The Most Important Writing Lesson of All

I finally managed to get a galley proof of my book. But the expected euphoria at holding an actual work of art produced by my own self did not appear.

I didn’t like the look of it, the feel of it or the size of it. At 110,000 words I’d expected a doorstop sized whacking big thing, but no. It looked like a thicker version of a half-sized comic. The champagne stayed in the fridge and the party hats remained in their boxes.

And that was just the start of it.

Holding the Book

Holding the Book

But as I’ve learned in life it’s the setbacks that teach you the most. And a very big lesson was just round the corner as I sat down to read my own book in print.

The experience was completely different to the 800+ times I’d read it in A4 size electronic format. It was even different from the version I downloaded from Kindle. It was a revelation.

Every author has probably read their first chapter hundreds of times. Trying to get it right. The one chapter that sets the scene, hooks the reader and foreshadows the tale to come. As I read my first chapter for the first time in print the book took on a different feel. I could almost see the words threading through the page ahead of me, like a narrow pathway leading me into the story. The plot unfolded more slowly, the characters seemed sharper and the hints on what was to come were more subtle.

It was a different book. It was an actual honest to goodness novel, not just electronic words dancing on a screen that one day would become a book. It was real.

I reached for a party hat…..

Then I noticed that some of the typeset wasn’t quite right. The chapter titles weren’t centre-justified. There were grammatical errors even after the two professional edits and the hundreds of searches through the text for missed capitals, commas in the wrong place and quotation marks not closed. The hundreds of hours spent finishing the book for a Kindle upload looked hopelessly inadequate. The book just wasn’t publishable, I’d jumped the gun like so many of my fellow writers. I’d wanted to finish the book so badly I ignored the advice to ‘edit the book to death’ before it went public.

So, on a plane last night I sat with a pen and a highlighter going over the text once more. I edited it backwards so that I wouldn’t get wound into the story and end up being more interested in the hero’s arc that the punctuation.

It’s going to take some time to fix. No-one said it would be easy.

But, to date, it’s the most important writing lesson I’ve learned.

And it’s a lesson that we all probably have to learn at some point.

Predicting the Future? Too easy!

So I set my book in 2015 and rammed in loads of innovative, amazing, incredible stuff in my own modest way. As of today – here’s how the world has caught up.

A social network grows to be bigger than most countries – and a lot more powerful

A social network is first to have driverless cars and eyeglasses that access the information highway

The Pope runs away to Castle Gandolfini

The Catholic Church takes heavy incoming thank’s to freedom of information on the web

Youngsters live ‘in a virtual world’ 

The internet is used to bring the world to its knees (that was yesterday btw in case you haven’t noticed your computer running at half speed) 

http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2013/mar/27/cyber-attack-spamhaus-slows-down-internet

Virtual sex becomes more popular than the real thing

The super-rich and the men who run the world get outed

There’s an assassination attempt at the White House – hold on, wait, that’s next month. 

I get ahead of myself some times.

Still to come

AdultOption – young people adopting older couples

The Upira – abusers of women being outed on the web using collation technology

People working for food and board to do something they love

UltraPodding – people living in complete virtuality

Bots on the web controlling supply chains and running projects

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Protocol bots keeping politicians honest (OK, that’s never going to happen)

Necropolis – a virtual place where people go where they die and live through their avatars and having NecroJobs – avatars of dead people continue working in IT related jobs

Image

The Glass Wall – a user interface between the dead and the living

Intelligent firewalls – computer protection that thinks for itself

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Synth DNA – its what’s uploaded to your avatar when you die

Skynsuits – body suits for travelling in cyber space or having cyber-sex, or both at the same time

iKidUnot – children tracked and monitored via the web using implants

Mobile phones that recognise their owners and only work for them

Phones that die when their user dies

The wiring of the web used as a super-computer

There’s hundreds more but its getting late, so…

Last but not least – Social Websites becoming Nations (as allowed by UN Protocol at the moment. ‘A nation is defined as an imagined community’)

iNation – why don’t you drop in for a chat? 

http://newworldforallofus.wordpress.com

 

 

 

I Need A Hero

And he’s got be strong

And he’s got to be fast

And he’s got to be straight from the fight

So sings Bonnie Tyler at

If you’ll indulge me for a moment, this post is about writing and the hero’s arc and the need for a hero, with a twist. It’s on something I learned about writing. That the most interesting heroes you can write about aren’t chiselled jawed hunks in homo-erotic spandex. No.

The most interesting heroes are ordinary men and women with flaws who can do heroic deeds. And jumping over tall buildings isn’t one of them.

I’ve met many heroes but I always remember the day that I realised I’d met one. He was my first hero so to speak.

I worked in an office and in a wee corner office there were two men jammed in sharing a desk. They were both small men, hunched and combed-over. Shiny trousers and jackets with patches at the elbows. Grey men. They were the butt of many office jokes.

But through work I got to know one of them well. He did a job that required exceptional concentration and great attention to detail but needless to say, it didn’t pay well.

One Friday I offered to buy him a drink after work, I was getting married the next day and frankly he was the only one in the office that I’d buy a drink.

Anyway, he limped alongside me to the pub then he took a half pint of heavy beer then stood to say goodbye. He had 5 miles to walk home and with his bad leg it took a him a while, he said. I looked at him, perhaps seeing him for the first time. He had curvature of the spine and his sight wasn’t so good. A National Health hearing aid was stuck behind his right ear.

I offered to drive him home, by way of compensation for keeping him late. He accepted and I got my car and headed to his house. He explained that his wife was profoundly deaf and her eyesight was worse than his. She fretted if he was late. He was the only person she knew in the whole world.  As we drove we talked about the latest rumours that the company was downsizing. I was worried because I was about to be married, he was concerned because  he had no savings and he needed to support his wife.

We got to his house. A terraced house idential to the thousands of others in the housing scheme he lived in. The garden was neat and tidy, the door was freshly painted and at the window stood a slight woman staring out with a look of worry on her face.

He wished me a happy marriage got out the car and limped slowly up to his house.

I wish I could say I empathised with him, but i didn’t. I was a callow youth with my own worries and a future to get after.  But years later I thought about him and I realised that he was above all else, a hero.

Men who swing into battle are not heroes. They have courage, grit and determination. But heroes? No.

People who can endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, people who can stoop to rebuild their life’s work with worn out tools. People who can keep their counsel and care for others while being ridiculed for things over which they have no control. People who live with their flaws, their disabilities and drawbacks but still continue to have a life rich in meaning beyond the grasp of uncaring people. These are the heroes. There is probably one close to you right now, have a look around.

And so, to return to writing. Writing can be about men who wear their underpants outside of their tights but it’s unlikely to be interesting. Real interest lies in people who are flawed. But come the time, they are there for  others. And they endure.

Above all else, they endure.

A Book’s First Chapter

When I started writing my book I envisioned a flash-bang-wallop start that shook the reader up. You know, throw the reader into the middle of noisy mayhem. (and I still like the idea of doing that).

All the advice given to writers is to grab the reader by the lapels on the first page. But as I redrafted the book and reworked and reworked the first chapters I decided to wind the readers in to the story by slightly devious means. In the finished version, the story starts with a retired German policeman watching a group of people in a coffee shop. They’re a weird looking crew and he worries in case they’ll cause trouble for the cafe and its owner. He’s quietly in love with Elise, the owner, but she’s been playing it cool. The way women do.

The story opens in Munich in Germany. In a cafe styled like a Starbucks, because the owner likes to keep up with current trends. The windows stream with rain and Max, the policeman, is in his favourite chair keeping an eye on things. He knows from experience what people will do next. Usually.

I read the chapter over recently while I sorted the book out for upload to CreateSpace. Every time I do an edit or look at the book for any reason I get engrossed in the story and a part of me wonders what will come next. Which strikes me as an odd thing for the writer of the book to think.

So, reading it again I was struck by how the chapter had changed since its first outing. As it was rewritten again and again the basic structure stayed the same but more and more detail crept in. Text was layered on text but the chapter never increased in size, its still one and a half pages long. But the slight touches to the descriptions and some nuances to the sentences have created (pardon me saying this since I’m the author) a depth that the reader can wander through.

At one point Elise finds that Max is carrying a gun and she flashes with anger touched with concern.The sentence also embeds a memory in the readers’ minds for a significant event in the next chapter. The gun is there to tell the reader that it’s not a lightweight story, there’s violence to come. The trick was to show all of that to the reader in one short burst using as few words as possible.

Reading it struck me that I’d fallen upon one of the secrets of writing, to rewrite and keep adding to the story but to use the same number of words or thereabouts. To keep enriching the experience of the reader with touches that they might not consciously see, until they feel as if they were sitting beside the retired policeman watching the scene. But without making the prose dense or confusing.

I also paint (portraits mainly) and the analogy of starting with the basic outline then working and working at a face to put layers and layers on the canvas to give the image depth, is the same process as writing. The reader doesn’t realise that they’re looking at the work of days and nights to make every small detail just the way the writer intended. But they enjoy the experience even though they may not understand why.

And it doesn’t matter, because they should be concerned with what happens to the characters next and not about how the writer transported them to that place and time.