Story Arcs: 2013 365 Challenge #186

Aaron on his new bike (early bday gift)

Following on from yesterday’s post, I was flicking through my notes for Dragon Wraiths today and I came across an eight-point story arc that I found on the dailywritingtips.com website. The eight-points are taken from a craft book by Nigel Watts, called Teach Yourself: Writing a Novel. I have another in the Teach Yourself series (Teach Yourself Creative Writing) which is excellent, so I have ordered Nigel Watts’ book to help me with Class Act.

Running through the eight-point arc against Class Act, I realise that I am about 70% there, and it has really helped clarify the remaining 30%.

In summary the eight points are:

Stasis (normal life)
Trigger (external to protagonist, sparks the story)
Quest (caused by trigger)
Surprise (all the conflicts and complications of the story)
Critical Choice (reveals real personalities)
Climax (result of critical choice: highest peak of tension)
Reversal (consequence of critical choice and climax – should change status of characters)
Resolution (return to fresh stasis with characters changed and story resolved)

Interestingly I also found notes on the story arc for a Teen Romance by Mindy Hardwick (I’m always impressed when I discover that I did more research than I remembered!) The story-arc for YA Romance is Infatuation, Flirtation, Friendship, Commitment, Love. I think DW follows this, apart a comment Mindy Hardwick makes on the last point. She says

“…teen romances do not necessarily have a happily-ever-after. In fact, most teen romances will not have them. Why? […] Each teen has been changed by this first love, and now the characters will find themselves pulled apart by life events..”

I thought about leaving Luke behind at the end of Dragon Wraiths, unable to join Leah, but – what can I say? – I’m a sucker for a Happy Ever After!

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire froze, unsure how to react. She had never seen her mother cry before. Melanie Carleton did not show her feelings; it was vulgar. The most extreme portrayal of emotion thus far, in Claire’s experience, was irritation or chiding. Nothing to compare with the shuddering sobs shaking her mother’s shoulders. She knew she should offer comfort. Words, a hug. Somehow her body wouldn’t rise from the hard kitchen seat. She sat mute, and waited for the storm to pass.

Eventually, her mother raised her head and brushed at her cheeks, as if angry to find tears there. Claire willed herself to speak, the words dredged from her.

“Can I get you anything? Tea?”

Melanie shook her head. Her lips twisted, as if a bitter taste had filled her mouth.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Oh, Mum.” Claire rose, finally galvanised into motion. Moving round the table, she wrapped one arm awkwardly around her mother’s shoulders. Melanie reached to grasp her daughter’s hand, and they remained for some time in silence.

After a few minutes, her mother patted her hand, and Claire took the signal to sit back down. She pulled up a chair, sitting knee to knee.

“Why do you think he’s having an affair? That doesn’t seem like Dad.”

Melanie sighed. “Oh, it’s probably nothing. I’m never here, what with picking Sky up from school and making sure Ruth takes care of herself. I can understand your father needing to find something to fill his time.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s another woman.” Claire thought, guiltily, about the conversation she’d had with her father, last time she was home. She wanted to tell her mother, reassure her, but she’d revealed too many secrets recently. But surely it would be better than her mother thinking she was a cuckolded woman.

“There is only so much golf a man can play,” Melanie declared, more spirit in her voice. “But if he’s not playing golf, where on earth is he? He was out all day yesterday, in the pouring rain, but when he came home he wasn’t even damp. Since when did they have indoor golf courses. Besides, I didn’t even think he liked the game.”

Claire inhaled, not knowing what to do for the best. She watched as her mother twisted her fingers, bemused to see that the skin looked papery and thin. When did Mum get old?

Looking up at her face, she saw the weariness dragging at her mouth and darkening her eyes. Poor Mum.

“He doesn’t.” Claire’s words fell into the silence.

“What?” Melanie looked up, her face showing her confusion.

“He hates golf. He told me, last time I was here.”

She watched as the tiredness gave way to fury. That settled it, she had no choice but to give at least something away.

“I don’t think he’s having an affair though. I’m pretty certain you’ll find he’s been at the library. Don’t ask me why,” she added, before her mother could speak. “I’ve broken enough confidences. Ask him.” She put her hand on her mother’s knee, then took it away again and rested it in her own lap.

“You need a break. I’ll go and stay with Ruth for a few days. I’ll look after Sky, make sure they both eat, anything you tell me I need to do. Spend some time with Dad. Talk to him. You might be surprised.”

Relieved to see the fury seep away from her mother’s eyes, Claire got up and went to fill the kettle, wondering what she was going to say to Carl about taking more time off to look after her niece.

***

Don’t Force It: 2013 365 Challenge #185

Creativity in the garden

This morning I read Kristen Lamb’s latest post about the Five common tactical errors in Self-Publishing:

I’ve read this before on Kristen’s blog, but it is always useful to have a refresher, and compare where I am against where I should be.

This is the list of common errors:

1. Publishing too soon (before understanding and honing the craft of writing)

2. No prepared platform (that is, author platform – blog/website/social media etc)

3. Believing that, “If We Write it They Will Come” (self-publishing doesn’t mean less work, but more)

4. Misusing FREE! (giving your book away for free without understanding the benefits)

5. Shopping one book to DEATH (instead of sitting down to write the next one. It usually takes 3 books to have any kind of success)

Giant paint pallet

I agree with them all: Reading Class Act now, I can see why Mills and Boon rejected it. I sent it off way too soon. There’s so much back story at the beginning even I can’t work out what’s going on. I’m still working on the others, and learning painful lessons (like coming out of the KDP Select program with Dragon Wraiths and not selling a book for five weeks!)

The only bit I struggle with is a line she uses often (it comes here under point one): “Too many new writers do not properly understand the antagonist. They don’t grasp three-act structure, and most don’t have any idea what I mean when I mention POV, Jungian archetypes, or the phrase, “scene and sequel.””

Of course, I struggle with it because I have no idea about half those things, particularly the Jungian archetypes. I’m sure my writing would be better if I did (if I understood structure better, for example, I might be able to fix Class Act quicker). However, I think you could write a great novel without knowing what all these things are called. I know a reasonable amount about writing grammatical English but, until last week, I’d never heard of a comma splice. I have looked through my writing and, instinctively, I write to a three-act structure, I use scene and sequel and I at least understand POV, even if I don’t always use it well in my writing (Baby Blues is a prime example).

Daughter’s Masterpiece

Before I get a hundred comments telling me I really need to understand these things – I know I do (there are some interesting posts on Jungian Archetype in the related articles below). I also accept what Kristen says, that self-published authors need to be better than traditionally published authors, to compete in the same field. I am working to get better, and I read as many writing craft books as I can fit in around my writing.

Another blog I read today, which reinforces point one (don’t publish too quickly), was over on Karen Woodward’s blog. Her post, Stephen King on Storycraft has a main message: Don’t force it.

When trying to pull a story together, wait until all the pieces click, rather than trying to make it work. I guess it’s the difference between learning scales and playing a concerto (Kristen uses music as an example of how you need to know the nuts and bolts of something to excel at it). You need to know the craft of writing, but you also need the story to flow (and these things, for me, can be mutually exclusive).

One of the great things about self-publishing is the ability to get a wide range of feedback on your novels, rather than waiting a year to find out why agents are rejecting it (assuming they even tell you.) So, yes, you can publish too soon, but you can learn from it too (I hope).

This evening I sat with a pad and pen, while Andy Murray played his nerve-wracking fifth set (I needed a distraction) and worked out an additional six scenes that should hopefully remove most of the pesky back story in Class Act. I’ve been musing on it all day and then it just clicked, without forcing it.

I don’t know if the story fits in a three-act structure or exactly who the antagonist is (harder in a romance than, say, a crime novel I think). I know it still needs a heap of work. But I really enjoyed reading it this morning: reminding myself who the characters are, and getting absorbed in the dialogue.

Now on with the work so I can hurry up and publish! Assuming my three books need to be in the same genre, I’ll only have one more to go to find success 😉

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Claire looked at her mother over the top of her mug of Earl Grey and waited for the interrogation. Her mother’s restraint thus far was beginning to unnerve her.

Perhaps it’s too early for the Spanish Inquisition stuff. Or maybe she doesn’t care that her youngest child just turned up on the door step at 7am when she was meant to be at a wedding.

She tried to remember if her mother even knew about Kim’s marriage. As she’d only found out herself a few weeks ago, it seemed likely that she hadn’t told her about it. I seem to have told all the wrong people all the wrong things.

Claire sighed, and wondered why her mother was being so reticent. I guess there’s only one thing on her mind. Deciding that was as good an opener as any, she set down the mug.

“How’s Ruth?”

“She’s okay. A bit low. Sky wants to be outside playing – now the nights are getting lighter – and she doesn’t have the strength to keep up with her. I think the poorly-parent novelty has worn off.”

Claire tried to read through her mother’s words, searching for the accusations. If they were there, her mother was adopting a subtler approach than usual. The only impression Claire got was of a tired woman battling on with the hand life had dealt her.

“I’ll stop by later, take Sky to that farm she kept raving about.” Claire recalled that she’d promised to take Sky there with Kim and Jeff, and hoped Sky’s memory wasn’t as accurate. She didn’t want to think about them, not yet. She waited for her mother to start the questions, but she had disappeared back into her own thoughts, head bowed.

“Mum, is it okay if I stay for a night or two?”

Her mother glanced up, and nodded, without speaking. Claire felt wrong-footed. In the still of the kitchen, she listened to the clock ticking until it felt like the countdown of a bomb.

The silence stretched like a gaping void, pulling her in. Oh, what the hell, she’ll find out eventually, even if she clearly doesn’t give a toss.

“It was Kim’s wedding yesterday. We had a fight.”

Her mother nodded again, without looking up.

“I’ve had an offer of work, which will mean going overseas. I came home to get my passport, and to talk it over with you and Ruth.”

Again the silent nod. Claire swallowed down an urge to scream.

“Mum, are you listening? I said I might be flying halfway round the world. Do you even care?”

Her mother raised her head at last, and Claire saw that her mother’s eyes were red and circled with dark smudges.

“Mum, are you okay?”

Her mother dropped her eyes again, as if making eye contact were too hard. She gazed at the table and twisted her fingers.

“I think your father is having an affair.”

And then she let her head fall on her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs.

***

Germs and Covers: 2013 365 Challenge #184

Poorly-day activity (it’s an airport)

When we all had flu earlier in the year, I thought there was nothing worse than us all being ill together. Turns out being ill one after the other isn’t much fun either! Little man had his sky-high temperature last Friday and it was little lady’s turn today.

Unlike little man, who still ran riot despite the fever, my daughter has spent the day watching TV on the iPad. Which means so has my son – 2 being too young to understand the different rules that apply to poorly people on a non-nursery day. (If it had been a school-day I would have banned the iPad as I don’t want being ill to be more fun than school!)

As I also seem to have a high temp again, it was a lovely excuse for us all to have a lazy day. Except of course I now have a hyper-toddler an hour before bedtime. Or Daddy does, anyway, as I’m currently walking the dog.

Bath-Art

We resorted to the old-time favourite activities to pass the time, including mega-block construction, train sets, and puzzles, finishing with painting the bath, to survive the last pre-Daddy hour (which at least meant I finally cleaned it, too! Every cloud has a silver lining and all that.)

I also got to catch up on some great blogs, like this guest post on Scary Mommy all about finding out you’re expecting twins (like Helen does, in Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes) and this post on Rinelle Grey’s blog, about the excitement of designing a new cover and how it can drive you to get a book finished.

Rinelle’s post made me smile, because I’ve spent the last couple of days revisiting an old problem -choosing a cover image for a novel of mine called Class Act – with a view to getting stuck into the novel again.

Working title for Class Act

I’ve always envisaged the cover having two pairs of wellies – tatty supermarket pink girl ones and spotless green Hunter ones for the man. It comes from the opening scene and covers the ‘class’ bit of Class Act. I’ve been searching on and off for a year. So this time I decided (after several more hours of fruitless searching) to concentrate on the ‘Act’ bit. This is my first draft, and I like it.

The book is complete but needs a lot of work, as it was originally written as a 50k Mills and Boon, and was my first finished novel. It hurts to read it – the first third is drowning in back story (as was the case with Baby Blues, also originally a 50k M&B).

With Baby Blues I re-started the story five months earlier, to show rather than tell the back story. With Class Act I don’t want to do that, because I like where it opens. So I’ve been putting off the challenge ahead. However, now Baby Blues is out of my hands, and now I have a working cover, I might be ready to roll up my sleeves and get stuck in. My Inner-Editor is in full flow, so I need to seize the moment! (Might explain why Claire post is short today!)

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Claire checked her rear-view mirror, half-expecting to see Kim run from the building to prevent her from leaving. She waited, five seconds, ten. At last, with the Skoda at risk of over-heating, she pushed the stick into gear and accelerated from the car park, wheels spinning on the gravel.

The satnav had merrily informed her of several hotels within driving distance, but Claire couldn’t face checking in at 1am and facing some all-night security guard with raised eyebrows. No one turned up in the middle of the night, in a bridesmaid dress, without a story to tell.

Claire looked at the numbers on the blue screen and sighed. How long until I reach the first open Starbucks.

Claire sat in the car, watching the numbers tick over. She raised the cardboard coffee cup to her lips and sipped, pulling a face at the tepid liquid. It was tempting to drive back to the services and pick up a fresh cup. It would kill some time, at least. Her eyelids dragged, reminding her she was in no fit state to drive any further. Twisting at the dial on her seat, Claire let the chair slip back and tried to get comfortable. Sleep evaded her, and she watched the numbers move, through unfocussed eyes.

At last, the hour digit reached seven. She stretched, cricking her neck left and right, then rubbed her eyes, cursing as mascara made them sting. Pulling her cardigan tighter, Claire thanked God she’d thought to get changed. The bridesmaid dress now lay in a carrier-bag on the doorstep of a charity shop, next to a sign urging that donations not be left there. What was one more wrongdoing in a day littered with them?

Swallowing hard and cursing the snakes twisting in her stomach, Claire walked up the path and rang the bell. There was no answer. She waited, unsure what to do if no one was in. Her hand was raised, ready to ring the bell a second time, when footsteps reached her on the other side of the glass door, and a figure appeared through the frosting.

The sound of locks being released, and the chain being slid back, echoed loudly in the early-morning hush. The door eventually opened, and an ashen face appeared, brow creased.

“Claire! What are you doing here, and at this hour?”

Claire smiled wearily at the familiar face, peering at her from beneath a head of curlers. She resisted the urge to cry.

“Hi Mum, can I come in?”

***

Books and Songs

It seems appropriate, given that the fabulous Olympic Opening Ceremony spent a lot of time on literature and music, that I rediscovered two truisms this week; Reading makes you a better writer and music can be powerfully motivating.

Both activities – reading my own choice of novels and listening to my own choice of music – have become rare events since the children were born.

There are many reasons for this.

I tend to zone out the world entirely when I’m reading a good book; something that, until recently, hasn’t been vaguely possible. My son especially requires constant vigilance to ensure his continued good health (not because he suffers from any kind of illness, but because he likes to throw himself off high things).

Kids (and husbands) have an in-built sensor that alerts them when you’ve got to a good bit. Husbands you can just about tell to feck off, but it’s only on really bad days that I say that to the children.

Even after they’ve gone to bed, assuming I can keep my eyes open to read, the little one wakes every couple of hours, and on the rare occasion I’ve read past midnight, he’s guaranteed to be up and screaming from 1am until 5am. I had one awful night during my consumption of Hunger Games when I didn’t actually get any sleep. Not the best way to get through the following day without going to Mummy Hell in a handcart.

Then there has been what to read. My book club kept choosing self-help nonfiction type books, which I duly struggled through but didn’t often enjoy. I read far too many Mills & Boon in my attempt to mirror the style for The Real Gentleman, with no success. I re-read all my favourite romances when editing Pictures of Love. But I found that I had moved on, my priorities are no longer about meeting the man of my dreams, but closer to getting a good night’s sleep and maybe the chance to pee by myself. So I sought out novels about parenting but reading them was a bit of a busman’s holiday and I knew I didn’t have the skill to write anything so funny.

I was also paranoid that reading books of the same genre as the one I was writing might lead to me inadvertently copying a character or piece of plot. I even read a book that had almost the same beginning as mine, which terrified me.

So I stopped reading anything but blogs and my life was poorer for it.

With music it’s the same thing. When I worked as an artist I had Classic FM on all day as background burble and when the adverts became too annoying, I switched to Radio 2, where I’ve stayed, (except between 12 and 2 as I can’t stand Jeremy Vine.)

The novelty of Radio 2 has long since worn off but I only had a radio in my old car and, besides, the kids don’t like me singing unless it’s Wheels on the Bus or Old McDonald had a farm.

Anyway, this week that all changed.

I re-read Philip Pulman’s His Dark Materials to try and banish my writer’s block on my young adult novel Dragon Wraiths. The quality of the writing is such that it automatically raised my game. Reading nothing but books for very young children, (think Gruffalo and The Hungry Caterpillar), combined with permanent sleep deprivation, has resulted in my vocabulary shrinking to that of a five-year-old. Not something Philip Pulman can be accused of. When I finally found some time to write on Thursday I found myself using words that wouldn’t have occurred to me the week before.

I also got a new car this week, with cd player AND iPod jack. Even better, I had the chance to listen to my music in the car, on the two hour trip back from the beach yesterday (kids were asleep – we had children’s songs all the way there). Not only were some of the big numbers stirring, motivating, uplifting, I also found the same vocabulary-enhancing effect happening.

Some amazing one-liners leapt out and smothered me with goosebumps and envy.

Lines like, “On winter trees the fruit of rain is hanging trembling in the branches like a thousand diamond buds,” or “Regrets and mistakes. They are memories made,”

Mini stories in a few words, the ultimate flash fiction.

I used to use Country Music songs as examples of story arc when I was teaching Creative Writing. There’s a great Garth Brooks song, Papa Loved Mama, which is another well-executed example of flash fiction, including my favourite example of showing rather than telling rage:

“The picture in the paper showed the scene real well
Papa’s rig was buried in the local motel
The desk clerk said he saw it all real clear
He never hit the brakes and he was shifting gears.”

It doesn’t have to be literary to be effective.

What songs and books stand out in your mind as excellent inspiration or great examples of flash fiction?

Life, recycled

Before I decided to try my hand at writing, and discovered an overwhelming need to pen novels, I took various other paths to a creative future.

I worked in marketing, designing the horrible colourful mailing packs that arrive on your doormat, which you chuck in the bin. I worked in PR, writing the internal communications magazines and announcements that make you chuckle and shake your head in disbelief, when you get them from head office.

I went self-employed and tried to make money selling my abstract paintings. I took a study course with the Open University to improve my photography and tried to make that my next endeavour. I set up a small company, Daisy Chain Marketing, and built websites for small businesses.

Nothing really took off, mostly because they all required me to sell myself, and it turned out that was the one thing I was rubbish at.

When I found creative writing, and nanowrimo found me, my whole world changed. Writing was what I wanted to do. That self-selling part is still a sticking point, but in terms of time, I only have to worry about it at the end. I can write merrily for nine-months before I have to poke my head out my shell and worry about what to do with my work.

Having found writing, I then berated myself for not finding it sooner. All those years, pre-kids, when I was farting around trying to be an artist, a photographer, a marketer, I could have been writing novels.

What a waste.

Except it turns out not to have been a waste at all. Because I’m at the sticky end now: I am thinking about selling my first novel. And I am discovering that I can recycle all those old skills I learnt. Skills I didn’t know I had, or took for granted.

Need a book cover? Easy. Source an image online, using all the marketing sites from old. Need to put it in the right format? No worries. Use the adobe photoshop software from my photo-editing course. New website? A doddle. All that time building simple websites with Mr Site meant I could knock one up on a Saturday afternoon, while watching the kids build sandcastles in the garden. Need to send out a press release for the forthcoming publication of Pictures of Love? Not a problem. I have press release templates a-plenty.

Okay, so nothing looks quite as good as it would if I had paid a professional to do it. My front cover probably screams self-designed/self-published. My website is a bit sparse and basic (I don’t do html). The press release may well get consigned to the waste-paper basket. But it hasn’t cost me anything, and I have had a lot of fun.

And who knew those old redundant skills could be recycled so effectively?

Another by-product of my sporadic career is subject matter. In Pictures of Love, Helen wants to be a photographer. In The Real Gentleman, my leading lady has a painting exhibition. Sam, from In bonds of love, travels around New Zealand, and a chunk of Finding Lucy is set at the kind of corporate events I used to help organise during my time in Internal Comms.

I guess write what you know is easier if what you know and what you’ve done covers a lot of ground. So, there you go, when I thought I was being flaky, I was actually building up a stock of experiences to write about later and a whole bunch of skills to promote it afterwards.

What skills from your former life have you found to be useful during your writing/publishing?

P.S. you can find my website at www.amanda-martin.co.uk. If it would be useful I would be happy to write a post about any or all of these ‘skills’, such as designing book covers or building easy websites.