Dialogue Again

I'm adapting one of my picture books into a short musical play. So I've been thinking about dialogue again. It's something we have to think about when we write any fiction, but this new venture reminded me that conversation in a story or play can be used for all kinds of things. It reveals more about the character than s/he might want revealed. Or it gives information to the audience. One character's silent reaction to another character's monologue might reveal something about both of them. Listen to the way people talk to one another. Listen to the way you talk to people. Try to remember conversations you have at the dinner table. Pay attention. Do people really listen to one another, or do they talk over each other? On stage that would stepping on someone else's lines.
Listen to people on the bus. On the subway. Listen to those loud cell phone conversations that people have. Do they want you to think they are very important people? Or have they forgotten they are on a crowded bus?
Most people have distinctive styles of speech, and many will use a word or expression over and over again.
Write a short scene and see how you can make the conversation tell the story. Read it out loud to check whether or not it sounds natural.
The last time I wrote about dialogue I mentioned that I was in a show, and that the dialogues and monologues kept changing during rehearsal. That's because some things just sounded better to each of us, and we were more likely to remember certain words and expressions (it was a group effort, so no playwright's feelings were likely to be hurt). Also, what sounds natural to one person could sound false to another. I'm sure that if this play of mine gets to the rehearsal stage the same thing will happen. An actor might say, "This just doesn't work for me. Can I change it a little?" For the good of the show I will have to say, "Yes."

Remembrance Day

Yesterday I watched Ottawa's Remembrance Day ceremony on t.v. Young and old stood together to think of, and honour, all the soldiers, nurses and others who risked their lives in order to make the world a better place. Many in the crowd had seen war first hand, and you could tell, from the sorrow that lined their faces, that the memories were not joyful ones. Many of those who served were young and never had the chance to grow old.
There are some who served on the front lines who never talked about it. Some of those stories are lost, but it's up to us to make sure that as many stories as possible continue to live. If one of your relatives wore a uniform and served in one of the wars, ask that person to tell you his/her stories. Record them or write them down. Maybe you'll try to publish them and maybe you won't, but you should keep them safe for the next generation to learn from. Everyone's story is different and important. Let's not forget the courage of ordinary people.

Alice In Wonderland Stuchner

I didn't exactly fall down the rabbit hole - I fell down the back deck steps - but I think I know how Alice felt. Except Alice did a free fall, whilst I bounced on my back down about three or four steps. Hearing cries of distress my husband and my new neighbour came running to assist me. The neighbour (a nurse, thank goodness) said my screams were very youthful! She thought I was a young girl being attacked. This happened a week ago, and my back gets more colourful every day.
So along with my usual writing advice, here's a safety tip: Don't walk down slick wooden steps in the dark of night, unless you are wearing very good shoes and there's a proper handrail for you to clutch in case of slippage. My hand rail is very wide and even the biggest, meatiest hand would be unable to grab it. So for a week I've been walking just fine, but sitting, standing, lifting. lying down (then getting up - ouch) and twisting around to see what's behind me, are all painful. I can only work at my computer in short bursts.
So, now that you are all feeling sorry for me, here are my writing tips and also some new experiences that could very well be part of a story. I mean, obviously the Alice in Wonderland incident could be part of a story. A murder mystery, perhaps.
A few weeks ago we moved into a smaller, older house (the one with the modern back deck stairs that attacked me). It was built in 1915 and has all kinds of lovely old details - including the strange problem of floors that dip a little here and there. There are built in bookcases on either side of the French doors, and there's a window seat. The window seat is especially 'Jane Austenish.' The kitchen is small, which is fine with me, but I'm an awfully short person, and the counters are a bit too high, so I have to stand on a step stool to do anything. The only other kitchen problem was the sensitive smoke alarm. My husband had to take it out because even when I didn't burn the food it shrieked as if I had. The only alternative would be to keep the fan on all the time, but that's so loud it sounds as if we are in the cockpit of a big airplane.
The main floor bathroom is right out of the history books! White painted wood floor and ceiling and a claw foot bathtub. We are getting a shower put in, but for now I have to take baths and then crouch in the yoga child pose to rinse my hair under the tap. That's actually a good thing right now, because my physiotherapist wants me to do child pose as part of my stretching routine.
But here's the magical part - for me, anyway. On the main floor there are three rooms, including the bathroom, that have the original key hole plates. Now, I don't know about you, but when I have to use the bathroom I rather prefer to lock myself in, especially when people are milling about. But there were no keys! What to do? My amazing husband figured out - with the help of a key expert - what kind of key probably fit the locks, and he found one somewhere and purchased it, at great expense. It's not an antique - that would be just too lucky - but it fits all the main floor doors. However, I keep it in the bathroom, hanging on a black shoelace, though I'm thinking of getting a suitable ribbon.
Now, don't you just love stories where an old key opens a door into the past? Or maybe a very strange, futuristic key opens a portal into the future? A good writing exercise.
And I just keep on finding old stories of mine that strike me as being worth a second look. I still haven't heard anything from the editor who has my dinosaur story, but I live in hopes.
Definitely worth saving was a story that features, amongst other things, an elephant. I fiddled around with that story, made some changes and decided to leave it for a day or two (I think I began writing it five years ago, so a few more days won't hurt). And then a child I know said something to me the other day that gave me an idea for a perfect afterward to my story. You see, inspiration is all around us. But that's not all. When it suits me I take notice of 'signs.' Only when it suits me, mind you.
Yesterday I had a few minutes to spare before seeing the doctor (who looked at my colourful back and sent me for an x ray). I popped into a cook ware shop and found an elephant cookie cutter. The last one in the store. I took it as a sign. Not as profound as a Burning Bush, but a sign is a sign. So, if my elephant story ever gets published I'll have a launch and serve elephant cookies. And that's a promise.
By the way, I hope you've all been reading the sequel to The Daring Adventures of Penhaligon Brush, by S. Jones Rogan. It's called The Curse of the Romany Wolves. The book was recently launched in Los Angeles where the author is a teacher librarian. And today, at Vancouver Kidsbooks on Broadway, a group of authors, including Cynthia Nugent, are launching their new children's books. It should be fun.
Happy reading. Happy writing.

Re-discovering Your Stories

I think I forgot to mention my re-discovered 'novel.' This experience illustrates the importance of putting something away and then looking at it much later in order to see it with fresh eyes. About ten years ago I wrote a short novel for children that I thought was pretty good. I sent it to a publisher but they didn't receive it! I sent it again, but whether they received it or not I never knew, because each time I asked them, "did it arrive yet?" my request was met with silence. Naturally I began to have a bad feeling about this novel. Perhaps it wasn't worthy after all. Well, a decade flew by and ... I read it again a few weeks ago and, not only was I dazzled by my own wit and brilliance, I merely needed to make a couple of small changes to the text. Then, with soaring hopes, I sent away two chapters to a publisher. Even though I have heard nothing yet, and even though it might be rejected, or (much better) accepted but requiring some 'work,' or (better yet) accepted with the proviso, "Don't change a thing. It's perfect," I feel very good about the quality of writing.
My advice? Dig up your old stories and look at them as if someone else had written them. I know, I've said this before. I'm saying it again.

A New Book on the Horizon - AND a royalty cheque!!!

The life of a writer is always exciting and full of suspense. Last week I received a Royalty Cheque in the mail. With eager little fingers I ripped open the envelope, unfolded the cheque within and looked in the right hand box. One hundred and twenty five smackeroos. I guess it hasn't been a big year for those two particular books. No, I will not be giving up my day job to spend the rest of my life writing or travelling around the world promoting my works, but I was able to buy a few more groceries.
Another piece of good news is that I am on the verge of signing a book contract. The story in question was actually published a few years ago in a wonderful children's magazine (I think that looks a bit ambiguous, doesn't it? Is it the children or the magazine who are wonderful? You decide.) A publisher wants to transform the story into a picture book, after I've lengthened the narrative and made a few changes. Sounds good to me. But don't think I've abandoned my smuggler story or my highwayman tale. They are still there lurking about on my desk and in my computer.
I am also still in the process of moving house. This is a mammoth task. I throw out 'stuff' but more 'stuff' falls out of drawers and cupboards. I've been watching a tv reality show about people who hoard and collect everything they can find. I do this in order to frighten myself into not becoming one of those people.
On the other hand, like everything else, it could very well be material for a story, couldn't it?

Blog Books?

Have any of you seen 'Julie and Julia?' I thought it was a wonderful film for two reasons. I loved seeing 'Julia Child' falling in love with French food and cooking it. I was interested in the notion of creating a book based on a block. If Samuel Pepys was around today I imagine he'd blog. If you don't know who Pepys is, Google him, or go to a library and check out his diary!!!!
Do any of you have a blog/diary that could be turned into a book? A movie? If so, go for it.

The Highwayman Hasn't Been Riding Lately

Writing my 18th century highwayman novel has been a bit of a strain lately - what with looking for affordable housing (no such thing, by the way) and thinking about the process of moving. It's not that I have writer's block, but it's a complicated project and it's been difficult to keep all the balls in the air at the same time (ie: plots and subplots interacting seamlessly), not to mention keeping my mind on my work. Also, the 30,000 plus words are going to have to be pruned a little. At least that's what my brilliant editor has tactfully hinted at. So I'm leaving that story alone for the present. I'll get back to it soon.
Meanwhile, I decided to re-think another story. Same century and same neighbourhood, but different topic. It was going to be the same length too, but ... well that's where the re-thinking comes in. Has this ever happened to you, dear writer? You write page after page of wonderful stuff, and create some great characters and lots of suspense, and yet ... How many 30,000 word books can a person finish whilst holding on to a full time job, a part time job, and dealing with a family that needs to be moved? And don't forget, I'm 62. Time is not on my side.
Yeah, sure, Charles Dickens could have done it, but don't forget Chuck had a Victorian wife who slaved away all day so he could confer with his muse. My husband is a great cook, and he's the only one in the house who understands the vacuum cleaner, but he too has a life outside of work and domestic drudgery. And if I told him I needed to spend a few days alone with my muse, he'd say 'Muse Shmooze.' Actually, he'd probably say, "Okay, go for it," but I'd never do that to him.
So, I don't want to drown in a sea of unfinished stories.
By the way, did you ever read 'Haroun and the Sea of Stories' by Salman Rushdie? Wonderful book.
So ... I ignored all the notes and the gripping chapters etc. and decided to keep only a fragment of the outline, and try to turn the story into a 6,000 word masterpiece. Hmm. Easier said than done, especially the masterpiece part. I'd written about 4,000 words before I realized I wasn't even halfway to where I needed to be. Trimming shears were sharpened. Snip, cut, slash. That was last night. Today on my lunch break I went to the cafeteria, sat alone with my manuscript and a coffee, and - more snips, cuts and slashes. It was as if the three musketeers were editing my story. However, it just might be possible to keep the story interesting without adding 6,000 more words. And it's an exercise in 'less is more,' which we are always working on, right?
It takes enormous discipline to cut out chunks of a story - chunks to which I was so attached. But I am filled with determination.
Et tu?