The crushing weight of mortality

There comes a time in one’s life when it just becomes futile to argue. You know that whatever you say will be misinterpreted by someone — either willfully because they have not outgrown the juvenile need to be right, or because they simply lack the intellectual tools to understand the objects being manipulated. Eventually you lose the will to be seen to be right. Better, you think, to just keep your trap shut and save the angst. Let them be ignorant: what’s the difference?

This contentment to allow others to wallow in their own smug, childish, triumph is a relief. It is also a trap, of course. It is part of the continuing attempt of cruel gravity to drag you back to the earth: to reunite you in death to complete inertia.

So pick your battles, because not all are worth fighting. But pick some to fight, and use all your cunning to crush your enemies in that arena. Let the youngsters rail without discrimination against everything. And good luck to them.

 

What a minx was Kirsten Monk

I am reading Music and Silence by Rose Tremain. It is set in 1629 Denmark, just after that country was knocked out of the Thirty Years War. It is set, in fact, in precisely the same period as The Vanilla Assassin. Music and Silence is an adult novel, as the topics are handled in a more mature fashion. Having said that, so far it is probably only M, rather than R. The treatment, too, is serious. There appears, so far, to be be no intrusion of the supernatural.

Finding a novel set in the period, and concerned with the same topics that fascinate me, is a wonderful feeling. It is throwing a new light on topics, enhancing my understanding. It also throws up many new areas for investigation. I am now, for example, itching to find out more about mining and refining techniques employed during the Renaissance.

Rose Tramain uses a rare technique in Music and Silence. It is third person, present tense, and the point of view shifts between at least six characters. I would normally find this distracting and have difficulty following who was speaking, and even differentiating between their voices. However, Rose pulls off the trick, and at no time have I been left wondering who, or when the action is occuring. She does this by using supposed diarised entries of the characters, so the transition is not just implied: it is explicit. Again, where this might be annoying in a less capable author, it works well for Rose. As for voice, they are beautifully distinctive. Each are tortured souls in their own way, but each has such distinct troubles and mental toolboxes to address them that I can, even though I truly dislike several of the characters, understand their trials. This is never more true than for Kirstan, a spoilt, venal creature who inflicts pain carelessly around her. Yet she does so because she has led a sheltered life and is, essentially, guileless and vapid. Pitiable, really. I don’t like her, but Rose makes me sympathetic to her.

The present tense approach sometimes causes me to pause and reread a sentence. It is unusual, but not jarring. My suspicion is that it mirrors the lack of perspective that the characters predominantly have: everything is happening now, to me. They are ego-centric, and the immediacy of the time signature carries me along with them.

Music and Silence would not be everyone’s cup of tea. It is a fine piece of historical fiction, and this means that a reader craving thrills, twists and perilous escapes swould struggle. But the language is well-tuned, and the characters are rounded and compelling. I am enjoying it a great deal.

 

Second formal edit nearly complete

I don’t know how I can thank my editors, Davina at Brolga, and my friend Susanne. Their advice, not just on punctuation from Davina, but more importantly on structure and emotional content, has been invaluable. My brother-in-law, Adrian, when he heard that I write novels, enthusiastically endorsed the practice and advised that they way to make money is to write a self-help or how-to-get-rich book. His failure to understand that what I wanted to do was just tell stories – and get paid for it – is not unique. Most people I have spoken to think that writing a book is a grand thing to do. Few appreciate the specific drive that makes one want to write just this story, and not some other one that they helpfully flap out instead. Davina and Susanne, in stark comparison, were the first people to actually ‘get it’. Or at least they were professional enough to take The Vanilla Assassin as it stood, rather than half listen and then suggest something else.

So, then. I am now completing the revisions from the second formal edit from Davina, and it is running fairly smoothly. I do have some difficulty in a couple of areas and perhaps the best way to describe that difficulty is to refer to a recent event. Gaye went to the movies with the boys the other day to see the new Christmas Carol. This, apparently, was more true to Dicken’s original text. Gaye related to me how, on more than one occasion, words and descriptions were sometimes used for which there was no immediate explanation. The meaning only became clear later in the story. In traditional story-telling we used to accept this device. It built interest. It prompted us to want to know the answer. With the popular format of film and television, and the computer-modelled information presentation we have today, our patience and ability to comprehend such ideas dispersed in time has reduced. Aidan, for example, simply failed to understand. Gaye only got it after she had talked it through. Now-days, it seems, you have to spell out everything straight away, because the audience cannot be relied upon to remember what happened earlier in the piece, and so the explanation has no meaning.

This is the situation I now enjoy with this revision of The Vanilla Assassin. Gustave has powers. He uses them throughout the book, and the intention is that we still do not know them all by the end of it. It is a deliberate mystery. But the powers he does use are telegraphed in several places well before they are used. Should I spell out those powers because the cues are too subtle and the audience cannot stand a mystery any more? I hope not. It feels almost as if I am being asked to put in a bullet-point list, though of course nothing of the sort is being asked. I’m just being churlish. It is a quandary. I trust my editors, but it really feels as though I am dumbing down the story too much.

 

First ‘Catastrophic’ bushfire alert announced

South Australia has used the new category of  ’Catastrophic’ to describe the current bushfire risk. This new category was created to describe the unusual conditions that caused the devastating fires in Victoria earlier in the 2009 year.

See the full story here: http://au.news.yahoo.com/a/-/latest/6485202/sa-braces-for-catastrophic-bushfire-day/

 

Drew Barrimore reincarnated as an annoying boy

Some would label it adorable precociousness, I thought as I watched the antics of the under tens basketball practice session. However, to me it looked like IT inspired idiocy.

He looked liked a pint-sized Drew Barrimore, complete with a twisted mouth that put you in the mind of stroke victim or perhaps an unevenly applied botox treatment.

The kid’s name was something like Keanu or River and he was unable to remain still. “Sit on your ball if you can’t stop moving!” the coach told him. He sat on his ball, then got up and started hurling the ball at the basket while everyone else was trying to hear what the next exercise was. When they staged passing and attacking exercises he took the ball, ignored his partner, and immediately tossed the ball repeatedly at the hoop.

“I don’t deserve this treatment,” he said as he, along with the rest of the team were asked to line up.

Adorable only if that definition meant punchable.

 

Sword fights and music on film

While I sit here contemplating the things I have lined up for Vanilla Assassin release (such as talking to Daniel Armstrong of Strongman Pictures and Scott Nimmo of the Australian Historical Swordplay Society) I am distracted by the atrocious singing and guitar playing of my children. It makes me smile, because passion is what it is all about, after all. I mean it’s really bad. Tuneless. Sorry boys if you ever read this in the future, but it’s true. And I love it.

So anyway, I have spoken to Daniel on the phone and in principle he sounds interested in filming some things for so we can put them on YouTube. Daniel’s interest is in horror (see his site: http://www.strongmanpictures.com/ ), and Vanilla Assassin is pretty much PG. But it is dark and suspenseful and it is set during a creepy period in history, just ripe for an eerie touch. We’ll keep talking and if he is interested in the project we can move on to talk about branding so that the resulting stuff is useful to him to promote his own passion in film.

I also spoke to Matthew Arnold to see if he and his son Quinn were still interested in playing some music. A few duets by this pair really capture the mood of the book, I reckon. Karling Hamil also suggested she could sing some Renaissance pieces for us. Interest is there for the music, then, and this is encouraging.

Finally, I spoke to Scott Nimmo (http://swordplay.org.au/ ) to see if he and his group would be interested in staging some bouts for film. So far he, too, sounded interested.

 

Poland might be nice at this time of year

The Vanilla Assassin is gradually moving through the process, slowly but surely edging towards the shelves. I completed what I like to call the ‘final draft’ a couple of weeks ago incorporating some excellent feedback from my naturally talented editor friends. However, I fully expect to have lots more editing to do once the professional editors comb over it in detail. And I’m fine with that. In fact I relish the feeling that it is being read and there is interest in trying to make it better.

Now I am in the process of developing short stories to companion the main book to be sent to the many and varied short story markets. Once I have the ISBN for the coming book I can append that to the submissions, and hopefully they will reinforce each other. So far I have a short piece where Gustave finds himself in Amsterdam during the first recorded stockmarket bubble, where entire fortunes were gambled and lost on the outrageously inflated prices of tulips. Strange, but entirely true.

Next, I am thinking of sending him to the Polish front, where the Ottoman Turks were having a go (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polish-Ottoman_War_(1633%E2%80%931634). The whole Turkish frontier fascinates me. The Turks besieged Vienna on two occaisions, once before Gustave’s time and the other later in the century – Baron Munchausen’s time, in fact. The border between the Holy Roman Empire and the Ottomans was ‘hot’. For their part the Ottomans were a true super-power. The rot that later crippled them had not yet gone all the way through, though it was in this century that European military technology and methods eclipsed them. During the early 1600’s, however, the issue hung in the balance. The Empire was desperate to keep the Turks out of the war raging within its borders. The incursion by the Transylvanians simply reeks of a Turkish set-up, and I reckon there’s a mission for Gustave in there as well.

 

Tips for writing

LANGUAGE

Sentences
Sentences express complete thoughts. Each sentence contains a subject and a predicate, expressed or implied. As we learn any language, our sentences increase in complexity. Some people believe the more complex a sentence, the more impressive. Never confuse wordiness for eloquence.

Sentence Types
In grammar, we classify sentences by their functions. There are four basic sentence types in English:
• Declarative / Narrative
• Interrogative
• Imperative
• Exclamatory

Declaratives
A declaration is a statement or observation. Narrative and descriptive passages are written using declarative sentences.
I did not kill him.
We declared our love in college.

Interrogatives
To interrogate is to question; hence, questions are interrogatives. Grammarians like to use jargon, while telling writers to avoid it, so we have to deal with words like interrogative.
Did you interrogate the witnesses?

Imperatives
Imperatives are commands, important requests, or emergency pleas.
It is imperative that you leave today.
Please, open the door for me; the groceries are heavy.

Exclamations
Most exclamations stand alone, making for very short sentences. Sentences can be exclamations, if they contain a strong emotion or opinion.
Darn.
Wow! What a great book.

Containers
Dialogue exists within special sentences known as containers. Containers are sentences containing sentences. Most containers represent spoken or unspoken dialogue.
“I will name him Fluffy,” she said, hugging her new kitten.

Six Basic Structures
In English, six basic structures form most sentences. These structures are:
S-V  Subject-Verb
S-V-DO  Subject-Verb-Direct Object
S-V-IO-DO   Subject-Verb-Indirect Object-Direct Object
S-V-PN  Subject-Verb-Predicate Nominative
S-V-PA  Subject-Verb-Predicate Adjective
S-V-DO-C  Subject-Verb-Direct Object-Complements
The subject of a sentence contains the “who?” or “what?” described by or acting in the sentence. The predicate makes a statement, asks a question, gives a command, or expresses a state of being. A complete sentence contains a subject and predicate.

Subjects
A simple subject is a noun or pronoun. When there is more than one subject in a sentence, the group of subjects is known as the compound subject. We prefer simple subjects when possible, using collective nouns or pronouns instead of subjects joined by conjunctions.

Factoid
Old grammar texts call the modified word the “headword” and the complete subject a “cluster.”
A complete subject is a simple subject and any modifiers of the simple subject. Most subject modifiers are adjectives. You should be able to identify the complete subject of a sentence easily since it normally precedes the verb.

Predicates
A simple predicate is the predicate verb, being verb, or verb phrase associated with the sentence’s subject. A complete predicate is the simple predicate and any modifiers. Predicate modifiers may be adverbs, adjectives, and phrases.

Sentence Complements
A sentence complement is a word or phrase adding meaning to the subject or verb. A complement clarifies the sentence. Complements usually appear after the simple predicate verb in a sentence, forming the complete predicate. Simple remember that complements complete predicates. There are five “complements” in English sentence structures:
• Direct Object
• Indirect Object
• Predicate Noun
• Predicate Pronoun
• Predicate Adjective

Predicate Nouns and Pronouns
A predicate noun or pronoun names the subject of a sentence. Most sentences with a predicate noun or pronoun use a conjugation of “to be.” These sentences are not passive because no action is involved.
The author is John Smith.
“John Smith” names the author; the author is not doing anything in this sentence.
Predicate nouns and pronouns are sometimes called predicate nominatives. Nominatives are words typically used as objects within a phrase.

Predicate Adjectives
Predicate adjectives describe the subject of a sentence.
The breeze felt cold against her face.
The breeze is described as cold.

Direct Objects
A direct object answers the question “who or what?” and is being acted upon by the subject of a sentence. Direct objects are said to receive actions.
The cat chased the mouse.
The mouse is the direct object of the cat’s actions.

Objective Complements
An objective complement modifies a direct object. Objective complements are nouns, pronouns, or adjectives.
The critic considered the book a joke.
Sarah considers him a friend.
“Joke” is a noun describing the direct object “book.” In the complement position, a noun acts like an adjective. In the second sentence, “friend” describes the direct object “him.” (Thinking about a noun makes the noun an object of action — even if the action is abstract.)

Indirect Objects
An indirect object answers “to/for whom/what?” an action was conducted. The indirect object receives no action but is frequently confused for a direct object. A sentence can be rewritten to place the indirect object within a prepositional phrase. Indirect objects can conserve words and increase precision.
Direct: For catching the mouse, she gave a treat to the cat.
Indirect: She gave the cat a treat for catching the mouse.
She gave a treat; it was the treat being acted upon by the cat’s owner. The cat was not a direct object of an action, but in the second sentence it is the indirect object.

Compound Sentences
A compound sentence has two or more independent clauses connected by a conjunction or semicolon.
The Russian winter is severe; many invading armies have been stopped by the conditions.

Inversion

A sentence is in inverted order when the predicate precedes the subject. Sentences inverted do not require a comma after the introductory phrase. In the following examples, the first sentence is inverted and the second is not.
Among the weeds were a few wildflowers.
A few wildflowers were among the weeds.

There
The word “there” begins many inverted sentences. There is not the subject of the sentences. Some writers like “there” and use it to impress readers. We suggest using it sparingly.
There might be some truth in his words.
He might be telling the truth.

Split Predicates
Some inverted sentences feature a split predicate. A split occurs when a portion of the complete predicate appears before the subject and the remainder of the predicate follows the subject.
Split predicates are common. Most effective writing uses split predicates to break monotony. Any phrase or clause appearing before the simple subject of a sentence, but which can be moved to the end, are part of a split.
In 2000, due to the Electoral College system, George W. Bush became President-Elect.
George W. Bush became President-Elect in 2000 due to the Electoral College system.
George W. Bush is the simple subject in the preceding sentences. The first sentence features a split predicate, as demonstrated by rearranging the sentence.

Great Sentences
We suggest three rules for great sentences:
1. Clear
2. Concise
3. Active

Clear
Clarity is the first principle of good writing. Readers and audiences need to understand your writings. It seems obvious, but many writers get lost in “art” and forget people read words or watch actors to be entertained, educated, and then challenged.
Don’t misunderstand; we believe we write to educate people and challenge some social situations. However, we know that meaning can get lost in figurative language. Say what you mean as effectively as possible. Concise is not synonymous with “brief.” Use as many words as needed to communicate and describe, but keep sentence structures as basic as possible.

Concise
Concise writing is important for two reasons: it improves clarity and reduces the risk of reader frustration. Even better, concise sentences with obvious subjects and verbs reduce the number or grammar errors possible.
Keep modifiers next to their objects. Have pronouns close to their antecedents. Use precise terms when possible instead of vague adjectives and adverbs. If it helps, underline the subjects of sentences and circle the verbs or whatever pattern works for you. If more than four words separate the subject and primary verb, your sentence might not be concise.

Active
In fiction, avoid passive voice sentence structures and linking verbs. Subjects of sentences should act, moving the reader along. Descriptions can be embedded using clauses, phrases, and appositives.
Nonfiction tends to require more sentences with linking verbs, but the passive voice structure can be avoided. The text, for example, uses many linking verbs, but few passive sentences.

SHORT STORIES

1. Have a clear theme. What is the story about? That doesn’t mean what is the plot line, the sequence of events or the character’s actions, it means what is the underlying message or statement behind the words. Get this right and your story will have more resonance in the minds of your readers.

2. An effective short story covers a very short time span. It may be one single event that proves pivotal in the life of the character, and that event will illustrate the theme.

3. Don’t have too many characters. Each new character will bring a new dimension to the story, and for an effective short story too many diverse dimensions (or directions) will dilute the theme. Have only enough characters to effectively illustrate the theme.

4. Make every word count. There is no room for unnecessary expansion in a short story. If each word is not working towards putting across the theme, delete it.

5. Focus. The best stories are the ones that follow a narrow subject line. What is the point of your story? Its point is its theme. It’s tempting to digress, but in a ’short’ you have to follow the straight and narrow otherwise you end up with either a novel beginning or a hodgepodge of ideas that add up to nothing.

A short story begins as close to the conclusion as possible, and grabs the reader from the very first line. It conserves character and scenes, typically focuses on just one problem, and drives towards a sudden, unexpected revelation.

Who is your protagonist, and what does he or she want? (The athlete who wants her team to win the big game and the car crash victim who wants to survive his injuries are not specific enough.)

When the story begins, what morally significant actions has he or she already taken towards that goal? (“Morally significant” doesn’t mean your protagonist has to be conventionally “good”; rather, he or she should already have made a significant choice that sets up the rest of the story.)

What unexpected consequences — directly related to the protagonist’s efforts to achieve the goal — ramp up the emotional energy of the story? (Will the unexpected consequences force your protagonist to make yet another choice, leading to still more consequences?)

What details from the setting, dialog, and tone help you tell the story? (Things to cut: travel scenes, character A telling character B about something we just saw happening to character A, and phrases like “said happily” — it’s much better to say “bubbled” or “gushed” or “cooed.”)

What morally significant choice does your protagonist make at the climax of the story? (Your reader should care about the protagonist’s decision. Ideally, the reader shouldn’t see it coming.)

IN GENERAL

Creative short stories need not all look alike, but they do all share a basic structure that makes them “work”: they’re readable, entertaining or profound. This involves learning certain basic skills that support all successful writing. Once these skills are developed, one may want to explore various ways of using them, or even of breaking the rules; but as all serious artists know, one must know the rules before they can be broken.

*The Passionate First Draft*
 
In the first place, the writer must have both passion and patience. When you write, you leave the territory of the mundane. The first draft of your story need not follow any rules necessarily, but should be an outpouring of words. Believe in what you are writing. Explore the interior realm, and pull words from your grief, pleasure, happiness, anger and pain. Describe concretely and specifically what you see with the inner eye, how you feel, what matters to you.

Don’t write out of a sense of duty. Good writers do not try to teach a lesson, or to be socially or politically correct. It is far too easy to censor our good writer, to mentally project our mothers or other relatives looking over the shoulder. A first draft should lie on the page spontaneously, buzzing with the joy of creative energy, regardless of form or quality of content. As one learns to write, stories will tend to shape themselves in the first draft, since the basic rules become basic to one’s nature, but beginner’s needn’t worry if the first draft is messy. Learning to write a short story that works is like learning anything else: a child rides a bike shakily at first, and scrawls his name with huge and awkward letters. It is the same with the art of short story writing.

*Revisions*

After you write a first draft, it is a good idea to let the story sit for a while, a few days or even weeks. It is easy to love one’s own writing in the same way that we can each put up with our own singing, even when others cannot! Wait a while.

When you come back to the story for its first revision, start to notice a few things. Does the story have the basic elements? Does it have a believable plot? What is the theme, or the point of the story? Are the characters real? How does the plot build to the point of tension wherein everything is resolved in the denouement? Is the conclusion satisfying?

*The Basic Elements*

Plot. This refers to the premise and action that takes place in a story. A traditional plot involves conflict, and there are all kinds of conflicts that can be used. These include, conflicts between people, interior conflicts regarding decisions, conflicts between obligation and desire, or even good versus evil. Be aware of the conflicts in your story. Do they support and move the plot forward? Is the plot believable in terms of character motivation?

Theme. The theme refers to the point you are expressing in the story. This might be very subtle. Does the point come across as a natural outgrowth of the plot, or does it seem forced or “preachy”? Stories that work express themselves without the feeling of didacticism, or that one is being taught a moral lesson; rather, the lesson of the story sits within the plot and development of character naturally, and therefore powerfully.

Characters. In stories that work, the characters are more than cardboard caricatures with wooden hands. When you look at your first draft, consider character motivation. Do they react reasonably in proportion with the traits you have granted them? Do they speak naturally, or does the dialogue sound like an actor reading lines? It might be a good idea to make up a history for your characters, known only by you, which isn’t necessarily expressed in the story. A writer should know more about each character than he or she tells. This gives each character an aura of mystery and believability.

Denouement. This French word refers to the way the conflicts in the plot comes to a pique and are concluded. The short story that works handles this with care, since this is usually the point where the implicit theme stands or falls. Do the conflicts resolve or not resolve themselves in the story? If we are left hanging, not knowing whether the conflicts have gone in either direction, the story usually doesn’t work.

Conclusion. How does the story conclude? Has the character changed in any way? Has he learned or not learned from the resolution of conflict?

*Tightening Things Up*

Once you establish these elements in your short story, go through and scratch out every word, paragraph or page that does not contribute to them. You may have a wonderful description of a city on the second page which has nothing to do with the story. Be brutal. Scratch it out. You might have a brilliant quip on page four, or some allusive alliteration on page six, that do not contrubute to the basic elements. Do away with them. Believe it or not, the story actually works better without them, is easier for others to read, and become a powerful vehicle of artistic expression. A short story is not a novel; it is more like a poem, where every word and sentence counts. You make each word count by deleting extraneous material.

*Let Others Read It*

Listen to the advice of others. If a lot of people are distracted by some sentence you happen to love, think about changing it. Don’t be afraid to revise. You are the creator, the writer, and you have it in your power to produce something beautiful. This means revision, which is not an act of mutilation, but of creation–though it may feel temporarily painful now and then.

Re-read your story with a critical mind when you are in different moods, and re-write it accordingly. A story that works does not just “happen”, but it is the fruit of rewriting and revision. You will dioscover that you will see it differently and find various new things you want to change according to your various moods.

*Conclusion*

Once you have the basics down, you can begin to work on your own style and unique voice. But these come later. Short story writing takes skill as well as an artistic temper; you must learn the skills before you can shape it into art.

 

What is White Snake House?

White Snake House is a political entity occupying a geographical region along the future Murray River centred roughly on the former region of Mildura.

South of the Murray the [geological history] rising, then falling, course of the river has created a vast area of islands and marshes and is known as the Bay of Thousand Islands. Many different peoples occupy the islands – some advanced and cultured, others barbarous and primitive. To the north, east and west of the territory controlled by White Snake House are other feudal-clan domains with whom they are in competition. Below them, in the Bay of Thousand Islands, they have many enemies, though few that are organised.

The house attempts to subdue pirate activity, impose its own system of taxation and fiscal governance, enforce its own laws and ensure security for travellers and traders who attempt to make their way through the territory to the sea. The house’s main access to the lucrative, and dangerous, sea is primarily down the Murray (as it still remains the widest and most easily navigable course in the vast swamp lands) – past the site of the ancient ruins of Adelaide – and this zone is controlled by another house.

Relations with this other house are primarily friendly, but it remains a strategic weakness. White Snake House continually seeks to mitigate this weakness by attempting to subdue the Bay. Warfare for the regular military consists of two main duties: garrison to the east, west and north against the civilised foes in prepared defences such as walls, watch towers and so on, and perrenial amphibious operations to the south.

 

I have a weariness that rest cannot relieve: a restlessness that travel cannot cure: a hunger that neither food nor drink can satisfy