Sunday 25 October 2015

Scene it here?

So, yeah, right, scenes. Loosely defined as the smallest unit of book building, built of many of the sub-units of book building known as mugs of coffee.

Essentially, I see a scene is the smallest piece of your book that can be self-contained. It can be a paragraph or even a sentence, but if you lift it out of context and hang it on your wall, it can be read as a piece. Most of my scenes are a few paragraphs to a few pages.

They're also something I tend to focus on when I'm editing, because they're, in a word, achievable. If I look at 100,000 words and tell myself that all that has to be coherent, de-adjectived, copy-edited, proof-read and thrilling in a few months' time, well, that way leads to 'Author Not At Work' syndrome, not to mention 'Drunk Author Tweeting'. A few paragraphs to a few pages, though? Easy. Get 'er done before dinner. Do that for a couple of months, and *BAM* edit done.

Right, but why focus on scenes again, aside from my motivation issues?

Well, basically, because we've all read those books. They can be great books (I'm going to cite the Wheel of Time series here), but you find yourself at about page 423 thinking 'Why the hell didn't an editor come through here with a flamethrower?' or 'These eight books could have been a trilogy'. Sure, those 423 pages may have been full of well-structured, well-developed stuff. But was it all actually stuff necessary to the story, or did the author, in the process of writing, bolt a jacuzzi, a sunbed, and a whole ten-room mansion on the top of the Ferrari?

Please note, I'm not knocking jacuzzis. Or ten-bedroom mansions, come to that. They're great. But are they what the Ferrari needs to be, well, as Ferrari-like as possible?

Scenes are good to look at because you can read them easily as a piece, and ask yourself some basic questions to determine if they're vital, fascinating, or a jacuzzi.

Question #1 I ask myself a lot as part of my edit process is: does that scene need to be there?

If not, can I put a big red line through it without leaving a plothole, a continuity hole, or missing a vital bit of character development? Is it, in fact, the kitchen sink on the Ferrari of my storyline?

Question #2 is if that scene, if it's really bothering me but does appear to be vital, needs to be there in the story.

Would it stop sending me Code Yellow alerts at the other end of the book? Sometimes you write something, and it is actually great and a vital bit, but your subconscious had a hiccup and spewed it up on a page about fifty pages too early. Or too late.

Alternatively, would that scene make more sense if I (yes, sometimes, really) add some set up so it makes sense? Because sometimes, when I'm writing, something that's absolutely crystal clear to me, the author, is absolutely not crystal clear to a reader. Why is that damn planet so important that they'd send an entire fleet there? ... well, it's rich, it's central, it's famous ... did you tell your reader that?


If you're looking at your scene, and it's not, technically, vital storyline advancement, you can't think of anywhere better to put it, but you still feel it's doing something useful, you're on to the last item on the checklist:

Question #3 Is the scene serving as character development (or general society / atmosphere development)?

Because while dumping 400 pages of nothing but backstory, society dev and character dev on your reader is likely going to get your book used as a doorstop, yes, you do need some of that good stuff in there. Otherwise, why is the reader going to give a damn if your protagonist saved the unicorns / galaxy / right to personal freedom?

In short, if you're staring at a scene in your book and you can't make an argument for its survival under any of these three reasons ... most likely you can pull the plug on it. 'I thought it was hilarious' is not, necessarily, a good reason to include it.

Look on the bright side. If you delete it, you don't have to edit it. And your readers will thank you for it.

Sunday 18 October 2015

Themes in Through the Hostage

Hey, well, that's a title with a lot of heavy lifting entailed.

Having committed an English Literature A-Level, I grew to really hate the incredible level of over-analysis that ruins pretty much every piece of literature that you study.

Much literary criticism comes from people for whom extreme specialization is a cover for either grave cerebral inadequacy or terminal laziness, the latter being a much cherished aspect of academic freedom. 
~John Kenneth Galbraith

...ouch. But, pretty much.

My personal feeling is that books read best when there's a whole lot of stuff going on just under the obvious that your subconscious can gnosh on, and another feeling I have is that when you pull all that good stuffing out into the light of day, a lot of the magic of reading is gone. Because, O Reader, you know what? 95% of brain activity takes place below the level of conscious awareness. Yes, you read that right; 95% of what your brain does, you know eff-all about, and the leading scientists don't really know much more than eff-all - but I admit their guesses sound a lot fancier.

So my feeling on reading is that for every 5% you take in and consciously think about, the other 95% should be sneaking in the back doors and settling in your subconscious to send you on awesome dreams. Let your eyes skim over the words and the story sock you in the gut. If you don't have to reorient yourself in the real when you emerge from a book, you're either reading a lousy book or you're doing it wrong.

So how the hell does all this opinionated crap tie into Through the Hostage?

Well, first of all, I hope the book took you to strange new worlds and dropped you in them hard enough that you could smell the jungle. Second, because a lot of Cortiian interaction is deliberately designed to be show. Watch Khyria in public. Whatever she's actually saying is the cute, glittery bit of the iceberg on the National Geographic cover. Underneath that there's the history, the public image, the private agenda, and let's not forget the Cortiian staple - power politics.

War, therefore, is an act of violence to compel our opponent to fulfill our will. 
~Carl von Clausewitz

In case a reminder is needed, the Cortii are professional mercenaries. Everyone goes armed, and the most common method of advancement in the ranks is assassinating the person whose position you want. A lot of time on a Cortiian Base is therefore spent making certain that your position is unassailable. Everyone has a different take on how best to do that. Senja Ventiva opts to make certain that there are always more powerful people with a vested interest in keeping her alive than seeing her dead. Anst an Nabat ensures that he mostly knows well in advance who's gunning for him and why. Khyria Ilan uses the rumour mill to her advantage, and makes sure that most people are certain she'd sooner shoot them than give them the time of day.

One need not destroy one's enemy. One need only destroy his willingness to engage.
~Sun Tzu
And let's not forget, in Through the Hostage, Wildcat is still in Basic training. Cortiian Basic training lasts between seven and ten years, and along with all the things you'd expect to feature, like physical training, combat training, game theory, military strategy, psychology, politics, etc., Cortiian Basic training is designed, bluntly, to break people. Recruit casualties run very high, and ensure that the stupid, the inept, and those who simply don't have the resilience and flexibility to be able to do damn near anything on command don't survive their first year. 
The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do.
~Jack Sparrow, 'Pirates of the Caribbean'

That's the backdrop to Cortiian society. It forms the undertow to a lot of Through the Hostage. Taiva Zarlan forms a good case in point: she's intelligent, competent, and she's survived seven years of Cortiian Basic training. Despite that, she has lines she still won't cross.

“I can’t murder you and I may not be able to murder anyone else, but for the sake of completeness you should find out whether or not I am capable of murdering myself.”
~Taiva Zarlan, Through the Hostage
On a Cortiian Base, that makes her, to some extent, a target. Not only does Taiva have limits, which can be discovered fairly easily if she's pushed, but she doesn't have any influential allies apart from Khyria, and she's not, as Khyria is, widely known for being much more trouble to try and kill than she's worth.
So, to go with the Dumbledore method of announcement, the themes in Through the Hostage are: 'Survival! Independence! Trust! Dominance! Fancy fight stunts!'

Monday 12 October 2015

Self-publishing 101 - Part 1, print-on demand

Hello authors.

Well, it's finally That Time - after months or years, you've written, revised, gathered your alpha and beta readers' input together, revised a bit more, run a spellcheck, discovered just how awful MS Word spell check is, got a human editor to read it, found a cover designer ... and you're sitting in front of your computer with your heart pounding and your palms going sweaty, about to actually upload your work of genius for the worldwide audience.

How many copies will I sell? 
Will there be trolls? 
Will anyone pirate my stuff? 
When will I be able to live off the money my books make for me? 
Will the world know my name?



Before you can become an international bestseller of E L James-style fame (oh, God), you need to find a self-publishing platform. I'm going to provide a non-exclusive, non-endorsing list below of a few of the better-known options to give you an idea.

Self-publishing platforms come in two basic flavours: ebook only, or print-on-demand. In this post, I'm going to focus on the print-on-demand platforms - or this post will attain novella-length in short order. Catch up with me later for the ebook 101 post.

**ALWAYS read the terms and conditions / conditions of service / terms of use or whatever else they call it and make certain that there's a clause in there guaranteeing that you retain copyright to your work. Whatever other paragraphs your eye chooses to blur over, make sure you've read and understand what your rights are if you choose to publish with a given platform.**


Print on demand: 

CreateSpace (Amazon), and Lulu are two of the best-known self-pub options if you want to provide physical copies of your book as well as (or instead of) an ebook. They both allow you to set up print-on-demand for nothing and take a cut of the book price every time you sell a book as their payment.

I'm also going to touch on Bookbaby, which doesn't offer a completely free option, but does offer a lot more support options if you happen to have the funds to pay someone else to tear their hair out to get your book printed.

Other places you can look include IngramSpark and Blurb.

I also recommend that you check out Writehacked 'Where should you self-publish your book' from 2014 for a second opinion - I don't necessarily agree with that opinion, but there are photos provided of the results from several of the major POD companies.

CreateSpace 

Pros: They're flexible, efficient, have great customer service and, provided you use one of their formatted templates (really. This part is important unless you're a masochist) very easy to use. They provide a great quality of product. They're also an Amazon company, so your print offering shows up, hassle-free, on the majority of Amazon country sites almost as soon as you approve your proof. You can opt for expanded distribution, which makes your work available to bookstores, libraries, and academia as well as Amazon. You can also opt for a number of helpful extras if you have the need and money, such as professional formatting, cover design, editing, etc. For the record, I print with CreateSpace.

Cons: Getting paid. CreateSpace only offers Direct Deposit (as of today) to authors with bank accounts in the USA, UK, Germany, France, Spain, Portugal, Belguim, or the Netherlands. If you happen to not have access to a bank account in one of those countries, CreateSpace will accumulate the royalties from the sales of your book in each region, and send you a cheque when the total for that region hits about $100 USD. To be clear, this doesn't mean you can sell $33.33 worth of product in Asia, Europe, and South America (or wherever else) and get a cheque: it means you have to sell $100 worth of product in Asia, or Europe, or South America to get a cheque, which you then have to convert into your local currency. So be prepared for the fact that for a lot of indie authors, this means you're going to be effectively providing your print books for free for the foreseeable future when it comes to money in hand. Another con: should you choose not to copy your text into one of their pre-formatted templates, be prepared for a lot of hell when you come to upload into their online proofing portal. Their main outlet is Amazon.

Lulu


Pros: They offer payment via PayPal, which basically means you can be paid anywhere you can have a PayPal account that you can receive payment from. This may, of course, incur PayPal fees, but you aren't left hunting a bank that will cash a USD cheque for you. They offer optional professional publishing services, but you can also go full-DIY if you choose. They will allow you to distribute your print on Lulu, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Ingram, and they offer a wide variety of sizes and binding options, including stitched if you happen to be a fan of the traditional.

Cons: You have to have the software to put the ISBN and bar code, wherever you choose to get that from, on your own print cover for a certain set of print formats. The up-front expertise needed to prep your files for printing from you, the author, is a bit higher than for CreateSpace.

Bookbaby

Pros: They give you a webpage space with the publishing package. They distribute to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Powell's, Baker & Taylor, and Ingram, among others, as well as several niche options. You can choose to be paid via PayPal (there is a $1.50 processing fee per PayPal payment). They offer promo services with their packages, and a 100% satisfaction guarantee.

Cons: You have to go with one of their publishing packages. There is no full-DIY option with Bookbaby. You can only opt for Direct deposit if you have a US bank account; if not you're stuck with cheque in the mail (or PayPal).


Conclusion:

So, you've now followed a bunch of links, checked out arcane FAQs that talk about metadata, ISBNs, ASINs, the non-transferability of your platform-assigned ISBNs, and tax-witholding, and your head's spinning.

Is it really worth all this effort and research, just to get a print copy of my book? I mean, I'm indie. Is anyone really going to buy the d*mn thing anyway?

For me, I wasn't going to bother. Not right away. Not after having figured out that I couldn't get paid for it in any reasonable amount of time, and given indie sales generally.

Then, I actually had people - family, friends, colleagues - start asking me if they could get a print copy, and I sat down and thought a bit more. After a bit of that, I actually did set up POD - and I'm really glad I did. Not because it's making me a fortune - hell no, far from it. But it's not costing me anything extra, as I'd opted to get a print and an e-cover from my cover designer anyway.

But the real pay-off, from my point of view, was the moment my actual book proof showed up on my doorstep, and I got my book, after all the blood and sweat and tears, in my hands looking like a real book.

Sunday 11 October 2015

How I started writing

... see, really, that title should read 'why I started writing it down'.

I've told myself stories for as long as I can remember. It was and is a great way to check out of boring situations. However, since voices in the head are never a good diagnosis, I kept the source of my entertainment to myself right through my childhood.

It took until my teens, in an all-girls' boarding school (yes, it was called The Mount ... laugh now, get it all out of your system), before I finally cracked and admitted to someone what my private sanity-saver was. Her response, which made me blink, was: "Why don't you write any of this stuff down?"

I'm pretty sure I gave her a funny look. Old people wrote books. I'd met several self-professed authors, and they were nearly as tedious as the other types of artistes that periodically showed up in my parents' circle. That, or they wrote serious things like Fibreglass Boats that you could use as a very successful self-defense weapon. It really hadn't seriously occurred to me.

I sat on this idea, thought about it, groused about it, threw up roadblocks around it, and generally chewed the cud for a month or so. Being fourteen, I suspect I threw some drama in the mix. I hated loathed was crap at was only moderately good at writing essays. A book was a hell of a lot longer than a 300-word essay.

I respected this friend's opinion. I don't generally respect any many of the opinions I'm offered, so on the rare occasions someone whose opinion I do respect offers me advice, I think about it. This is by no means a guarantee I'll follow it, but it will be taken on board.


This painful and long-drawn-out thought process eventually led to me surreptitiously scribbling odds and ends into a little notebook, about the size of my hand, that I kept on my person or under my pillow. It really was that small. It was that small because a page I could cover with one hand wasn't nearly as intimidating to fill as an A4 (letter size, for my North American readers) sheet.

It took me possibly as much as a year to graduate to actual A4 sheets for my writing. As this was in 1994 / 1995, when I say writing I really do mean writing, with a fountain pen. It took several more years before computer access was sufficiently, well, accessible that I started typing my books up from the longhand versions, and several years after that before storage solutions were reliable enough that I didn't keep losing (big) pieces to buggered floppy disks or corrupted files from creaky old school machines. A lot of my editing process in those early days occurred when I was (again) typing up a lost file from the hardcopy and my fingers wandered.

Graduating to A4 was a biggie. It meant, among other things, that I could write in my incredibly slow and almost interminable classes, all of which felt as if they were geared to the hard of thinking, and it would look as if I were taking notes. That was huge. For the first time in my formal education, I wasn't bored out of my tiny mind in my classes. I wrote five novels in five years (and, yes, thank you, passed my exams pretty credibly).

Were these novels any good? Hell no, they were awful. I owe an annoyingly huge debt of gratitude to the small circle of friends who long-sufferingly read them, made suggestions, let me read their stuff in exchange, made some more suggestions, and at no point ran away screaming.

However, having been written, and re-written, and edited, and ignored for a couple of years, and then re-written again after a lot more practice ... those early disasters stories formed the bones of both of the novels I have published today. And so far, the worst reader review I've had has been four stars.

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