It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a novel in need of a publisher must be in want of a third draft.
So there it is. Sitting on my desk, feeling all pleased with itself.
487 sheets of yellow A4. A prologue, 33 chapters and an epilogue. 97,000 words. 43 weeks’ work.
And it’s still not finished.
On Tuesday evening I pressed the “print” button and sat back for much of the following hour as page after page were spewed from my printer.
For the following ten days, that’s where it will stay. A brooding presence; a splinter in the finger of life.
The plan is that I put the novel aside for ten days so that when I return to it, it will be with fresh eyes. That’s the plan. The reality is that we’ve moved beyond that point. That was all well and good for the first draft; that white livered prissy relation. The first draft was quite happy to sit out the ten day cooling off period, like the fourth sister in Pride and Prejudice, fully aware she’s never going to be asked to dance and so sits there quietly watching but not taking part.
But time has moved on.
The second draft is an altogether different proposition. The second draft is more like Elizabeth Bennet, Austen’s striking prototype feminist who knows her own mind and will not be bowed by her parents’ wishes.
While I know I will leave the second draft alone for ten days, I also know it won’t be easy. It’s sitting there now; aware of its stature while knowing that it’s not quite the finished article. It still needs me to complete it - just as Lizzie needed Darcy to help make her all she could be - but it’s not going to sit there quietly.
It’s on my mind throughout the day: could the first chapter do with just one more re-write; is the prologue “there” yet; does character B arrive early enough; can I afford the ink it takes to print another draft? These are the questions that dance around my head like characters from a Regency ball.
None of this is helped by the fact that the weather has suddenly gone all hot and humid. I’m never at my best in hot weather; it seems to melt my ability to concentrate. Perhaps, before my wife returns home from work, I might go for a quick dip in the lake.
Of course, I’ll be needing my wife’s help soon. She’ll be the first person to read the novel and I need her to be able to remain fully focused. So it’s probably better not to mention those two words that have been known to buckle her knees and start her incoherently babbling.
...and what are those two words? Second draft? New novel? My husband? No alcohol?!
Sadly not (although the last one comes close).
They are, of course, Colin Firth.
Friday, 25 July 2008
Friday, 18 July 2008
Week 43 - Chic(ken) Lit
This week I have written a chapter of my book.
Nothing out of the ordinary there, except for one thing: I already had all my chapters completed and have spent the last five weeks editing and refining my second draft.
During this process it became clear that the book was missing a certain something. At first it was difficult to pin down the missing ingredient; a bit like when you fancy some fried chicken, there’s no Colonel Sanders emporium to hand, so you end up in one of those “southern fried chicken” places. It should taste the same, but it doesn’t; and besides, even the flies look nervous.
And so it was with my novel. Finally I realised that there needed to be an extra scene to bridge some action and act as a conduit for my plot to travel down.
So I started to write the scene…and write…and write. Before you could say, “Of course I’ll go large on the three piece meal,” I had written a long chapter. What’s more, it was great to get back to creating. The editing process is fine in its own way, but there’s nothing like creating something from scratch. It was fun to return to my characters and send them in just one more direction.
Now that’s done – I have reached the end of my second draft. At the end of the weekend, I will be printing it out and then placing it in my bottom drawer for ten days before I embark on the final draft.
Another part of my 52-week journey is over and the final one is about to begin. But before the work of the final draft, there are a few days to enjoy the completion of my second draft. I just need to decide how to celebrate.
Anyone for a Bargain Bucket?
Nothing out of the ordinary there, except for one thing: I already had all my chapters completed and have spent the last five weeks editing and refining my second draft.
During this process it became clear that the book was missing a certain something. At first it was difficult to pin down the missing ingredient; a bit like when you fancy some fried chicken, there’s no Colonel Sanders emporium to hand, so you end up in one of those “southern fried chicken” places. It should taste the same, but it doesn’t; and besides, even the flies look nervous.
And so it was with my novel. Finally I realised that there needed to be an extra scene to bridge some action and act as a conduit for my plot to travel down.
So I started to write the scene…and write…and write. Before you could say, “Of course I’ll go large on the three piece meal,” I had written a long chapter. What’s more, it was great to get back to creating. The editing process is fine in its own way, but there’s nothing like creating something from scratch. It was fun to return to my characters and send them in just one more direction.
Now that’s done – I have reached the end of my second draft. At the end of the weekend, I will be printing it out and then placing it in my bottom drawer for ten days before I embark on the final draft.
Another part of my 52-week journey is over and the final one is about to begin. But before the work of the final draft, there are a few days to enjoy the completion of my second draft. I just need to decide how to celebrate.
Anyone for a Bargain Bucket?
Friday, 11 July 2008
Week 42 - Mobile Anticipation
On Tuesday morning I received a text message from my mobile phone provider to tell me that Apple’s new iPhone would be available to order from 8am. The new phone would be sold on a strictly first come first served basis, as demand was expected to be high.
I read the text, thought about all those people who would be besides themselves with excitement, and then went back to work.
That afternoon one of the news sites I subscribe to had a story about O2’s website crashing due to the millions of people trying to order the new phone. The company soon issued a statement saying that due to unprecedented high demand, there was essentially little chance of getting your hands on the new phone over the coming weeks, but the wait would be worth it.
Picture those gadget obsessed tecno-geeks (I know - those in glass houses...). They must have had their day/week/life ruined by that message.
Why? Because anticipation is a powerful master. It can turn normally sane people into gibbering wrecks. I once attended a launch party for Apple's Tiger operating system and one of the tie in treats was a bottle of Tiger beer. The only catch was that you had to roar like a tiger to get your hands on the drink. As I was weighing up personal dignity versus alcohol, my wife brushed me to one side, made a noise that could have got her the next Frosties commercial and promptly grabbed the beer.
The anticipation had got to her and she went to lengths beyond her normal character to get something she could have bought for 75 pence at the local supermarket (then again, the fact it was alcohol may have been the bigger motivator).
The point is that we like to be teased a little and have our sense of anticipation raised, but there has to be a satisfactory conclusion; we need to be sated. This is equally important in the books we read, arguably nowhere more so that in the crime novel.
Can you imagine reading The Murder on the Orient Express to find the final pages missing? Torment unimaginable. Similarly, would we mourn the unfinished state of Dickens’ last novel so much if it hadn’t been a prototype murder mystery?
The fact we need to bear in mind is that the reader wants to be teased; they want to have the carrot of crime dangled in front of them as we lead them through the byways of our plot; but they want...they need...they demand that they get to eat that carrot before the end of the book.
I was reminded of this duty to deliver on the unwritten contract between reader and author, as I was writing an additional scene during the final stages of my second draft. The book seemed to be lacking the level of anticipation that would keep a reader turning the pages and I realised why. So this week I added the scene and set up another level of anticipation.
All I need to do now is deliver on my promises later in the novel by adding another scene that offers the right level of resolution.
Hopefully, by the time the novel is published, everyone who reads it will feel happy at the outcome.
Even the techno-geeks, who might have got their new phone by then.
I read the text, thought about all those people who would be besides themselves with excitement, and then went back to work.
That afternoon one of the news sites I subscribe to had a story about O2’s website crashing due to the millions of people trying to order the new phone. The company soon issued a statement saying that due to unprecedented high demand, there was essentially little chance of getting your hands on the new phone over the coming weeks, but the wait would be worth it.
Picture those gadget obsessed tecno-geeks (I know - those in glass houses...). They must have had their day/week/life ruined by that message.
Why? Because anticipation is a powerful master. It can turn normally sane people into gibbering wrecks. I once attended a launch party for Apple's Tiger operating system and one of the tie in treats was a bottle of Tiger beer. The only catch was that you had to roar like a tiger to get your hands on the drink. As I was weighing up personal dignity versus alcohol, my wife brushed me to one side, made a noise that could have got her the next Frosties commercial and promptly grabbed the beer.
The anticipation had got to her and she went to lengths beyond her normal character to get something she could have bought for 75 pence at the local supermarket (then again, the fact it was alcohol may have been the bigger motivator).
The point is that we like to be teased a little and have our sense of anticipation raised, but there has to be a satisfactory conclusion; we need to be sated. This is equally important in the books we read, arguably nowhere more so that in the crime novel.
Can you imagine reading The Murder on the Orient Express to find the final pages missing? Torment unimaginable. Similarly, would we mourn the unfinished state of Dickens’ last novel so much if it hadn’t been a prototype murder mystery?
The fact we need to bear in mind is that the reader wants to be teased; they want to have the carrot of crime dangled in front of them as we lead them through the byways of our plot; but they want...they need...they demand that they get to eat that carrot before the end of the book.
I was reminded of this duty to deliver on the unwritten contract between reader and author, as I was writing an additional scene during the final stages of my second draft. The book seemed to be lacking the level of anticipation that would keep a reader turning the pages and I realised why. So this week I added the scene and set up another level of anticipation.
All I need to do now is deliver on my promises later in the novel by adding another scene that offers the right level of resolution.
Hopefully, by the time the novel is published, everyone who reads it will feel happy at the outcome.
Even the techno-geeks, who might have got their new phone by then.
Friday, 4 July 2008
Week 41 - Back to Square One
Now that I have turned 40 (that’s weeks of the blog) and I am beginning to head towards the end of my novel, I thought that there was an obvious topic for this week.
Beginnings.
Last weekend I reached the end of my second draft a whole two weeks ahead of schedule (probably helped by the early exit from Wimbledon of a certain female Russian player). It was time to sit back and take stock. What do I actually think of my novel now it’s in a second draft form?
It’s better - much better - than the first draft; but then again, I’m a better fast bowler than my Grandmother was...it’s all relative....
While the book has certainly improved, it is clearly not “there” yet. The early chapters still seem to be in need of some work; probably as they were written first, they’re not of the same standard as the later chapters.
I have also identified three new scenes that need to be written, which I plan to do over the next ten days.
But most striking of all is the prologue. We all know how important the beginning of a novel is, which is probably why I have re-written the prologue EIGHT times.
Last week marked re-write number nine. Interestingly, I did not exactly re-write it as cut huge chunks from it. It has gone from 1500 words to around 400...and the odd thing is that it’s about three times better. Go figure, as the Americans say.
Kate Mosse discusses how important the start of a book/chapter is and uses examples such as George Orwell’s 1984 (for my money his Coming Up For Air has the best opening line in literature) http://www.mosselabyrinth.co.uk/advice/15.asp
My prologue is certainly not up there with the likes of Orwell and Dickens, but after it’s ninth re-write it’s getting there.
And that’s a beginning.
Beginnings.
Last weekend I reached the end of my second draft a whole two weeks ahead of schedule (probably helped by the early exit from Wimbledon of a certain female Russian player). It was time to sit back and take stock. What do I actually think of my novel now it’s in a second draft form?
It’s better - much better - than the first draft; but then again, I’m a better fast bowler than my Grandmother was...it’s all relative....
While the book has certainly improved, it is clearly not “there” yet. The early chapters still seem to be in need of some work; probably as they were written first, they’re not of the same standard as the later chapters.
I have also identified three new scenes that need to be written, which I plan to do over the next ten days.
But most striking of all is the prologue. We all know how important the beginning of a novel is, which is probably why I have re-written the prologue EIGHT times.
Last week marked re-write number nine. Interestingly, I did not exactly re-write it as cut huge chunks from it. It has gone from 1500 words to around 400...and the odd thing is that it’s about three times better. Go figure, as the Americans say.
Kate Mosse discusses how important the start of a book/chapter is and uses examples such as George Orwell’s 1984 (for my money his Coming Up For Air has the best opening line in literature) http://www.mosselabyrinth.co.uk/advice/15.asp
My prologue is certainly not up there with the likes of Orwell and Dickens, but after it’s ninth re-write it’s getting there.
And that’s a beginning.
Friday, 27 June 2008
Week 40 - A Question of Ring Roads
This morning, stuck on Sheffield’s new Inner Ring Road, my passenger asked me what I was doing this weekend. It was the kind of question that is asked without any real desire to elicit information. It’s what linguistic professors call phatic conversation.
“How are you?” is a classic example. No one who asks really wants to know that your knees crack with a sound reminiscent of a starter’s pistol; that the egg sandwich you had for lunch is repeating more often than Dad’s Army on UK Gold; or for that matter that you’ve been feeling a little down of late and could do with a hug.
Thus it was this morning when I responded to the enquiry about the impending weekend by saying: “Well actually, I’m going to see a tree.”
The rest of journey passed in silence.
To be fair, it was probably not the answer they expected – “oh, nothing much…” would have been nearer the mark – but then they did ask…
As it happens, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Last Christmas my mother was gifted a tree to be planted in her name by the Yorkshire Dales Millennium Trust. This weekend, I am taking her to see it on an open day.
All well and good, I hear you say, but what’s that got to do with writing a crime novel?
Admittedly, I have taken a rather tortuously convoluted route to my point (although it has nothing on Sheffield’s new Inner Ring Road), but at least I have arrived where I want to be (unlike Sheffield new Inner Ring Road…)
As I head towards the end of my second draft (and the denouement of my plot), the descriptive passages recede to be replaced my more and more dialogue. It’s a natural evolution of the writing process and helps increase the sense of immediacy, but is does bring the quality of your characters’ dialogue into sharp focus.
More so that anywhere else, it is vital that the dialogue is realistic. Any false notes would bring the reader up short and instantly diffuse the tension. So how do you make sure your dialogue is as realistic as possible?
Simple – listen to people speak. There’s no substitute for it…but remember, you can be too realistic. If you wrote exactly how people speak there would be dozens of “errs and umms…” as well as countless contradictions.
Selective realism is what we’re after as writers; so in the case of dialogue, you will also need to take on the role of editor.
After all, when someone asks you what you’re doing at the weekend, there’s no need to tell them you’re going to see a tree.
Especially if you’re stuck on Sheffield’s new Inner Ring Road…
“How are you?” is a classic example. No one who asks really wants to know that your knees crack with a sound reminiscent of a starter’s pistol; that the egg sandwich you had for lunch is repeating more often than Dad’s Army on UK Gold; or for that matter that you’ve been feeling a little down of late and could do with a hug.
Thus it was this morning when I responded to the enquiry about the impending weekend by saying: “Well actually, I’m going to see a tree.”
The rest of journey passed in silence.
To be fair, it was probably not the answer they expected – “oh, nothing much…” would have been nearer the mark – but then they did ask…
As it happens, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Last Christmas my mother was gifted a tree to be planted in her name by the Yorkshire Dales Millennium Trust. This weekend, I am taking her to see it on an open day.
All well and good, I hear you say, but what’s that got to do with writing a crime novel?
Admittedly, I have taken a rather tortuously convoluted route to my point (although it has nothing on Sheffield’s new Inner Ring Road), but at least I have arrived where I want to be (unlike Sheffield new Inner Ring Road…)
As I head towards the end of my second draft (and the denouement of my plot), the descriptive passages recede to be replaced my more and more dialogue. It’s a natural evolution of the writing process and helps increase the sense of immediacy, but is does bring the quality of your characters’ dialogue into sharp focus.
More so that anywhere else, it is vital that the dialogue is realistic. Any false notes would bring the reader up short and instantly diffuse the tension. So how do you make sure your dialogue is as realistic as possible?
Simple – listen to people speak. There’s no substitute for it…but remember, you can be too realistic. If you wrote exactly how people speak there would be dozens of “errs and umms…” as well as countless contradictions.
Selective realism is what we’re after as writers; so in the case of dialogue, you will also need to take on the role of editor.
After all, when someone asks you what you’re doing at the weekend, there’s no need to tell them you’re going to see a tree.
Especially if you’re stuck on Sheffield’s new Inner Ring Road…
Friday, 20 June 2008
Week 39 - What's It All About, Malfi?
Among all the emails I routinely receive in a week (African “businessmen” asking me to let them have my bank details so I can become rich; offers of help to improve sexual prowess; press releases for tinned fruit...) there was one from Ian in Dundee.
It was a request for help. Apparently, Ian is writing a crime novel and although he has a synopsis and has completed a first draft, his second draft is adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
And he thinks I can help.
I’m flattered, but I can’t help but think that sometimes this blog gives a rather rosy view of the state of my own endeavours. That’s probably for two reasons: firstly, I am always trying to put a positive spin on my week’s work, after all, no one wants to read a weekly sob story; and secondly, I tend to write the thing on a Friday afternoon - a time when it’s almost impossible not to be approaching a level of unrestrained bliss.
The truth, of course, is that this whole second draft malarky is no picnic. Or at least it is a picnic, if it resembles one of those school trip picnics when I camped in an ant-infested field, got sun burnt and David Hutchinson threw up all over my potted meat sandwiches.
One of the problems Ian seems to be suffering from is a common one: when you’re writing your first novel, you really have no idea what to expect. Yes, we can guess it will be hard work; we accept we probably won’t get quite as much sleep as we’d like; and the manager at Starbucks is probably going to wish we spent more time buying drinks and food and less time nursing our small ( sorry, tall) black coffee that went cold a few hours earlier.
But beyond this, we don’t really know what to expect.
I referred Ian to Kate Mosse’s tips for writers: http://www.mosselabyrinth.co.uk/advice/intro.asp These are always instructive, but I especially thought that her week 39 tip might help. She discusses John Webster’s Duchess of Malfi (if you haven’t seen/read it, do) - and makes reference to the famous speech where the Duchess inverts our expectations to such dramatic effect.
This is often a good idea. When I have a character who isn’t going anywhere and has become about as interesting as an insurance seminar, I make them do something out of character that will surprise the reader. Now I am not suggesting you turn your mild mannered spinster into a drug crazed snow boarding assassin, but perhaps she could have been a spy in the war; or have once been suspected of a terrible crime...
It doesn’t have to be too dramatic, but it will breathe new life into your work and may just get your book back on track.
After all, that’s the ultimate aim: to finish the book and hopefully sell a few copies and perhaps even make enough money to write the second book.
Speaking of getting rich, now where did I leave my bank account details...
It was a request for help. Apparently, Ian is writing a crime novel and although he has a synopsis and has completed a first draft, his second draft is adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
And he thinks I can help.
I’m flattered, but I can’t help but think that sometimes this blog gives a rather rosy view of the state of my own endeavours. That’s probably for two reasons: firstly, I am always trying to put a positive spin on my week’s work, after all, no one wants to read a weekly sob story; and secondly, I tend to write the thing on a Friday afternoon - a time when it’s almost impossible not to be approaching a level of unrestrained bliss.
The truth, of course, is that this whole second draft malarky is no picnic. Or at least it is a picnic, if it resembles one of those school trip picnics when I camped in an ant-infested field, got sun burnt and David Hutchinson threw up all over my potted meat sandwiches.
One of the problems Ian seems to be suffering from is a common one: when you’re writing your first novel, you really have no idea what to expect. Yes, we can guess it will be hard work; we accept we probably won’t get quite as much sleep as we’d like; and the manager at Starbucks is probably going to wish we spent more time buying drinks and food and less time nursing our small ( sorry, tall) black coffee that went cold a few hours earlier.
But beyond this, we don’t really know what to expect.
I referred Ian to Kate Mosse’s tips for writers: http://www.mosselabyrinth.co.uk/advice/intro.asp These are always instructive, but I especially thought that her week 39 tip might help. She discusses John Webster’s Duchess of Malfi (if you haven’t seen/read it, do) - and makes reference to the famous speech where the Duchess inverts our expectations to such dramatic effect.
This is often a good idea. When I have a character who isn’t going anywhere and has become about as interesting as an insurance seminar, I make them do something out of character that will surprise the reader. Now I am not suggesting you turn your mild mannered spinster into a drug crazed snow boarding assassin, but perhaps she could have been a spy in the war; or have once been suspected of a terrible crime...
It doesn’t have to be too dramatic, but it will breathe new life into your work and may just get your book back on track.
After all, that’s the ultimate aim: to finish the book and hopefully sell a few copies and perhaps even make enough money to write the second book.
Speaking of getting rich, now where did I leave my bank account details...
Friday, 13 June 2008
Week 38 - Second Drafts and Other Assorted Topics
As I reach the two thirds stage in my second draft, the Q word is starting to raise its head.
That’s Quality of course.
Structurally, the book is beginning to pull itself into shape; characters have been embedded and the plot gaps and contradictions have been ironed out.
But is it any good?
If I am honest with myself, I would have to answer: “I don’t know.”
That, of course, is one of the central problems we face as writers.
It’s an odd thing, but I often read published novels and just accept that they’re of a certain standard because they’ve been published. But when I think about it, their dialogue can be clunky; the plot resolution can be as satisfying as watching a movie via dial up internet access; and the characters are as memorable as that Powerpoint presentation you sat through last week on paperclip overspend...
Yet the operative word in all that is, “published.”
Assuming the author’s father/husband/old school friend happens not to own the publishing house, the chances are that they thought it was good enough.
So who’s wrong?
The answer is no one - taste is about as subjective as it is possible to get (just look at teenagers and their bottom revealing jeans, or the whole of the 1970s for that matter).
The simple fact is that we are not always the best placed people to assess our work. It’s a bit like learning the guitar: we know how it should sound - and we know how it sounds when we hear it played well, but when we strum the strings, it sounds different.
We need to develop our inner ear...we need to have some belief...and sometimes we just need to let rip like an Eric Clapton encore.
I think I’ll dig out that Derek and the Dominoes album.
That’s Quality of course.
Structurally, the book is beginning to pull itself into shape; characters have been embedded and the plot gaps and contradictions have been ironed out.
But is it any good?
If I am honest with myself, I would have to answer: “I don’t know.”
That, of course, is one of the central problems we face as writers.
It’s an odd thing, but I often read published novels and just accept that they’re of a certain standard because they’ve been published. But when I think about it, their dialogue can be clunky; the plot resolution can be as satisfying as watching a movie via dial up internet access; and the characters are as memorable as that Powerpoint presentation you sat through last week on paperclip overspend...
Yet the operative word in all that is, “published.”
Assuming the author’s father/husband/old school friend happens not to own the publishing house, the chances are that they thought it was good enough.
So who’s wrong?
The answer is no one - taste is about as subjective as it is possible to get (just look at teenagers and their bottom revealing jeans, or the whole of the 1970s for that matter).
The simple fact is that we are not always the best placed people to assess our work. It’s a bit like learning the guitar: we know how it should sound - and we know how it sounds when we hear it played well, but when we strum the strings, it sounds different.
We need to develop our inner ear...we need to have some belief...and sometimes we just need to let rip like an Eric Clapton encore.
I think I’ll dig out that Derek and the Dominoes album.
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