For sheer theatre there’s nothing like a courtroom drama. I was first hooked way back in the sixties when Perry Mason got his man every Sunday night without fail, always with the help of crucial new evidence provided at the last minute by side-kick Paul Drake. I don’t think I understood half of it, but was entranced by the formulaic language and that sense of the odds always being stacked up against the defendant by evil DA Hamilton Burger.
Modern equivalents might be more convincing and better crafted, but if the 21st century courtroom has had some of the stuffiness knocked out of it, there’s a lot to be said for the full-on frocked and bewigged version now showing as Garrow’s Law. I succumbed straight away to all that objecting and overruling, not to mention a good smattering of period atmosphere. Apparently Garrow was a hugely important legal campaigner, but as our learned friend comes across as a swotty version of Jonathan Creek, for me this is comfort viewing at its best.
Had a sobering thought yesterday when I heard mail delivery (i.e. by the postman) being described as a ’sunset industry’. Hang on, I thought, as a novelist whose primary aspiration is to get into print, am I also part of a sunset medium, soon to be supplanted by e-books, downloads or just one big blogosphere?
It’s not that I consider e-books to be works of the devil. Readers may note that a Kindle or Sony Reader in my Christmas stocking would be more than accceptable. But for the book to die out altogether? Well, call me nostalgic, but that is very scary indeed.
Luckily I recently discovered Nathan Bransford’s blog (now on the sidebar) and he has such an up-beat take on this (and publishing life in general) that I’m taking the liberty of quoting directly.
“don’t panic. Things are changing, it’s going to be an interesting/challenging couple of years as we gradually succumb to our coming e-book overlords, but it doesn’t mean the novel is going to disappear or that we’re all going to hell in a handbasket. Things aren’t going to be worse (at least in the long term), they’re just going to be different. And in 50 years when we’re making the transition from reading e-books on screens to having them beamed directly into our heads we’ll wax nostalgic about the charming blink of electronic pages and the smell of plastic and people will get angry about the change and say that you can pry their e-books from their cold dead hands.“
Not quite sure why this cheered me, but it did! Do get along there if you haven’t been already.
Next on my to do list is to look at all of Nathan’s advice on getting published, but a more pressing problem is the WIP. As I pass the 10,000 mark of my Water’s Edge rewrite, I’m wondering, in view of previous reactions, why I have retained the first person? I tell myself that every scene is now told in a way that would work in third person.
A trip to York has been an excellent excuse to neglect Authonomy whereThe Water’s Edge is now sinking down the rankings. And if I am ever to get on with my rewrite project I’m afraid that sink it must. Even maintaining its current position requires too much effort in finding and swapping reads. But I have made some good writing friends on Authonomy and hope I’ll catch up with them when the novel is put back together again. (Ali, Jane, Diana, Elinor, Lellie and Sandrine – this means you!)
Ironically, as I withdraw from the fray, I am just starting to understand some aspects of how the ranking system works. It turns out that points allocated to a book when it’s backed vary according to the ‘reviewer rank’ of the backer. Reviewer points are allocated depending on the progress of a book after you have backed it, i.e. backing a ‘best seller’ book will do little for your own reviewer ranking; backing an ‘unknown’ that subsequently shoots up the charts will boost your own rank – and consequently makes you a more effective backer of other books. Very cunning, methinks, and does something to mitigate the idea that it’s purely a numbers game.
If anyone is still paying attention, I can tell you that The Water’s Edge has been backed by three ‘top reviewers’ so far. More perplexing is that while my book rank is hovering just outside 600, my reviewer rank is a tidy 375. Okay, I think it is a numbers game after all. Or does this mean I should give up writing and become a professional editor?
While ignoring my read/review duties I also found a useful article on writing historical novels, which makes a clear statement that the story, rather than the research, is the thing to get right So all that research, however useful, is just a way of putting off the inevitable.
One result of reading a fair few Authonomy submissions is that I am a fully signed up member of the League Against Irritating Prologues. It’s not that there aren’t some good prologues, and I’m sure you’ll all tell me about the great ones, but experience has made me cynical. In the case of first novels, I think a lot of prologues have been added because the author has lost faith in where the story begins. Faced with the criticism, ‘you need a stronger opening,’ the aspiring writer simply picks up the most dramatic moment in the book and sticks it at the beginning. The chances are he/she will also fling in a few extras – some feverish action or overblown description to soup the whole thing up. It’s quite easy to spot where this has happened: the first few pages feel disjointed (and frequently have basic errors resulting from the cut and paste process); chapter two settles down to a much more fluid and convincing narrative.
Obviously turning the story around (i.e. beginning at the middle or even the end) can provide tension for the whole narrative and keep the reader engaged, but only if the author makes the right judgement on how much to reveal. If the reader knows too much, he’ll think ‘I know where this is going, do I care how we get there?’ (Yes, Sarah Waters did it in The Night Watch, and no, I didn’t like that either.) A prologue, by definition, is what comes before. Some stories spring from an action or state of affairs that predates the main plot. If so, a prologue is required. Otherwise just begin at the beginning and tell the story as well as you can. An agent or editor will judge it on its merits. If it’s good enough for them to be interested, let them decide if the structure or chronology needs tweaking.
I’d like to say it’s just experience a reader that has made me cynical, but I have to confess that ‘New History’ has had as many starting points as it has had titles, and at one time, yes, it did have a prologue.
I seem to have divided my evenings this week between Authonomy and Criminal Justice being shown on BBC1. So let’s put the two together and see what my critic self makes of CJ.
A quick visit to the website reveals the ‘pitch’.
“Juliet Miller’s life is turned upside down forever after an incident that leaves her family fighting for life, love and survival.”
I think this would leave the average agent distinctly underwhelmed. An incident? She stuck a kitchen knife in her husband, for goodness sake! And how does ‘survival’ add anything to ‘life’? Nuls points there, I’m afraid.
Now to the cast list, which oozes serious class. Never mind Maxine Peake and Matthew McFadyen, I’m a long-time fan of the endlessly versatile Sophie Okonedo (above) and was also really pleased to see the return to the screen of Stephen Mackintosh. (Where has he been hiding for most of his – and my – life?) And do we actually need this amount of talent/money to be chucked at one programme? Probably not, but what the hell, the Beeb is clearly going for the gong.
Production is equally glossy with plenty of lingering camera work in low-lit interiors and a complete refusal to let the thing play out in anything other than its own time. But what about my time? Just how slowly can a conversation between psychologist and patient go? Just how long can Juliet spend staring at her baby’s toes?
I suppose this is the small screen equivalent of literary fiction. Not many people may have watched it. It will win awards for the beauty of its ‘prose’ and for depicting shades of grey (as actually stated by one character) rather than black and white.
Still, it’s a court room drama with two possible conclusions. Guilty or innocent.
Call me a philistine, I think Rumpole would have had it wrapped up by Wednesday.
Reading and wRiting that is. Two things I seem to have been neglecting of late that left undone will cause the creative spirit to wither and die (or at least go a bit sickly). But last both have happend – and in the same week – funny that, isn’t it?
The book I picked up (in this respect I’m afraid authonomy reading doesn’t count) is by Anita Shreve, an author I have for some reason been avoiding, although I don’t know why. I think I may have picked up Fortune’s Rocks and disliked the cover or the opening page. (Aspiring writers note how these things matter!) and there she was, condemned for all time, or until last Friday when I picked up A Wedding in December in the local library. This is a slow burn of a book with a leisurely pace and no style or plot acrobatics , and the idea of a reunion of school friends is hardly a new one. But I found it immensely satisfying. Characterisation was subtle but telling. The plot unwound iteslef almost imperceptibly. Was there a denouement? If so I felt I knew it already.
Isn’t this how books used to be?
Since the ‘A’ word has already come up, I have to say it’s an object lesson in how quickly a reader (agent/editor) makes a decisions about a book. With my ‘watch list’ (aka slushpile) always beckoning, I am becoming adept at judging a book if not by its cover, certainly by a few opening pages. Because it’s embarrassing to offer to read and then find little to say that’s constructive, I now accept a ‘read swap’ only after reading the other writer’s pitch and the first page. If I’m completely turned off, I decline. This happens quite often if the writing just feels weak or undisciplined. In those I do read, I often find that a shaky opening is followed by something much better, but for those I’ve aready declined, their subsequent pages will never be seen – not by me, anyway. Interesting, though, how decent writing leaps off the page, regardless of genre.
For me this refers to the dreaded Authonomy where I am struggling to get on top of my ‘watch list’ of 9 books, over half of whose authors have already read The Water’s Edge. That means I owe them one.
But I am heartened by the fact that constructive criticism really is welcomed. I don’t like giving negative feedback – especially if the author has already backed my book, but I think it would be pointless not to be honest and so far no one has taken umbrage as far as I can tell.
This week has seen little progress for me in the Authonomy charts, mainly because of the lack of time I can give it, but I have cheered myself up by reviewing the comments that have been left so far. Of the 33 that I’ve been given, 28 give very fulsome praise, three or four are more cursory or have reservations, and only one is noticeably negative (or blunt as he puts it!)
That makes me feel a lot better – assuming others are as honest as I am.
Meanwhile, following my entanglements with Lulu, a writing day with Bristol Women Writers went really well, particularly as it incuded the novel activity of putting pen to paper. Time to do more of that, methinks. And if I do ever decide to self-publish, DD has spruced up my book cover. Just a thumbnail right now, stand by for full size!
Tidying up the bedroom this morning I flung some spare buttons into the pot where they usually go, only to find it was full to overflowing with at least six years worth of buttons – probably more. There was nothing for it but to sort out which I might need and which belonged to outfits long since sent to the local hospice shop. I then realised it wasn’t the buttons taking up the room so much as the wrappings they now come in. As I set to emptying the monogrammed envelopes and plastic sachets of their contents I found that the buttons they concealed became not just manageable but also much more desirable.
Not being in the slightest bit ‘crafty’ there is little chance I will ever make them into an artistic collage or sew them on some dainty piece of knitting, but I remember my Mum’s old button box and how it was always an object of fascination. We called it a box but it was an old sweetie tin, heavy in the hand and with a distinctive rattle, its lid too tight for me to prise off. When a grown-up was persuaded to open it for me, its treasures and mysteries kept boredom at bay on many a wet afternoon: the fabric button with the missing eye and the old piece of sealing wax as engrossing as the shiny brass buttons carefully kept for re-use.
So instead of throwing away my buttons I’m going to keep them for future generations. Now I just need a nice old-fashioned tin for them to rattle in.
Nice to see The Water’s Edge rising in the ratings at last, and I’m grateful to everyone who has read and commented. Now, despite my best efforts, I am falling behind, with seven books on my watchlist all waiting to be read (i.e. the authors have already read mine!)
With my new set-up (all sorted now with a big screen for desktop work and lap-top for evening browsing) I can read from the comfort of my favourite armchair. Only the cat, ousted from his favourite place on my lap, disapproves.
Picture this. Sunday morning. Sun dapples our king size duvet. Silence reigns, until …
The author’s other half : ‘What are you thinking about, then?’
The author : ‘I’m thinking about templates in Word.’
I’m glad to say no divorce proceedings have been taken out – yet. But what prompted my bizarre preoccupation is a request from a member of Bristol Women Writers for help with publishing on Lulu, and the suggestion that a couple of us might deliver some kind of training session in a few weeks time.
It all seems simple enough: upload your MS to Lulu, click here, click there and hey presto, it’s a book! But formatting is key. And most of us do this in the kind of haphazard way that’s fine for churning out 300 pages of typescript, but will almost certainly fall down when constrained by the rigours of what is in effect typesetting. Lulu puts it in our own hands to be ‘published’ authors, but how many of us have the know-how to handle margins, gutters, page numbers and contents page, never mind the design skills?
Lulu provides templates of its own, but the one I tried out left a to be desired. I could provide one of my own, but wouldn’t it be better to teach others to do it for themselves? If they understand the concept, they are less likely to get stuck, and will be able to do a certain amount of trouble shooting. But how long will it take to teach the rudiments of styles to a dozen women with different ways of working and, most probably, different versions of Word?
I think this is the point at which I pulled the duvet back over my head. It was Sunday after all.
Apologies for this technobabble. Normal service will be resumed …
