Fantasy vs Scifi & my writing style

I wrote a blog post on "The Red Ant" blog that was basically a story stub.  One reader really enthused about it but the others are suspiciously quiet, and LOL I know why.

It's not my usual writing style.  Sometimes I get a bee in my bonnet and thrash out a piece in that style: slapstick humour. "The Racing Finn" and "Fanta Claus" were both written in that style. It is incredibly easy to write that way, much easier than most authors realize.  You simply exaggerate everything and point out obvious flaws that would have any editor worth his salt groaning.  It doesn't even have to conform to the high standards of editing that usually rule - not repeating words, or avoiding cliche.  On the contrary, this style absolutely lives on cliche.  Old jokes that people have heard a million times come in such rapid succession that they get their giggle buttons tickled even though it's old hat.  Once you got someone giggling it's easy to keep them giggling.  And the key to getting them giggling in the first place is that initial "what?!" moment.

That's not to say that I'd enjoy churning that kind of style out continually.  I normally write differently.  My readers who do love my books will back this:  My focus is on storyline, world-building, and most importantly on lovable characters.  I fall in love with my characters.  I allow them freedom to do what they want, and in doing so, I watch them develop.  They grow, they learn, they make mistakes and fail and try again, and break, and get picked up by others.  If you don't enjoy falling in love with story characters, my books are not for you. 

Also, it being Science Fiction, I love exploring possibilities.  I know a bit about science (having some background specifically in medical genetics and biology), so I love bringing that in and seeing where it can take us.  We're living in a world full of relevant science.  It should be part of a good, unique storyline.  Besides that I love doing the research for stories:  Reading up how a hurricane is structured, what fuels a storm, how freak waves arise, how a volcano is born, evolves and dies.  I love reading up about the places where I write (no "enchanted forest" for me).  The Everglades - in a dystopian futuristic setting.  The Marquises Islands.  The Romanian Alps.  Places like Auckland where I've never been but that are so accessible by Google these days.  And of course, places where I have been and that I loved.  Like behind the Moon.  (Just kidding.)

In all that, where is there space for slapstick?  The humour in my serious novels is sparsely strewn, but it is there - more for the connoisseur, it catches you when you don't expect it, and some of it is so subtle that you only pick it up on second reading (this is deliberate).  Yes I wrote a few things into the books specifically for those sweethearts who actually read it more than once!  They deserve the special consideration.

My novels are not about making you laugh (though hopefully they do at times).  I am not, and wouldn't want to be, Terry Pratchett.  But here and there I'll write a story purely for the sillyness.  I'd be sad if that were the reason for me to be famous one day!  When you pick up one of my books, I would like it to be because you're hoping (and I'm hoping to be able to deliver this) that when you open that cover, you'll step through a portal into a world, of freedom, emotions and adventure.  A world where you are aboard a ship for instance and part of the crew, each of whom you can fall in love with.  I want to give you that.  I want you to forget whatever your own circumstances may be at the time, and become a teenager again as you, along with Paean, bandage up that savage Wolf and try to tame him, and feel her frustration with her as he cold-shoulders her, and that sneaking, subconscious process by which she falls in love with Federi instead.  I want you to be up in the rigging with Shawn and Federi when the storms rage over the sailing ship.  (This is authentic by the way.  In "Sea Devil" by Felix Luckner, the author - himself a versed seafarer - describes how during a storm on a steamer, everyone goes belowdecks where on a sailing vessel, during a storm everyone goes up into the rigging to help control the sails.)  I want you to experience the terror and exhileration with the crew, with every freak wave they brave - some from storms, some from explosions, some because they are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.  The sea has many more freak waves than currently given credit for.  I researched this in depth.  (Pun intended.)

I guess many feel that way about their work.  It is said of Antonin Dvorak, the composer, that he didn't want to write too many of his famous Slavonic Dances because he felt they detracted from his status as a serious composer.  They are incredible compositions anyway.

So, no, you won't see a lot of slapstic giggle fiction from me.  Here and there as the silly-bug bites me, sure.  But not as a staple diet.  I'd feel empty if this were all I could put out.

:-)  Hope I have not disheartened anyone now.

Shevi Arnold Writes: How I learned to stop worrying and love the e-book...

Shevi Arnold Writes: How I learned to stop worrying and love the e-book...: I know my friends mean well when they tell me that an agent and a book deal are right around the corner. Every writer wants to be tradition...



A "kiss your feet" post.  A control freak like me who wanted to decide on her own editor, cover graphic, names of characters etc?  There were a list of reasons I chose to self-publish, and this lovely writer has just validated those.



Possibly one of the most engraving was the mere cost of paper submissions - from South Africa to international publishing co's.  

The Writing Bomb: Common Lies Self-Published Authors Believe.

The Writing Bomb: Common Lies Self-Published Authors Believe.: As an indie author I have to confess that I am guilty of believing a lie -- not just one, but many.  They are the same lies I see self-publi...



A beautifully written post!



Thank you.

Nix Romipen

The sequel following The Morrigan is called "Nix Romipen".  Federi has a clear mission.  He wants to get to the bottom of the mystery that is the Unicate, once and for all, and root that evil organization out. To give himself a bit of space and have an excuse to get off the ship, he calls it a honeymoon and takes his essential backup along. 

Soon they find themselves in Romania, where Paean discovers the magic of Federi's birthplace, high in the Transylvanian mountains, and is drawn into the irresistible charm of the wild forests.  They reconnect with some free Tzigany, and so far everything seems perfect... but then...

That is exactly the point at which I need to start editing.  An essential emotional red thread running through the story is missing.  Federi's focus shifts.  Earth faces more aliens - this time nothing remotely human.  Things happen head-over-heels, the story splits as we try to follow Paean and Federi on their separate missions at the same time.  There is, to put it bluntly, chaos. 

For a while I thought it was ready.  It's not.  Please, be patient.  It's one of the strangest sequels in the whole series, as it seems to exist separately from the others.  It's very different in character from the others; also from the new series, "Shooting Star", following onto the Solar Wind series. It really is a stand-alone that belongs in neither.  It's a bridge but yet an individual.  I'll have to wrap my brain around it.

Why do I write?  Because if I didn't, I'd be crazy by now.

So amazing...

While I'm doggedly plodding through another revision of "Nix Romipen", Book 6 in the Solar Wind series, and that is after we thought "The Morrigan" was the last volume in that series, things are moving very fast in P'kaboo.

Times like this, I'm deeply thankful for all the help I'm getting, and that I don't have to run the ship alone.  Les, my excellent editor, is taking over going through submissions with a fine-toothed comb and approaching any edits with his usual, unusual sensitivity to the author.  Paul, our associate in UK, is taking over many details of the basic cogs and wheels concerning the overseas authors, approaching overseas book places and so on.  My young designer advises me on what works and doesn't work - mind, two other designers of ours have indicated that I do have an eye for visuals, but more advice is always great.  Interesting how the trends differ though.  The illustrator of a recent title has been giving more than her all to rectify quality issues with the original files of the release - working day, night, regardless to get everything smoothed down.  Two wonderful book bloggers are giving my authors spotlights, one by one, and two of my newest authors are pushing, L for Leather, the marketing and development of their works, one of them with such amazing success that a billboard ad will appear over a busy highway announcing her book available in a major UK book chain. 

If I didn't have my team around me, I'd be panicking, it all is moving so fast.  I'm deeply thankful to my wonderful associates as well as the strangers that are pitching in and helping.

Here's the poster that was created for Carmen Capuano, announcing her book in WHSmith:

To think that Bernhard, who created the cover for The Assassin and Almost Dead in Suburbia, originally created the 3D book image, and I've been using it all along, and now it has been deemed worthy of a billboard ad...

"The Morrigan" is done!

 

Last night I finally polished the last bits of "The Morrigan" up.

It's been sent to my editor, Les, for a final check-through (he already edited it previously, and all those edits were accepted), and after that it's ready for P'kaboo and Amazon.  This is very exciting.

I left this book for over 2 years, because there was something bothering me about it that I couldn't pinpoint.  Was it pacing?  Not really.  I have identified what it was, a number of subtle issues, and a few scenes that needed to be reworked, and now it works!  

I don't know whether there will be enough funds for a paper launch of both Raider and The Morrigan.  We'll have to see.

 

 

Federi vs Paean

From the very first part of Solar Wind 1 it becomes apparent how much Federi cares about Paean.  This is high-flying shenanigans between her and Wolf notwithstanding.  Federi takes a backseat, watches how she runs into a wall there - and quietly steps in to fix things when they break.  This is his nature.

Here's a little scene from the revised Solar Wind 1.  Paean is riddled with guilt, her hands full of blood that no amount of scrubbing can wash off.

Federi looked up from the console.  In  the door to the bridge hung a worried little redhead.
“You okay, Federi?”
The gypsy laughed.
“Fine, Paean.  Except that Captain’s making us sail into a – oh, hell’s gadgets, it’s fine!  We’ll be fine.  Federi’s an old coward, that’s all!  Anna bottle…”
“Coffee for you?”
Federi smiled broadly.  “Now that’s going to make all the difference,” he stated.  “Thanks, little carer!”
“Any day,” said Paean and handed him his steaming mug.  “Got any decks for me to scrub?”
What?  With death hanging over all their heads?  He didn’t think so!
“Funny thing that,” he said, then trailed off.  He could see how she’d had a lot of friends in Milly-Molly-Mandy street.  Anyone who cared for their friends like this, had friends.  He frowned.  It made no sense.  This was her true nature, he sensed it.  Whatever she had done that was weighing on her like that – it had been a fluke, a mistake.  When Captain decided to drill down to the truth – he’d be there protecting her, he decided.  And he glanced at her hands.
The skin was abraded away right up to the elbows from scrubbing.  He knew he’d been giving her a lot of decks to wash, and she’d taken on extra heads-scrubbing duty for reasons only she understood, but this...  it was something else.  He locked the steering and grabbed her hands to take a closer look.  And observed how she shrank away, her breath hissing between her teeth as she inhaled sharply.
All that blood...
“Got to get that seen to, shey,” he said.  “Put something on it.  Captain will think Federi’s working you to death.  Wait...”  He dug in his pockets and unearthed a small flat tin, and slid its lid open.  There was something grey and greasy-looking inside.  He picked out a gob of the stuff and slapped it on the back of her left hand. 
“What’s that?” she asked doubtfully as she spread it over her abused skin. 
Federi hesitated.  “Neomer polycarbon thixotropalene.”
She gawped.  “What?”
“Motor grease,” he grinned and pressed the tin into her hands.  “What!  You expect me to carry medical supplies in my pockets?”
She stared at her hands in horror.
“It works.” provided the gypsy.  “Keep it, I can get more from the machine room.”
Paean pulled a face, but obediently spread the dreadful stuff over her hands and forearms.  Federi was right; people would notice.  Good that he only thought it was from washing the dishes.  She glanced uncertainly at his face and caught him staring moodily into the dark beyond the bridge.
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” he muttered.
“What?” asked Paean.
Federi scowled.  He’d seen it before.  But by now it really was irrelevant.  They’d die in Hamilton, regardless what she was guilty of. Those Stabs in the harbour...
Did she sense about the horror he had found in the machine room of the Hun?  How could she sense, he thought.  And about the irony of Captain being prepared to rescue his arch-enemy…  sail right into the death trap that was Hamilton!  With all his crew.
“Störtebeker,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Pirate called Störtebeker.  You should ask Sherman about him.  Federi can’t tell a story quite the same.”
“Tell me anyway,” pushed Paean, still rubbing at the synthetic compounding lubri-squatch he’d made her put on her hands. 
“Aw, alright.  Störtebeker must have been a bit like Captain.  This is long ago.  In the days before mineral fuels.  He and his whole crew got captured by the law, and of course piracy carried the death penalty even then.  So Störtebeker negotiated with the government that all of his sailors could go free past whom he could walk after he was dead.”
“That’s dumb,” commented Paean.
“Wait for it,” said the Tzigan.  “I said I can’t tell it like Sherman!  So they line up his crew and chop off his head.  Paean, atenţie!  He walked past his entire crew with his head chopped off.  All of them!  Before his dead corpse fell to the ground.”
“Whoa!” commented Paean disbelievingly.
“Is true,” said Federi.  “Was a historical figure.  Go look it up in the Sher…”  He sighed impatiently and stared out to sea.  “Go to sleep!”
Paean gaped at him in shock, then she shrugged and left the bridge.  Federi glared at the sea some more.  In his mind’s eye he saw Captain walking past the Solar Wind’s crew with his head chopped off.  Aw hell… and now he’d snubbed the little mockingbird!  For what?
...