If The Walls Could Talk

My house is full of story walls. In today’s time-sensitive world, making a point form version of the story you can hold and pin on a blank surface is considered a waste of time. But outlines for novels and scripts help me lift my game: weaknesses in the plot become obvious when staring you in the face—literally.

The storyboard is like a work of art, capturing your project in one visual. Stand back, and take in the patterns. Why is Act One so full? Why does more happen in Chapter 7 than the first third of the novel?

And not a printed word document but handwritten notes. Penning your concepts makes weak points glaringly obvious. The realization a chapter is flimsier than you thought really hits home during the process of writing it down, and pinning it up.

This also means you can make alterations when inspiration strikes. Scrawl a note, and stick to the storyboard. The plot is whole, organic, and open to change. Even when busy it just takes a moment to vastly improve your project.

On top of the basic penned narrative I use colored post-its so I can pinpoint where exposition, action, or romance take place. Gaps in the colors help you “see” portions of the story still tangled, or lacking.

A character falling by the wayside becomes abundantly clear. Looking at a storyboard shows Susan went to buy dinner—and never came back. Or highlights that Bob can’t be involved in the reveal in Act Four because he wasn’t around when everything went down in Act Two.

Walking past a storyboard engages your subconscious. A part of your mind is mulling over the project even when other aspects of life blow up. Each moment counts: a masterpiece can be put together around the edges of everyday routine.

And this way, making changes, replacing one piece of paper with an updated version, isn’t discouraging. Instead you’re working toward a better mosaic of ideas that will lead to a  much stronger finished product.

Best of all, when you do wrap up the novel/script, physically taking down that storyboard is so satisfying.

The Importance Of Flow

A great story reminds me of an EEG, the test that captures electrical brain patterns: words become, not a pulse, but a visual accumulation of different layers of activity.

Instead of a rough dot-by-dot plot point map for the unimaginative, a story shaped by an insightful, empathic, and talented writer is infused with spirit and offers characters that linger long after the reading experience.

Explaining why you do or don’t like an author’s work can be difficult. I often say, “Their flow doesn’t work for me”. (Or to pun, the writer and I are not on the same page.)

Flow is important. Regardless of talent, an author’s communicating style won’t resonate with everyone. Nothing technically wrong—sentences just don’t slide easily into the mind. Like being in a band room when everyone is practicing, but try as you might you can’t get into the swing of things.

The flow of a story is about more than sound, more than rhythm and syntax. Ideas and focal points are also part of the storytelling equation. The flow is multi-textual and offers a taste of the way the writer thinks: all encompassing, it includes narrative, themes, language, phonetics, and something elusive. Soul, maybe? Elements of an author’s energy (for want of a better word) infuse the narrative process.

Fostering flow is part of the reason experts suggest writers wait/come back to material before editing: you move from creator to spectator. Instead of being inside the waterfall of words, you can check out the scene from afar, and decide if you like the view.

Of course, next comes feedback. The problem with feedback is that as society’s appreciation of a writer’s signature “flow” dwindles, we start to see text where different “voices” infuse the author’s work, and struggle for domination. The current trend is to imprint rather than edit, so writers should really take care to work with an editor who will help hone their voice, and find their flow.

A good writer/editor/beta reader team can reshape flow skillfully. Sparseness is the current textual trend, but don’t let pages be mutilated beyond repair or recognition. Fractures in the flow are part of the reason people stop reading—a fissure where the reader’s attention falls from the story.

Find an editor who appreciates your perspective: who won’t relegate aspects that make your work personal as irrelevant fodder. A person willing to try and balance current commercial trends with a respect for the tone of your narrative.

Reshaping is helpful; it clears muddy waters and lets the story move along easily. Balance is key, but can be elusive. For centuries perfecting flow has been the quandary of writers around the world, so you’re in good company.

Storytelling and the Importance of Emotional Intelligence

The Transition To Short Story Submission

Illustration of short story Unspoken.

Short stories have never been my favorite storytelling form. Many are sharp and to the point; gone before you really get to know them. In recent years short stories for some writers have become synonymous with an opportunity to market a novel or series, resulting in weird, incomplete chunks of text that leave a sour aftertaste.

But having decided to accept the challenge of producing and submitting three short stories, I figured I should travel back in time and take a closer look at the ones that embedded themselves in my mind while growing up.

The first was The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield. I ADORE it. In terms of my usual tastes, this is surprisingly left of field. The appeal is partly in the way she writes: the pace and the atmosphere. I love how the girl in the story, who is rich in an old-fashioned country house way, learns of a nearby laborer's death while her family are organizing a garden party. (Talk about juxtaposition.)

She is disturbed on an almost subconscious level. When she tries to vocalize her reaction, the family’s instinctive response is to dismiss her with a lot of tally-ho old school flippancy.

In hindsight, the indelible impression is primarily because the narrative focuses on the moment where you begin to transition into an individual—developing a social conscience, becoming aware of social practices. The story amplifies how disconcerting that sense of displacement can be; death, as a reminder of mortality, makes the experience more jarring.

The second story that stuck was Ray Bradbury’s The Pedestrian. In extreme summary, this futuristic tale follows a guy who likes to walk at night while everyone else is watching tv. Eventually he's arrested, not because he did anything wrong, but because the act of thinking differently becomes wrong in the eyes of society.

Clearly there are parallels between the two tales. Both are about individualism, and going against the traditional flow of society—even just in thought.

Turns out my subconscious stuck with relatively similar themes in my three short story submissions:

-The Event is set in a future society where bad memories can be removed and stored externally. A memory is bad if the “colors" i.e. the information stream that flows along the walls and floors, changes intensely in response to a person's bio-readings. 

Survivors of The Event wear memory keys on neck chains. The storyline follows a girl who explores the idea of visiting the vault and unlocking her memories; some part of her psyche yearns to know the impact of the extreme experience. Only the knowledge the memories cannot be removed a second time holds her back.

-The next story is an adaptation of an old short film script, Unspoken. Set in a world where each word is specifically defined, a "plague" is killing citizens; or more accurately, they’re killing themselves after experiencing an undefined emotion.

Attempts to create a new term fail, and the current wordsmith council visit a retired master of the craft for help. He tries to save the city, but only when he feels the emotion, in the depths of despair before death, does he understand.

(What I liked about the short film format was the entire film took place in the wordsmith's room, high in a tower. You saw him looking out at the city, but instead of seeing the outside world, definitions of his dialogue flashed onscreen.)

-The third story, Lily, is a prequel to my speculative fiction novel Sound. (As previously mentioned, I consider this to be a risky avenue to take, especially if it falls flat. Fingers crossed!)

In a future experimental city, people with a particular gene can turn sounds into a form of energy. I wanted to introduce the reader to Lily before feeding on music drove her insane, and also reveal secrets in the backstory of iconic musicians Jesse and Michael. It’s a bittersweet tale; the signs are there for the dark path the novel eventually treads.

Whether or not any of the stories are accepted is kind of irrelevant. Having fewer words to play with, capturing complex themes in a tighter word count: the whole experience was a fascinating challenge.

My Young Adult novel Otherplace

Otherplace is my first Young Adult novel, making me appreciate the "requirements" of the genre. (To clarify, there are no real rules, merely patterns and trends that have emerged over time.) Writing for a younger audience calls for a slight shift in vocabulary, pace, and tone.

So how was writing this book different to writing Sound? 

I find people are more accepting of impetuousness in a Young Adult novel. A life choice made by a 16-year-old character is perceived differently to a life choice made a 36-year-old character. Descriptiveness is also kept to a minimum, as if the words in a YA book have been whittled to a sharp point.

What I think of as "realization" is another key factor. The lead characters often realize their place in the world (or how to go about finding it), their emotional strength, ways to handle relationships/personal connections, and the ability to say no (or yes). Sometimes they discover a sense of purpose, and begin to work out a way to forge their own path.

Otherplace includes adventures that would have appealed to me at 15 or 16. The story is also a traditional linear narrative (no unreliable narrator this time), and a coming of age tale with consecutive internal/external journeys.

My favorite books were always really imaginative fare, probably why Otherplace leans toward slipstream more than anything else, melding elements of the fantastical with the futuristic. What can I say? My imagination isn’t big on following rules.

Here is the promotional text, and the novel is currently available on Amazon Kindle as an ebook (highly affordable, hint, hint). To purchase click here

The One says all Placeless must Fade.

Citizens of Otherplace who don’t know where they belong have three choices: hide, run, or Fade from existence.

With Place Police sweeping the Dome, Hellen and her brother Hop are forced to take refuge at Desperachen Manor. Over time they realize one thing is worse than being Placeless: being prey.

From the seemingly magical life of a Module at the Castle to the rebel caves on the border, it turns out Placeless have secret allies and mortal enemies everywhere.

What is the purpose of Symon’s talisman? Why does Prince Charming have so many faces? How did Death become trapped inside a person? And is there any truth to the seer’s prediction?

Will Hellen really save them all?