Tag: writing process

Reading ‘Emergency Skin’

My favourite reading experience of 2023 was catching up with Emergency Skin (a ‘novelette’) by N.K. Jemsin (audiobook narrated by Jason Isaacs), published by Amazon Original Stories, 2019

Jemsin is an award-winning science fiction writer and this story (only one hour’s listening in audiobook form) shows her at her most skilful. Most stories are written in either the third person (he, she, they, it etc) or the first person (I, we, us), however Jemsin has tackled this story in the second person (you). Unlike other attempts I’ve read doing this, she’s got it to work brilliantly for the purposes of this tale.

We are following a man from another planet who has been sent back to Earth to collect the cell cultures that are needed to keep manufacturing the synthetic skin used to protect the humans on the other planet. However, the story unfolds as the AI implanted in the man’s brain tells him what to do as he goes about fulfilling the mission.

‘We should begin with a briefing, since you’re now authorized for Information Level Secret. On its face, this mission is simple: return to the ruined planet Tellus, from which mankind originates. When the Founders realised the world was dying, they …. Fled to a new world circling another sun, so that something of it – the best of it – would survive. …How brave you are to walk in your forefathers’ footsteps!

No, there’s no one left alive on Tellus. The planet was in full environmental collapse …when our people left. There were just too many people, and too many of those were unfit, infirm, too old, or too young. …so we did the only merciful thing we could: we left them behind.

Of course that was mercy. Do you think your ancestors wanted to leave billions of people to starve and suffocate and drown? It was simply that our new home could support only a few.”

N.K. Jemsin, ‘Emergency skin’, p.5 (… indicates ellipted words)

And so the story progresses. We never hear what the man thinks or says but, by the AI’s responses, we know what he is communicating. The AI responses also let us understand what the new world that the man has come from is like – a world where there is only one gender (people now being manufactured), and where a disposable man (like the man in the story) doesn’t have a ‘skin’, he has a ‘composite’ covering and his reward for making this journey to collect skin samples, is to have skin made for him – in the new world only those in power have skin.

My favourite quote is the protest from the AI to the man:

‘Only a few can have everything, don’t you see? What these people believe isn’t feasible. They want everything for everyone, and look at where it’s gotten them! Half of them aren’t even men.”

At one level, we see how the man’s views radically change through the increasingly petulant hysteria of his AI. At a deeper level, Jemsin invites us to realise that to care for each other and the world is not an impossible challenge.

Post-Publication Fun

  • Launch at Toronto Library, NSW on 11th February 2023

Launching a novel turned out to be one of the best experiences I’ve ever had, and that was down to the enthusiasm radiating from everyone who came along.  There had been a huge gap between the time I sent the final, final, final version of my novel (Grey Nomad, Brio Books, 2023) and the date set for the official release of the paperback version. I had spent a lot of time telling people that it was on its way, so to finally be able to crack open the champagne was wonderful.

(Lots of chatting going on!)

GenreCon23 in Brisbane, 18-19th February 2023

After all the staring at the blank page, scribbling, and revising, it was a peak experience to have the opportunity to participate in a panel presentation at GenreCon23 in Brisbane on 18 February.

Most writing festivals are designed for readers (and, of course, for publishers to sell their authors’ books).  As such, we eagerly go along to hear directly from the writers of the books we enjoy as well as to be introduced to books we have yet to read.  However, GenreCon23 was a conference that was all about writing. 

GenreCon is run by the Queensland Writers’ Centre and held in Brisbane each year. It focuses on what have become known as ‘genre’ novels, e.g. crime, speculative fiction (including science fiction, fantasy), historical fiction, romance, and the many wonderful books that blend some or all of these.  Like other writing festivals, GenreCon invites selected published authors to present, or to be interviewed ‘in conversation’ with another writer, or to participate as panel members to discuss a topic, or to run workshops. However, for GenreCon, the focus is on the many and varied aspects of the writing process.

GenreCon23 attracted over 200 participants. I had been invited to participate in a panel discussing ‘Putting the Sci back in Sci-Fi’, hosted by another recently published author, Bryn Smith (Magnus Nights: The Helios Incident, Hawkeye Press, 2021).

With renowned authors Garth Nix and Jay Kristoff also on the panel, it wasn’t a surprise to see a large audience in the auditorium.

Garth Nix was the keynote speaker for the event and is a widely known Australian author of many young adult fantasy novels (e.g. the Old Kingdom series which commenced back in 1995 with Sabriel, Harper Collins).

Jay Kristoff is another Australian author with an international following in science fiction and fantasy (e.g. Nevernight series which began in 2016, St Martins Press). 

As daunting as it was to sit alongside these two authors, the upside was that they ably helped new writers like Bryn and me to sound knowledgeable! The audience asked lots of questions and later it was most gratifying to have people randomly tell me how much they enjoyed it.

As a newly published author, I was thrilled to see my novel (Grey Nomad, Brio Books, 2023) sitting on the bookstand for sale, let alone have the fun of people approaching me every so often during the event to ask me to sign their copy. As many of you know, my main character in the novel is 70 year old Joyce, keen knitter and CWA member, so it was fascinating to me that most of those buying the book were the many young twenty-somethings.

(Book sales of novels by authors who were presenting at GenreCon23)

In his keynote address, Garth Nix won many writers’ hearts by talking about preparation aka reading for pleasure and how, if you want to learn to use semi-colons, read Lord of the Rings! He was a constant supportive presence for all the writers, attending as many talks as he could, even when not a presenter.

Many of the sessions were held concurrently, so I couldn’t get to all of them but there was something for everyone, e.g. Nalini Singh (romance, paranormal), Natasha Lester (historical fiction), J.P. Pomare (crime), and R.W.R. McDonald (crime). I extended my boundaries and went along to the panels on fairy tales (which included an amazing retelling of Bluebeard!), and horror (in which writers of horror turned out to be exceptionally funny people).  

By the end of the two day event, I felt rejuvenated and was itching to get back to writing. Next year, GenreCon24 will feature an overseas keynote for the first time: Patrick Ness, an American-British author of Young Adult fiction (e.g. Chaos Walking trilogy, The Rest of Us Just Live Here, A Monster Calls). I can recommend the experience to anyone interested in writing.

One hundred ways to get writing …

Start a new page, take another step, ask for help, think again, try again

Take a break, sigh, breathe, lie on the floor, try again

Consult a book, click a link, sketch a diagram, dot some points, try again

Clean the bath tiles, go for a walk, sit, do a jig, try again

Type a word, sharpen a pencil, write a list, make a spreadsheet, try again

Sleep, waste some time, tell a friend, tell a stranger, try again

Dunk a tea bag, brew a coffee, eat a biscuit, eat another, try again

Do a course, watch a how-to video, analyse a show, review a book, try again

Join a group, attend presentations, offer feedback, listen to critique, try again

Write ‘the’ as many times as it takes to get bored, write rubbish, free associate, write a paragraph for a genre you hate, try again

Write more rubbish, make a folder called ‘crap’, make a folder called ‘ideas’, fill the folders, try again

Identify a book you love, pick a paragraph at random, read it aloud, ask yourself why it works, try again

Write a paragraph in the style of a favourite author, do that again for an author your spouse likes to read, do it again for a different author, and another, try again

Look back at your ‘ideas’ folder, list the ideas in order of ‘do-ability’, in order of challenge, in order of excitement, try again

Explore the internet for writing competitions, identify a match with any of your ideas, write the deadline on a post-it-note, stick it somewhere you see every day, try again

Rough out some ideas while telling yourself you’re ‘not really writing’, start writing out some sentences and paragraphs among your rough ideas, keep filling in the blanks, smarten up the rough draft so the sentences make sense, try again

Ban yourself from looking at the damn draft again for at least a few days, congratulate yourself with a treat of your choice, write something that ‘doesn’t matter’ just for fun, go back to your rough draft, try again

Bring your draft to a critique group, read your work while someone reads it aloud, underline where they stumble in their reading, keep notes on the listeners’ feedback, try again

Re-draft, re-draft, re-draft, put it away for a day, try again

Submit, breathe, rest, smile, keep trying.

When I’m not writing…

Poetry is always a stretch for me but, inspired by a great workshop by Ed Wright from The Creative Word Shop, this emerged!

‘When I’m not writing, I’m knitting’

My mind is tangled yarn.

I rip my knitting off its needles.

Wool trails from the bin onto the floor,

where lie the fragments of paper from unfinished drafts,

where the vacuum cleaner can no longer go.

If I leave,

If I close the door,

Will my mind unravel?

(Alison Ferguson, 11 June 2022)

Great News!

Just wanted to share my good news — I’ve been offered a publishing contract for my sci-fi novel, ‘Grey Nomad’! It’s with Booktopia Publishing (who have expanded from being mainly an online book retailer to publishing as well). After getting a legal contract consultation, I signed on Friday — so lots of champagne this weekend! 

I’ve put up a few posts about this story before, and I’ve kept working on it, encouraged by earlier drafts being shortlisted for the Brio Books Fantastica Prize in 2019, and for the Queensland Writers’ Centre Adaptable program in 2020. Lots of revising and great editing advice has got it to the stage it is now. I know that there’s still a whole lot more polishing to go, but what a joy to be able to undertake revisions knowing that sometime soonish (maybe toward the end of next year????) I’ll be able to share the story itself.

Whose view?

Whose view?

You’ll Thank Me One Day

Version 1 – John, the father’s point of view (written in 3rd person)

‘Let me hear you one more time.’ John took one hand off the steering wheel to wipe the sweat off against his trousers.

‘Jesus, Dad, not again. We’re nearly there.’

John glanced up to the rear-view mirror. ‘For Christ’s sake, Andrew. I told you to put it away.’

Andrew made a show of putting his smart phone in his blazer pocket.

‘And the earphones.’ John waited till Andrew, scowling, complied. ‘Right then. Periodic table. Off you go.’

‘They’re not going to ask me things like that.’

‘Oh, so you’ve done a private school entrance exam before then, have you?’

Silence from the backseat.

‘Well, have you? No. And if you get one of their scholarships, then you’ve got it made, boy. You’ll thank me one day, you know.’

(re-posted from piecesoftayo)

Version 2 – Andrew, the son’s point of view (written in 1st person)

[PING: koolkukumber WTFRU]

Kobe knows where I’m going. He’s just taking the piss because that’s what best mates do. I text back.

[handyandy Crap exam thing]

‘Let me hear you one more time,’ the old man says.

‘Jesus, Dad, not again. We’re nearly there.’

Dad’s eyes squint at me in the rear-view mirror. I know what he’s going to say.

‘For Christ’s sake, Andrew. I told you to put it away.’

See, right again.

[PING: koolkukumber WAJ]

I’d like to think Kobe’s calling my dad a jerk, but I know he means me. But, shit, it’s not my fault Dad wants me to go to a private school. Besides, there’s nothing Dad can do about it once I’m in the interview. All I’ve to do is look like I’m as thick as Kobe.

I quickly text back.

[handyandy FU]

I take my time stowing the phone in my pocket.

 ‘And the earphones. Right then. Periodic table. Off you go.’

‘They’re not going to ask me things like that.’

‘Oh, so you’ve done a private school entrance exam before then, have you? Well, have you? No. And if you get one of their scholarships, then you’ve got it made, boy. You’ll thank me one day, you know.’

Blah, blah, blah. The only thing I’d thank him for is if he STFU.

_______

I wrote these short pieces back in October 2020, when I participated in a great course on ‘Writing Conflict’ led by Cate Kennedy (see my earlier post inspired by this course on Conflict & Dramatic Irony). Another exercise that Cate set us was to write about a scene she described as, “A father and son argue in a car as the father is dropping off the son at school before an important exam”. Then she challenged us to re-write the piece but boost the conflict through altering one or more elements (e.g., changing point of view, increasing time pressure, restricting sentence length). I chose to play around with point of view, and I think it radically changed the power dynamic in the exchange. Which version do you like best?

Conflict and Dramatic Irony

Studying English Literature at school has left me with rising anxiety whenever I encounter the terms irony, sarcasm, satire and paradox. Can I tell the difference? Does it matter? Resources permeate the internet (see Masterclass, Literary Devices just for starters).  However, all I come away with is that a good tale involves slippage between what characters or readers expect and what transpires.

I was faced with these issues lately when I did the online course ‘Writing Conflict’ led by Cate Kennedy (through Writers NSW).  Over a very intense week, we engaged with lively talks by Cate, well-targeted written explanations, and a series of writing exercises designed to push us out of our comfort zones. My motivation for doing the course was a dawning realisation that the therapist in me kept resolving conflict for my characters rather than using it to drive the story forward. Before the course, I had concentrated on building conflict in a narrow way, mainly involving characters opposing each other verbally or physically. However, Cate’s course widened the scope to integrate dramatic irony (and the rest of the team!) so that it provides the web within which the tale sits. As soon as a specific moment of conflict occurs within one strand, the vibrations resonate through those mismatched expectations.

Netflix 'Criminal' UK, Season 2
(from Netflix, ‘Criminal United Kingdom’, Season 2)

A great example of this kind of writing is the Netflix series ‘Criminal’, where all the action is confined to the police interrogation room and its observation room (with occasional forays into the corridor for moments of dramatic relief) — see The Guardian for a recent review. As a story, each episode provides an excellent example of William Goldman’s maxim for storytelling: arrive late and leave early, i.e. we head straight into the interrogation/interview of a witness/suspect and leave the moment the detectives have uncovered the truth. Of course, the police interrogators’ goals are fundamentally at odds with those of the suspect or witness. However, more interesting is watching the characters on both sides of the one-way mirror say one thing and mean another. Our privileged position of watching from both sides ramps up the tension. We know things that the interrogators and/or the suspects/witnesses do not. Watching the suspect/witness make assumptions about where the line of questioning is leading is riveting.

In our writing course, we were invited to write a short scene where conflict arises through the mismatch between characters’ perceptions. Here’s my response to the task.

The Good Lecturer

Brent Thwaites, BA, PhD, MAMS, brushed his hands against each other, freeing his fingers of chalk dust. That’d show the inspector, or quality assurance officer or whatever they called him. No-one could question his lecture preparation now. His eyes raked across the densely packed equations and diagrams that covered every inch of the board. No smart alec student would catch him off guard this lecture.

The students drifted in, filling the seats from the back. He peered at their faces, trying to spot which might be that of the inspector. Possibly he’d sit with the usual mature-aged students perched at the front, already scribbling notes. Three flashes from the back. A student with a James Dean swagger was moving his iphone in a steady panorama, taking in the notes from the board. No wonder students were so abysmal these days. Had no-one ever taught them the point of notetaking? He shrugged as if to say, students these days, to the mature-age students.

At precisely five minutes past the hour, he commenced the lecture, not waiting for the packed lecture hall to fall quiet.

‘Dr Thwaites?’

The students’ heads twisted to view who had dared break into his train of thought. From their sly grins, he realised a hand had been waving for some time.

‘Yes?’

‘This is all in the text book, right?’

‘Of course,’ he said, picking up a stick of chalk and underlining where he’d written the relevant page numbers on the board. ‘All this,’ he stabbed at the board, ‘is absolutely up-to-date.’ The chalk snapped, with a shriek of protest.

‘So why do we need to be here?’

A mutter rippled through the hall.

‘Because young man,’ he said with deliberation, ‘without full attendance marks, you will fail.’

With silence effectively restored, Brent Thwaites continued the lecture to the end.

As the students rushed for the exit, a girl approached, her arms cradling a clipboard.

‘If I might have a moment of your time, Dr Thwaites.’

‘Certainly, young lady, what is it you didn’t understand?’

She placed her clipboard on the lectern. ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ she thrust out her hand. ‘Associate Professor Judy Kingbury, from the PVC Teaching & Learning, quality assurance division.’

Her hand was smooth and cool. He wished he’d wiped away the last of the chalk.

‘So that’s my inspection over and done with,’ he said. His voice echoed in the now empty room.

‘Not quite over, I’m afraid.’ She looked through the notes she’d made on her clipboard. ‘Tell me, how well do you think that lecture met the learning objectives?’

‘Very well. Full attendance, as you saw. That’s very rare these days, as I’m sure you’re aware. And I got across all the information clearly,’ he gulped for air, ‘using um, written support material, and as you saw, there weren’t any questions.’

Her eyes softened in sympathy before she let the axe fall.

(by Alison Ferguson, 3 October 2020)

Character and Plot

There are many wonderful resources that explore the interrelationship between character development in writing and plot/structure. For example, in his video essays on ‘Anatomy of Chaos’, Adam Skelter suggests that the character’s emotional state (positive or negative) as they enter the scene should have changed through the scene so that their emotional state is substantially different. The way in which that change occurs is driven by the choices they make (e.g. due to external events, internal worldview, their goal), i.e. driven by their character.

In my writing group, we were given the challenge of writing a scene in which the character undergoes a significant change (change being the plot driver). So, just for fun, here’s my response to the exercise.

(Micheal McLean, inktober 11, Librarian – Creative Commons Generic 2.0 Licence with attribution)

The Library

The library was quiet: too quiet, for Elsie’s liking. She enjoyed the noise of the children at the story-telling group and the chatter of the book club ladies as she moved about, shelving books. But now it was seven o’clock and she was the staff member tasked with the responsibility of locking up.

She fingered the keys nervously in her pocket.

‘First time for everything,’ Mrs Grimes had said. ‘Time you took some responsibility.’

It was ridiculous to fear undertaking such a mundane task. But now, as she turned out each bank of overhead lights, moving her way back through the library, she found she was holding her breath. She scurried down the darkening avenues of shelving.

Only one more bank to do — but it was a two-way switch, one at top of the stairs to the stacks, its twin at the bottom in the gloom.

She clutched the keys tightly, screwing up her courage. One step and then the next. Could she just leave that one? No one would notice.

But she knew she must. Mrs Grimes would know. The woman had all-seeing eyes that spotted broken spines and turned-down page corners before the reader had even pushed their book down the return chute.

She snaked her hand around the door groping for the top switch.

But the light was already off.

Relief flooded her. She didn’t have to go down those stairs.

She began to withdraw her hand but found she couldn’t. Cold bony fingers gripped her wrist, drawing her into the musty void.

Her screams had only just begun.

Tangling with writing structure

The issues around structure are anathema for some writers and an obsession for others. I’ve written in this blog before (March, 2017) about how people who write ‘by the seat of their pants’ (pantsers) often see structure as a straitjacket, constraining the flow of ideas and creative development. People who prepare detailed plot outlines and character arcs (planners) see structure as a way to corral and harness their stampeding ideas. However, planners can find that the exhaustive world-building and development of character background stories can take years (I’m looking at you, George R.R. Martin) and run the risk of the creative spark fizzling out before they pen their first paragraph. On the other hand, for pantsers, the upside of understanding structure is that it can provide an invaluable diagnostic tool when revising that first unwieldy draft.

(Cartoonist: Tom Gauld, https://www.tomgauld.com)

By nature, I’m a planner but I treasure those moments of flow when the story and the characters take over and write themselves. However, most of all, I love revising (yes, strange, I know). That hankering to revise is often what motivates me to push past my writer’s blocks since, without text, there’s no diagnostic problem-solving. When getting that first draft out, one of my frustrations is that my default structure is ‘And then … and then … and then’, which makes for dull reading. To try move past this, I’ve been reading a range of books about writing structure that are often recommended by other writers.

The following books are interesting and inspiring, so I’ve given a brief snapshot review of each of them.

Brooks, L. (2011). Story engineering. Writers’ Digest Books.

The central messages in this book relate to what Brooks describes as the ‘Six Core Competencies of Successful Storytelling’.

  • Concept—‘what if?’ idea that sparks your story and which your story answers
  • Character—who are we rooting for?
  • Theme—what take-home message will we take from your story?
  • Structure—what comes first, second and so on?
  • Scene execution—how does each step play out?
  • Writing voice—who is telling the story?

Interestingly, Brooks suggests that there is no particular order in which you might work on each aspect of the story. However, when it comes to structure, knowing something about each of the other aspects helps ‘engineer’ your way through each pivotal plot point and the key stages of set-up, response, attack and resolution.

Larry Brooks is a successful author who is very experienced in running masterclasses on writing. He also hosts a useful website http://storyfix.com/ which is full of information and resources. ‘Story Engineering’ is very accessible. The experience of reading each chapter is like doing a mini-workshop. As I read, my mind was flooded with ideas about work-in-progress. For a taster, you might enjoy a video interview with him that is available on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wGq84WOQfqM

McKee, R. (2010). Story: Style, structure, substance, and the principles of screenwriting. Harper Collins.

McKee’s book first came out in 1997 and is quoted by just about all the other authors who followed him into this topic. The information and ideas have a wide application beyond screenplay writing. There is an extended interview with McKee on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_s8wIOMAU0 .

Pierre, D.B.C. (2016). Release the bats: Writing your way out of it. Faber & Faber.

Punchy and inspiring, Pierre urges us to ‘write in a fever, rewrite in a cardigan‘. Pierre is a highly successful satirical novelist (Man Booker prize winner). His book is more memoir than a writing manual, but his incisive wit skewers many of the myths about writing. In essence, this book is a call to action—just write! There is a serious (though lengthy) interview with him on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYt-KCLtnU4 , and some lighter moments at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtqNwhMlcG4 .

Truby, J. (2008). The anatomy of story: 22 steps to becoming a master storyteller. Farrar, Straus & Giroux.

Truby’s book is, paradoxically, formulaic as well as subversive. Truby is, like Brooks (above), an experienced workshop provider and so the book leads you through 22 specific steps to developing your story. However, at the same time, Truby explodes the idea of the traditional three-act structure and explores multiple examples from film and literature to show how master storytellers exploit or defy traditional story structures to surprise and intrigue. Truby emphasises how structure is intrinsically driven by the themes and characters.

The book is very easy to read and highly entertaining because of the frequent use of familiar examples. I found myself mapping out ways that I could radically alter the way I had conceptualised my work-in-progress as I read it. For a short taster, see the YouTube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5-9cOZps44 .

Yorke, J. (2014). Into the woods: How stories work and why we tell them. Penguin.

John Yorke has a wealth of experience in British television (BBC) and writes insightfully about how structure works and why it warrants study beyond the ‘how to’ approach. Like Truby (above), he integrates examples from many familiar stories from literature, television and film into his discussion of what works and why. Yorke provides a fascinating analysis of the Russian-doll nature of story structure. Within the overarching story structure, there is a nested structure of each act, and within each act there is a structure within each scene, and within each scene there is a micro-structure. In particular, there is a mirroring of scenes between the first and last acts that brings the story to a satisfying resolution. One of the examples he provides of this will be familiar to those who enjoyed the film, Strictly Ballroom.

(from Yorke, 2014, ch.10)

First Act

  1. Scott dances his own steps selfishly.
  2. He refuses to dance with Fran.
  3. He chooses to dance with Fran.

(other intervening Acts)

Last Act

  1. He chooses to dance with Fran.
  2. He dances with Fran.
  3. He dances with Fran to the rhythm of his own heart.

To get an idea of the depth and gentle humour of his approach, you might be interested to listen to the 45-minute seminar available at https://vimeo.com/70034237 . For a short taster, see YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jsUNJ9OAbdk

 

Whether writing structure is a helpful tool to identify where our stories flag or whether it informs our first jottings in a story outline, it is of some comfort that others have struggled before us. At the same time, perhaps it is salutary to consider Yorke’s warning (Introduction):

‘Is this therefore the magic key to storytelling? Such hubris requires caution — the compulsion to order, to explain, to catalogue, is also the tendency of the train-spotter. In denying the rich variety and extraordinary multifaceted nature of narrative, one risks becoming no better than Casaubon, the desiccated husk from Middlemarch, who turned his back on life while seeking to explain it. It’s all too tempting to reduce wonder to a scientific formula and unweave the rainbow.’ 
Yorke, 2014