Wanted : Goethe's Dog

Wandering through the rain-soaked streets of Strasbourg recently, we passed a house where the playwright Goethe lived for a time...

...and I was reminded of a remark that he once made: wanted, a dog that neither barks nor bites, eats glass and shits diamonds.

Part of me wants that dog too, and wants it really badly (perhaps it's the little fellow who featured in my earlier post), but the hard-working writer part of me knows that what is worth having doesn't come easily, although on reflection perhaps drafting and redrafting and then – oh yes – having another go at it is the authorial equivalent of eating glass and that what you get in the end – dog or no dog – is a kind of hard-edged, glinting prose - your very own literary diamond.

Summer Reading

I've had a rush of summer reading – well, let's just call it reading: not much sign of summer here – and it's made me realise how much I miss feeling besotted by a good book. I've done a lot of work reading over the winter, which is always thought-provoking and demanding, but it  makes me feel as if I have to be on my best behaviour, so in the last couple of weeks I've let my hair down and romped through My dear, I Wanted to Tell You by Louisa Young (which knocked my socks off so much that I've blogged about it elsewhere), Waiting for Sunrise by William Boyd (detailed, intense, with an aftertaste that stayed with me), The Night Rainbow by Claire King (luscious, full of melancholy echoes, but with beautiful, sunlit prose) and two books by Ian Rankin because I was on holiday and never read crime fiction and – why not?

Piled up beside my bed, waiting to be devoured, I've got Sweet Tooth by Ian McEwan, Ancient Light by John Banville, Toby's Room by Pat Barker and The Beginner's Goodbye by Anne Tyler. What treats in store!

I'd be really interested to hear what's on your bedside table at the moment, or what kind of book you think makes the perfect summer read...

How Detail and Context Work Together in Fiction Writing

We're currently stuck in the rain on a broken boat in eastern France, so whiled away an afternoon in Strasbourg. In the cathedral we spotted this mason's moment of madness, or sentimentality, or rebellion, or joie de vivre...

This little dog is tucked away at the back of the pulpit. The first picture I took just showed the animal, until it occurred to me that you need some of the surroundings in order to give a sense of perspective and proportion, to get an idea of just how sweet the little fellow is.

The same is true with writing: detail on its own doesn't really work - you need context as well, as this gives the reader the tools with which to interpret the detail you are describing. If you show a character performing an act of extraordinary kindness in isolation, it means less than if we have some yardstick to judge the action by. Perhaps your character is usually cruel and unfeeling, so this kindness has significance; perhaps they have never been show kindness themselves; perhaps the kindness is a means of achieving something in return.

Detail is important, but you can maximise the effect of it by showing it in a wider context.

Bow wow wow...

Telling the Difference Between Showing and Telling

This is a tough one, the mistake most writers, but new ones in particular, are most likely to make: telling the reader something, rather than bringing it to life by showing it happen. In a sense it's the art of dramatisation; it's certainly the raising agent that turns a sloppy mix of eggs, butter and flour (or characters, plot and language) into a light sponge (or gripping read).

Here are a couple of examples of what I mean:

John was a tall man. Hmmm. Doesn't really do much, does it? But John shouldered his way into the room, ducking his head from habit; he was used to the feeling of being too large for most interior spaces. Without directly commenting on John's height, the writer has shown the physicality of his size and a little of how it makes him feel, so not only are we seeing John in action, we are getting a hint about how his appearance affects his behaviour and his thinking. Although the description is longer than John was a tall man, it is doing far more work.

"I wish it would stop raining," said Jane gloomily. "It's been like this for days." In this example the writer is half way there, as dialogue can be a help when you want to avoid bald statements and this short speech is a better description than simply saying It had been raining for days. There's more to extract here though, especially in terms of the effects of the weather on Jane and what it tells us about her mood. How about, "I wish it would stop raining," Jane leaned her forehead against the window, her breath flaring against the glass. She traced the path of a single raindrop through the condensation with an idle finger, noting how the paint on the frame was cracking and that small rifts were filling with moss. "It's been like this for days." She paused, waiting for a response, but nobody answered her. She breathed on the glass again, trying to make the weather disappear..." By exploring more fully just what gloomily might signify, a great deal of additional atmosphere and context has been added to the scene: the single raindrop perhaps equates to a tear, the cracked paint filled with moss implies neglect and decay, the fact that Jane's finger is idle and that nobody responds to her her remark suggests her boredom and isolation. The resulting image has infinitely more detail and more depth.

To try and prevent yourself from slipping into the trap of telling something rather than showing it, remember that good writing will always do more than one thing at a time - it will comment on the interior as well as the exterior, will describe physical and mental states, or use the particular to throw light on the general. This is partly because as an author you always want your work to have a two-fold effect on your reader - you want to make them think and feel...

Plotting - Taking Affirmative Action

I've recently finished reading My Dear, I Wanted to Tell You by Louisa Young. You'd think that everything  which could possibly be said about the First World War has already been said, truth, in this instance, being considerably stranger than fiction, but Ms Young certainly gives Sebastian Faulks a run for his money - her novel is infinitely finer and more unusual than Birdsong.

Without wanting to spoil the book in any way, it concerns the burgeoning relationship between Riley, a working class lad and a young bohemian girl called Nadine. The barriers her family try to throw up between them are as nothing compared to the devastating effects that the war has on their lives.

What makes the book so heartrending and compelling is the challenging journey Riley embarks upon: he defies the rigid class system of the day in order to better himself and win the girl he loves, but he also has to draw upon superhuman resources to survive the war and come to terms with the consequences of it. Along the way there is also much for him to learn about the integrity - and otherwise - of  human nature.

I think the reason My Dear was shortlisted for the Costa Prize and has chimed with so many readers is that in it Young provides a masterclass in the positive power of reading fiction. Her protagonists are beset with the worst things that life can throw at them, thus demonstrating the potency of creating characters with whom  readers will identify, in order to punish them mercilessly, to grind them down, so that we can then witness the inspiring process of their redemption. To see someone triumph over suffering in a fictional setting convinces us that it is possible to overcome the afflictions that may trouble us in our own lives. So in terms of planning a novel or story, be aware of the power of setting up your hero in order to knock them down - as long as you chart their recover afterwards.

In that sense, My Dear is a truly inspiring read; it is also well-researched, informative and utterly beguiling - rush out and buy!

Rainer Maria Rilke's Rubbish Lorry

I'm just back from New York and still dazzled by the vibrancy and brightness of the city – the vast electronic hoardings that pulse with colour in Times Square, the vivid yellowness of the taxis and....

...this!

It's an American garbage truck and even in the murky light of early evening you can see that it is decked out with the Statue of Liberty and the Stars & Stripes and the lettering is in red and gold – in fact, the whole thing is done up like a Christmas tree and very lovely it looked.

In creative writing terms, this got me thinking.The truck caught my eye because it should have been ugly and functional, but it wasn't – it was actually rather joyous. It was a lesson in the unexpected. As a writer, you need to see things with a fresh eye, so that you can re-invent them for your reader. The poet Rainer Maria Rilke talks about finding beauty where it wouldn't normally be apparent and this is a key part of your job as an author. Think of the loveliness in a plain face lit with emotion, or the softening effect of sunset on an industrial wasteland.

My garbage truck was, in its way, a thing of beauty, weird and wonderful enough to make me stop and take a photograph. If you want to arrest your readers' attention like this, seek out the surprising; follow Rilke's advice and look for beauty where you wouldn't expect to find it.

The Three Rs of Creative Writing

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I'd passed the the first three chapters of my Work in Progress to my writing mentor to see if she thought I was working along the right lines. Like a good friend, she responded incredibly swiftly with some trenchant and radical opinions, so radical, in fact, that they stopped me dead in my tracks. She thought that I wasn't starting the book in the right place and that the strain of trying to bind two stories together was showing and that I should focus on just one. And that was just for starters! She had other observations to make as well.

My knee-jerk response was to junk everything I had written and begin the book again, closer to the origins of the story.

The subconscious, creative part of my brain has now had six weeks to process these suggestions. I've barely written anything and yet I feel the time has been well spent. The two strands of the plot are beginning to synthesise themselves together, although I have made major changes, and I'm fairly confident I know where my starting point needs to be.

The reason I'm sharing all of this with you is that it has taken me a long time to make constructive use of the criticism I received. You can't rush the creative process – if you do, you are likely to make mistakes you will come to regret. If you are in the throes of writing a novel or a story, hold your nerve and take your time. Contemplation is one of the most active things an author can do, even if it make you feel as if you are in a passive state. The three Rs of creative writing are every bit as important as the reading, writing and 'rithmetic you learn at school: when you are lucky enough to be given criticism, Receive, Reflect, Respond.

It's There in Black and White – and Grey?

We are complex beings and our behaviour frequently lands us in complicated situations, something you should try and reflect in your fiction writing. Things are rarely cut and dried in the real world, so it is a good idea to tie some intriguingly complicated knots in the story you are working on. Your heroine may love somebody but not be in love with them; she may be frightened of the consequences of being successful in either her professional or her personal life; your hero may be attractive yet unsympathetic all in the same breath. It is within these areas of ambivalence that tension grows and tension is an extremely handy tool to have in your writing armoury.

Things are rarely black and white -- it is in that ambiguous,blurred area that most of us live and where interesting fiction is often kindled. Although you should always be aiming for clarity in your writing: the well-realised character, the taut plot, not to mention crisp, new-minted prose, try not to exclude a little bit of healthy ambivalence at the same time. Instead, go for grey and see where it takes you -- my hunch is that you will arrive in an interesting space full of creative uncertainty.

A View from the Bridge...

....in this case, the bridge in question is on the Queen Mary 2 and the view is of the North Atlantic, where I've been busy on a press trip hence my silence on the blog front this week, but am now safely back home and full of literary inspiration...

As it said on our breakfast tray every morning, It isn't that life ashore is distasteful to me, but life at sea is better. That's my Sir Francis Drake quote of the day, more thoughts on fiction writing to follow soon...