First Chapter Foibles

Since Cindy talked about prologues, I'll talk about first chapters. I know we played around with opening lines/scenes a few weeks back. We'll deal less with word choice here and more with content.

One of the biggest problems writers have is where and when to start the story. If you're like me, most of your stories emerge as a serious of scenes or conflicts in your mind--rather like a movie trailer with flashes of action, passion, problems. If you're lucky, the opening scene is in one of those flashes.

I'm rarely lucky. More often, I have to ruminate on the feelings those flashes have given me. I have to let what I see as the conflicts percolate, ferment. I have to get into my characters' skins. Then I have to decide where and when to start the story.

I learned that's easier to decide when I listen to the experts:

"You can start a story in any way and at any point and, regrettably, I've read the manuscripts that prove it," writes Dwight V Swain in his Techniques of a Selling Writer. "But that doesn't mean that some beginnings aren't better (read: 'more effective') than others." To Swain, the more effective technique involves change. "To start a story, a change my prove the trigger for continuing consequences. That is, it must set off a chain reaction. Responding to change, your character must do something that brings unanticipated results. He must light a fire he can't put out."

I love that last line: He must light a fire he can't put out.

"The story starts where the elements that will conflict to generate the plot first come together, eyeball to eyeball," says Jacqueline Lichtenberg on her Sime~Gen writer's school pages. "That contact starts the cause-effect chain which is the plot. The story can't start until that has happened. The story is the sequence of changes inside the character caused by his changing internal conflict. It is SPURRED by confrontation with the external conflict. "

Continuing consequences or cause-and-effect chain... it doesn't matter what you call it. But the impetus is the same. Something significant (to the character) and unexpected happens. This is where you start your story.

"Every good story starts at a moment of threat," writes Jack Bickham in his The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes. "Nothing is more threatening than change."

Now, don't be overpowered by the words here: conflict, threat, change. This does not mean you have to start your story with a car going over a cliff. Though that certainly is attention-getting. Threat and change can be small things. They only have to be big to your main character. Whatever the threat or change is must matter deeply to your main character. It can be something as innocuous as a change of schedule. Or a cell-phone mistakenly left at home that day. It can be a decision a character makes, believing it's the right decision. But it turns out to be very, very wrong. (IE: the road to hell is paved with good intentions...)

I like to think of the key ingredient of a first chapter as The Point of No Return. From here, your main character has nowhere to go except into more trouble as he or she tries to deal with the change or threat.

However you do it, what happens in that first chapter forces the rest of the book to unfold. It's critical to remember that because one of the more common errors I see in beginning novelists is to start with a lot of backstory, or a travelogue or paragraphs and paragraphs of setting description. They don't get to the change, the impetus for the conflict, until chapter 3 (and many an agent or editor will tell you that beginning writers' manuscripts can almost all have the first two chapters deleted and be the better for it--for just that reason).

"Fiction looks forward, not backward," Bickham writes. "When you start a story with background information, you point the reader in the wrong direction, and put her off. If she had wanted old news, she would have read yesterday's newspaper."

I've used exactly those techniques in every one of my published novels. In Finders Keepers, Captain Trilby Elliot's routine repairs on her ship are interrupted by the unexpected arrival of an enemy ship...that crashes. And presents her with a wounded survivor. In Gabriel's Ghost, Captain Chaz Bergren's daily fight to survive on a prison planet is interrupted by the unexpected arrival of a former enemy--who she believed to be dead. In An Accidental Goddess, Gillie Davre wakes up in a space station sickbay--three hundred and forty two years later. In Games of Command, Captain Tasha Sebastian learns she's been busted down to the rank of commander and now must work side by side with a former enemy. And in The Down Home Zombie Blues, Commander Jorie Mikkalah arrives on a planet to find her undercover agent is dead and a key piece of equipment is now in the hands of the locals.

Each of my main characters handles the change by starting a fire she can't put out. Every one of these changes put my main characters eye to eye with the cause of the conflict.

Backstory, history and setting are all woven in as the characters act and respond. As they move from one problem to the next. As they take one step forward and two steps back. As conflict builds. Until by the end of the first chapter, the character has nowhere to go but into more trouble.

And the reader has no choice but to turn the page to start Chapter Two.

Take a hard and honest look at the first chapter in your unpublished manuscript or work-in-progress. Have you opened at The Point Of No Return? Or have you started with backstory, or have you left your character too many routes of escape, too many options?

~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com

To Prologue or not to Prologue

I like prologues. I think they are a useful tool in writing. When I develop a character in my mind they usually come complete with a history that makes them the person they are when the story takes place. In my first novel, Chase The Wind, I had a prologue that was the entire first half of the book because the story was really about Jenny, not Ian and Faith who died tragically and people cried about. Of course I had no clue then about the craft, I just wanted to tell the story.

I don't always use prologues, only when they are necessary to give some back story that would not come across well in the show/tell part. In Shooting Star I used a prolouge to explain Ruben's history. A story from when he was twelve that explained how he came to be a smuggler. In Star Shadows I did it to give some of the mythology of the planet Circe so the reader would realize the importance of Zander, even though the book was not about Zander but Elle and Boone.

I added a prologue to Forgive The Wind where my hero loses his leg. He lost his leg in a previous book, Crosswinds but it was told from the heroine of that books POV. In Forgive The Wind I wrote the exact same scene but told it from Caleb's POV since Forgive The Wind was his story.

Rising Wind has the most awesome prologue ever. My editor said she would have bought the book on the prologue alone. It described the hero's birth, sat up his future internal conflict and introduced the heroine and antagonist, all on the battlefield of Culloden. I love it when I get it right!

In my current wip I didn't start with a prologue since my hero had been introduced in Rising Wind. Then I realized that the intro was just plain boring. Basically it was a guy looking in a mirror.

Original beginning

“Pride goeth before destruction, John Murray, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”
John Murray cast a blond eyebrow askance as his blue eyes switched from his own reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall to that of his friend. “Quoting scripture again Rory?” he asked. “Did you ever think that perhaps you should have pursued a career in the church instead of the King’s army?”
“You forget, my friend, I have the misfortune of being a second son,” Rory replied, shouldering John aside from the mirror so he could arrange his own brown locks to his satisfaction. “Which means my life, alas, was predestined from the start.” Rory completed his hair and placed his hat at a jaunty angle atop his head. “And since I have no control over my destiny, I will be off to see what she has in store for me.” Rory threw up a mock salute and with his hand on his sheathed saber to keep it from catching on the door, left the narrow room that the two men shared.
“Destiny is what we make of it!” John shouted after him and returned to his perusal of his image. “Or so we tell ourselves,” he reminded his reflection quietly less someone walking by caught him talking to himself. That would not do at all.

It's okay. You find out the important information about John but it doesn't suck you into the story. So I added a prologue of something that happens later in the book. John's turning point and the reason he was such a jerk in Rising Wind. By adding this bit I also gave the reader something to think about. Why did this happen? How? When? Hmmm, maybe I should keep reading to find out.

Aberdeen. Scotland, 1773
A fine mist fell. John Murray could not help but shiver in his shirtsleeves as he stepped out into the damp gray gloom of early morning. A shudder moved down his spine as his eyes fell upon the post planted in the middle of the court yard at Castlehill. The ground around it was trampled, torn, and filled with the muck from the mix of rain and free flowing blood. Ewain Ferguson’s blood. No comfort for him there as his blood would soon join it.
Was she watching? His blue eyes scanned the ranks of his peers, all standing at attention in the despicable weather, all surely cursing his name because they were given orders to rise early this miserable morning and watch his punishment.
Where was she? Surely they would force her to watch since it was her fault he was here in the first place. Surely they made her watch her brother’s lashing as it was his fault that two men now lay dead.
There. He saw her. Standing straight and as tall as her petite frame would allow next to the General who was magnanimous in his show of mercy towards her. She was a woman after all, and nothing more than an instrument in the treachery of her clansmen.
Her hair was plastered down against her head instead of the mass of springy curls that framed her face like sunlight. This morning it seemed darker than its usual reddish blonde, whether from the rain, or the doom and gloom that hung over the courtyard, he could not tell. Her dress was stained dark with blood and the neckline gaped open, torn by him in his haste the night they were together. Of course she would have no way to mend it so it hung open, teasing him, tormenting him, just as she did the first time he met her. She had gotten into his head that day, damn her and all her clan before her. She had no choice but to live with the state of her dress since her hands were tied before her. Even though the distance between them was great he could feel her deep brown eyes upon him. That gave him a measure of satisfaction. A small measure at that but something to hang on to considering his dire straights.
If only they would lash her also. Did she not deserve it? Was not she as guilty as her brothers and her father in the planning and the plotting and the betrayal?
John’s stomach clenched in anger at the thought. No. It would not do to rip her pale, delicate skin. Knowing her as he did he knew that she would rather have the lashing herself than watch it. She would suffer more that way. She deserved to suffer for what she’d done.
“Best get on with it lad,” Sergeant Gordon said. “Dreading it only makes it worse.”
John ripped his eyes from his desperate examination of her face and looked at the grizzled Sergeant who served as his escort. “Aye, lad,” he said in his hoarse croak. “I’ve felt the lash. “Tis best not to think on it too much. The muscles bunch across your shoulders and it makes it much worse.”
John flexed his shoulders as he took the first step into the courtyard. “How can I not think on it?” He’d seen lashings. Plenty of them. General Kensington was generous in his discipline but he was fair. Twenty lashes was the usual sentence for dereliction of duty.
But he’d added another five because of the circumstance John caught himself in.
Let it be a lesson to all. Do not be swayed by a pretty face and the offer of favors. When John considered the loss of his reputation and the damage to his career, the lashes were nothing in comparison.
Still he knew they were coming and with them would come pain. John flexed his shoulders again. The mist had turned into a drumming rain and his shirt was soaked through. He felt goose bumps on his flesh. He hoped it was the cold that caused them, and not the fear.
“I know what you’re thinking lad,” Sergeant Gordon continued as they walked the innumerable steps to the post. “You’re thinking how will it feel? Will I be able to stand it? Will I cry out like a babe?” Gordon was right all on accounts. John felt a newfound respect for the man as they continued the gut wrenching walk across the yard.
Too soon they stood before the post and Gordon attached the hook to the bonds around his wrists. Gordon nodded to a corporal who jerked on a rope attached to a pulley and John’s arms were stretched above his head and he was pulled against the post. His boots sunk into the muck and the corporal pulled again so that he was stretched up onto his toes.
“Let him down a bit lad,” Gordon instructed. “Ye might find yerself in the same predicament some day.” The corporal relented and John was able to place his feet somewhat firmly on each side of the post.
Gordon looked beyond John to the burly man holding the lash. “He won’t be happy unless you cry out,” he said. “The man loves his job for some reason.” Gordon spat into the mud by John’s feet. “Sadistic bastard,” he added. He slipped a piece of wood in John’s mouth. “Bite down on it lad. Twill help.”
John nodded as he placed his cheek against the post. Gordon stepped behind him and ripped away his shirt. “Think on something else lad,” he added into his ear as the cold rain on his bare back let him know that Gordon had left him.
Think on something else…John blinked the rain off his eyelashes and looked towards General Kensington. He heard the sentence being read by Kensington’s aide, a nephew of the General’s with a squeaky voice and bad skin.
“Do you understand your sentence for the crimes you have committed?” the aide asked, his voice breaking on the last part.
John looked at the General and nodded. The General raised his hand. His face looked sad and John knew that the man was thinking about his father. They were friends. It was the reason Kensington had requested John be assigned to him. What would Kensington have to say to his father about all of this?
Think on something else…He knew the lash was coming. He could sense it coiling and gathering. He heard it whistle threw the air.
John looked at her. Isobel. Izzy. It was her fault. He trusted her with his life, with his soul, with his heart and she betrayed him.
He felt the sting of the lash. His back burned as he was slammed against the post.
“One,” the aide said.
Get on with it…
The next one came in the opposite direction. Marking his back with an X. A target. His eyes stayed on Izzy. How easy a target he’d been for her. He’d fallen like a rock into sea. Sunk right into her plotting. Captured by a winsome smile and deep brown eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of time.
“Two,”
The next one landed straight across, the splinted tail of the whip caressing his ribcage and tearing at the skin on his side as it hit against the bone.
John let out a hiss as he kept his eyes on Izzy. Her eyes seemed huge in her face. At one time he’d thought he could get lost in those eyes.
“Three.”
Damn her eyes. Three lashes and his back felt like it was on fire.
The next one struck straight down his spine. The man was thorough if nothing else. He seemed determined to flay every inch off his back in the strokes allowed. John pressed his wrists against each other as pain shot throughout every inch of his body. He pushed against the post, his body automatically seeking escape from the next blow.
“Four.”
Think on something else.
How could he not be tense when he knew it was coming? He heard the whistle of the lash once again. Felt his flesh tear. Felt the blood pour down his back. He groaned and clenched his teeth tighter into the wood.
“Five.”
Twenty to go. How could he stand it? He had too. Crying wouldn’t stop it. Begging wouldn’t stop it. Screaming his anger at the heavens would not stop it anymore than it would stop the rain that washed against his back and plastered his hair into his eyes.
Izzy. He stared at her, blinking against the rain. It was her fault. All her fault. Every bit of it.

When I get to this part in the linear story I will write it from Izzy's POV. So hopefully the prologue will draw the reader in and keep them reading until they find out why John got the lashes and what part Izzy played in it.

I've heard a lot of differing opinions on prologues. But if it works for the story then I say use it.

Craft: The First Draft

I’m offering a potentially embarrassing post this week, two blocks of text that illustrate the first-draft writing process, at least as it works for me. I use the procedure in Karen Wiesner’s FIRST DRAFT IN 30 DAYS, in which the initial “draft” is actually a very detailed outline, a scene-by-scene summary of all the action that will comprise the finished novel. Since I enjoy outlining (just call me weird) and suffer from considerable blank-screen anxiety with the first draft, which always goes much slower than I think it should, this method has proven wonderfully helpful for me. I can fool myself that I’m still outlining quite a long way into the process. Here is the opening scene of the werewolf romance I’m now working on, in the “formatted outline” stage:

The glint of a pair of green eyes shone among the trees at the edge of the parking lot. From his observation point in the shadow of his car, Raoul watched the she-wolf slink, step by cautious step, into the open. With the park closed for the night, the lot was deserted except for his vehicle and an economy compact with a rear door ajar and interior lights off. Having watched her from a distance many times before, he knew why she left her car in that condition.

Because even in human form he had superhuman night vision, he could easily see the auburn-pelted wolf approaching from the wooded area of the park. Her eyes, hazel in normal light, glowed green in the dark. He thought about how he'd been watching her for years, but this would be the first time she'd ever seen him. Kevin had asked Raoul to keep an eye, from a discreet distance, on both of his children. Raoul had met the boy a few times but had kept aloof from the girl. Still, from what he'd seen, he couldn't help marveling at the way she had mastered her condition to the extent she had, with no help at all.

He stepped out of his hiding place with the sealed envelope in his hand. Her scent came to him, even in his human shape. It reminded him of his friend Kevin, yet with overtones of femaleness that tantalized his senses. The she-wolf stopped short and shied at the sight and smell of Raoul.

“Wait. I don't mean you any harm. I know what you are. I'm a friend of your father.”

She stared at him, her nostrils flaring and lips curling back from her fangs. He sensed her fear and suspicion.

“I have bad news. Your father is dead.”

(end of excerpt)

Now here’s the completed first draft (or, as I think of it draft 1.5) as it currently stands. Since all the plotting work has been done, at a preliminary phase in which a false step doesn’t require major tearing apart and rebuilding, the second draft (ideally) should entail only cleaning up inconsistencies, refining language, and elaborating on scenes that prove to be too sketchy, especially as regards emotional and sensory detail (which I always catch myself skimping on at first):

Green eyes glinted among the trees at the edge of the parking lot. Shielded by the bulk of his car, Raoul watched the beast lurking in the shadows. Even with the floodlights turned off for the night, he had no trouble spotting the auburn-pelted she-wolf in the glow of the half-full moon. Having tracked her many times before, he knew her routine. She visited this park regularly. The patch of tame woods gave her space to run. After she'd luxuriated in the freedom of her animal body long enough for one night, she would return to her car, transform, and dress. She believed she'd found a safe way to live with her double nature. He hated knowing he'd have to shatter that illusion.

He froze, leashing his eagerness to shed his clothes, cast off his human form, and dash toward her. He couldn't risk scaring her away. He'd watched over her from a distance for years, but tonight he would reveal himself for the first time. If he rushed into the meeting too abruptly, she would flee. He watched her glance from side to side and sniff the air. Did she sense his nearness? He prayed the wind wouldn't shift and waft his scent to her.

Any minute, she would summon the courage to lope away from the shelter of the trees. Across the lot, her compact car's back door stood ajar with the interior lights off. As usual, she'd left her clothes on the floor behind the driver's seat with her wallet and the ignition key wrapped in them. Tonight Raoul had placed a sealed envelope on the front passenger seat.

The noise of an engine with a shoddy muffler cracked the quiet of the night. His gaze shifted to the dark blue sedan slowing down at the entrance to the lot. Damn. Jason!

Raoul sprinted toward the patch of woods. He couldn't risk letting the man in that car catch a glimpse of the she-wolf.

“Erin, wait!” he called when she tensed her muscles to run.

She paused, quivering with uncertainty, her lips curled in a silent snarl. No doubt his speaking her name alarmed her.

He joined her under the trees and raised his hands, palms out. “Don't run from me. I don't mean you any harm. I know what you are.”

A ridge of hair stood up along her spine. His nostrils flared at her clean, wild scent, a blend of curiosity and fear. It reminded him of his oldest friend, Kevin, yet flavored with lighter, sweeter female overtones, like citrus and cinnamon. Raoul had served his friend all these years by keeping an eye on both of the children, but he'd never met the girl face to face, only the boy.

Children? This young woman had long since grown out of childhood. Her feminine aroma proved that as obviously as the curves of her human form did. Now, still in a wolf's body, she stared at him while he edged closer to her.

“Don't be afraid.” He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. Behind them, he heard Jason's car slowing to idle speed. “I'm a friend of your father.”

Now she snarled aloud. He couldn't blame her if she bristled at any mention of the man who'd sired her. She must feel Kevin had abandoned her and her mother without explanation or excuse. Not for the first time, Raoul marveled at how well she'd learned to control her condition with no guidance at all.

“Quiet. There's a man following me,” he said, pitching his voice as soft as her animal hearing could register. “You can't let him see you. We have to get farther into the woods.”

Another pace brought Raoul within arm's reach of her. He stretched out a hand. Saliva gleamed on her bared fangs. Though he longed to touch her and rub her thick fur, he decided indulging that desire wouldn't be worth the risk of her sinking those teeth into his flesh.

He lowered his hand to his side, hoping the gesture would calm her. “Let's go.” He tiptoed away from their exposed position at the edge of the parking lot, careful to avoid twigs that might snap underfoot. To his relief, she crept after him.

When he thought they'd retreated far enough, he stopped and placed a finger on his lips. The car's motor had stopped. The other man's footsteps crunched on gravel. Now Raoul dared to lay one hand on the wolf's back. Her muscles vibrated with tension under his palm, but she didn't growl or bite. He allowed himself the pleasure of stroking her ruffled fur. She edged away from him but not quite out of reach.

The footsteps circled the lot, paused, probably next to Raoul's car. With luck, the follower would assume Raoul had stopped there for the same reason Erin had, to hunt in the wooded park. Raoul held his breath and heard the wolf doing the same. His chest ached by the time the other man jogged back to his car and started it. A minute later, the vehicle accelerated and drove away.

“I couldn't let him see us together,” Raoul whispered. “It would be dangerous for you.”

She gazed up at him with a challenge in the glow of her green eyes.

“I can't explain now. I hope you'll give me a chance later. But that's not why I tracked you down tonight.”

He lifted his hand from her back and stepped away. What he had to say next would upset her enough without making things worse by invading her space. “I have bad news. Your father is dead.”

(end of excerpt)

Fun

Sometimes I don't feel like writing. Especially the day I finally finish a book. Yippee!! So when Jimmy Thomas, the model on my Solar Heat bookcover sent me these pics, it was perfect blogging material.





Enjoy.

March Convention

So in February we've talked about where to go to get some "crazy ideas" to make a Romance into SFR or even AR. And we've talked about WHY write. Then we kicked around some dynamite opening lines, and discussed how to construct such lines.

Linnea posted a great con report. I'm headed for a con at the end of this month in Maryland. The travel season is upon us and gas is up up and away!

http://ecumenicon.org/conference/details/

I will be doing an intensive workshop spun off from my January 2007 and Jan 2008 Review columns:
http://www.simegen.com/reviews/rereadablebooks/2007/
http://www.simegen.com/reviews/rereadablebooks/2008/

The Soul-Time hypothesis (i.e. that souls enter manifestation through the dimension of Time), the Wheel of Fortune, Reincarnation, Kabbalah, and screenwriting are the vast subjects under the microscope.

From this gigantically "alien" but traditional and believable (if you suspend disbelief) view of the structure of the universe and the nature of souls that I plan to present, a writer can generate hundreds of universes and sentient creatures (biological and mechanical) whose behavior reflects their view of reality.

That sets up the writer to come up with one of those dynamite opening lines that explore something about the generally prevailing view of reality that is utterly astonishing.

This "cognitive dissonance" approach to concocting opening lines spikes audience response, (a gasp, a gafaw, a squeal) that makes the one-liner memorable.

Margaret's post on how even animals on Earth may in fact be much more self-aware than we've ever thought, is of course a case in point as it invokes the issue of whether souls exist.

6 IMPOSSIBLE THINGS BEFORE BREAKFAST:

Do you suppose those serious scientists in the Enlightened age actually were correct? Do you suppose animal consciousness, soul and ability has CHANGED in just the few centuries? And if it has, where will this Earth be two centuries from now? With species extinction rates going up, will "they" blame "us" for genocide?

What about a human time traveler who bounces from the 1600's to 2200 and falls in love with what he/she considers an animal? (culture shock alone would so derail her normal psyche that such a thing might be possible, and once it happens be much more disturbing than it would have been in his/her own time.)

What about an animal of now or 2200 sent back in time to 1600 as punishment?

Or what if -- what if!!! (Since I'm composing the lecture material on the Soul) What if these more cogent animals actually harbor souls from some other planet where they polluted the environment to the point where all species died off and their own couldn't survive either? What if our animals are harboring refugee souls? Or souls suffering some dire "punishment" by the creator of souls? What if this only started a hundred years ago? What if those harbored souls are actually being REWARDED with a life as a kept animal, not wild? What if they're being rewarded by a life in the wild, free! Where will they go from there?

If we really did come "from" somewhere, then what does that mean about where we are going (if anywhere?).

Is it SF? Or Fantasy? Is there really a distinction between the two story forms?

Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/

Celebrate Romance, Celebrating Wins!

A mish-mash of a blog today. No writing tips. Lots of BSP (blatant self promotion). If you wonder where Colby Hodge disappeared to, she was at Celebrate Romance, a small but wonderful author/reader conference, as was I. And about 70 others. This year it was in Columbia SC (you can probably figure my mindset when my flight landed in Charlotte and the pilot annouced it was 37-degrees out. I'm from Florida...). It was at the Inn at USC, a totally lovely historic hotel on the edge of the USC campus.

Author Isabo Kelly (solo below) and I, along with reader Robin Greene, arrived by limo from the airport:

Hey, life's short. Eat dessert first and take a limo when you can.

And here's Colby Hodge (R-standing) with author Elizabeth Hoyt (seated) at the CR signing at Books A Million Saturday night:

More photos can be found here at the moment, on the Publisher's Weekly blog. I'll post them all by week's end on my site in News.

Okay, BSP time. I found out late Friday night that Games of Command won the PEARL award for Best Science Fiction & Fantasy Romance, and The Down Home Zombie Blues took an Honorable Mention. Here's the full list of winners and HMs:

Anthology
Honorable Mention -
MY BIG FAT SUPERNATURAL HONEYMOON by Jim Butcher, P. N. Elrod, Marjorie M.Liu, Kelly Armstrong, Rachel Caine, Katie MacAlister, Lilith Saintcrow, RondaThompson, Caitlin Kittredge
WILD THING by Maggie Shayne, Alyssa Day, Marjorie M. Liu, Meljean Brook

Winner -
ON THE PROWL by Sunny, Karen Chance, Patricia Briggs, Eileen Wilks

Fantasy
Honorable Mention - ATLANTIS RISING by Alyssa Day
Winner - DEVIL MAY CRY by Sherrilyn Kenyon

Futuristic
Honorable Mention - THE DOWN HOME ZOMBIE BLUES by Linnea Sinclair
Winner – SILVER MASTER by Jayne Castle

Best New Author
Winner – C. L. Wilson

Best Novella
Winner – Alpha and Omega by Patricia Briggs / ON THE PROWL ANTHOLOGY

Best Overall
HM – FOR A FEW DEMONS MORE by Kim Harrison
Winner – Devil May Cry by Sherrilyn Kenyon

Best Science Fiction & Fantasy
HM – BLOOD BOUND by Patricia Briggs
Winner – GAMES OF COMMAND by Linnea Sinclair

Best Shapeshifter
HM – CARESSED BY ICE by Nalini Singh
Winner – BLOOD LINES by Eileen Wilks

Best Time Travel
HM – PARALLEL DESIRE by Deidre Knight
Winner – WHEN I FALL IN LOVE by Lynn Kurland

Best Vampire
HM – LOVER REVEALED by J. R. Ward
Winner – DARK POSSESION by Christine Feehan

More BSP: In the prestigious 12th annual AAR Reader Poll, Games of Command took Best SFF & Futuristic!

So this has been an extremely exciting February and March for me. Plus, oh, yeah, we hatched another duckling. Meet Thumperduck the wonder duck, typing away on my Vaio under the watchful eye of Daq cat who is my laptop's wallpaper kitty:

Hugs all, ~Linnea

http://www.linneasinclair.com/

Animal Genius

Last week, coincidentally, the latest NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC arrived with a cover story on animal intelligence, and NOVA aired a show on “Ape Genius.” The NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC article discussed a variety of animals, including a Border Collie who demonstrates comprehension of over 300 words. A parrot featured in the article was trained to recognize a large number of English words and use them in context, e.g., to show he could distinguish objects by shape, color, or number. He didn’t just “parrot” sounds; at one point when a younger bird was having trouble learning a phrase, the educated parrot admonished him, “Talk clearly!” Elephants and dolphins, it appears, share with some apes the ability to recognize themselves in a mirror, regarded as a sign of self-awareness.

NOVA’s “Ape Genius” episode explored the intelligence of apes and how their minds resemble and differ from ours. The theory was proposed that a major factor setting us apart from other primates is our capacity for teaching. While apes learn by imitating each other (and their human caretakers), and thus can even pass on elements of culture peculiar to a particular group, they have never been observed deliberately teaching anything to each other. You can read about this NOVA episode by searching “Ape Genius” at www.pbs.org.

From the Enlightenment period well into the twentieth century, the prevailing scientific orthodoxy considered animals as biological machines, with no consciousness, emotions, or even awareness of pain. (Chillingly, many authorities believed the same of newborn babies undergoing medical procedures.) Behaviorism, for a while, seemed to confirm the mechanistic position. Fortunately, that simplistic view is being discredited. Strict materialists may seize upon recent discoveries in animal intelligence to say, “See, we were right all along. There’s no fundamental difference between us and lower animals. Human beings are merely another species of animal, and any claim to a soul is a superstitious delusion.” Alternatively, however, we might say, “We now know that animals, possessing some degree of intelligence, self-awareness, and emotional complexity, are more like us than we suspected. Therefore, they deserve more respect than we’ve previously granted them. Perhaps some of them even have souls, whatever that means.”

I’m reminded of an Anthony Boucher short story (called “Ambassadors,” I think) in which astronauts discover a society of intelligent wolves on Mars. Rather than deciding there’s no way to bridge the communication gap between two such different species, Earth authorities think outside the fence. They recruit werewolves as ambassadors to Mars.

what to do with ARCs

All right readers,
I want to tap into your creativity. Tor just sent me lots of advanced reading copies for Dancing With Fire my July romantic suspense. It costs me about $3 to mail each one. I'm look for ideas of what to do with them to promote my book that don't cost a fortune. Whoever comes up with the best idea will get a free copy! So think like an author. Where can I mail these books in bulk to let readers know this is a story worth buying?

You see it's not all about writing and selling a book. Authors have to do promotions too! I just tried to upload my cover but for some odd reason, the internet turned my cover blue! So if you want to see it go to www.susankearney.com and go to future books.

Oh, yes, I forgot to mention, Solar Heat is in stores now. If you haven't bought a copy, what are you waiting for???????????

Susan Kearney

Alien Romance

I'm prepending a comment on the "Great First Lines" discussion, then my own post on the definition of Alien Romance, or maybe SFR. They're sort-of related.

For my money, the single most grabbing "first line" I have ever encountered (in countless thousands of books read) is Marion Zimmer Bradley's opening to the original SWORD OF ALDONES (not the rewrite SHARRA'S EXILE).

We were outstripping the night.

Why is that a great first line?

Because it bespeaks the essential theme, the pacing of the novel, and delivers that same sense of motion without knowing where you came from or where you're going that the novel does. The novel delivers on the promise of the first line, and that is what makes it a grabber.

A slushpile reader is trained to look at the FIRST LINE - then compare it to THE LAST LINE -- split the MS and look at the MIDDLE. If the 3 points don't match, the MS does not get read, it gets rejected.

So it's not "great first lines" that is the real challenge. It's crafting a first line that bespeaks the essence of the story at the thematic level.

There is a method of achieving this effect which MZB beat into my reluctant head and I finally formulated into a style of working that I can grasp. Maybe this will help you, too.

Ask yourself WHY DO I WANT TO WRITE THIS NOVEL?

The reason why you want to write the novel or story is the reason why people would want to read it. But you can't simply state that reason. You have to ENCODE it in SHOW DON'T TELL using foreshadowing and symbology, art and craft welded together.

Now armed with the answer to that arcane question, you search for the beginning of the main character's story. You have to run up and down that character's whole life and ask yourself, WHERE IS THE STORY? You have to ask, "WHAT EVENT SEQUENCE CHANGES THIS CHARACTER IRREVOCABLY?"

Each real life has such a point (can be 3-4 years even). Some of us do change under that influence - and we have a "story of our life" - others don't change and meet a different fate because of that choice.

The FIRST LINE and FIRST PARAG of a novel (not, interestingly enough, of a screenplay) are composed of the the point in time & awareness when the character is jolted out of his/her former life, and dumped into his/her next life.

The OPENING SITUATION of a novel is composed of the point in the main character's life where the CONFLICT IS JOINED -- where the CONFLICT BEGINS -- where CHANGE BEGINS. (this is also the key to writing great biographies.)

Thus in the typical romance the cliche opening is where the main POV character first sees or encounters the love-object or some effect that love-object has left in his/her wake.

The mistake most beginning writers make in choosing a protagonist and in finding the point where that person's story BEGINS (and thus the opening line of the novel) is to fail to spot, identify, and express the conflict. Or the reverse, knowing the conflict but failing to discover which of the ensemble characters HAS that conflict and is therefore the protagonist because that is the person who will resolve that particular conflict. (all these story components are related, and that relationship is expressed in the perfect opening line, the narrative hook.)

As a result of that failure to find character and conflict, the new writer will open their composition with a long, rambling, abstract history lesson setting out the parameters of their made-up universe, the long life histories of the characters, the politics and everything else that has nothing to do with the conflict.

This preamble is all material the writer feels the reader has to know BEFORE being able to understand or enjoy the story. This opening expository lump happens because the writer doesn't know the craft techniques I call "information feed."

No matter how clever or engrossing or startling the first line is -- that expository lump method is bound to fail.

Why? Because someone looking for a story is, whether they know it or not, looking for a conflict that can be resolved a number of ways -- and the story is about which way this particular person resolves that specific conflict.

Before the reader is ready to memorize the names of all the Empires and relatives of the royal families and the list of all the baddies who want to kill the protagonist, the life history of the person she/he will fall in love with -- BEFORE ALL THAT, the reader has to be made as curious to know those facts as a lover approaching orgasm is eager to GET THERE.

First you have to tease the reader into excitement -- THEN you can inform them, but never using dialogue or exposition. You must encode this information in SHOW DON'T TELL -- which means you must make the reader figure it out for him/herself because they want to know, not because you want them to know.

So the FORMULA for finding that all important opening line that prevents the expository lump of an opening is -

WHY DO I WANT TO WRITE THIS WHOLE STORY?

WHAT IS THE CONFLICT?

WHAT IS THE RESOLUTION OF THE CONFLICT?

WHOSE STORY IS IT?

WHERE DOES THAT STORY START?

WHAT IS THAT STORY IN ONE SENTENCE?

That one sentence is your opening line. It is your pitch for the screenplay. It's the line you use at the SFWA cocktail parties to pitch yourself to an Agent or Editor. It's what sells the thing (and you).

Study each of the suggested opening lines in the previous posts -- analyze them. You won't learn anything, especially not how to produce those lines from the mishmosh story idea in your head.

You can't learn that trick by reverse engineering great opening lines. The greater the line is, the less you can learn by studying it.

Make a pile of your favorite books. Write down the opening line, the last line, and the middle paragraph of each book.

Use this list of questions above and produce your own opening lines (do dozens for stories you will not write). Then rewrite them and rewrite them -- until you can see how you are in fact replicating the EFFECT of the opening lines YOU admired.

The whole rest of the novel is about WHO THAT PROTAGONIST REALLY IS UNDERNEATH IT ALL. And maybe about how the protag finds out who he/she really is, which is often different from who they think they are.

So a fully encoded SHOW DON'T TELL story is all about Identity, and how Identity changes under the impact of EVENTS. IDENTITY change is STORY. EVENTS SEQUENCE is PLOT. I call the Event Sequence the "because" line -- because this happened, that happened, and because of that, this other thing happened. Because this happened, that person did this, which causes this other person to do that. "Because" cross-links the story and the plot so that a reader can't tell the difference.

It's like making soup. You can't replicate your Mom's soup without knowing the ingredients and proportions.

The FIRST EVENT (often psychological not physical, sometimes both) in the plot is hidden (or maybe not so hidden) in the first line. The first Identity Change potential lies nascent in the first line.

"We were outstripping the night." -- flight from dark horrors. WHO? A person being chased by that which is inside himself. RESOLUTION - turning to face that demon, The Shara Matrix. Lew Alton's story -- starts with him returning home to make home strange. Notice "outstripping the night" looks "backwards" or "behind" the character. The entire novel is an unraveling of the true meaning of events long past.

That's SWORD OF ALDONES. Go read it. Study it. It's a masterpiece. But MZB didn't like it because she thought events happen without CAUSE being apparent. I love it because I can imagine the causes. When the reader is prompted to contribute important elements to the fantasy, they become invested in that story - and look up your byline again. Leave room for the reader's imagination.

I learned while interviewing Leonard Nimoy for Star Trek Lives! that this technique of leaving an open spot for the viewer's imagination is called in theater OPEN TEXTURE. It's a technique that makes the characters walk off the page and into the reader's dreams. The opening line sets up that "texture" effect.

So now to today's post! Sorry about the rambling preamble! But I think the previous posts on opening lines were about the art, and about admiring other people's art. This is my contribution to the "craft" -- the part of writing anyone who can write a literate English sentence (As Marion Zimmer Bradley always said) can learn.

----------------------

Yesterday, I had an interesting experience. The mother of a young man in High School had told him to call me for advice about what story to write for a science fiction course he was taking. (???? SF taught in HS? With writing? What an interesting new world.)

Well, this young man is highly proficient in Math and Science -- but really lacking when it comes to writing papers and so on, i.e. verbal skills. And she knew he'd never call me.

So I said, "Well, tell him to go to the definition of SF. 'What if ...? If only ...? If this goes on ....' And start from there. Put one of those in a story, and you might have SF. Put all 3 and you have an award winning SF story."

She memorized the list of springboards, but didn't understand, so I said, "Well, what if Hillary Clinton becomes President? What if she cut science funding to fund health care?" (because the kid likes science and is a kid so doesn't care about healthcare yet)

What if -- Hillary wins? If only -- we had universal health care. If this goes on - we have to cut something to fund healthcare. See?

(Hey you and I know Hillary wouldn't, but that's not the point -- the point is to demonstrate how to use the springboards to create a story that is SF, so some absurdity is required in the premise, then you work it out logically from there. Cutting science to fund healthcare is a contradiction because you need basic science to create new cures -- which is why this would make an SF story. It's fiction about science.)

Well, she went away confident that she can propel her son into writing a story now. It's hard being a mother who can't help with homework.

So then I got to thinking about the definition of SF and remembered I'd forgotten to include the really salient part of the definition. Fred Pohl and John Campbell and Robert Heinlein and Theodore Sturgeon I think, came up with this one in a brainstorming session. (long, long story there)

"If you can take the science out and still have a story, it wasn't SF to begin with."

We use the same test for Star Trek fanfic. If you can take the Star Trek out and still have a ST fan story, it wasn't a ST fan story to begin with, and you should write it in its own universe and sell it. (some writers are doing that successfully now, though the first few attempts failed)

So we come to the problem that really has my attention -- defining Alien Romance.

You all know by now my own attempts at this definition created the premise that there is a Plot Archetype which I dubbed INTIMATE ADVENTURE, the core of ST fanfic. In the 1970's you couldn't buy Intimate Adventure SF/F at Waldenbooks so people paid exorbitant prices for fanzines printed on paper.

http://www.simegen.com/jl/intimateadventure.html

I still think of Intimate Adventure as a genre, but it is actually a Plot Archetype, which my sometime collaborator Professor of English Jean Lorrah has proven.

So that disqualifies it as the "definition" of Alien Romance because I/A is really not a genre. So I'm back to square one trying to define what it is that I actually write.

At the moment, I am working on transposing my Romantic Times Award winning novel, DUSHAU, into script format. So I have my nose into that universe again, and it definitely is Alien Romance -- it's SF Romance with an alien as one of the protags in the Relationship that drives the plot. In the third book, they actually get it on, too.

Appropos of the prepended item on FIRST LINES, the opening of DUSHAU is a parag all in caps, centered above the first paragraph of real text.

THE KAMMINTH OLIAT HAS RETURNED AND IS SCHEDULED TO RECEIVE COLONIZABLE PLANETARY DISCOVERY HONORS. IN THE NAME OF EMPEROR RANTAN, ALL SURVEY BASE PERSONNEL ARE COMMANDED TO ATTEND THE AFTERNOON AUDIENCE.

The protagonist who sees that announcement on her desktop display, responds instantly with total professional outrage, and eventually murders the Emperor because of this opening event. She has to change her loyalties to do that. The student should note what is NOT included in that opening line.

For more on why the accurate definition of the genre is vital to generating a FIRST LINE that will sell the book, see my January column and the review of SAVE THE CAT GOES TO THE MOVIES! by Blake Snyder and my comments on Amazon and on blakesnyder.com blog. It's a huge topic all about Commercial Art as a business.

http://www.simegen.com/reviews/rereadablebooks/2008/

Well, AR always seems to have a "What if ...?" element because you need to cast a universe around the characters. It has an "If only ...?" element because most all Romance does (the yearning for a soul mate), and occasionally AR comes up with an "If this goes on ..." type of prediction.

But what is the TEST to see if this particular novel is AR or not?

It can't be "If you take the romance out and still have a story, then it wasn't AR to begin with." Because that's the test for ROMANCE, not AR.

It might be, "If you take the alien out and still have a romance, then it's not AR?"

But then you come to what constitutes an "alien" -- as I've pointed out previously, humans can be the most bizarre aliens of all.

Take for example Banner's Bonus, by Carol Ann Lee (new author!) at awe-struck.net (for my money, the best e-publisher currently operating).

This book is as well constructed and well written as anything Manhattan publishes. It should be a Mass Market paperback.

Awe-struck.net sells it as SF Romance, but I think that's borderline. I also don't see it as Alien Romance, but it almost is.

This is set in a Star Trek like universe but apparently without non-human aliens (think Firefly). So some humans have been affected by a substance that has left them with Empathy, a trait that breeds true. So they're "alien."

However, halfbreeds have unpredictable half-talent. The particular kickass girl we follow is I think quarter or eight Empath. She believes she has no talent because she was tested. Her mother reads her father extremely well, though, and seems to be "bonded."

Her father hires a tough guy who hauls (interstellar) freight for him to protect his girl from some killers. She's a virgin. She spends weeks isolated in a small space ship with this tough guy, who melts. She (unknown to herself) bonds with him empathically, and thus becomes able to track him when he's kidnapped.

Definitely a Romance, and not too much actual sex. He takes her to the last place in the galaxy anyone would think to search for her -- his family's home. He has brothers - equally tough guys. They see she's bonded with him, even though he and she do not.

The SF universe building seems to me lacking. There is nothing different about the ports they visit, the types of people (crooks, criminals, lowlives, and heroes) they meet, the galactic political situation, the ways people do business -- and nothing at all is made of the mechanics of the space-drive they use, or any other science or technological innovation that might change the way people live their lives (watch a movie made before cell phones, and you'll see what I mean). In fact, their tech is less than we have today.

So the extrapolation of science is lacking. The worldbuilding, that we've discussed on this blog at such length, is a failure in this novel (even though it's a very well written novel.)

The Empathic premise could be something that happened on Earth -- Chernobyl comes to mind. Imports from China. There's no reason inherent in the story that forces the setting into the galaxy. They go from planet to planet as people might go from Southsea Island to China or India or San Francisco. The port bars are about the same. There's nothing galactic in this galaxy.

There's no reason that this story needs space travel. You take out the science, and you still have a story -- it's not SF.

Its "alien" is only human with a genetic twist of empathy that does not dominate or twist her personality, limit or inhibit her abilities, or rebound in any unexpected and unpredictable way making a problem the protags have to surmount (except the old Star Trek fanfic cliche of telepathic bonding) unique to this constructed universe.

It isn't SOLD as Alien Romance, but as SF Romance. Awe-Struck is the best publisher because they're honest and totally up front about their packaging. What you see is what you get.

Banner's Bonus is only just barely "SF" -- and the SF ladled on top like frosting. You can scrape it off.

But underneath the frosting, it's one whale of a good read! It tickles my AR button, but doesn't actually press it.

So what is it I'm really looking for in Alien Romance? What is the real core of the definition without which you do not have an ALIEN Romance?

Banner's Bonus is an example that should reveal the answer to that question. But I don't see it yet. It's a must-read because it's a book to study.

Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/

More Great First Lines

Continuing the previous blog...

I happen to teach workshops in writing great and grabber opening paragraphs and scenes. So I much enjoyed CIndy's posting because--as we talk about the craft of writing--it underscores how essential the opening words are.

They are for two reasons: editors and readers. Understand if you don't snag the editor (or agent), you'll never snag the reader.

The editor (or agent) has seen it all before or read it all before. So you have to be pithier than pithy, cleverer than clever to snag his attention. The reader is distracted, multi-tasking, watching his kids' soccer practice or working on her taxes or catching a ten-minute read during lunch hour in the corporate cafe. So if you don't have the ability to intrigue at opening, you're never going to get your knock-the-socks off Chapter 5 read.

From my workshop, here are some of the better opening lines I've seen (some are from short stories, some are from novels). Tell me which ones work for you, WHY (why is very important if you're a writer) and which ones don't (and WHY):

(1) The night Jimmy-Ray Carter got nailed by the alien, he ran five miles without stopping, all the way to Bill Sharkey's house, and busted in on our card game, screaming and yelling and carrying on like a sackful of crazed weasels. Good sex will do that to a person.

We all just sat and watched while Bill poured three fingers of Wild Turkey and tried to get the glass up to Jimmy-Ray’s mouth without losing any, which was interesting enough that we all start laying bets as to whether Jimmy-Ray’s gonna get outside of the Turkey or not and if he does, is he gonna puke it right up again on account of being over-excited and all. Shows you what kind of cards we were holding—talk about a cold deck. [Pat Cadigan, Love Toys of the Gods]

(2) Meg didn’t understand at first.

The man was smiling, and his pleasant expression and tone of voice didn’t match his words. “We’ve taken your daughter hostage.”

She was in the parking garage beneath her condo, hauling a box of files from the back of her car, when he approached her. She wasn’t even a hundred feet away from Ramon, the building’s security guard.

The smiling man must’ve seen the confusion in her eyes, because he said it again. In a Kazbekistani dialect. “We have your daughter, and if you don’t follow out orders, we’ll kill her.” [Suzanne Brockamann, The Defiant Hero]

(3) Pulling one hand from the warmth of a pocket, Jay Landsman squats down to grab the dead man’s chin, pushing the head to one side until the wound becomes visible as a small, ovate hole, oozing red and white.

“Here’s your problem,” he said. “He’s got a slow leak.”

“A leak?” says Pellegrini, picking up on it.

“A slow one.”

“You can fix those.”

“Sure you can,” Landsman agrees. “They got these home repair kits now…”

“Like with tires.”

“Just like with tires,” Landsman says. “Comes with a patch and everything else you need. Now a bigger wound, like from a thirty-eight, you’re gonna have to get a new head. This one you could fix.”

Landsman looks up, his face the very picture of earnest concern.

Sweet Jesus, thinks Tom Pellegrini, nothing like working murders with a mental case. One in the morning, heart of the ghetto, half a dozen uniforms watching their breath freeze over another dead man—what better time and place for some vintage Landsman, delivered in perfect deadpan until even the shift command is laughing hard in the blue strobe of the emergency lights… [David Simon, Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets]

(4) The surgery hurt far more than he’d expected.

But then, how could he have prepared for an experience so new? He’d known nothing of pain.

Until the first cut.

A line of fire ripped across his back and he screamed. It was the first audible sound he’d ever made.

Feathers were falling, surrounding him with a curtain of drifting white. It took him a moment to realize that they were his own feathers. They had lost their familiar luminescence and looked alien.

He was becoming alien himself. The idea horrified him, until the surgeon sealed the wound. Heat seared across his back, following the line of the incision. Wetness spilled on his cheeks and he tasted the salt of his tears.

Another first.

His bellow made the floor vibrate. The smell of burned flesh was new as well, and sickening.

He reminded himself that he had volunteered.

[Claire Delacroix, Fallen] [Linnea's note: this book isn't out yet--I rec'd an ARC. It's awesome!]

(5) It began the day the girl was dragged into the machinery.

Her shrieks took a moment to pierce through the clattering din of gears, the clanging song of shuttles. Mina lifted her head slowly, her fatigued mind taking time to register the new sound, to wonder what it might be. Then with a terrified oath, she grabbed the clutch to stop her looms, saw at least one shuttle snarl the cotton threads into a hopeless spider’s weaving before she had even turned away.

The victim was on her knees, her arm between two massive drums turned by heavy belts. Blood from the crushed limb slicked the drums as they rumbled on, grinding her bones and seeking to drag more of her into their hungry maw. She was a new girl, perhaps not yet cautious enough around the machines, perhaps just unlucky enough to have a sleeve flutter where it shouldn’t.

The overseer, Jacob, grabbed ineffectually at the drums and the belts driving them, only to have the skin stripped instantly from his palms. The belts hooked onto the huge drive shaft, which was turned by the gigantic water wheel that powered the mill.

And there was no way to stop the wheel.
[Elaine Corvidae, Winter's Orphans]

And some of mine that I'm particularly proud of:

(a) Telling her he loved her was on his list of things to do.

Dying before he had a chance to do so, wasn’t.

The metal decking of Starbase Delta Five skewed suddenly under his boots.

The shock wave of the first explosion blasted by him. He stumbled, slammed against the bulkhead. Debris cascaded down through the ruptured conduit panels. He swung his good arm up to shield his face and slid awkwardly to the floor.

“Macawley!” Her anguished voice called to him through the communications badge pinned to his shirt.

He almost said it, right then and then. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m just too much of a coward to tell you.

(b) This he knew with unwavering certainty: he would kill her before the next full moons rose.

A thick canopy of interweaving branches tattooed the sky overhead. Light from the setting sun barely trickled through. Within the hour, Alith, the first moon would rise. An hour after that, Takin would ascend. Neither full yet; not for another three days. Torrin didn’t need to glance upward for confirmation. He knew. Just as he knew the rain before it fell and the wind before it whined through the timbers. He was one of the damned; a full-blood Chalith, mage-line. Moon-kin.

(c) Only fools boast they have no fears. I thought of that as I pulled the blade of my dagger from the Takan guard’s throat, my hand shaking, my heart pounding in my ears, my skin cold from more than just the chill in the air. Light from the setting sun filtered through the tall trees around me. It flickered briefly on the dark gold blood that bubbled from the wound, staining the Taka’s coarse fur. I felt a sliminess between my fingers and saw that same ochre stain on my skin.

“Shit!” I jerked my hand back. My dagger tumbled to the rock-strewn ground. A stupid reaction for someone with my training. It wasn’t as if I’d never killed another sentient being before, but it had been more than five years. And then, at least, it had carried the respectable label of military action.

This time it was pure survival.


Do we see vividness and not brevity? Do we see word choices that evoke the emotions, that drag the reader in to the scene, willingly or not? But we also have action, threat, change.

It was either Swain (see my previous blog) or his protege, Jack Bickham, who advises that "good fiction starts with threat or change, and someone's response to that threat or change."

Words for writers to live by. Especially in the opening paragraphs.

~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com

Craft/First Lines

A good opening line is an essential part of story telling. It's also something that I don't think I'm particulary good at. Occasionally I get it right but more as often or not I don't think I do. OF course there is the best first line of all time..."It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." from Charles Dickens A TALE OF TWO CITIES. Most writers aspire to put down something that great.

I'm going to list some first lines that I think are pretty good and why I think so.

Alyssa Day/Atlantis Awakening
"These are my kind of odds," Ven said, drawing his sword with his right hand and one of seven daggers strapped to various parts of his body with his left.

Right away we know there's a fight going on. And I'm betting Ven is going to come out the winner.

Linnea Sinclair/Games of Command
"You might want to sit down,"....

There's more after that but I'm already hooked.

Liz Maverick/What A Girl Wants
In Hayley Jane Smith's defense, it should be noted that it was a record breaking week during the hottest summer in ten years of San Francisco meteorology history.

I love this line. In Hayly Jane Smith's defense. What did she do? What does the heat have to do with it? Why does she need defending? Must read on to find out.

Another Liz Maverick, This one from Adventures Of An Ice Princess
There are few things more humiliating in a woman's life than having an engagement party thrown in her honor when the man in question has not proposed.
You know that there's nothing but trouble coming up.

Here are a few of mine.

From Obsessing Orlando under the pen name Kassy Tayler
"I can't breathe!"
oh the drama of being a teen girl.

From Windfall
Something was different.

From Star Shadows and my favorite
It was one of those days that hurt to be alive.
When I wrote this line I wanted to show the desperation of youth. That burning, yearning, I got to do something or I'll explode feeling.

and from Twist
Would I make it
Pulls you right in doesn't it?

A good opening line should pull you right into the story and start your mind spinning with the basic questions. Who, what when, where and Why? And then I got to read this.

I'd love to see some other great opening lines. Anybody got any they want to share?

Craft -- Editorial Revisions

Since I always enjoy reading about how other writers work, I’m happy to write and talk about the writing craft. This week, my limited writing time (legislative session is going on, the busy period in my day job) was preoccupied with pre-publication revisions to my light paranormal erotic romance LOVE UNLEASHED, to be released tomorrow by Ellora’s Cave (www.ellorascave.com). The hero, a modern-day wizard, gets cursed into the shape of a St. Bernard by a vengeful witch. Why a St. Bernard? Two reasons: (1) That’s the kind of dog we have. You can see photos of him by signing up on my newsletter’s Yahoo Groups page (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/margaretlcartersnewsfromthecrypt). (2) Conservation of mass—190 pounds makes both a plausible adult human male and a plausible (although considerably on the heavy side) male St. Bernard. As a “stray dog,” the hero of LOVE UNLEASHED gets taken home by the heroine, a veterinary technician. He manages to twist the spell to let him revert to human form for a few hours each night. But is that enough time to seduce the heroine into giving him the help he needs to reverse the magic permanently? Much less to learn the lesson the curse is intended to teach him?

Saturday afternoon, I received an e-mail message that the publisher wanted some last-minute changes in the novel. One of the editors thought the heroine’s behavior didn’t make sense in two scenes. The request was for a rewrite to clarify that she was acting under the witch’s magical influence. After an initial “Eek,” I realized that, luckily, the changes could be made with only minor tweaks. As I saw it, the magical control was already obvious in the first scene, and in the second, I thought the heroine’s actions made sense without it. The important thing, however, is how the reader perceives a character, not how I see her in my own mind. Sometimes the writer’s intent doesn’t come across clearly in the first or even the second draft. It’s easy to assume that if I understand what’s happening, so will the reader. But if the editor misunderstands, probably some readers might, as well.

Critiquers often admonish me that I explain too much, so it felt funny to be asked to explain more! Actually, I was grateful for the opportunity of one more read-through. I noticed that several necessary commas had been deleted in the editing process. I also found an obvious typo—“a” for “an”—that had been missed through several rereadings by at least two editors and me. Although I have a Ph.D. in English and work as a proofreader in my day job, I’m beginning to think producing a perfectly clean text at book length is an unattainable goal. I’ve always been a picky reader, long before becoming a proofreader, and copyediting errors (not to mention just plain wrong English usage and mechanics) in published books make my teeth hurt. To find a missed error in my own published work is painfully humiliating.

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Audience Response

Is our world turning "alien?" Or maybe it always has been?

The generation gap. The religious gaps. The cultural gaps. Romance is about bridging the gap between one individual and another. Alien Romance is about bridging the gap between groups, worlds of people living in different perceptivities of reality.

I've been a public speaker for a good while now and have noticed something I wonder if others have noticed. I'd really like some input on this issue.

It seems that general audiences, and even audiences full of fiction readers, have lost the distinction between a question and an opinion.

I usually start an audience discussion by asking the audience what they came to learn, and something about who they are and what they do. Then I edit the subject I'm supposed to discuss to slant it to the audience, When I finally get them jumping out of their seats with enthusiasm, I request questions from the audience. That's where the trouble starts. People offer long, rambling opinions instead of questions.

Has any other public speaker noticed this? Any idea why it's happening? Is it a generation related issue, or do you see it in older people too?

This seems important to me because I'm beginning to wonder if the distinction between fact and opinion has been lost as well, and if that loss is generation related. Do younger people take other people's opinions as facts?

I've noticed that newspapers and TV news have wildly mixed editorial commentary with news. The touchstone of good journalism used to be the strict separation of fact and opinion. Fact is news. Opinion is editorial. Both have their place, and are essential in order to comprehend the meaning of an item -- but they aren't the same thing.

I believe TV (non-fic and fiction) follows public trends. I don't think commercial endeavors create trends. They make a profit by following trends. But they do magnify trends -- with the internet, the magnification happens faster.

Are we looking at a trend here, and if so is there anything we can do about it? Is there anything we should do about it? The world should change with the generations. Resistance is futile. So it's not just a question of what to do -- but toward what goal should those actions be targeted?

I have been dismissing this issue of blurring question, opinion and fact as a mere curiosity. But I recently watched a 1957 movie on AMC, SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESSS.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0051036/

A character casually mentioned the population of the United States as 60 million. I thought immediately that 300 million was surpassed last year.

I saw in a different light, the vast problem of TV vs. Internet news, political elections, Electoral College issues, and how TV and Radio talk show hosts are influencing the electorate with opinion packaged as news. Is it possible that one generation can tell the difference between opinion and news while another can't?

Pre-radio, newspapers were the most influencial source for voters information. Owning a newspaper, endorsing a candidate, gave someone power. Now it's talk-radio, TV and above all YouTube. I don't know that it makes a difference. Media has always been important in shaping public opinion -- but media used to distinguish between fact and opinion.

When there were 60 million in America, there were a few things that "everybody" knew. Now there are 300 million, and as far as I can find, there isn't anything left that "everybody" knows. We are a fragmented society.

It occurred to me that the basic problem may not be whether people can tell the difference between question, opinion, and fact. That could be just a symptom, not the problem.

Perhaps the real problem is that our Constitution, governmental structure, school system, healthcare delivery system, fiction delivery system, news delivery system, cultural assumptions, have all reached a limit of what business calls "scalability" -- at a certain size, the underlying business model breaks down and the system becomes dysfunctional and non-profitable.

Is that why our schools fail to convey cognitive methodology to our children? Has the model upon which America is based reached a limit of scalability and begun to break down -- to cost more to operate than it can possibly produce?

Is the problem really that what works for 60 million won't work for 300 million?

What is really going on when audience members stand up to answer a call for questions and launch into a diatribe of personal opinion? And what can a speaker do about that without starting a riot?

Figure that out, and you'll have the subject for a dynamite best seller. All the technique in the world won't sell a novel that isn't ABOUT something having to do with a recognizable trend. Study the world. Hypothesize. Extrapolate.

Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/

Craft of Writing: Vividness outrank Brevity

Eons ago, when I was studying for my private pilot's license, I used to read Flying magazine and a column called I Learned About Flying From That. Amazingly helpful, sometimes scary real-life recountings from real-life pilots. A bit of "hangar flying," as we used to call it.

So I guess we can say this is I Learned About Writing From That, starting with Susan Kearney's posting and continuing with Colby Hodge's terrific example of the difference between showing and telling.

My personal "Learned About Writing" came largely from a battered yellow tome entitled Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight V. Swain. I personally think if you want to be a published author and can read only one how-to book, Techniques should be it. It was originally written in 1965 or thereabouts. That's how classic the advice is. And timeless. Everything Swain talks about you can use today, right now in your writing.

One of the first things Swain taught me was "Vividness Outranks Brevity." That fact is the basis of a workshop I teach on word choice. Pretty is not the same as beautiful. Old is not the same as decrepit. The wrong word or the right word can make the difference between a gripping scene or a ho-hum one.

The reason vividness outranks brevity is that your writing creates a story world and, as Swain says:

You need to remember three key points about the world in which your story takes place:
a. Your reader has never been there.
b. It's a sensory world.
c. It's a subjective world.

I don't care if you're writing about Chicago or London or West Long Branch, New Jersey. Even if every reader has been to those locales, he's never been to those locales through your character's eyes, experiencing those locales exactly as your character does.

We all know the old adage that if you have three witnesses to a car accident, you'll have three different versions of what happened (and as I'm a retired private investigator who's worked accident reconstruction, I can tell you that old adage is very true).

The reality is the unreality you create is your story world and it's fresh and new and foreign to your reader, even if they're been there in real life.

For that reason, vividness is of utmost importance.

How do you write vividly? Swain: "You present your story in terms of things that can be verified by sensory perception. Sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch--these are the common denominators of human experience; these are the evidence that men believe.

Describe them precisely, put them forth in terms of action and of movement, and you're in business."

Go back and look at Cindy/Colby's blog offering again. This is exactly what she did to improve that passage. She brought us in with vividness, with human experiences through dialogue. She chose her characters movements--rubbing his hands over his face, or tossing his coat aside quickly--to fit the experience she wants the reader to have. You become the characters, you feel the characters because you are vividly brought into their situation.

I had the same challenge in the start of chapter two in my current work-in-progress, Hope's Folly.

Rya Bennton is a former military police officer now--with the collapse of the Empire's political structure--finds herself unemployed and siding with the rebels. But she has to get to their ship first.

My original draft is where I simply get my characters moving. I might not "see" the world as clearly. In subsequent drafts, I add in details that not only bring the reader into the world, but bring them in with the feelings and opinions I want them to have.

Hope's Folly is still being written. This section may yet go through changes. But you should be able to see the use of vividness in the opening paragraph of Chapter 2:

The passenger docks on Kirro Station were cavernous, dimly lit and bitingly cold. It didn’t escape Rya’s notice that someone with a sick sense of humor decreed the walls and bulkheads painted a distinctly icy color of pale blue. It took forty-five minutes for the Starford Spacelines’ transport ship to regurgitate Rya’s duffel out of its cargo holds, along with the rest of the passengers’ baggage. By that point, she had already turned up the collar on her brown leather jacket and tucked her hands under her armpits, releasing them only to make a grab for her duffel on the shuddering, rumbling baggage belt. Then she knelt, fished her dark blue Special Protection Service beret out of the side pocket, and removed the rank and service pins. She pulled the beret over her perpetually unruly hair. Some people might look twice if they knew what the beret symbolized. This was, after all, a declared Alliance station. Imperial Fleet in all its flavors, including ImpSec, was not welcome.

Granted, none of you have been to Kirro Station. But many of you have been to an airport or bus station, and the experiences of drafty buildings and lurching baggage belts are not uncommon. And I could have said just that--Rya walked through the drafty building to the lurching baggage belt. It would have gotten the job done.

But it wouldn't have brought you into her world as she hears it and feels it and sees it. So I used words like regurgitate Rya’s duffel out of its cargo holds and shuddering, rumbling baggage belt deliberately. I not only had Rya notice the cold, I had her keep her hands tucked in her armpits. Cold is cold but when you need to tuck your hands in your armpits, it's damned cold.

So craft lesson number one from Dwight Swain: vividness outranks brevity.

~Linnea
www.linneasinclair.com

Rocking the white house

I'm in one of those deadline crises that seems to require me to get up in the small hours to write certain scenes (in my next alien romance) which I don't want my family
reading over my shoulder as I type.

In my brief lurches onto aol, where I also receive transcripts of alien romance posts and comments in my mail, I noticed two things that inspired me to write what I'm about to write.

One was Margaret's Election blog.

The other was an aol news story.

http://news.aol.com/entertainment/music/music-news-story/ar/_a/rocker-wants-no-feeling-for-huckabee/20080215091109990004

It seems to me that the media and the newsblogosphere is focusing on the politics
of the original musician and copyright holder, but in my opinion, this is the wrong point, and no one seems to notice it.

What I see is that some --not all-- of the most prominent men in the country (and I don't care which political party they represent) seem to be setting an appalling example to all the world: that it is OK to perform a musician's copyrighted work at a public performance, or take a musician's copyrighted work as a theme tune for a multi-million dollar campaign, and yet not pay royalties and not seek permission!

It upsets me greatly to see that the musicians who complain are being vilified by commentators and bloggers. This might be because the majority of the public do not understand about copyright and that creative artists make their living from royalties.

I wish that some politicians or political commentators would set the record straight!

How embarrassing would it be to admit that there had been a misunderstanding, and that
the campaign's intention was to seek permission and pay the royalties?

How much of a nuisance would it be for an Election Committee to add a rule to the procedural manual (maybe under political contributions) about the use of copyrighted works as theme tunes or for public performances by musically gifted candidates?


Is there one set of rules for copyrighted music, or lyrics, and another for copyrighted works of fiction? I don't think so. Song lyrics are often poems. Some song lyrics are epic poems!

(OK, so I cannot see a political candidate performing a public reading of one of our alien romances. That may never happen, but that doesn't mean that writers shouldn't be concerned.)

Romance Writers of America has recently taken an interest in the issue of piracy of books. It's not just e-books. Books that have never been published as electronic books are being scanned, and shared or sold as e-books, and the authors never get a cent.

Other organizations such as EPIC and SFWA also do their best to put a stop to piracy, but as quickly as sites are shut down, they open again under a new name.

And part of the problem is that the sharers, copiers, and pirates feel like literary Robin Hoods. They seem to believe that all authors are millionaires, all publishers are profitable, editors and authors don't need an income, and that everyone has a right to read anything and everything without paying... or at least without paying the artist/author.

How many of you reading this blog (thank you!) have either had your written work pirated, or know someone who has had their work pirated?

How many of you think it is acceptable to file-share with friends or strangers --which cannot be done without making a copy, which is by definition publishing?

The way to share an e-book legally, is to let your friends borrow your e-book reader, or your computer.

:-)

Insufficient Mating Material

The Craft of Writing

It was with much interest that I read Susan's post from Wednesday. I too am a forgetful blogger and I especially find it hard to come up with "Alien" related posts, especially when I'm working on the other part of my career, that of historical writer Cindy Holby. I am currently working on a historical called Fallen and waaaay behind in my writing. As each author has a different process and has to find what works for them I'd thought I'd do some craft stuff and those of you interested can figure out what works for you and what doesn't.

At the moment I'm more worried about getting the pages done that the quality of them. I figure I can go back and fix them later. (I've got six weeks to write 300 plus pages. Yeah, no pressure. I usually need six months) So last night I realized that I was telling instead of showing when it really should be the other way around.

This is my first draft. The time is 1774, Aberdeen Scotland and the hero, Captain John Murray of His Majesty's Army has just gotten a letter informing him of his mother's pending death and the death of her third fiance.

John could not help but shake his head at his sister’s unbelievable run of bad luck where marriage was concerned. Lord Fansler had been her last hope at making a decent marriage as she was now known about London as the Virgin Widow. The gossip would only be worse now and all the eligible men would avoid her like the plague. Beyond her apparent beauty, she had nothing to offer. There was no dowry and Carrie was more likely to knock over a tea service than serve it. Still she was a pleasant companion and had a wonderful sense of humor along with a peaceful mien that made her pleasant company. Any man would be lucky to have her for a wife, lack of dowry notwithstanding. Perhaps he should introduce her to some of his comrades, such as Rory.
Rory’s father would likely not allow it. As would any of his friends parents who were of the peerage. Marriages were made to garner wealth and position which was something Carrie did not have. She was past the age of becoming a governess also.
John sighed as he realized that he would likely have to provide for his sister for the rest of her life. But thinking on that was better than thinking on the real reason for the letter.
Their mother was dying. Their father was in the colonies. If Carrie had sent father a letter at the same time she sent John’s then it was weeks away from delivery, and that was if father was at a post. The last he’d heard his father was on the Western Frontier, in a place called Pennsylvania, along a river called Ohio, fighting the savages. It could be months before Carrie’s letter found him and then more months before he could get home. What were the chances that Mother would still be alive if father got to come home?
John hated to ask for leave now since he had only recently come to Aberdeen. It would have to wait. Wait until mother was sicker and closer to death. There was nothing he could do for her or Carrie. Being there wouldn’t change anything. At least his visit would be something they could look forward too.

Boring right. John is sitting in his room just thinking. A friend and I call it rock sitting. Long story but same principle.

This is my final without edits. In this rewrite I added John's room-mate Rory to the mix.

“A letter from home?” Rory asked as he came into the room. He quickly removed his coat and hung it next to John’s, loosened his stock and stretched out on his bunk with his hands crossed behind his head. He appeared quite content and John knew, without asking, that his friend had recently been with a woman. “Bad news?” Rory asked.
“Yes,” John replied. “Full of it.”
“Give me the least of it first,” Rory said.
“Carrie’s latest fiancé has passed.”
“How many is that now?” Rory asked. “Three?”
John nodded. “This one expired of old age.”
“Tell me John, how can this be considered bad news. Beyond the obvious lack of income for your sister.”
“She has no dowry and now no prospects. Lord Fansler was a last resort on our mother’s part. He had no heirs and no property, but he did have some money and a nice little house in London. It would have been enough to keep Carrie comfortable.”
“I supposed now it will all go to some distant relative,” Rory concluded.
“Yes,” John sighed. He dropped the letter on the desk the two men shared and stretched out on his own cot. “They call her the Virgin Widow you know.”
“Yes,” Rory said. “I’ve heard.”
“It’s too bad really,” John said. “She would make someone a wonderful wife. She’s pretty and intelligent and a most pleasant companion.”
“Indeed,” Rory agreed.
John looked hopefully at his room-mate. “She has a wonderful sense of humor also.”
“I know what you are thinking John and my father would sooner disown me than allow me to marry a woman with no wealth or title no matter how well he thinks of you. When and if I marry it will be to enhance the family coffers with coin, land and titles.” Rory looked over at John with a wry look on her face. “Although it might be worth the disownment to watch Carrie pour tea in his lap as she did when I visited with your mother when we were last in London.”
John had to grin at the memory. What Carrie possessed in beauty she lost in clumsiness. She had a dreadful penchant for tripping over her dress hem and knocking over tables and such.
“How is your lovely mother by the way,” Rory asked.
John sighed. “Not well. Not well at all.” He pointed at the letter. “Feel free to read it. I’m not sure I can stand to say it aloud at the moment.”
Rory quickly read the letter and sat down on his cot to look at John. “I am so sorry old friend,” he said. “What do you plan to do? Ask for leave?”
“I don’t feel as if I can at the moment,” John said as he too, sat up and faced Rory. “Even though I know the General will allow it because of his friendship with my father. I don’t want anyone thinking I am taking advantage of that friendship and asking for special privileges, especially since we have only recently come to this post.”
“I’m sure no one would think that, given the circumstances.”
“Oh but someone will,” John said. “It would come out, sooner than later. It would be on my permanent record and follow me wherever I go. There is some time. I think it would be better to wait until…later…”
“It would give her something to look forward too,” Rory added.
“Indeed.”
“What about your father,” Rory asked. “Do you think he knows?”
“It depends. I think now, at the present time, he does not know.” John rubbed
his hands over his face as the seriousness of the situation settled upon him. “If Carrie sent Father a letter at the same time she sent mine then it is weeks away from delivery, and that is only if Father is at his post. The last I heard from him he was on the Western Frontier, in a place called Pennsylvania, along a river called Ohio, fighting the savages.” John continued. “It could be months before Carrie’s letter finds him and then more months before he can get home. What are the chances that Mother will still be alive if and when he gets here?”
Rory reached out and laid a comforting hand on John’s shoulder. “There is only so much you can do from here, and nothing you can do about the things you can not control. Write Carrie and tell her you will ask for leave this fall and that your prayers are with her and your mother. Then write your mother and tell her you look forward to seeing her soon and make no mention of her illness. I have found in my own experience that mother’s like to think they are in charge and can make things fine just by wishing them so.”
“It is the same with mine,” John said.
“Then she will appreciate your subterfuge,” Rory said. “I will leave you in peace for a bit to write your letters.” With that he stood and stretched his arms over his head as if waking from a nap. “I suddenly find that I am starving and will have to go raid the mess lest I expire before meal time is upon us.”

I was able to cover all the information I wanted the reader to see, plus show a bit of Rory's personality. Rory is not a central character to the story, other than the fact that he will be senselessly killed and John's reaction to that death is important in his relationship with Izzy, the heroine. By doing this however, I developed Rory's character a bit more, showed how close their friendship is and hopefully in the long run have the reader be saddened by his death.

Its much more interesting this way, or so I hope.