Advent calendars and story - one window at a time by Tracy Darnton

Have you got an advent calendar ready for next month? Feeling you need a daily treat to get you through? Or maybe, given all that's going on, you've opted not to bother this year and wait for 2021. Either way, I'd like to talk about my love of advent calendars, how I used one in my latest book and the parallel with slowly revealing a story.  

Getting ready to post some out 

A school librarian review awarded me the 2020 prize for Best Use Of an Advent Calendar in YA. Thank you, Flying Librarian, and thanks to my agent, my family etc, etc. Next best thing to the Booker Prize, obvs. While I chuckled, I was also really pleased that someone had spotted and appreciated the geeky time I spent playing around with the advent calendar and making it work in the book.

So why's there an advent calendar in The Rules? It grew out of a short story in I'll be Home for Christmas, which took place on 1st December in a bowling ally with Spotty Paul on shoe duty dressed as an elf and a sickly smell of stale mulled wine. 

So when I came to write it into a full-length thriller, the run up to Christmas seemed a good idea for a tight timescale for the story. A ticking countdown is always helpful in a thriller to keep a sense of pace so; ta-dah - why not use an advent calendar to tick down the days? And, as I'm a pantser not a planner when I write a book, the advent calendar idea gave me a much needed day-by-day chapter structure to work with.

Girly swot that I am, I loved choosing the image to be revealed each day and working out how to subtly reference that in the chapter. 

My sister made an advent calendar to match the one in THE RULES

Amber receives the advent calendar from her social worker, Julie, who's kind and well-meaning, in the face of being constantly pushed away and insulted by Amber. Julie sees that Amber is vulnerable and alienates anyone who tries to help her or get close so Julie, bless her, perseveres. Amber is not impressed with the gift asking Julie if she's eaten all the chocolates. But deep down (and with Amber you have to go very deep) the gift means something because when she has to bugout and go in a hurry when she thinks her dad might have found her, she packs the advent calendar in her Grab and Go bag.

As the novel grew, I thought more about why it mattered to Amber. She isn't counting down to any idealized Christmas from the TV adverts and glittery advent calendars. She links up with Josh, also drifting about on the margins, and the pair of them don't even know where they'll be at Christmas. If he's lucky, Josh will be dependent on the kindness of semi-strangers again. The calendar is a glimpse of a glittery world and traditions they don't know at all. 

Amber and Josh half-joke that it acts as a fortune teller and, although they don't really believe it, when Amber is at a very low point, she does look to it for help. Maybe there's a nod to the locked doors and windows she encounters in the past and the present. And I liked playing around with time and dates - we're never truly sure of Amber's past timeline and how much time elapsed in her different experiences. By the end of the novel, we see that she always needs to know the time and date and the calendar represents that for her. Finally (*mild spoiler alert*) we know that the biggest door - number 24 is still to be opened. What will it reveal of Amber's future?

So, the advent calendar turned out to be useful in ways I hadn't anticipated. I liked the parallel with the novel and its structure being a gradual reveal of what happened in the past to Amber, and seeing where each of these calendar days is leading her now. We get a little piece each day. And that was very satisfying to write - and hopefully to read.

The calendar in the book, brought to life by my sister during Lockdown, is based on the ones I used to get as a little girl, showing a typical Christmas or snowy scene and shedding non-eco glitter throughout December. I've continued the tradition of advent calendars with my own kids and my goddaughter. And I sent one to my lovely editor when she was doing edits on the book last December. 

We've had the full range of novelty ones across the years - LEGO, Playmobil, stationery and toiletries. And I've done the lovingly curated homemade version too - once! That was a lot of work. 

And, of course, there's always chocolate. My youngest has been known to scoff the lot in the first few days which was completely horrifying for me and my lifetime of delayed gratification. You absolutely cannot open a window early! No! And eat the chocolate!!! No, no no! It's partly superstition on my part growing up with the ultimate superstitious mother who was always saying 'Hello' to magpies and chucking salt over her shoulder. I put a tad of that superstition into the book. 

So what's my advent calendar this year? If money was no object, I'd be going for the full-on feasting Fortnum and Mason version:  

Or maybe the gin one, given the way 2020 has turned out. 

And I'd be up for The White Company mega beauty one:

Maybe there's a book one...And if there isn't, please make it, somebody. 

But alas, all my fantasy advent calendars are rather pricey. And the Scrooge and sentimentalist in me has pulled out of the cupboard a simple cardboard bookish one I bought from the Bodleian Library shop in 2018 - when the world was rather different.  I've squashed down all the windows and it'll do for 2020. 

So I wish you much joy in the opening of your advent calendar, whether it's LEGO, chocolate, teabags or just a picture of a polar bear. Day by day, window by window.  

Tracy Darnton is the author of The Rules, winner of the prestigious "Best Use of an Advent Calendar in YA 2020" award (Yes, it's a thing). You can follow Tracy on Twitter @Tracy Darnton.

*This blog updates one used in my blog tour for THE RULES and kindly hosted by Sarah and Sophie @TLCCBlog which you can read here

Problem finding: voice & structure - by Rowena House

Back in July, I embraced ‘problem finding’ as a creative writing technique, or perhaps it’s better to describe it as a mindset, after discovering it courtesy of the ever-brilliant Emma Darwin, who in turn was discussing Richard Sennet’s ideas on the subject.

Here’s the link to July’s ABBA blog with more details about it if you’re interested:

http://awfullybigblogadventure.blogspot.com/2020/07/what-versus-how-chicken-egg-or-plotting.html

And here’s the TL;DR version: problem finding harnesses the power of both rational thinking and our deeper layers of intuitive and subconscious mental processing by turning creative writing problems into clear, rational questions, and then letting the subconscious loose to find unexpected, original and (hopefully) meaningful answers.

In recent weeks, this method threw up the following question: why can’t I find the right voice for my protagonist (and therefore the voice for the whole work-in-progress) when I have a clear character arc in mind for him and a solid plan for a five-act structure?

At roughly 3.30 am last Friday, my subconscious decided to let me in on its conclusions.

Wake up, it said, you’ve got it all wrong. This isn’t only Tom’s story. Sure he’s your way into the story. He’s the character that lets you say this is my story, too, one I have a right to tell, but there are others speaking here, too.  

(Tom, my protagonist, was a real-life 17^th century pamphleteer who knew about Fleet Street and the law courts and dirty London politics, just as I did as a journalist back in the day.)

The result of this (and many another) interrupted night was a reworked opening scene for the novel, one which I first wrote for Michael Loveday’s excellent Novella-in-Flash course a year ago and have been tinkering with off-and-on ever since.

Originally, when I began to novelize this story as part of a PhD, I rejected the novella opening because it wasn’t written from Tom’s point-of-view, and definitely wasn’t in his voice, and therefore had no place in his story.

In other words, it was a darling that had to be killed. And yet...

The scene was good. It introduced conflict between three key characters in a straightforward, comprehensible way; it used suspense to set up the entire plot; it had a definite turning point and a cliff-hanger ending weighted with jeopardy.

What’s not to like?

Reworking it from a different character’s point-of-view turned out to be the key.

The voice of this second character, Bromley, an older, cynical, judgemental man, already came through loud and clear in the dialogue. In the reworked version, his internal thoughts slipped into place like a bolt into a well-aligned hole. In turn, his thoughts opened up opportunities to layer in psychological insights and interpersonal conflicts that will (necessarily) have to develop throughout the plot. 

So, then, said my rational head, surveying this new opening on the one hand and the wreckage of months of single-protagonist plotting on the other, it looks like we’ve got a multi-protagonist story here. After all, you can’t tempt readers with Character A at the get-go, and then try to tell them it’s actually Character B’s story later on.

The implications of accepting this conclusion are huge, of course, and I haven’t made a final decision which way to go, not least because I won’t let two males dominate my story. Alizon and Elizabeth are BIG in Tom’s life and will stay big in the story, however many viewpoint characters there are. But if they get their own chapters as well as Bromley, then a fifth character, Altham, logically must have his space as well.

Are five point-of-view characters possible? Won’t that just be a mess?

Luckily, Linda Aronson has written a cracking film structure guide, The 21^st Century Screenplay, which discusses plotting options with a proven track record when weaving multiple story lines together into a satisfying whole. [Thank you again, Lucy Van Smit, for pointing me in Linda’s direction.]

And wonderful Emma Darwin is there, as always, with sound advice about how to differentiate each strand through what she calls characterized narratives, i.e. creating a highly distinctive voice for each viewpoint character, a voice which reflects their class, education, religion, prejudices etc., and which conveys in the subtext the story’s message about subjective understanding and alternative interpretations of events.

[For information, I’m using Emma’s own PhD thesis as food for thought for mine, but her blog, This Itch of Writing, is a fantastic resource if you haven’t come across it yet.]

Now, it’s perfectly possible that my subconscious would have set to work on this twin problem of voice and structure without needing a specific ‘problem finding’ question to answer.

In fact, with hindsight (and as a result of writing this blog – yay, for iterative mental processing), I suspect that it was re-reading my notes about Emma comments on characterized narrative last month which triggered the initial unconscious doubts about sticking to a single viewpoint character. Certainly, with a story that concerns bias, dishonesty and delusion, and how these factors might have led to false narratives back in 1612, multiple distinctive voices would seem to be an ideal structural fit, allowing the reader to interpret events for themselves, rather than having a protagonist work it out for them.

Nevertheless, I do still think problem finding is a useful diagnostic tool. If nothing else, defining a problem and then allowing the subconscious time to ruminate on it lessens the (conscious) frustration of writer’s block, and clears the conscience when killing off darlings or resurrecting them as intuition dictates.

Have a creative (and safe) month, everyone.

Twitter @HouseRowena

Facebook Rowena House Author

Website rowenahouse.com

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jumping through hoops - by Lu Hersey

So you think you've finished writing your book - it's taken ages, you've gone over it carefully, there's a beginning, a middle and an end and you've taken out all the saggy bits (usually saggy middles, a kind of middle book spread - the writing equivalent of soggy bottoms). So now it's time for someone else to read your masterwork, whether that's your critique group, your agent or your editor. In my case, it's my agent, who tells me what changes he thinks the book needs before he sends it out to publishers.

And this is when the editing process really starts. You may have read through your manuscript a million times, and spent months (if not years) making all the changes you think it needs - but your reader won't necessarily see your book the same way you do.

'The end needs some restructuring - far too much happens after the death scene.'

Restructuring? *swallows* That means quite a lot of work. But yes, now it's pointed out to me...

Two months and one restructure later... 'I really like that cave scene - you need to make it at least twice as long.'

Do you realise how long it took to write that cave scene? And that it is practically perfect in every way? AND THAT'S WHY YOU LIKE IT, RIGHT??

Best not to say that out loud. Smile and say 'hmmm'. Try not to make it sound like you're being strangled. Just rewrite the cave scene. Add in a lot more cave and a lot more claustrophobia.

Oh. Maybe agent was right. More cave is really working out well. But now the perfectly formed bit before and after cave scene will have to change to fit extended cave scene. Adding an extra three pages in one chapter can mean another total restructure to keep the continuity. OF THE WHOLE BOOK. 

But you're pleased because the book is better. You send it back to the agent.

'I think chapter 7 has too much tell and we need to see that scene.'

Dammit. Have to admit, that's a slightly saggy (but plot necessary) bit I glossed over. Now I have to make it not boring and saggy but an exciting, tense episode where we meet the baddie....but of course that means the current meeting of the baddie in the next chapter will need to change completely, oh and that changes the whole continuity of the book, SO NEED TO CHECK THROUGH THE WHOLE THING AGAIN...

Back to agent. Boy this book is SO perfect now.

'You need to explain the red crystal. I don't get it.'

*Eye roll when he's not looking* 'Maybe I could just take it out.'

'No, I like the red crystal, I just need to know more about where it came from.'

'Hmmm.' I am the master of the neutral expression.

'I can feel you bristling and getting defensive, but just think about it...'

Obviously I'm not the master of the neutral expression. 'Okay.'

While you're at it, why is the bead yellow? Why isn't it blue?

BECAUSE IT'S A BLOOMING YELLOW BEAD, OKAY? Best not say that out loud. Think about why on earth he thinks it should be blue.

Oh. Actually blue possibly would work better...but then I'd have to change the next chapter, the previous chapter and, you guessed it, read through THE WHOLE THING AGAIN.

And that is how editing works. It's a process where you sometimes want to tear your hair out, rend garments and SCREAM... but it's worth it. Your agent/editor is trying to make it the best book it can be. Just another week or so, and I think I'm there. Blue bead and all.

Then, if I'm lucky, a publisher will like the book...and a whole new round of edits can begin.


by Lu Hersey
Twitter: @LuWrites
Web: LuHersey.com

What versus How: chicken & egg or plotting duet? - by Rowena House

The other day, while re-reading notes from a 2017 Arvon week on writing non-fiction, an idea for the structure of my fictional work-in-progress suddenly jumped off the page.

Why not start with Act III, where the conflict is at its most direct and life-threatening for the protagonist, and reveal the build-up of Acts I and II during the final climactic days of the story?

Up till then I’d been wedded to a linear, chronological narrative so this was radical stuff. But, like many writers, I’ve learned to trust flashes of inspiration; they’re not necessarily the answer to a creative problem, but usually they flag up something important, like signals from the subconscious warning of trouble ahead.

Now, it turns out that the ramifications of such a major structural shift are far wider than I’d anticipated (more about that in a bit) but what helped most in terms of understanding my own writing process was a second eureka moment.

This second epiphany came courtesy of Emma Darwin’s PhD thesis which I’ve downloaded from the British Library to flesh out her excellent introductory guide and aide memoire, Get Started in Writing Historical Fiction.

In her thesis, she quotes David Lodge’s introduction to After Bakhtin: Essays in Fiction & Criticism published back in 1990. In it he says creative decisions about structure and voice are taken “prior to, or at a deeper level than, the articulation of the text in a sequence of sentences”.

Emma Darwin links this to “problem finding” as discussed by Richard Sennet in his 2008 book The Craftsman: “Formulating a rational question is one method of problem finding, since the answer may be supplied from the deeper level by intuition.”

Thus, being aware of the need to find problems is a way to combine rational thinking about a story with the intuitive creative process which taps into our deeper levels of consciousness.

As a story planning technique, problem finding is therefore neither plotting nor pantsing but a fusion of both.

Which sounds pretty damn useful to me.

To test out this intriguing approach, I decided to apply problem finding to my Arvon-inspired, intuitive structural ‘solution’ and see where it led.

The first step was to turn the issue at hand into rational questions. So here goes...

1^st rational question: if my subconscious is offering me a solution to a problem which I hadn’t even begun to think about consciously, what is the problem?

Answer: a linear narrative will take too long to get to the central conflict.

2^nd rational question: OK, accepting that for the moment, is starting at the final act necessarily the best solution to this problem?

Answer: I haven’t a clue.

3^rd rational question: Can I find out?

Answer: sure thing. Back in a bit…

Now, it’ll take quite a while to work through the plot implications of reworking the action of the story into a series of revelations, plus flashbacks, within a tight timeframe.

Perhaps more importantly, however, exploring these two structural options is highlighting major questions about the core of the story itself.

For example, for my Story Grid (thank you, Shawn Coyne) Voyage and Return is pencilled in as the internal plot/genre. The Voyage is my protagonist’s journey of discovery and his Return the consequences of what he’s learnt.

I had imagined keeping the reader close to his lived experience of this journey, learning ‘truths’ alongside him. This would be Plot A.

The external genre, an Historical Why-dunnit, was in some respects meant to be a feeder plot to the primary story, providing the specific historical context for a timeless psychological journey.

In other words, the real story would be in the subtext, rather than the obvious historic events.

But what if a revelatory, unfolding plot could deliver this story in a more compelling, dramatic way than a slower, linear journey? Should the psychological narrative be the main story after all?

Certainly, whydunnits are mystery plots and therefore natural habitats for revelations and unfolding, unravelling stories. And my 17^th century mystery is rich in political machinations, desires and betrayals, especially among characters other than the protagonist.

 And aren’t desires, machinations and betrayals more fun that tortured inner journeys?

What if [scary rational thought] my subconscious knows a lot more about storytelling than ‘I’ do, and is wildly signally at me to stop being so bloody pretentious?

Which makes sense really. *every other writer rolls their eyes at this point and mutters, Just get on with the damn thing* [Which I would do had I the time and headspace as per the last ABBA blog.]

Anyhow, whatever the outcome of the structural debate, this episode has resolved a perennial chicken-and-egg dilemma: which comes first, content or structure, the What or the How of the story?

Neither, it turns out, not for this work-in-progress at any rate. The What and the How are a duet. Definitely. 100%. I just need to find out what song they’re singing.

Twitter: @HouseRowena

Website: rowenahouse.com

Facebook: Rowena House Author 

An evening with Patrick Gale by Tracy Alexander

Patrick Gale had a desire to be anything that didn’t make money ­– a musician, an actor, an author . . .

A friend of a friend ‘won’ him in an auction and so I heard this first hand in her living room. It’s always a treat to see inside another author’s mind, and to meet someone whose books I have enjoyed – most recently, A Place Called Winter – made it all the more interesting. Here’s some more of what the author of 16 novels and many other written works, including Man in an Orange Shirt soon to be aired on BBC TV, had to say:

Learning to write – Reading teaches you to write.

Writing is a 9 to 5 job ­– Patrick gets up and out to his office by 9, unless he’s in publicity mode.

Pens and paper still have a place ­–  He writes the whole manuscript in a notebook. The front is the story. The back is his quarry where he jots notes. He carries it around with him. There’s no copy! When the draft is finished, he types it up, editing along the way.

Structure – Chronology isn’t something he’s fond of. Many of his books play with structure – it’s something he’s interested in. Time, character, place . . . can all dictate the final shape. When he transfers the words from the notebook to the computer and can cut and paste huge swathes at will he finds the right way to tell the story. Breaking up the narrative means you can avoid the boring bits and focus on crisis points. When using time shifts, he finds the historical parts are more compelling and have more energy – maybe because they take more effort.

On research in the field –­ Write as much of the story as you can before you go so that your time is targeted and you don’t end up shoe-horning in stuff because you bothered to find it out!

His territory – Family, of which he has a rich personal source.

 

Titles – How refreshing to learn that he changes his mind repeatedly . . . The Lead-lined Room has become Thumb Position and now maybe The Rocks Along Our Way.

His favourite book – Most proud of the most recent. Most protective of the WIP.

His favourite writer – Colm Tóibín

Noting down snippets in wee jotters for future use – Not something he does. ‘The things you need to remember you’ll remember when you need them.’

And the future – Patrick is getting braver . . . and darker.

Tracy Alexander

@tmalexander

www.tracyalexander.co.uk

www.tmalexander.com