Tag Archives: writing

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Another story idea

Procrastination. Really, that’s where I’m at. I have so little left before I finish the first draft of War of Shadows, and I’m avoiding it at every turn – stupid really, but I just can’t help myself. Today, I spent most of my writing time with a new and different story idea. I don’t know where it’s going, the characters hopped into my mind, and I’m already in love with them. Someday I’m going to turn this into something, but maybe not right now. Anyhow, here it is in all its drafty glory (what do you think? Is it going somewhere or were you done before you got to the end?):

 

Thittlebod the Great

She looked at the little old man, bent over some unknown conglomeration of cogs, gears, springs, and flywheels. Thittlebod the Adventurer he was called or Thittlebod the Maker, Thittlebod the Secret Stealer, and sometimes Thittlebod the Great. Once she had even heard Thittlebod the Terrible. He wasn’t any of those things. As she stepped fully into the room, he looked up and removed his goggles, blinking at her with small eyes, watery from concentration. He ran his hand through his wispy white hair.

“My dear Bel,” he said with a toothy smile. “You’ve arrived just in the nick of time.”

Bel-atter was her proper name. She hated being called Bel, she was not one of those prim and brainless bimbos that flitted about the courts of the moneyed. No, that wasn’t her, never would be. Their story was always the same. There was no fairytale ending for them.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “You know I don’t care for the name.”

“Ah, yes, of course, my dear. You prefer Att. Might you see fit to forgive an old man in his dotage.”

Thittlebod’s eye sparkled at this. Whatever he was, he wasn’t dotty. Att knew he thought of her as a Bel, always had. She had been a princess in his home even since she was a small child.

“Oh, my dear,” Thittlebod said, embracing her tightly. “It is so good to see you. I am glad you have come down all this way.”

“I am pleased to have the excuse,” Att said, taking a step back and looking him over more closely. She was disappointed to see that age was beginning to catch up with him. “To what do I owe the honor of your invitation?”

“Your help, my dear, your help.”

Att raised her eyebrow. “What sort of adventure are we on now?”

Thittlebod waived his hand. “No, my dear, I’m too old for that now. Too old. No, I’ll show you.”

After fiddling with the mass of gears and what-not on his workbench, he turned crank, counting aloud to ten, then he dropped a brilliant blue gem into the mess, and clicked a panel into place over it. He took a few steps back.

“A dozen heartbeats, my dear,” He said.

True to his word, a dozen heartbeats later, the mass began moving. This time Att took a step back and reached for her pistol.

“No, no, my dear, he’s safe,” Thittlebod said, holding his hand out to stop her.

Att could feel her eyes growing wide. “He?”

They watched as the mass, sat up on the bench, stretched, and turned to face them, just as if it were getting out of bed. Att actually un-holstered her pistol and pointed it at the thing. As much as a mechanical thing could, it took on a look of surprise and held up it’s hands in a clear sign of fear.

“That’s not necessary, my dear, you’re frightening him,” Thittlebod said.

“What is this Thits?” Att said.

“It’s okay Rundis. She means no harm,” Thittlebod said to the thing, Then turning To Att. “Please, my dear, put that away. It’s not necessary here.”

Att complied, slowly lowering her weapon. “Please tell me what you’ve done now.”

“Rundis here is the world’s first auto-winding automaton.”

“Perhaps you mean the world’s first automaton?” Att corrected him.

“Details,” Thittlebod said vaguely.

“Why have you made it?”

Rundis stared at them with unblinking, glass eyes. Two little flaps, Att took to be eyebrows were raised in an expression reminiscent of surprise or curiosity, she couldn’t tell which.

Thittlebod frowned. “Why have I made him? Well, that’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

Att’s mouth fell open in an effort to find words to respond. These kings of enigmatic statements were one of the peculiar things about Thittlebod.

“I suppose you’ll be wondering what that is my dear?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Have I a role?” Rundis said in a metallic, echoing voice.

Att jumped back. “It talks.”

Thittlebod looked from Rundis to her, squinting. “Well, of course it does, my dear.”

Att took a deep breath, then another. “I need a very stiff drink Thits.”

“Of course you do, my dear,” Thittlebod said kindly.

“May I do a drink?” Rundis asked, cocking its head slightly.

“Two, actually,” Att added.

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Writer’s improvement hell – developing themes.

Notes Mess

I have precious few hours remaining before Sunday is over, concluding my week off for writing. I didn’t manage to accomplish my goal of having a first full draft. I just stacked too many other things on to the week. It’s not that I didn’t make progress, because I did, I just didn’t make it as far as I wanted to. Part of the problem though wasn’t life, it’s that I continue to get hung up on things that need to be fixed. As I’m some 82K words into the book, going back to make some edits that work in various elements every time I think about them is no longer practical. I’m better off writing the idea down and setting it aside to include for the next pass-through of the draft.

One of the things that has begun to really take hold of my mind is theme – or themes, I suppose. In writing the War of Shadows so far, I haven’t been focused on theme, instead concentrating on hitting plot elements, character development, and increasing tension. Theme hasn’t been at the front of my mind. Now that I can go back and think about the story as it is, I can start to pick out weak threads of theme that are running through the book. In moving toward the climax and resolution, as well as set-up for book 2, I’m finding that theme is becoming an essential component for the story to hang together.

In every literature class I’ve ever taken (you can count this on one hand, I’m a computer programmer by training, and research analyst by profession), I’ve hated the discussion of theme. This originates, I think, from high school lit. classes where a book is read and discussed with inadequate context. Now that I’m older and can combine much more knowledge of history and politics, I can now better see what some of these books were trying to do. However, as a young person, they made little sense, and digging out any sort of meaning was a tedious and sometimes painful experience.

So if I hate discussing theme so much, why have I brought it up?

Because, as a writer it’s important. It’s important for the reader too, even if they don’t realize it. For the writer, the themes you choose help to guide the characters and plot. It acts as a bit of glue for the story as it progresses, themes also give a ‘feel’ to the story. I’ll offer up all of the Middle-Earth work by Tolkien as an example. A theme of change or diminishing of the world is present throughout all of those stories. This theme helps to tie the stories together, and also helps to make the change feel vaguely sad, but not tragic – much in the same way that we wish we could go back to places and times that are gone, like a child that has grown and left the house.

For the War of Shadows, and it’s associated series, I’ve got a few themes in mind that I’m looking at developing. There are several options at this point, because it’s still a fairly early draft. The one that’s at the front of my mind right now is the concept of ‘perception of choice.’ I suppose you could call it destiny, but it’s not quite like that, it’s not a pre-ordained sort of situation, it’s more that the characters are being pulled into a much larger conflict, while believing they are acting in their own interest for much more limited goals. It’s less along the lines of the chosen one, and more like the situation in Star Wars Episodes 1-3. Each side believes they are fighting a war for their own interests, but it’s not like that at all. The Chancellor is acting the puppet-master to reach his own goals. Really what’s going on is that the protagonist believes s/he has a choice, or is somehow in control of events, but in reality there is no choice. Another example comes from  the Harry Potter series, though it’s really a very minor theme. An example of how it shows up is near the end of book 7. Harry has the choice of chasing the horacruxes or uniting the deathly hallows. He chooses the horacruxes. In the book, you have the sense that this is a real choice, but it’s not. Harry will still have to destroy all of the horacruxes and face Voldamort. It’s only an illusion that he might have a choice.

The question that comes up for me as I consider this and attempt to work out how to go back and include it, is how do I pull this off? First off, I’m going to try and be subtle about it. The theme is generally present, but a few conversations muck it up a bit. I need to go back and revise those so that they don’t tread on this concept. It’s not anything like a major revision, just modification of dialogue, and motivation. The next thing that needs to happen is that I need to play the concept up a little bit in places where it’s missing. In those places where it’s not present, it will result in a certain amount of discontinuity in the story.

The next question, I suppose is why am I picking this theme and expanding it? Does it even matter? Yes, it does matter, the main reason I’m expanding this theme is because it’s going to be the backbone for the plot across the books. It’s not going to be spoken to directly, but the motivation of certain characters and the reactions of others will depend on this theme. It provides a framework for the plot and characters. So, I may dislike the discussion of theme, but it’s starting to seem so essential to me that I’ve got to master it, and understand how to use it in my favor as a writer.

 

photo credit: Spring via photopin (license)

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Nobody cares that it’s called a ‘poop deck’.

ships-642520_1280

If you’ve read any of my recent posts, you are aware that I’m having an epic and very public fight with chapter 10. I’ve drafted it twice and was getting ready to rewrite it for a third time before I handed it over to my wife. My wife is a lovely and tolerant woman, and also the most well read person I know. I actually had to design our house around built in bookcases (if you don’t believe me, ask her. This actually happened.) Anyhow, she’s usually a good sounding board for identifying ideas that suck, but she’s always kind enough to not say “this sucks,” instead offering suggestions on how it could be better.

Turns out, chapter 10 didn’t straight-up suck, it just needed a little more focus, which we got to the bottom of fairly quickly before dissolving into an argument discussion about the intention of a particular character, as if he were real. It kind of made me feel good because it’s the sort of discussion we have over other people’s books. One of the big messages though, was “you’re not Patrick O’Brien*, nobody cares what a poop-deck is.”

There is a balance between what is necessary for plausibility and what is just too much information. While I have spent a reasonable amount of time and energy researching historical British naval terminology, it’s completely unnecessary for anyone reading my story to know that. Furthermore, it would be best if they didn’t. So, describing the poop-deck is overkill, I need to find another way to deal with the description.

At this point, I bet you’re already not asking yourself, what is a poop-deck? -assuming you haven’t already not bothered googling it. Contrary to what you may be imagining, this is not where sailors take their poops, that’s done at the head. According to Wikipedia, the name poop-deck originates from the French word for stern (rear of the ship), which is la poupe, from the latin puppis. The poop-deck is the highest deck at the stern. It was typically unarmed and served as the station for the signaling officer. So, poop-deck aside, how am I going to deal with naval terms nobody except Patrick O’Brien fans will care about? Well, it’s pretty straight forward. As much as possible I’m going to limit the naval jargon to dialogue, then back that up with action for context. Instead of saying something like:

  Todhrel made his way to the poop-deck.

I’m going to say something more along the lines of:

  “An’ he’s on the poop sir, shall I call ‘im?” the young midshipman said.
  “No, I’ll fetch him.”
  Todhrel mounted the narrow stairs to the deck with more vigor than he felt.

I can’t say this sort of approach would be a solution for everyone, but it’s how I’m going to do it, and hopefully, I’ll be able to avoid the over-sharing of details no-one cares about.

 

* Patrick O’Brien wrote the Master and Commander books, which are exceptionally dry and full of obscure naval terms. I love these books. Jack Aubrey is my 3rd favorite captain after Mal (if you have to ask, don’t bother), and Kirk (I repeat).