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Writing Momentum
Feb. 19th, 2008 12:26 pmMost of my last two months were focussed on writing, mainly the first, second and third drafts of my novelette 'Daivadana'.
I gave the CritMonsters group a go at it just over a month ago and got some excellent crits. I made some subtle changes and fixed about 90% of the spelling and grammar errors in the 2nd draft. It didn't make too many large changes to character or plot at this stage. Ten sent it off to the Thorbies group. Unfortunately (again!) I couldn't make it and withdrew the story. Nevertheless, the wonderful Nathan Burrage (www.nathanburrage.com) did a pretty intensive crit for me anyway. His notes confirmed some of the larger changes suggested by the CritMonsters, as well as adding a whole swag of new thoughts on the direction of the tale.
Based on these crits I took a big step back and re-examined a lot about the story - what was the story saying, what were the character's major motives and goals, what was necessary and what was just window dressing. This led to draft 3, quite a different story from the previous drafts in theme if not exactly in setting. I removed one of the characters from the story. I gave more background to the protagonist, and made the antagonist's motives clearer. This draft also took on a much more political tone. In the end I removed 3000 words, and added 1000. So 'Daivadana' has gone from 14000 words down to 12000. Still a monster, but I think it is a much sleeker, meaner and more meaningful monster.
Happy with this rewrite, I have now sent it off for submission to In Bad Dreams 2 (www.eneitpress.com). Just that agonising wait now, as always.
But, the momentum seems to be with me! It seems that these months of devoted writing time each and every day have left me hungry, rather than sated, at the completion of a project. Normally, finishing a story is a relief for me and I fall back into a bit of a relaxed heap when it is all over. This time it feels nice to not have that period. Nice to have a story already itching at the back of my mind ready to burst out.
This one is for submission to another Eneit Press project, Voices - all the stories for which much take place in a hotel room.
Anyway, here is the first section (although I'm sure it will change by the time I reach final draft).
****************************
The Message by Andrew McKiernan
(draft intro)
****************************
The room wasn't quite as large as Marion expected, and much smaller than she had hoped.
It looked like a standard single. A bed was pushed up against one wall, flanked by two bedside tables attached to the headboard. A credenza sat against the opposite wall. Arranged on shelves in one half were an electric jug and a tray of tea-bags and instant-coffee satchels. A colour TV rested on top. The space where the mini-bar should have been was filled with stacks of used phone-message pads.
A small writing desk completed the room's furnishings. It had been placed between the credenza and the wall, close to the room's only window. A chair was tucked neatly underneath. On top of the desk a telephone, a pen, and a pile of unused message pads had been placed neatly beside each other.
The telephone was like a black brick - a minature monolith on the green field of the desk's leather inlay. It had an old rotary dial, numbers and letters etched in white around its circumference. The receiver looked like it weighed a tonne.
Marion looked back to the concierge.
"I thought you said this was a position for a telephonist."
"Yes, most certainly correct, Mrs Allenby. A telephonist is what we advertised for."
Marion winced at the sound of her maiden name. It was still strange for her to hear it again - more a reminder of the reason for change than the fresh start she had imagined it would be. She glanced back at the desk, at the single-line phone and the message pads.
"It's Marion, Mr Somerville. Just Marion. And I don't think I really understand the job."
Somerville was a tall and slender man - what her mother would have called 'tall as a tree and thinner than skim milk'. His appearance was neat, almost to the point of fastidious, and he always smiled.
Marion was starting to understand that this smile was not to be taken at face value. From a distance, it was perfect. It seemed to radiate from all angles of his face saying, 'I love my job. I love this hotel, and it is my joy to serve everyone who stays here'. Step in a little closer and subtle shifts and twitches started to show themselves. Nuanced communications flickered across his face, saying more than Somerville's carefully measured words ever could. And yet, covering it all like well applied make-up, the smile always remained.
He turned his smile on her now – an eyebrow slightly raised, eyes rolled subtly to the ceiling, left cheek twitching one side of his lips a little further north – and the look seemed totally at odds with the cultured politeness of his voice.
"This room will act as both your accommodation and your place of work, Mrs Allenby. The phone will ring. When it does, you are to answer it and take a message. It is only a single line, so there will be no transferring of calls. Just take a message and hang up. That is all the hotel requires."
Marion looked back at the phone, across to the bed. It was a room. It was a job. She needed both. She wouldn't go crawling home as if everything had been her fault.
"Okay, Mr Somerville." She tried a look of her own, a look of confidence and competence to offset the nervous taint in her words. "I'll take the job."
*************************
I gave the CritMonsters group a go at it just over a month ago and got some excellent crits. I made some subtle changes and fixed about 90% of the spelling and grammar errors in the 2nd draft. It didn't make too many large changes to character or plot at this stage. Ten sent it off to the Thorbies group. Unfortunately (again!) I couldn't make it and withdrew the story. Nevertheless, the wonderful Nathan Burrage (www.nathanburrage.com) did a pretty intensive crit for me anyway. His notes confirmed some of the larger changes suggested by the CritMonsters, as well as adding a whole swag of new thoughts on the direction of the tale.
Based on these crits I took a big step back and re-examined a lot about the story - what was the story saying, what were the character's major motives and goals, what was necessary and what was just window dressing. This led to draft 3, quite a different story from the previous drafts in theme if not exactly in setting. I removed one of the characters from the story. I gave more background to the protagonist, and made the antagonist's motives clearer. This draft also took on a much more political tone. In the end I removed 3000 words, and added 1000. So 'Daivadana' has gone from 14000 words down to 12000. Still a monster, but I think it is a much sleeker, meaner and more meaningful monster.
Happy with this rewrite, I have now sent it off for submission to In Bad Dreams 2 (www.eneitpress.com). Just that agonising wait now, as always.
But, the momentum seems to be with me! It seems that these months of devoted writing time each and every day have left me hungry, rather than sated, at the completion of a project. Normally, finishing a story is a relief for me and I fall back into a bit of a relaxed heap when it is all over. This time it feels nice to not have that period. Nice to have a story already itching at the back of my mind ready to burst out.
This one is for submission to another Eneit Press project, Voices - all the stories for which much take place in a hotel room.
Anyway, here is the first section (although I'm sure it will change by the time I reach final draft).
****************************
The Message by Andrew McKiernan
(draft intro)
****************************
The room wasn't quite as large as Marion expected, and much smaller than she had hoped.
It looked like a standard single. A bed was pushed up against one wall, flanked by two bedside tables attached to the headboard. A credenza sat against the opposite wall. Arranged on shelves in one half were an electric jug and a tray of tea-bags and instant-coffee satchels. A colour TV rested on top. The space where the mini-bar should have been was filled with stacks of used phone-message pads.
A small writing desk completed the room's furnishings. It had been placed between the credenza and the wall, close to the room's only window. A chair was tucked neatly underneath. On top of the desk a telephone, a pen, and a pile of unused message pads had been placed neatly beside each other.
The telephone was like a black brick - a minature monolith on the green field of the desk's leather inlay. It had an old rotary dial, numbers and letters etched in white around its circumference. The receiver looked like it weighed a tonne.
Marion looked back to the concierge.
"I thought you said this was a position for a telephonist."
"Yes, most certainly correct, Mrs Allenby. A telephonist is what we advertised for."
Marion winced at the sound of her maiden name. It was still strange for her to hear it again - more a reminder of the reason for change than the fresh start she had imagined it would be. She glanced back at the desk, at the single-line phone and the message pads.
"It's Marion, Mr Somerville. Just Marion. And I don't think I really understand the job."
Somerville was a tall and slender man - what her mother would have called 'tall as a tree and thinner than skim milk'. His appearance was neat, almost to the point of fastidious, and he always smiled.
Marion was starting to understand that this smile was not to be taken at face value. From a distance, it was perfect. It seemed to radiate from all angles of his face saying, 'I love my job. I love this hotel, and it is my joy to serve everyone who stays here'. Step in a little closer and subtle shifts and twitches started to show themselves. Nuanced communications flickered across his face, saying more than Somerville's carefully measured words ever could. And yet, covering it all like well applied make-up, the smile always remained.
He turned his smile on her now – an eyebrow slightly raised, eyes rolled subtly to the ceiling, left cheek twitching one side of his lips a little further north – and the look seemed totally at odds with the cultured politeness of his voice.
"This room will act as both your accommodation and your place of work, Mrs Allenby. The phone will ring. When it does, you are to answer it and take a message. It is only a single line, so there will be no transferring of calls. Just take a message and hang up. That is all the hotel requires."
Marion looked back at the phone, across to the bed. It was a room. It was a job. She needed both. She wouldn't go crawling home as if everything had been her fault.
"Okay, Mr Somerville." She tried a look of her own, a look of confidence and competence to offset the nervous taint in her words. "I'll take the job."
*************************
