NaNoWriMo Day Twenty One

I’m currently working of some back chapters because they impact from the point where I’m currently up to, chapters 24/24, and with a little twerking this part is coming together and will serve it’s purpose as a lead in to what happens later on, and make sense where it before it was a little out of the bluish.

I’ve got a new character, but what her role will be beyond this part of the story is yet to be determined, but I think it might end up being a walk on walk off but part with lines.

Other than that, the novel is proceeding, and the end, three or four chapters long is sitting at the back of my mind, and after a few more days, as we get closer to the end, it will become clear.

There is the plan, but as we are all fully aware, something things don’t go according to plan.

Conversations with my cat – 66

This is Chester. He’s feeling very smug.

Our focus has mainly centred on getting the NaNoWriMo project done each day, but in between all of this, a number of issues have arisen.

The first, the Maple Leads, and what Chester calls my obsession with ice hockey.

He doesn’t get it. No one plays ice hockey in this country at the same level, and you can never find it mentioned anywhere, so why bother.

Besides he adds in his most cutting tone, they’re a bunch of losers.

So they’ve lost six games in a row and sacked the 50 million dollar coach, but…

To him it’s but nothing. Chester now refuses to watch the ice hockey with me, not until they win again. That 6-1 drubbing two games back was the start of the slide.

I tell him that we’re missing key players and with the newish lineup it takes time to work as a team.

Right.

So we move to God Friended Me.

What the hell is going on there. Miles and Cara are stumbling, with doubts seeded, Rakesh has just had his heart torn to shreds and the incoming Bishop is at a crossroads.

So, for a little early advice…

What’s going to happen to Miles and Cara?

Chester: I’m cynical, their the heart of the show, they won’t be forced apart. It’s all about the ratings.

What’s going to happen to Rakesh?

Chester: Draw out the angst for another 14 episodes, we’ll have to keep tuning on to see what happens.

And the bishop and his girlfriend?

Chester: Send them to another parish, they’re just a distraction we don’t need.

I’m inclined to agree with him.

Except about the Maple Leafs. They’re in Pheonix tomorrow, maybe with a new head coach they might pull off a miracle.

Who do you think you are?

I’m not sure how other people see your characters but sometimes I think mine are based on actors and actresses in various roles.

Ok, in the first instance, they are an an amalgum of people I’ve met or seen before, but they always seem to have what might be called an avatar in the back of my mind.

So, as a case in point, some years ago I was writing a story, but I didn’t have a clear picture of what my character looked like. I knew most everything else, but it made it difficult to go beyond a certain point.

Then I saw Bruce Willis in the original Die Hard, and the character suddenly took form in my mind. Of course, Bruce Willis wouldn’t recognise that my character was based on him, but if the film of the book was ever made, back then, he would have been ideal cast as the mc.

In another instance I was writing a YA story for my granddaughter and after she read the first 10 chapters I asked her what she thought. It was a good story, but the characters needed another dimension.

We then sat down and discussed who we might ask to play roles if we were casting a movie version.

It was unanimous, Lily James was Marigold. Probably not now, but when we first saw her. Emma Thompson was the Queen, and Jeremy Irons the King. We had others for the captain of the guards, the good witch and the bad witch.

Sometimes it takes a casting call to picture how your character might take physical form, and if the actors selected are very versatile there are so many traits you can pick up.

The question is, do you cast you characters

A shattered dream, perhaps, or just wishful thinking?

There was time, quite a few years back I had a dream, well, it was more wishful thinking than anything else.

I was going to run a bookshop.  You know, that quaint little storefront in a tucked away little town somewhere by the ocean, where the clientele would be both travelers and locals alike, people who liked to read.

It would have an area set aside, somewhere within the shelves where there would be a fire in winter, and opened windows and fresh air in summer, a place where you could drink coffee or tea, with scones or cake, and read prospective tomes, or start on that purchase you just made.

There would be not only new books but old, second, third or having been through many hands, books with the aroma of time seeping up from every page, hard covered books with crackly spines, pages that have the stains of age.

And perhaps the name of one of its owners scribble on the front page, along with the price, what it cost all those years back when it was new.

Of course, those places still exist, somewhere in the literary universe, but the idea of owning one such establishment now would mean that you had to be independently wealthy, with a pile of money in the bank, because you would not be relying on profits to keep it going.

If I was a successful author, yes, it would make sense, existing in a literary world where I could read, or write, or talk to other readers or writers, or just do nothing.

And, yes, there would have to be a cat.  There’s always a cat, somewhere, sitting in the window and looking out on the world passing by, or curled up by the fire, reliving those halcyon years of mice catching.

Hang on, where had my fairy godmother gone?

It’s all about the Cover

And, of course, the description.

Probably one of the hardest things for a first-time author is not so much the writing but what is needed after the book is written.

You need a good description.  Short, sharp, incisive!

There’s a ream of advice out there, and I have read it all.

And, still, I got it wrong.

Then there is the cover.

I wanted simplistic, a short description to give the reader a taste of what’s in store, and let the story speak for itself.

No.

Apparently, a good cover will attract the reader to the book.

When I tendered my books on various sites to advertise them, sites such as Goodreads, and ThirdScribe, all was well with what I had done.

Then I submitted my books to a third site and they rejected the covers as too simplistic and the descriptions mundane, and wouldn’t post them.

Wow.

There’s a huge blow to the ego.  And just the sort of advice that would make a writer think twice about even bothering to continue.

But…

Perhaps the person who wrote that critique was being cruel to be kind.

At any rate, I am changing the covers, and rewording the descriptions.

Will it be a case of ‘what a difference a cover makes’?

NANOWRIMO Day Twenty

nanowrimo-blog-banner-2019-journal

It’s now two-thirds of the way through and I’m making great progress.

The consequences of the twist that happened yesterday did not have much of an effect on the planned storyline, so it’s full steam ahead.

This story is going to be longer than 50,000 words as, at the moment, the count is just under 40,000 words.

So far I have 8 chapters in Part 1

9 chapters in Part 2, with one to be written (outline is written)

24 chapters in Part 3, with 2 to be written, (also have outlines written)

Looking at the plan, there are approximately 9 more chapters to be written, and then,

3 or 4 chapters in Part 4 to wrap it up

Best guess, this story will come in at around 70,000 words.

 

 

 

Past conversations with my cat – 27

20160902_123201

This is Chester.  He knows it’s sheet changing day and he’s waiting.

You know how it goes.  If there’s an opening, he’s in it, rolling around, clawing at the invisible mice that he thinks are hiding at the end of the bed.

He fails to recognize that it’s simply the sheets flapping as they’re being smoothed out.

And telling him to stop being stupid elicits a dumb look that borders on insolence.

There he sits stretched out, between the sheets, where he thinks I can’t get him.

I’m not moving, he says.

You can’t make me.

I’m going to lie here till the snow covers me up.

He even pokes his tongue out at me.

Right!

I fold the sheets over, then over then over, step to the end of the bed, and lift.

Next minute he’s on the floor, a perfect landing on all four paws.

He looks up.  You win this time, but just you wait!

Perhaps I should shut the door to keep him out, but where would be the fun in that.