knows she’s stepping over professional boundaries. This is fabulous conflict. She might not be sufficiently self-aware to know the real reason, which brings me onto another response from you: … solve the problem of why Anna decided to visit Margaret that evening … because she did not want to go home. There is tension in her marriage that both she and Steve are trying to avoid addressing … What a a brilliant insight to have as a response to the thinking you’re now doing as a result of questions people have raised.
So, now I’m imagining you opening with her in the car, thinking about Steve and not looking forward to seeing him. Then – aha! – a way out. Her thoughts flicker to Margaret and she changes direction and drives to her house. That then gives us the context for the awkwardness we see in the extract you’ve posted. You wouldn’t need to show us much more of her interiority because we already know she’s not there for the pretext she gives herself. Margaret, bless her, despite her condition, knows there’s something going on – and so does the reader. We already know more about her than she acknowledges to herself. Is this making sense?
And now for something else that’s come up and is really important. Your realisation that: I prefer zooming out to zooming in! Zooming out is crucial in a novel. You need to create an atmosphere, as well as giving us the details that enable readers to visualise a scene. All the stuff we see on the screen in TV and film, we need to do with words on the page. You clearly have a natural talent for this aspect of writing a novel. But stories come to life through their characters. Getting to know them from the inside (zooming in) is also vital. But don’t worry! It’s precisely what we will be looking at in weeks 3 and 4, but the fact that you’re already aware that this is an area you need to focus on is Very Good News.
Let’s get down to the nitty gritty.
Margaret coughed, a short, shallow sound like a car engine that starts but dies after a few seconds. Anna waited (patience) while Margaret marshalled her breath and prepared to speak.
‘Why are you here? Margaret whispered, then closed her eyes as if exhausted.
Anna hesitated. Why had she come? (She has acted without thinking it through and it’s only now that Margaret asks the question that she acknowledges that this is not the norm.) It was best to be honest. (Except she’s not being honest, is she? This is really good conflict because she’s lying to herself – but we’ll only know that if we’ve had hints of it at the point she decided to come here, instead of going home.)
‘I was thinking about you and wanted to see you.’ (Only partly true. Do you think she’s aware of that on some level? Or is she deep in denial? The trick with an ureliable character is to ensure the reader trusts you enough to know that any apparent contradictions are your authorial intention and not, heaven forbid, the result of sloppy characterisation.)
Margaret’s lips parted and a thin sliver of spittle trickled from one corner of her mouth and settled in the deep groove of her chin. Anna resisted the urge to wipe it away (a tender and caring impulse – suppressing it is a sign that she respects Margaret’s boundaries) and instead dragged a low-sized Victorian-style armchair from one corner of the room and placed it opposite Margaret at the other side of the stove. The chair creaked like old bones as she lowered herself into it. The heat from the fire stung the side of her face and neck, (you’re really very good at setting the scene, which feels over-heated and suffocating. Without you even telling us, I’m imagining the smells of sickness and decay) and her underwear grew damp with sweat. (Not sure what that adds.) She leaned forward, her legs cramped, her knees almost touching her chin. (Her body language is really clenched and tight. She’s almost curled up in a ball, as if to protect herself. Not what we would expect from a doctor checking on a patient. It would also make her even more hot and sweaty. If we already know about her internal conflicts, we’ll see this as the external manifestation of her inner tension.)
‘Do you need anything? she asked. (The question is almost rhetorical. She has an urge to help, perhaps to justify being there, but must know she is actually powerless. This is where it would be good to have some internal acknowledgement of the awkwardness of the scenario.)
The evening had drawn in. The wind battered the old farmhouse, and in the blank bare glass of the windowpane Anna’s spectral reflection looked back at her briefly, then disappeared as car headlights swept across the yard and beamed straight into the room. (More of that atmospheric scene setting you’re so good at.)
This really is very good, Luisa. My feeling is that the internal conflict people are asking for should have come before this scene, at the point when she decides to go there instead of going home to Steve. That would mean we wouldn’t need too much more of it here because we’ll already have a strong sense of her having reasons to be there that she hasn’t admitted to herself. That will give us the foundation block of unreliability that will make her leaving the morphine there accidentally. We will already have seen her as distracted and in denial, making her faux pas plausible. You know what we need and the next two weeks will show you how to give it to us. I can’t wait to introduce you to the magic of psychic distance!
Some lovely writing here, Gill, but before I get going we need to talk about your choice of passage for the exercise. I know you’re already kicking yourself, believing you’ve chosen the *wrong* extract for the exercise. Please don’t give yourself a hard time. It’s so important not to be too self-critical as it can easily make us downhearted. Be kind to yourself and try to enjoy the process. There will always be useful things to learn from whatever people post but, as Katie astutely pointed out, one of those useful lessons is connected to interrogating the reasons for you choosing this particular passage. You only had 200 words with which to bring your character to life, and you’ve used over half of yours to describe interaction between characters who have no bearing on the plot, or the main character. Look at how many of the comments focus on the mechanics of the father and child that Laura is observing. Given that this does little to help us to relate to Laura, it doesn’t seem the best use of your precious word count. We’re also seeing the passage out of context. If we didn’t know from last week that she’s pregnant, we wouldn’t guess that here. She could be a woman who’s longing for a child. The reader will already have formed an impression of her by now, given that they met her seven pages ago.
Instead of berating yourself for choosing this passage, let’s think laterally. Might it be a sign that you don’t feel she’s sprung to life before this episode? If so, even though you haven’t posted the intro to her for the exercise, the result should be that you go back and check for yourself that we engage with her as soon as we meet her.
In the replies, you said this: I very much wanted the reader’s first impression of Laura to be of a more ‘normal’ character, happy, in love with Mike, slightly smug about how her life is panning out. This is good thinking to be doing. You know what it is you want to achieve. But I don’t think that’s the impression created in this passage, which focuses more on her vulnerability. Please don’t worry about not posting the beginning of the chapter. You’re still thinking about the structure anyway. At this stage, knowing what questions to ask of your WIP is more important than knowing the answers, if that makes sense. By the end of the course, you’ll be equipped to answer them for yourself and, if you want to have feedback on a (possibly revised) opening, you can post that in week 6, which is when we hand over to you to talk about anything you’re still uncertain about.
Before I drill down into the detail, I want to respond to this, from Chithrupa: Do we get to see her hair or eye colour or her hint of bloated tummy there? Bloated tummy, yes, or maybe sore breasts if it’s too early in the pregnancy for her to have a bump. But we don’t necessarily need to know characters’ hair or eye colour unless it’s relevant for the plot. Readers need far less physical description of characters than you might think. It’s important for authors to have an idea of their characters’ appearance – some authors like to have detailed sketches, or photos of the actor who would play them in a movie, but others only have a vague sense of what their characters look like. Unless it’s in some way tied into the plot, you can let the reader do the imagining.
Let’s see what we learn about Laura here. The general points can be extrapolated and applied elsewhere.
This woman was the kind of mother Laura wanted to be. (Because we can’t see this woman, we don’t know what it says about Laura that she admires her. We do know she’s focused on having a child.) Though minus the floaty dress. (Laura is not traditionally ‘feminine’. I imagine her in jeans – depending on how pregnant she is – and a t-shirt.)
Then his father reached out to the child, holding him suddenly by his thin upper arms and lifting the child through the air with a giddying whoosh, up and onto his broad shoulders. The baby’s face hesitated between a laugh and a cry. (Tells us nothing about Laura.)
‘Careful.’ The woman was smiling but her hand moved to her lips as the guy stood up, grass clinging to the knees of his trousers, his legs unsteady beneath his own weight and that of the child. (Tells us nothing about Laura.)
Before she could help it, (good conflict) Laura was up from the bench and moving forward, arms outstretched, to catch the child. (That’s really good action. She’s quick to respond, but she’s also being a touch transgressive, interfering where she isn’t needed.) Waiting for the fall. The scream. (She’s catastrophising. That’s excellent instability, conveyed in a single sentence. We will wonder what’s happened to her in the past for her to assume disaster is always waiting to strike.)
But no help was needed. The man simply straightened, and the child on his shoulders chortled, head thrown back towards the sky, tugging on his father’s hair.
Laura twisted mid-step, lowered her arms self-consciously, and grabbed her bag, as if leaving the bench had been her intention all along. (This is really good. She recognises she’s been completely over the top and tries to cover it up.)
Everything would be okay. She and Mike could do this between them. All women must worry about keeping their children safe. Part of the job, that’s all. (And this is also really good. She’s attempting to self-calm, belittling her own reaction and excusing it. But we’ll know it’s come from somewhere. Pregnancy – especially a first – can make most women anxious but she took it a touch further with her certainty that a sweet scene was going to end in horror.)You’ve got me, Gill. I’m really invested in Laura. Check out the parts where she springs to life and where we see what lies behind her actions. That’s the kind of thing we will need elsewhere, so make sure they appear as soon as she arrives on the page. As I said, you’ll have the opportunity to post our first meeting with Laura in week 6 if you want to. You have a great story here. Keep the faith!
