Standpoint - when characters come to life

The first time I thought my Brit thriller, Standpoint, might have legs was when I had an argument with the main character in a car. Yes, I know how ridiculous that looks on a screen, but it's what happened. It was during a novel writing summer school tutored by Jane Pollard at University College Falmouth.

On the very first day two important things happened that had a profound influence on my writing. The first was that Jane told us we'd never write our books the same way again - this, was me, was absolutely true. The second occurred when each of the class outlined their book's plot and themes. When it came to my turn - a tale of a 20-something who leaves London to start a new life in the USA* - she asked who the antagonist was and I said 'life'. She suggested that idea might not be suitable for this course and that I'd be better coming up with a completely new idea.

My first response was one of panic. However, the day's exercises were really useful and when she asked those of us without a clear storyline to think about it overnight I went away confidently. One of the techniques I've used to write short fiction is to listen for 'the voice'. It's a little like meditation, except you have a different expectation when you start and a different focus during each session. It doesn't always work, but I have had good results from time to time. When there's simply no voice present at all, I sometimes used my mind's eye to focus in on an imaginary person, or an object.

There was no voice, only a character reluctant to speak with me. Why? He was busy! So began my introduction to Thomas Bladen. He was taking photographs and keeping records, and it was his job; this gave me a starting point. Once we'd got into some sort of dialogue he told me he was from Yorkshire, which I'd only been to once, as well as his age and the important relationships in his life.

By the next morning, on the drive over to Falmouth, Thomas and I were discussing aspects of this new book. The fact that his character arrived largely fully formed made the process of developing the book more like a voyage of discovery (or investigation!) than one of invention. Of course, not everything played out on the page exactly like the early discussions, but still remember his voice in my head as I parked up on day two of the course, insisting that he wanted a helicopter! Did he get it? You'll have to read Standpoint to find out.

What's your process or technique for creating new fiction from scratch?

Standpoint is published by Joffe Books.

You can find it on Amazon, here for the UK and here for the US. 

Can one good man hold the line without crossing it?

* Scars & Stripes is now a completed standalone comedy drama, in need of an agent or publisher - I'm just saying... 

July 4th

Every item tells a story.

Well, of course I wasn't going to let US Independence Day pass without a blog post. 

After all, as someone once said, parodying a comment allegedly made about Billy Connolly and the shipyards, I spent one year living there and 25 years talking about it. (To which, I replied, "Don't forget about the short stories and the novel.")

July 4th is one of those occasions steeped in myth and history that has come to mean something fixed, even though some of the reasons behind the decisions, battles and, ultimately, the birth of an independent nation are still up to debate. If you're open to a good conspiracy, I recommend The Temple and the Lodge. On the other hand, whether you're British or an American and if you're capable of reflective humo(u)r, you might enjoy this glorious piece on revocation, which airs periodically and has been wrongly attributed to John Cleese over the years. You see, mythology again.

Our ability to attribute fixed meanings to events, or even to non-events, is probably connected to our  innate need to tell stories. As Mark Twain may have said: "Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story, unless you can't think of anything better."

Recently, Thorn Sully and I were chewing the fat over skype about A Word with You Press's inaugural anthology - Coffee Shop Chronicles, Vol 1, Oh the Places I Have Bean. It's a conversation we've had a few times since the book was released into the wild. Should we create a second book? Ought we to focus on an ebook rather than a more expensive paperback, and could we maybe reduce the size of it to slim down the unit price. We chat about the weather too, sometimes.

Anyhow, I happened to mention that it may be time to promote the book a little more deliberately by cranking up Twitter, Facebook and all the other toys. Out of interest and intrigue, I checked the book out on Amazon and discovered that we had zero reviews. That's not a terrible thing; we had sold in low figures after all, opting for a more organic (some might even say lesiurely) approach to marketing. But none? 

If I explain that there were 100 entries in the anthology, it might go some way to explaining my disbelief. And, since you ask, as I was on the editorial team (as well as being a contributor), it didn't seem right to me to wave the flag personally. We've since emailed all those involved with the book, to ask for their participation, and at least a couple of reviews have appeared.

There is a valuable lesson here, and it's no criticism of those non-reviewers. People are busy; people form and lose connections with equal speed and so we, as writers, need to work hard to maintain a relationship with readers and contributors. Simply creating a book is not enough to keep readers engaged. 

Maybe they didn't like it. Maybe they didn't even know it was out there. Maybe they're wondering why we haven't been in touch since the book launch (we actually have a website and online community at www.awordwithyoupress.com, but we have had some changes recently). 

Who knows?

What we do know is that it's up to us to make the relationship work with the reader (and the contributors). 

It's important to separate facts from conjecture and to not get lost in our own stories about what we consider to be the truth. So, stories on the page but not off it!

Happy Independence Day, people, wherever you are!

Once upon a tome...

Hang out the flags, I've got an idea for a story.

We tend to see events and perspectives from the beginning of things, without always appreciating the beginning (or the ending) before the beginning.

Sometimes, it's the 'why'.

Why was the 'wicked fairy' in Sleeping Beauty wicked?

What drove Laurie Lee to start his journey in As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning?

What made Craig Campbell choose his way of life in Sinclair Macleod's The Reluctant Detective series?

When it comes to novels, I think that authors juggle three distinct needs.

What does the reader actually need to know, what does you need them to know, and (still with me?) what do you need to know purely for yourself?

Initially, in my Brit thriller, Standpoint, I alluded to main character Thomas Bladen's difficult childhood. But the more I wrote, the more I wanted to know what actually went on. So I explored that and some of those formative events filtered through to the manuscript. That way the reader can trace a thread all the way from who my protagonist is all the way back to some of the experiences that moulded his behaviour.

Even if you're writing about a baby, its home environment and the attitude of its parents (which will contribute to its conditioning and the life awaiting it) owe a debt to the past.

I'm in the process of submitting two novels to agents / publishers (at time of writing, I haven't decided which road to take). To complicate things further, each book is a different genre. Standpoint is a thriller about a civilian who joins the UK's Surveillance Support Unit, while Scars and Stripes is a transatlantic comedy drama set in the 1980s. 

Being back on the submissions trail, it's easy to buy into the notion that I'm there at the beginning. Except that I'm not. My trusty spreadsheet reminds me that I've been contracted four times for other books, and offered a further three contracts (at different times) for a fantasy novel, Covenant, that I eventually chose to self-publish.

As writers we tend to see ourselves at the start of something, which can be energising or daunting depending on how you feel about that all-important next stage. But it's important to recognise the steps and individuals (seen and unseen) that brought us to this point. 

The journey of a thousand miles may well begin with the first step, but let's not forget all the other journeys that put us there, willing and able.

Lost and Found in a photograph

I've spent a little time this week scanning in photographs for blogs-to-come and as memory joggers for Scars & Stripes. Following feedback from Anne, Susie and Monika, I've decided (I think) that S&S works best when it's 1st person and more honest than the first draft appears to be. Warren was definitely right that 3rd person opens the book up, but having recently read Michael Wright's C'est La Folie, I'm thinking about approaching the book from a different angle.

The picture here is almost certainly from West Runton campsite in Norfolk. The car - as most of you will know - is a Morris Traveller and that special hound on the left is Tess. David is the one holding the football. Mum is probably making tea and dad is taking the photo. I'd forgotten this picture existed - there aren't many of Tess.

The photo is a nexus point for so many different streams of thought and recall. The pennants were from the camping club of Great Britain and Northern Ireland - they mainly showed all the places mum and dad camped before we came along. The Morris Traveller was one of a succession of cars, all smelling of vinyl and dog (ours).

I remember car sickness, the way my bare legs would stick to the vinyl in the heat, the handles for the windows and those jumpers that mum knitted for us. I remember the feel of the deckchairs and how they'd topple over at the slightest provocation. I can still hear the sound of the aluminium pots and pans, and the way the table legs used to screw in.

And those trails that lead off into their future and my past. I remember years later, meeting Carl Nunn while climbing the oak tree on the site and the first words I said to him, "Oi, Tarzan, want any nougat (which we pronounced nugget back then)?" He came from Cambridge and had a collie dog and a penknife with a rabbit's foot at the end.

I remember being 11 when Tess died and not knowing how to cope with the grief. And then at 13, we went camping in Somerset and it felt like the end of a chapter of my life.

So many points of reference from one photograph, all of them bathed in emotion and significance. And that's what I'm aiming for now in Scars & Stripes.

Memory Maker

Do you have a friend who consistently gets a fact wrong, even if it’s a detail about an event that you’ve previously corrected them on? It’s as if that piece of information is permanently misfiled or corrupted – the memory equivalent of two synapses stuck in a death grip handshake.

It reminds me (no pardon intended) of False Memory Syndrome, which has been offered up as an explanation for some allegations child abuse or alien abduction. My own particular false memory is less contentious, but no less puzzling.

Our dad died when I was twenty-two and our mum followed him, about five years later. However, I also have these pseudo memories, of dad outliving mum and there being just dad, my brother and I living in the house.

It’s only a quirk of imagination of course, unless the idea of parallel universes periodically intersecting ours appeals to you. But that empirical understanding has never changed the quality of the experience for me. It’s as if I have two competing sets of memories – the one, sharp as a scalpel; the other, hazier, as if trying to recall a film you saw long ago. And both have endured over the years.

Part of the process of writing, I think, involves the writer undergoing a journey of self-revelation. The more we write, the deeper we dig, and as our characters and plot and dialogue unfold, so we see more facets of our self. Rather than hiding in our work – irrespective of the genre or how far-removed from our own experience the ideas might be – I’ve come to the conclusion that we actually want to be found: the writer revealed.

Good writing is authentic – it shows us what it is to be a living, breathing and feeling human being. It doesn’t matter if the stories are comic or tragic or dramatic or undemanding, whether they inhabit the past, present, future or never-could be. Human, alien, animal, faery, robot or fridge – it’s all the same as long as it touches us.

And why this, now? I’m glad you asked!

As I’ve been working through the first draft of Scars & Stripes, reviewing my memory of real events and seeing where imagination can trip off the page, I’m aware that the line between truth and fiction is becoming blurred. The emotions (and in some places, the dialogue) from one world are being siphoned off into another of my own making.

The interesting thing though is that, having decanted real events into fiction narrative, I have a much clearer perspective on both the vintage and the nouveau.

Check your notes

Every book on writing I've ever tried to read in a shop and every workshop I've attended have all had the same piece of advice - carry a notebook with you at all times. That's fine for recording what's going on around you, but it takes on a different dimension when you're writing about your own experiences as they happen.

I can't say that a writer's dairies (or journals) are any more honest than those people who don't write - mine certainly weren't in days gone by. But I did note little details which, with the passage of time, now surprise me. In the course of writing Scars and Stripes I dug out my chapter outlines and a faded print of 'American Adventures', a set of monologues that never saw the light of day. Some of it makes interesting reading. I didn't recall, for example, that while in hospital after a car accident, someone in the next cubicle was being given the Last Rites. Or that I'd faithfully recorded a phone conversation on paper with a Mr Wank, a man randomly assigned to me for a market research call.

The notes aren't exhaustive and they're inevitably biased. But I have another treasure from the past. I rediscovered - in the attic this very day - a cassette tape that a 21 year-old me sent home from New York. He rambles a little and his concentration after the blow to the head isn't brilliant. And he's a little full of himself when he speaks, as all twenty somethings ought to be. And he's every bit as sinusy as I am now. But when I hear him speak, I can also hear his isolation and his dreams and I suddenly have a hot line to all the things he didn't want to say.

Then suddenly I glimpse a truth both powerful and daunting. This novel I'm writing is about real people, whose lives briefly intersected mine. And while it's fine to use my experiences as source material for the plot and characterisation, I owe it to all of us, the heroes and villains and every shade in between, to do it all justice. I need to make it a good book that doesn't trivialise the emotional journey or lessen the impact of the loss of innocence - the same loss we all go through when we realise that life doesn't bend to our exclusive desires and that sometimes we're just dealing with circumstance.

I have to make good on that journey because I owe it to the people who aren't around any more.

"To err is human, to forgive is divine. And to forget is folly."

Post Script

I'd like to add that, awkward as it was to hear my past on tape, I'm really glad I stuck with it right to the end. And that I kept the tape all this time. What he doesn't say is as powerful as what he chooses to share. And it all helps me understand where the protagonist's character needs to veer away from what actually happened, even if it still draws upon those events, people and emotions. And hopefully I understand myself a little more too, which is one of the happy byproducts of being a writer!