Tag: Fiction

Writing and re-writing, or so the story goes

The process of writing is rewriting editing and more rewriting.

Some time ago l wrote some words.  I didn’t like them.  But it had laid the groundwork for a second draft.

Here it is:

 

Growing up I did not believe l had one of those lovable faces.

My brother, known in school as the best looking boy of his graduating class, said it was a face only a mother could love.

He was mean.

Simone, a girl who was a friend, not a girlfriend, said my face had character.

She was charming and polite.

Looking now, in the mirror, l decided I’d aged gracefully.

I could truthfully say my brother had not, but that was as far as the comparison went.

My overachieving brother was the epitome of success in business, a veritable god zillionaire.  Everything he touched turned to gold.

My ultra successful sister, Penelope, had married into the right family perhaps by chance, but she was also a very learned scholar whose life was divided between her chair at the university and her social life with the rich and famous.

Then there was me.

I gave up on my chance at university because l was not the scholarly sort and didn’t last long.  Sadly l was the first of my family to be sent down from Oxford.

Instead, l took on a series of professions such as seasonal laborer, farm hand, factory worker, and lastly, night watchman.  At least now I had a uniform and looked like I’d made something of myself.

It would not be enough for my parents who every year didn’t say it out loud but the disappointment was always there in their expressions.

My brother in his usual blunt manner said l was a loser and would never change.

My sister was not quite so blunt.  She simply said it was disappointing so much potential was going to waste.  I only asked her once what she meant and lost me after the first four syllable word.

Finally, I’d taken their comments to heart and decided l would not be going home to the family Christmas holiday reunion.

I told my boss l was available to work the night shift over the holidays, the shift no one else wanted.

It was he said a time for reflection.  He hated his family as much as I did so we would be able to lament our bad luck through the long cold hours from dusk till dawn.

It was 3 a.m. and it was like standing on the exact epicenter of the North Pole.  I’d just stepped from the warehouse into the car park.

The car was covered in snow.  The weather was clear now, but more snow was coming.

It was going to be a white Christmas, all I needed.  I hoped I remembered to put the antifreeze in my radiator this time.

As I approached my car, the light went on in an SUV parked next to my car.  The door opened and what looked to be a woman was climbing down from the driver’s seat.

She closed the door and leaned against the side of the car.  “Graham?”

It was a voice I was familiar with, though I hadn’t heard it for a long time, my ultra successful sister, Penelope.  From what I could see, she didn’t look too well.

“What do you want?”

“Help.”

My help, I was the last person to help her or anyone for that matter.  But curiosity got the better of me.  “Why?”

“Because my husband is trying to kill me.”

The instant the last word left her lips I saw her jerk back into the car, and then start sliding down to the ground.  There was no mistaking the red streak following her as she fell.

She’d been shot from what appeared to be a sniper rifle, which meant …

 

It still needs work but I’ve got the gist of where I want to go.

The idea is not to make a character so loathsome no one would want to read about him.

This will evolve and you can if you like to come along for the ride!

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2018

Being Inspired, maybe

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

theremarkables3

“It’s up there.”

Giles was pointing at a random spot at the top of the range, this after gesturing in that general direction.

I knew I should have asked for better directions.  Giles was not the sort of person who dealt in hard facts or listened to closely to briefings.

“Exactly where up there,” I asked, in a rather more harsh tone that I meant.

“You were at the same briefing.  No matter where it is, it’s going to be a hard climb.”

“Surely there’s a road.  We can go so far, then do the climbing.”

“We wouldn’t cover a kilometer before they saw us coming.  You know as well as I do they have the whole road, and half the mountain covered.”

“Then climb it is.”

I noticed he had pulled out his binoculars and was sweeping the mountain slowly, then suddenly he stopped.

“There it is.”

He handed me the binoculars and I followed his pointing finger til I found the spot, the eerie almost hanging off the side of the mountain, and then a glance below at the terrain.

Just another day at the office.

 

 

Figures of speech

I found this explanation on the internet: ‘a word or phrase used in a non-literal sense for rhetorical or vivid effect.’

We as writers should not use these in our writing because most people might not understand their use.  I think it sometimes adds a degree of whimsy to the story.

I remember some years ago when I working with a Russian chap who’d not been in the country very long, and though he had a reasonable use of English, was not quite up with our figures of speech.

And made me realize when he kept asking me what they meant, just how many I used in everyday use.

Most of these figures of speech use descriptions that do not necessarily match the word being described, such as ‘I dance like I have two left feet’.

And that pretty much sums up how good I can dance.  But …

‘Like a bat out of hell’, not sure how this got into the vernacular

‘Like a bull in a china shop’, describes a toddler let loose

‘More front than Myers’, as my mother used to say, but in context, Myers is the Australian version of the English Selfridges or Harrods or Paris Galleries Lafayette.  It refers to the width of street frontage of the stores

‘As mad as a hatter’, though not necessarily of the millinery kind, but, well, you can guess

‘As nutty as a fruitcake’, provided your fruitcake has nuts in it

You can see, if you get the references, they are somewhat apt, and, yes, they sometimes creep into my stories.

 

Being inspired, maybe

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

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“I saw him go this way,” Joe said, his face flushed from the effort chasing his quarry.

It was like playing a game of hide and seek, but the stakes were a lot higher.  When we found whom we were seeking, matters could end very badly.

“Towards the Orangery, or behind the trees,” I asked, having come from the opposite direction, but not seeing him.

“He went behind the trees, and then towards the building.”

“Right.  You go to the Orangery down the path and I’ll take the trees.”

“But…”

“Go.  We’re wasting time, and he’s getting away.”

Fortunately, there were few people around at this time, but it could have been worse if this was happening an hour later.

I tentatively headed towards the first tree and edged around it, trying not to look like someone edging around a tree expecting to be attacked…

…by a squirrel.

Two or three of them.  No sign of the man we were chasing.  Perhaps he was in disguise.

Words

They can destroy relationships

They can tear apart friendships

They can start wars

We are sometimes at a loss for words

Sometimes we can’t find the words

And then there those horrible things called crosswords.

There are antonyms and synonyms

Sometimes we use words we don’t know the meaning of because of their similarity with others we do

Then there one or more words that make other words as in anagrams

There are substitute words, words we use around children like fudge instead of, well you get what I mean

There’s no doubt we would be lost without words

Words are to be chosen carefully and thoughtfully

They need to be delivered in an appropriate manner, not in haste, and not in anger

We need to believe in what we’re saying before others will believe it

We need to learn how to express our feelings

We should take advantage of learning English (or any other native language) when at school

We need to start reading as soon as we can and keep up reading as we get older.  One should never underestimate the power reading and writing gives us no matter who we are.

Always have a dictionary by your side.  It is the most valuable book you can own.

And always remember the power of speech can at times move mountains

Being inspired, maybe

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

tramininnsbruck2

“So this is the getaway car?”  Jack had come up with some crazy ideas in the past, but this was bordering on the best so far.

“It’s part of a diabolical plan.  Who would suspect anyone dressed in tourist gear going for a tram ride, after pulling a heist?”

I thought about it for a minute, trying to find the list of negatives, but there were none.

“He’s come up with worse,” Al muttered, “Like that time in Stuttgart.”

A bus, whose route ended at a police station.  We were lucky it was a terminus and so much rush hour confusion.

“Where does it go?” I asked.

“Haven’t got that far.”

I shook my head.  As usual, he hadn’t thought it through.  “Then find out and then tell me what the plan is.”

 

What’s said cannot be unsaid

You know the moment the words leave your mouth that you have said the wrong thing.

It might be exactly what you were thinking, it might be said before you had time to process what you were going to say, but it’s the look on the face of the recipient that tells the story.

Oh, my God, I shouldn’t have said that!

Your initial reaction is to try and say it’s not what you meant.

Generally, these horrible mistakes come at a point where emotions are running high, and there is an element of truth in the statement, and one that the recipient is aware of, and doesn’t need reminding of.

Not by their best friend, partner or closest relative.

Would it be better if you were not one of those three?

Maybe.

But it isn’t.  Anger, followed by tears, followed by silence.

This is where the statement, time heals all wounds, is brought into play, and you hope that it is true.

Interesting subject, is it not, for the opening gambit of a story?

 

Being inspired, maybe

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

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“You go straight ahead, I’ll take the side street and we should catch him before he escapes.”

“You go straight ahead.”

Jenkins was about to prove why he should have been left back at the base.  It was not the first time he displayed insubordination.

“I gave an order, Jenkins.  Move out.”

He didn’t.  He stood in front of me, truculence written all over his face.

“I’ll go,” Wallace said.  “We don’t have time for this.”

I shrugged.  He was right.  Bently was getting away while we dithered.

To Jenkins, “You take the side street.  I’ll back Wallace up.”

He seemed more at ease and left.

I’d taken no more than ten steps, Wallace just in sight ahead of me, when I heard the shot, loud and clear, followed by an echo off the close walls.

I double back, carefully headed up the side street, till I came across Jenkins’ body.

If only …

Being inspired, maybe

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

2013-06-25 19.23.22

“Now you’re sure you got the instructions right?  This is the shortcut?”

Jim looked one way, then the other, and noticed, as I had, there were several other options available.

“Let me look at the map.”

What map.  There was no map that I’d seen when the boss was giving the orders.  It was simply a matter of, ‘go down here, cross there, go about 20 yards, then you’ll see the shortcut’.

I remember Jim asking, ‘what’s at the end of it?’.

It elicited a very terse reply.  ‘More water’.

Jim unfolded the map, expecting like I was, there’d be some lines to follow.

Nothing.  Just a map.  It didn’t even say, ‘you are here’, with a big red arrow.

I shrugged.  Too late now.  “Let’s go.”

 

Popularity, or the lack of it

I’ve been sitting around looking at several blank pieces of paper, thinking about how to become more popular or make a significant splash in the popularity stakes without having to sell my soul.

Amazingly I’m having a simultaneous conversation with my grandchildren about trending videos on YouTube, and it seems author interviews aren’t going to cut it.

When my eldest granddaughter listed the type of videos that are trending, I thought what hope has the rest of the world have.

But…

Who knows what the next trend in Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, or YouTube might be.  I might just sit down and write a script of the interview that will, at that moment in time, be just what a million people want to see.

I’m sure I’m crazy enough to fit in because I’m not your average author.  I write more than one book at a time, in fact about five, I get my characters confused, and it takes about three re-writes to track down the idiosyncrasies, and worse, all the main characters are weird versions of me, so I play out as many different lives as I like.

Imagine what that would be like in an interview.

It’s been done before, I know, but so have a lot of other things, and people rarely get tired of good old-fashioned fun.