Today’s moment of doubt

Busy this week. New job. Editing. Working all free hours to meet a deadline constricted by real world plans and a return to paid employment after long months of furloughship.

Which means I’ve not been working on anything interesting this week. Actually, that’s not true at all; I’m working on new fiction, and that’s always interesting – there’s always something new to learn, even if it’s only how opinionated you are, how stuck in your ways (this time I’m noticing how uptight I am about commas and about paragraph length).

But I haven’t been working on my own writing, which is a bit frustrating as I was well on my way with what may be my final reworking/polishing of New Gods before it goes off to the publisher.

It also means I have precious little to say here.

So let me instead ask you a question: would you read a book with a prologue in second person? Or would that put you off forever? For today’s moment of doubt concerns my clever-clever introduction, which, for very solid(!) reasons, is in that hotly debated pronoun-classification.

Would it bring you up short, or would you push on through to the real narrative beyond?

Mistrust your instincts

I have resolved my ‘show don’t tell’ dilemma. I shall show. To a diminished degree, at least, and with great chucks of the original pared away. My original 7k scene is now around 1.5k, but it is going back in.

This is the conclusion of a season of great doubt. The question that arose from one group of readers has been closed by another. My beta readers suggested that I was missing a trick by not demonstrating the incident in question; my writing group listened to my suggested reinsertion and, with a few relatively minor caveats, okayed its presence in the story.

All this makes me feel a lot better, and once again confirms my feelings that we, as authors, know nothing. Or at least that I don’t. ‘Trust your instincts’, they say. Well my instincts are clearly on the fritz as it was them that had me cut the damn thing in the first place when in fact they should merely have been telling me to set fire to it and insert only what was still legible in the aftermath.

Trusting your instincts is a difficult thing as they are so easily fooled. Who hasn’t brought out a piece of writing, thinking it’s in all things wonderful, only to have it roundly shunned? And yet there are times when it’s right, when it’s paramount, to preserve our vision no matter how the naysayers protest. We, as writers, must keep faith in our work despite the world and his wife turning their nose up at it. Rejection is part of the business. We must, in all things, persist.

But there is wisdom in crowds. Which is why new perspectives, and the wisdom to listen to criticism, is also a key part of becoming a ‘successful’ (or at least ‘good’) writer.

So I urge you: join a writing group. Join several. No, it’s not essential. But a good one can shave years off your developmental journey. And, if nothing else, they can guide you through the thickets and copses and forests of mistrusted instinct.

If you can’t bear to do that, at least try and find friends – real or virtual – who can empathise with what you’re going through.

It is, after all, always nice to have somewhere to turn for advice.

A necessary break

I had New Gods critiqued last week. It should have been the final stop on its way to submission, nay, publication, and that may still be the truth of it. But I received enough common complaints that I feel a pause might be of benefit.

New Gods, to those not in the know, is the third (and final?) novel in the Antarctic trilogy that began with Night Shift and will be continuing this November with the release of Human Resources. See how I’ve kept the punchy two-word theme throughout? Clever, eh?

I personally think NG is the best – or has the potential to be the best – of the lot. I’m excited about it. I want it to work. I want it to sing, to shine. And I think it can.

But I think I need to hold my horses a little. There are still enough imperfections that I need to address, and those common complaints aren’t going anywhere. The only urgency is self-created. I can afford to take a little time and make it as good as I possibly can.

Specifically, the major complaint is that I haven’t put enough description in, and have left certain things too ambiguous. To some extent that’s a stylistic choice and I don’t want to go overboard to compensate. But clearly there is room for a few more words of explanation.

I also have to address a few plausibility gaps; not that things didn’t work, necessarily, but if they can be tightened it’ll be a better, more absorbing story.

The big thing I have to grapple with at the moment, however, is a question of showing or telling.

The old mantra is ‘show, don’t tell’. This is often debated and isn’t always the best advice. But I originally wrote a fairly long scene near the opening of the novel that described a piece of action – specifically, a rescue attempt from a fire in a medical centre.

Then I cut it. I replaced it with a few paragraphs describing what happened instead of showing it live, as it were.

I had good reasons for this. The scene was over-long and, I felt, unbalanced the novel, especially as it occurred so early in the narrative. I just felt uncomfortable with it as it was, and – I think – I managed to sum it up concisely in dialogue as a past event.

You can guess what I’m going to say next. Some members of the critique group asked me why I hadn’t shown the event in question and told me to show, not tell.

Now I don’t know what to do. I still have the scene saved and can reinstate it without too much difficulty (it would be edited, of course). But then would I have the pacing problems again? Is it better as is?

I just don’t know what to do.

What I really need, of course, is an agent. Without one I am on my own.

Except for you lot, of course. What would you do?

Filling the well

It is all very well to complain of an empty well. It is another thing to do anything about it.

After last week’s dirge I was hoping to be able to write something more cheerful here today. It seems, however, that my introspection is taking a rather gloomier turn as I contemplate my lack of creative intake in recent times. To put in in simple terms, I’m not reading enough.

I do get through a decent amount. Problem is that, recently, my reading has been of manuscripts for the editing, and I don’t think you experience them in the same way as you do a finished, off the (library) shelf paperback. The books I get for paid work are good and interesting but I’m reading them critically, looking for misplaced plot-holes and anomalous punctuation. I’m not taking them up and getting sucked into the pages.

Because that’s how you fill an empty well: you lose yourself in a flood of words, in worlds, in mysteries and miracles. Not just through books, but through all sorts of art; TV and films that you let wash over you and carry you away to distant shores.

I’m not doing that. I’m buried in technical detail, not experiencing, not learning. No wonder I’m feeling a little dry, for there is no wonder in my life.

So what do I do about it? Why, I read more, of course.

Except that’s easier said than done. Reading is a habit, a practice, that I’ve fallen out of recently. And it is a high horse; a long way to fall, a difficult beast to remount.

But I must get back on board; I must read (and watch, and listen) for pleasure; I must realign my time in order to refloat that damn boat.

For once begun I’m hoping a trickle will become a flood and I’ll be sailing the high seas for adventure and ideas will be two a penny.

But for now they are rare and precious indeed.