Gosh it's been a long time. Slightly embarrassing that. However, I've been playing around with the layout of my blog and trying to decide what to do with it. It is taking quite a bit of thought and planning, and of course time to get it in a reasonable shape. A Russian ex-colleague of mine used to say 'The Best is the enemy of the Good', which basically means don't try to get that last scrap of perfection out if what you have is already good. So I should really just let it go and tweak a little here and there instead of waiting until it is exactly how I want it.
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Cutting the Crap
Well, call me the mad Axeman of Arleston! I've just come back from the annual Wrekin Writers Retreat where normally people shut themselves away and write, write, write.
I've been deleting. Furiously. Ruthlessly. At 130,000 words, my novel was about 30,000 words too long - so I was in the same boat as Simon (apologies for the boat reference there, Simon...)
Any thoughts that it might be cathartic were misplaced. It was painful. I'd already cut it from 145,000 to 130,000 by removing the adverbs and the 'nodding'. I needed to do something drastic. I had to delete several characters, a couple of chapters and completely remove all the viewpoint scenes of my detective in order to hit the word limit. I think I'll miss the torture scene the most.
However, in 4 days I'd deleted 27,000 words, and over the past couple of days since I've been back, I've excised another 3000. I've even got so tuned into useless words that I know I can go back to the beginning and delete more words from the first 20 chapters. No more 'long hair tied back in ponytails' (short hair can't go into ponytails!) or 'quite' or 'suddenly', and why 'climb the steps to the street' when you can just 'reach the street'?
Hurrah - it is now just under 100,000 words!
But hold the champagne for a moment - I now need to re-read the thing to make sure it still flows, and my latest reader suggested my main character wasn't sympathetic enough, so let's get another 5000 words out so I can add some more for character development.
Why the hell not?
When I'm done, it will be leaner, tighter, and pacier and god-dammit sellable!
But I am going to miss some of it, so here it is, for posterity, in DVD-special edition fashion, the Directors' Cut, my favourite Deleted Scene... for over 18's only...
---
He became aware of the pain in his eyes first. They were stinging. A chronic throbbing and slow burning had replaced the needle-sharp agony from the pepper-spray. He blinked at the bright light set to shine in his eyes and saw he was tied to an office chair. He was alone. The room looked like a workshop. He could smell the metallic tang of motor oil. A workbench nearby was adorned with tins and cardboard boxes containing bolts and tools. He pulled at his restraints. His hands were pulled behind the seat and secured at the wrists by cable-ties, which cut into him as he tried to work them loose. His ankles were similarly bound, with another tie securing them to the central shaft of the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t gagged, which worried him. They obviously weren't concerned about any noise he made.
He started counting, needing some way to measure the passage of time. It also helped to distract him from the discomfort of sitting in such an awkward position, and what they might do to him. He had reached six hundred and thirty when a door in the darkness beyond the lamp opened, silhouetting two men briefly before it closed behind them.
‘You’re awake then?’
Anderton squinted up at them.
‘You guys are under arrest.’ said Anderton baldly.
They laughed and Anderton smiled tightly, too scared to make more of an effort. The speaker stepped into the light. He was a brutish man, completely bald with a face that had seen numerous knocks and fractures.
‘The lady is going to eat you for breakfast, pig’ he said, leaning close to Anderton, who recoiled at the stale smell of tobacco and coffee.
‘What do you want?’ asked Anderton, trying to remember his training. He was supposed to agree with anything they said.
The man stood up and gestured to his companion, taller and thinner than the bald man, with a weasely face. He was carrying a large tool-box which he set on the worktop and opened.
‘You’ve been snooping around a little too much,’ said the bald man conversationally as he and Anderton watched the thin man take out a pair of tin snips from the tool box and set them carefully on the bench. Anderton hoped the brownish stains on the blades were rust. The bald man carried on talking as his colleague took more items out of the box – a pair of pliers, a hacksaw, a clawhammer…
‘You see, you should have done as you were told and dropped the Trent case.’
Anderton listened mutely, his legs felt like they were running out of his trousers and bile rose in his throat, threatening to choke him.
‘But no, you had to keep on didn’t you, and found out about Frank. She was very upset when he had to dive under that train like he did.’
‘I don’t know anything,’ Anderton blurted out, unable to tear his eyes away from the tools on the table.
‘Well it would be nice to think so,’ said the bald man in a disturbingly reasonable voice, ‘but we have to make sure. Now I won’t lie to you – this is going to hurt a fucking lot, but you can make things a lot easier on yourself if you tell us who you’re working for, what you know, and who you’ve told.’
‘I don’t know shit!’ spluttered Anderton, ‘I’m not working for anyone, and I’ve not told anyone anything! Honest! I was just following that hooker about. I figured the department got it wrong and I wanted to get some kudos by proving it.’
The man made a clucking sound in the back of his throat, ‘I’d like to believe you. You seem like a decent man, but I figure you’re not levelling with me completely. I’m afraid I’m going to have to hand you over to my associate for a while.’ He gave a nod to the thin man, who turned back to the table, his hand hovering over the line of tools, deciding which one to start with.
--- End ---
I've been deleting. Furiously. Ruthlessly. At 130,000 words, my novel was about 30,000 words too long - so I was in the same boat as Simon (apologies for the boat reference there, Simon...)
Any thoughts that it might be cathartic were misplaced. It was painful. I'd already cut it from 145,000 to 130,000 by removing the adverbs and the 'nodding'. I needed to do something drastic. I had to delete several characters, a couple of chapters and completely remove all the viewpoint scenes of my detective in order to hit the word limit. I think I'll miss the torture scene the most.
However, in 4 days I'd deleted 27,000 words, and over the past couple of days since I've been back, I've excised another 3000. I've even got so tuned into useless words that I know I can go back to the beginning and delete more words from the first 20 chapters. No more 'long hair tied back in ponytails' (short hair can't go into ponytails!) or 'quite' or 'suddenly', and why 'climb the steps to the street' when you can just 'reach the street'?
Hurrah - it is now just under 100,000 words!
But hold the champagne for a moment - I now need to re-read the thing to make sure it still flows, and my latest reader suggested my main character wasn't sympathetic enough, so let's get another 5000 words out so I can add some more for character development.
Why the hell not?
When I'm done, it will be leaner, tighter, and pacier and god-dammit sellable!
But I am going to miss some of it, so here it is, for posterity, in DVD-special edition fashion, the Directors' Cut, my favourite Deleted Scene... for over 18's only...
---
He became aware of the pain in his eyes first. They were stinging. A chronic throbbing and slow burning had replaced the needle-sharp agony from the pepper-spray. He blinked at the bright light set to shine in his eyes and saw he was tied to an office chair. He was alone. The room looked like a workshop. He could smell the metallic tang of motor oil. A workbench nearby was adorned with tins and cardboard boxes containing bolts and tools. He pulled at his restraints. His hands were pulled behind the seat and secured at the wrists by cable-ties, which cut into him as he tried to work them loose. His ankles were similarly bound, with another tie securing them to the central shaft of the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t gagged, which worried him. They obviously weren't concerned about any noise he made.
He started counting, needing some way to measure the passage of time. It also helped to distract him from the discomfort of sitting in such an awkward position, and what they might do to him. He had reached six hundred and thirty when a door in the darkness beyond the lamp opened, silhouetting two men briefly before it closed behind them.
‘You’re awake then?’
Anderton squinted up at them.
‘You guys are under arrest.’ said Anderton baldly.
They laughed and Anderton smiled tightly, too scared to make more of an effort. The speaker stepped into the light. He was a brutish man, completely bald with a face that had seen numerous knocks and fractures.
‘The lady is going to eat you for breakfast, pig’ he said, leaning close to Anderton, who recoiled at the stale smell of tobacco and coffee.
‘What do you want?’ asked Anderton, trying to remember his training. He was supposed to agree with anything they said.
The man stood up and gestured to his companion, taller and thinner than the bald man, with a weasely face. He was carrying a large tool-box which he set on the worktop and opened.
‘You’ve been snooping around a little too much,’ said the bald man conversationally as he and Anderton watched the thin man take out a pair of tin snips from the tool box and set them carefully on the bench. Anderton hoped the brownish stains on the blades were rust. The bald man carried on talking as his colleague took more items out of the box – a pair of pliers, a hacksaw, a clawhammer…
‘You see, you should have done as you were told and dropped the Trent case.’
Anderton listened mutely, his legs felt like they were running out of his trousers and bile rose in his throat, threatening to choke him.
‘But no, you had to keep on didn’t you, and found out about Frank. She was very upset when he had to dive under that train like he did.’
‘I don’t know anything,’ Anderton blurted out, unable to tear his eyes away from the tools on the table.
‘Well it would be nice to think so,’ said the bald man in a disturbingly reasonable voice, ‘but we have to make sure. Now I won’t lie to you – this is going to hurt a fucking lot, but you can make things a lot easier on yourself if you tell us who you’re working for, what you know, and who you’ve told.’
‘I don’t know shit!’ spluttered Anderton, ‘I’m not working for anyone, and I’ve not told anyone anything! Honest! I was just following that hooker about. I figured the department got it wrong and I wanted to get some kudos by proving it.’
The man made a clucking sound in the back of his throat, ‘I’d like to believe you. You seem like a decent man, but I figure you’re not levelling with me completely. I’m afraid I’m going to have to hand you over to my associate for a while.’ He gave a nod to the thin man, who turned back to the table, his hand hovering over the line of tools, deciding which one to start with.
--- End ---
Wednesday, 5 August 2009
Between holidays
I've only been back at work for 2 days after a week in Cyprus and I already need another holiday (having to drive to Basildon and back today hasn't helped).
Fortunately I have another holiday booked just next week - camping under canvas in Dorset! We went there last year too where I plotted out a whole novel. Hmm, I've only written about 30000 words of it since though, before the multiple re-writing of Taken have distracted me. Need to make more time... Up at 6 tomorrow then!
Sadly I'll miss the August Wrekin Writers though.
I've just finished going through the second tranche of competition scripts and they really are very interesting. There is a wide range of subjects (and standards!) and I am astonished how people can craft a story out of 'mundane' events. I tend to find that kind of thing intensely boring to write, but some of them are quite gripping. Maybe I should have a go at it, and step outside of genre writing?
Fortunately I have another holiday booked just next week - camping under canvas in Dorset! We went there last year too where I plotted out a whole novel. Hmm, I've only written about 30000 words of it since though, before the multiple re-writing of Taken have distracted me. Need to make more time... Up at 6 tomorrow then!
Sadly I'll miss the August Wrekin Writers though.
I've just finished going through the second tranche of competition scripts and they really are very interesting. There is a wide range of subjects (and standards!) and I am astonished how people can craft a story out of 'mundane' events. I tend to find that kind of thing intensely boring to write, but some of them are quite gripping. Maybe I should have a go at it, and step outside of genre writing?
Monday, 3 August 2009
Death of a Manuscript?
I've not been too great about keeping this Blog going. The trouble with missing a few is that then you feel pressure and guilt to do something and the longer you leave it the worse it gets until you realise that months have gone by.
Or maybe that's just me?
I've just come back from a great relaxing week in Cyprus staying with my parents who took out their granddaughter every day, leaving me time to do some serious writing. Well actually I have been doing lots of deleting - trying to strip 40,000 words from my Novel without changing the story, and by the way, fleshing out the protagonist a bit more to make her more sympathetic to the reader.
I'm not doing too badly - I've first re-read it (for the 100th time...?) and split every scene up into its own headered chapter, some only 500 words, none longer than 3000, and written down what happened in that scene, and what key story-driver bits of information are delivered. If the scene, or bits in it, do not contribute to the story or plot, then it goes. *Gulp*
It's quite painful really, and not at all theraputic. I've cut out a number of characters, sometimes completely and sometimes merging them with another, so their dialogue is said by someone else.
I once read an interview with Steven Redgrave and Matthew Pinsett where they were talking about their training and diet regime before the Olympics, and the question they kept asking themselves was 'Does it make the boat go faster?'
Well every paragraph is getting that treatment - 'Does it make the story Go?'
It's doubly hard because I think I did a pretty good job of this the last 2 or 3 times I've edited it. So it's bye-bye Thorkel, bye-bye Juan, so long Anderton as a viewpoint character, lose the Scarlet subplot, dump the mugging scene, drop the torture, make the two Gathering meetings occur on the same night and remove the two intervening days where Roxy learns to feed and pays her bills...
It feels like I am killing it.
Will there be anything left after all this invasive surgery? Dunno, but I guess I'll sit down and read it for the 101st time and see if it works. And if it doesn't, I've still got the old drafts to treasure.
But at least if I get it down below 100,000 words I might be able to hope that it won't simply be tossed on the reject pile without even being opened because it would be too expensive to publish.
But hey, maybe I'm missing the whole metaphor here. After all, Roxy had to die in the first few pages before she was reborn too...
Or maybe that's just me?
I've just come back from a great relaxing week in Cyprus staying with my parents who took out their granddaughter every day, leaving me time to do some serious writing. Well actually I have been doing lots of deleting - trying to strip 40,000 words from my Novel without changing the story, and by the way, fleshing out the protagonist a bit more to make her more sympathetic to the reader.
I'm not doing too badly - I've first re-read it (for the 100th time...?) and split every scene up into its own headered chapter, some only 500 words, none longer than 3000, and written down what happened in that scene, and what key story-driver bits of information are delivered. If the scene, or bits in it, do not contribute to the story or plot, then it goes. *Gulp*
It's quite painful really, and not at all theraputic. I've cut out a number of characters, sometimes completely and sometimes merging them with another, so their dialogue is said by someone else.
I once read an interview with Steven Redgrave and Matthew Pinsett where they were talking about their training and diet regime before the Olympics, and the question they kept asking themselves was 'Does it make the boat go faster?'
Well every paragraph is getting that treatment - 'Does it make the story Go?'
It's doubly hard because I think I did a pretty good job of this the last 2 or 3 times I've edited it. So it's bye-bye Thorkel, bye-bye Juan, so long Anderton as a viewpoint character, lose the Scarlet subplot, dump the mugging scene, drop the torture, make the two Gathering meetings occur on the same night and remove the two intervening days where Roxy learns to feed and pays her bills...
It feels like I am killing it.
Will there be anything left after all this invasive surgery? Dunno, but I guess I'll sit down and read it for the 101st time and see if it works. And if it doesn't, I've still got the old drafts to treasure.
But at least if I get it down below 100,000 words I might be able to hope that it won't simply be tossed on the reject pile without even being opened because it would be too expensive to publish.
But hey, maybe I'm missing the whole metaphor here. After all, Roxy had to die in the first few pages before she was reborn too...
Friday, 6 March 2009
Exposing myself again!
Well I took out and dusted down my novel, and struggled through a re-draft of my covering letter and then reached for my stack of Writers' News magazines to find the next potential publisher.
As it happens in this months issue which I received this week (oddly dated April 2009), there was one on page 3 - Snowbooks, who even better, only accept e-mail submissions. That meant there was absolutely no recourse to my usual delaying tactic of having to print out copy and find an envelope. I had a browse around the site, www.snowbooks.com and it looks interesting. A quick google search (I always do this) showed up no negative reports about them, so I composed a blurb and a bio, carefully read, re-read and checked the submission guidlines and hit the 'Send' button.
Interestingly I read the rejection letter before I sent it, as they publish it on the website, so I'm not even worried about what it might say!
Now I feel much better about myself, but I'm not going to stop there, because I know that there are many more possibilities in my stack of magazines, and bookmarks that I've been saving up until I'd finished the latest draft, which I've now done.
In case you are interested, this is what I came up with for the blurb and the bio:
Blurb:
Roxy Harker is a single mother, a recovering drug addict and a vampire. Thrust into a shadowy London underworld controlled by immortal beings, Roxy has to come to terms with her need for blood while raising her two year old daughter, Claudia.
She becomes caught up in an ancient feud which threatens the future of humanity itself, and only Roxy can stand in the way of the coming Darkness.
Author bio:
Bryan Vaughan has been telling tales for over thirty years, and learned to craft stories playing Dungeons and Dragons and other, darker roleplaying games. He has become increasingly drawn to horror writing, seeking what it is to be afraid and the slow realisation that however bad things may appear, they can always get worse! Roxy has been haunting him since university at London ten years ago, so he finally sat down and started typing. This is her story.
As it happens in this months issue which I received this week (oddly dated April 2009), there was one on page 3 - Snowbooks, who even better, only accept e-mail submissions. That meant there was absolutely no recourse to my usual delaying tactic of having to print out copy and find an envelope. I had a browse around the site, www.snowbooks.com and it looks interesting. A quick google search (I always do this) showed up no negative reports about them, so I composed a blurb and a bio, carefully read, re-read and checked the submission guidlines and hit the 'Send' button.
Interestingly I read the rejection letter before I sent it, as they publish it on the website, so I'm not even worried about what it might say!
Now I feel much better about myself, but I'm not going to stop there, because I know that there are many more possibilities in my stack of magazines, and bookmarks that I've been saving up until I'd finished the latest draft, which I've now done.
In case you are interested, this is what I came up with for the blurb and the bio:
Blurb:
Roxy Harker is a single mother, a recovering drug addict and a vampire. Thrust into a shadowy London underworld controlled by immortal beings, Roxy has to come to terms with her need for blood while raising her two year old daughter, Claudia.
She becomes caught up in an ancient feud which threatens the future of humanity itself, and only Roxy can stand in the way of the coming Darkness.
Author bio:
Bryan Vaughan has been telling tales for over thirty years, and learned to craft stories playing Dungeons and Dragons and other, darker roleplaying games. He has become increasingly drawn to horror writing, seeking what it is to be afraid and the slow realisation that however bad things may appear, they can always get worse! Roxy has been haunting him since university at London ten years ago, so he finally sat down and started typing. This is her story.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Zombies
So I'm into Zombies at the moment, for some reason.
I'm reading a book called World War Z, which is part of my research into how contemporary authors are handling 'end of the world' scenarios. I've also recently read Survivors and the Day of the Triffids (which the BBC are remaking....again).
World War Z is about a Zombie uprising which devastates the whole planet, and is told from the viewpoint of the survivors after they fought back and eventually defeated enough to retake large parts of their countries. The Zombies in this book are traditional, lumbering zombies like in Evil Dead, which come at you slowly, but relentlessly.
On sunday I watched Resident Evil and 28 Days Later, back to back. Resident Evil again uses slow zombies, but 28 Days Later was a real turning point in Zombie fiction.
They learned to run.
This was a brilliant re-imagining of the Zombie myth, and one that was also taken up brilliantly by Dead Set by E4 last year (by the way, if you want to see something really freaky, go to www.unseenscreen.com). If seeing a horde of unthinking creatures staggering towards you is horrific, then seeing them sprint towards you must cross the line into terror.
It just shows how you can breathe life back into a tired old concept and turn everything you thought you knew on its head.
There are now a raft of Zombie films and books coming out, and they seem to be relentlessly, unfalteringly pursuing me. Who knows, maybe I'll try me hand at a short story or two, featuring a flying zombie, or an intelligent one...?
I'm reading a book called World War Z, which is part of my research into how contemporary authors are handling 'end of the world' scenarios. I've also recently read Survivors and the Day of the Triffids (which the BBC are remaking....again).
World War Z is about a Zombie uprising which devastates the whole planet, and is told from the viewpoint of the survivors after they fought back and eventually defeated enough to retake large parts of their countries. The Zombies in this book are traditional, lumbering zombies like in Evil Dead, which come at you slowly, but relentlessly.
On sunday I watched Resident Evil and 28 Days Later, back to back. Resident Evil again uses slow zombies, but 28 Days Later was a real turning point in Zombie fiction.
They learned to run.
This was a brilliant re-imagining of the Zombie myth, and one that was also taken up brilliantly by Dead Set by E4 last year (by the way, if you want to see something really freaky, go to www.unseenscreen.com). If seeing a horde of unthinking creatures staggering towards you is horrific, then seeing them sprint towards you must cross the line into terror.
It just shows how you can breathe life back into a tired old concept and turn everything you thought you knew on its head.
There are now a raft of Zombie films and books coming out, and they seem to be relentlessly, unfalteringly pursuing me. Who knows, maybe I'll try me hand at a short story or two, featuring a flying zombie, or an intelligent one...?
Saturday, 28 February 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)