Boarders Writing a Novel: Take 8

[Jaime's Wench]

I am working on my own story, I'm at about 240,000 words right now. Been working on it for some years, but the joke's that I'm only fifteen years old.

That's amazing. One thing I will say is you do need to stop and edit at some point. When I was your age I wrote and wrote and wrote. It was only when I learnt to edit that I improved.

Please may I ask for volunteers to read my first chapter? It's 3,000 words long, though the first 1,000 are my key focus. Naval battle so lots of action. I've had a couple of people read it so far, including my best friend ("Yea, it's all right actually" was his review). I'm thinking of posting it on a forum that does very thorough and critical feedback and they appreciate if it's "agent ready" before they see it. I read it last night and was impressed by how well it's coming together, but then I am a narcissist.

-holds cap out in hope-

[Sci-2]

eta: Before it was merged there was a thread asking for work-in-progress summaries.

I'll give you a science-fantasy novel I'll never write because I couldn't figure out how it would actually work:

The novel would be called Repentant Messiahs. It would be about a race of beings, the Saodh, who wage wars against the various pantheons of the galaxy.

This war results in the various star systems being cursed. To undo the curse, the Saodh take fragments of the different worlds and form a single world, with each fragment having different metaphysics due to their varying creation stories.

There was going to be a race that survived by inhabiting Saodh bodies, basically their own essence survived in some ambrosia but to make one of their own requires drowning any baby they have while clothed in Saodh flesh in the cosmic honey.

I can't remember exactly what the main conflict of the story was, I recall some kids who might be the Saodh's own saviors, basically some chosen ones who could fix their fuck ups and relieve the Saodh of their guilt and burden of fucking up the galaxy.

[The Lord of Cinder]

I have been writing a book since I was 12, and I have refused to abandon that project, even though the years have passed and I have matured to the point of facepalming at a 12 year old's fantasy story. It is aimed for a younger audience than ASoIaF, maybe 12 and up. Basically just a normal fantasy story set in modern time with a hidden valley under a thundering cloud where a civil war is right around the corner. The throne was usurped by the last member of the previous royal family. He did never inherit the throne due to the fact that he murdered his parents in a fit of rage, not aware of the terrible powers he posessed. No one has dared to oppose him during the seventy years he has ruled as king due to the fact that no one can even dream of defeating him. This tyrant king posesses the powers of Darkness, an ancient power that resides in everything, a power that existed before the world was created. Then these two siblings end up in the valley because the leader of the rebellion tricked them to. They believe those two children are chosen to defeat the king, and now you have your vanilla fantasy story.

It may not sound that good, but for the first time (after having written the entire story thrice), I am somewhat pleased when rereading it. Morality, what really is good and evil, courage and the relationship between a brother and sister (not the kind of Jaime/Cersei relationship!) are the main themes.

Later I also wrote approximately 200 pages of a novel in a series where some kingdoms were close to civil war (I really love civil wars, it seems). One character was a member of The Order of Facechangers, an order created to keep the kingdoms from destroying themselves or each other. The gift of facechanging was occuring in less and less people, to the point of the order ceasing to exist. Now only a few facechangers remain, some trying to prevent war, while some are using their gifts for entirely different purposes. There was also something about a dwarf in a corrupted council he refused to be a member of, and some monster hunter lady who was offered the deal of her life. There was also a mystical white fog which threatened one of the kingdoms, a kingdom split in three due to all of the three children of the late king claiming the throne.

[Francis Buck]

I'm writing an eighteen-volume epic erotica called The Ballad of Ygarnuitgaj. It begins with the story of a lowly court jester (the eponymous Ygarnuitgaj) who engages in a whirlwind affair with a female nightsoil collector, until the latter is apprehended by an aristocratic scatophile to become his personal concubine. Ygarnuitgaj embarks on an epic journey to win back his stolen lover, befriending a number of colorful characters along the way, such as a blind shoemaker (who's nearly impoverished due to his inability to keep up with current fashions) and a nymphomaniacal rat-catcher with the magical ability to lactate at will. Ygarnuitgaj's only hope is to seek out a mystical alchemist, Expositionus, who can forge the Amulet of Dayusexus-Mokinus, a legendary artifact that can terminate the libido of even the most carnal individual.

[The Lord of Cinder]

I'm writing an eighteen-volume epic erotica called The Ballad of Ygarnuitgaj. It begins with the story of a lowly court jester (the eponymous Ygarnuitgaj) who engages in a whirlwind affair with a female nightsoil collector, until the latter is apprehended by an aristocratic scatophile to become his personal concubine. Ygarnuitgaj embarks on an epic journey to win back his stolen lover, befriending a number of colorful characters along the way, such as a blind shoemaker (who's nearly impoverished due to his inability to keep up with current fashions) and a nymphomaniacal rat-catcher with the magical ability to lactate at will. Ygarnuitgaj's only hope is to seek out a mystical alchemist, Expositionus, who can forge the Amulet of Dayusexus-Mokinus, a legendary artifact that can terminate the libido of even the most carnal individual.

That may be crazy enough to work

[OctopusArms]

Hey all. I've lurked for a long time, on this thread especially. Finally decided to start posting.

Like all of you, I have writerly aspirations. I haven't gotten anywhere with the novel that's been kicking around in my head for the better part of 15 years or so. I'll write in stops and starts, rewrite, tinker. You know, the usual drill.

So I decided to go a different route, and started writing short stories. Started with flash fiction, and plan to up the word count a bit. It's working well, and I'm enjoying the process. I'll stick with this to learn more about the craft before I jump into something longer. I will say that those of you who talk about word count in the hundreds of thousands are an inspiration. I've submitted two pieces so far, one has been rejected. I'm excited about that, which is probably a good sign.

Jaime, I'd be happy to give your stuff a critique. In fact, I'll trade you if you'd be willing. It'll be nice to get a reaction from non-friends/family members.

[Maegor the Cuddly]

I'm writing an eighteen-volume epic erotica called The Ballad of Ygarnuitgaj. It begins with the story of a lowly court jester (the eponymous Ygarnuitgaj) who engages in a whirlwind affair with a female nightsoil collector, until the latter is apprehended by an aristocratic scatophile to become his personal concubine. Ygarnuitgaj embarks on an epic journey to win back his stolen lover, befriending a number of colorful characters along the way, such as a blind shoemaker (who's nearly impoverished due to his inability to keep up with current fashions) and a nymphomaniacal rat-catcher with the magical ability to lactate at will. Ygarnuitgaj's only hope is to seek out a mystical alchemist, Expositionus, who can forge the Amulet of Dayusexus-Mokinus, a legendary artifact that can terminate the libido of even the most carnal individual.

I do not know... That might be the greatest thing, or the most insane thing, I've ever read...

[Derfel Cadarn]

Please may I ask for volunteers to read my first chapter? It's 3,000 words long,

-holds cap out in hope-

Sure, my email is a few pages back

[Jaime's Wench]

I'm writing an eighteen-volume epic erotica called The Ballad of Ygarnuitgaj. It begins with the story of a lowly court jester (the eponymous Ygarnuitgaj) who engages in a whirlwind affair with a female nightsoil collector, until the latter is apprehended by an aristocratic scatophile to become his personal concubine. Ygarnuitgaj embarks on an epic journey to win back his stolen lover, befriending a number of colorful characters along the way, such as a blind shoemaker (who's nearly impoverished due to his inability to keep up with current fashions) and a nymphomaniacal rat-catcher with the magical ability to lactate at will. Ygarnuitgaj's only hope is to seek out a mystical alchemist, Expositionus, who can forge the Amulet of Dayusexus-Mokinus, a legendary artifact that can terminate the libido of even the most carnal individual.

Lol. You aren't serious...? It could make a good comedy for an adult audience. "A nymphomaniacal rat-catcher with the magical ability to lactate at will" has to be the best described heroine I've heard in a long time.

Hey all. I've lurked for a long time, on this thread especially. Finally decided to start posting.

Like all of you, I have writerly aspirations. I haven't gotten anywhere with the novel that's been kicking around in my head for the better part of 15 years or so. I'll write in stops and starts, rewrite, tinker. You know, the usual drill.

So I decided to go a different route, and started writing short stories. Started with flash fiction, and plan to up the word count a bit. It's working well, and I'm enjoying the process. I'll stick with this to learn more about the craft before I jump into something longer. I will say that those of you who talk about word count in the hundreds of thousands are an inspiration. I've submitted two pieces so far, one has been rejected. I'm excited about that, which is probably a good sign.

Jaime, I'd be happy to give your stuff a critique. In fact, I'll trade you if you'd be willing. It'll be nice to get a reaction from non-friends/family members.

Everyone has their own ways of building up to a novel. I wish I could write short stories, ironically - but I seldom come up with ideas strong enough, and when I do, they have a habit of turning into novels.

Happy to trade you. I will PM you.

Sure, my email is a few pages back

Awesome - thank you! I shall hunt it down tomorrow and send you it across. :-)

[Francis Buck]

Lol, no, it wasn't serious. I put it in the "post a synopsis of your book" thread before it got merged.

[Zoë Sumra]

So I decided to go a different route, and started writing short stories. Started with flash fiction, and plan to up the word count a bit. It's working well, and I'm enjoying the process. I'll stick with this to learn more about the craft before I jump into something longer. I will say that those of you who talk about word count in the hundreds of thousands are an inspiration.

Beware the difference in craft between short fiction and long fiction. They're both excellent pastimes, but a short story isn't a pared down novel, and a novel isn't an expanded short story - they need to be tackled on their own terms and respected for what they are. Good luck with whatever you do.

JW - add me to the list of first chapter readers. I like naval battles. :)

[Francis Buck]

Beware the difference in craft between short fiction and long fiction. They're both excellent pastimes, but a short story isn't a pared down novel, and a novel isn't an expanded short story - they need to be tackled on their own terms and respected for what they are. Good luck with whatever you do.

JW - add me to the list of first chapter readers. I like naval battles. :)

Agreed. I always cringe when I hear people say that writing short stories is the best way to practice for writing full-length novels (and it's a sentiment that seems to pop up quite a bit). They're very, very different storytelling styles, and both require a unique skill-set. There is of course some crossover -- good prose is good prose, and writing short stories may help someone learn to how better characterize in a limited space, but when it comes to actually telling the story, or understanding how to effectively pace scenes in long form, you're not really going to get much practice by focusing entirely on shorts.

[OctopusArms]

Beware the difference in craft between short fiction and long fiction. They're both excellent pastimes, but a short story isn't a pared down novel, and a novel isn't an expanded short story - they need to be tackled on their own terms and respected for what they are. Good luck with whatever you do.

Oh, I agree completely ( and with Francis, too ). But it's allowing me to finish things, and I feel that's more important to me at this point -- and it allows me to work on prose in general, as Francis says. There's always more to learn, but you've got to start somewhere.

[Francis Buck]

One thing writing short stories is great for, however, is establishing your name early on (assuming you're serious about trying to get published). Pumping out shorts gives you a lot of material to get into circulation, and that can help when you finally do get to the point where you want a novel published.

[Starkess]

I'm rubbish at short stories. I don't like reading them usually, so it's not really a surprise that I've not had much luck with them. (Then again, I'm rubbish at novels too. All my short stories and all my queries are all rejected the same, so I suppose it's unfair of me to hate on my poor shorts so! :P)

[Francis Buck]

I'm rubbish at short stories. I don't like reading them usually, so it's not really a surprise that I've not had much luck with them. (Then again, I'm rubbish at novels too. All my short stories and all my queries are all rejected the same, so I suppose it's unfair of me to hate on my poor shorts so! :P)

Same here. I know I've said it before in this thread, but I honestly cannot stand writing short stories. They just don't arise naturally for me. Everything I come up with is -- at the very least -- proportional to an average-length novel. A lot of the time I actually have to cut a large plot down to size, just because I don't want to write a damn trilogy (or more) for every idea that I have, since apparently my natural inclination is to continually expand and expand (especially with fantasy, where a whole world is involved). I suppose I like the breathing room that a long-form project allows. In addition, most of my stories have multiple main characters and viewpoints -- I like being able to approach a particular event or situation from several perspectives, and I love the using the unreliability of a narrator to create drama (not to an extreme level like Fight Club or something, but simply the ability to show several people interpreting one person's actions in different ways). I feel like it allows me a lot more freedom and finesse, along with a greater capability to portray what real life drama is like.

[Jaime's Wench]

Beware the difference in craft between short fiction and long fiction. They're both excellent pastimes, but a short story isn't a pared down novel, and a novel isn't an expanded short story - they need to be tackled on their own terms and respected for what they are. Good luck with whatever you do.

JW - add me to the list of first chapter readers. I like naval battles. :)

Thank you, Eloisa. I shall send it out shortly :-)

I agree with what you guys are saying about short stories. I find the pacing difficult as I'm so accustomed to writing novel scenes where there doesn't need to be such immediate purpose all the time. I also agree with Starkess, I rarely read short stories, and when I do it's just so I can "see what others are doing before I consider writing one of my own".

Having said that, I once wrote a short story about Mary Queen of Scots, which showed the moment she decided to respond to Babington's letters are therefore conspire to take Elizabeth's throne. It was written in first person present but used a dream sequence to make allusions and metaphors to key moments in her life. It was amazing. Then I lost it. Looked for it everywhere, but it went when my last hard drive crashed. I keep saying I'll rewrite it, but then... It probably isn't quite as good as I remember. I probably only put it on a pedestal because it's The Lost Short.

[Myrddin]

I caught up on the Writing Excuses podcasts and found on that was really interesting.

What the Avengers Did Right

They break down the movie from a writer's perspective to figure out how Weaton was able to assemble (heh) organically the characters in a way that made them all individuals and all still crucial to the team (and story as a whole).

Very interesting.

I'm marking this as one to listen to again a few more times, with an ear how to make my own ensemble of characters work better.

[Francis Buck]

I was bored, so I wrote something random off the top of my head. No planning, no real inspiration; I just felt like writing something (with one pass-through for editing). I needed a break from my actual project. I don't know what it is, where I'm going with it, or even if I'll ever continue with it. Nonetheless, here it is:

(critiques are welcome)

BALDERDASH

Augustus Fairwell was a pathetic little boy. “A truly pitiful specimen”, said the elder folk. This they agreed upon, murmuring to each other in collective acknowledgment, huddled in a small circle amidst the foggy little frost-covered glade where they held council twice a year, at the summer and winter solstice.

This they agreed upon, and the elder folk did not agree upon much.

Augustus Fairwell was an inexplicably cultured and worldly little boy. Possessor of many talents, speaker of many tongues, allegiant of many faiths. He seemed to be born with a discerning taste, one that would be far more appropriate for a gentlemen much older (and wiser) than himself. It was ironic, too, because even though people often said that Gus was wise beyond his years, he always felt like a little boy. Even into his teenage years, and then adulthood, and all the way into senility, he could never shake that feeling of being a little boy. The same little boy, never really growing, never really changing. A static entity, accumulating memory after memory for decades. And still lost as ever.

Gus was an only child, born on a tree-farm owned by his parents. It was an enormous property, tucked away into the surprisingly dense woods of southeastern Pennsylvania. Standing among those old, precious tress, one might be taken off-guard to learn that the city of Philadelphia was less than an hour's drive away. You did not feel close to civilization there, on the farm. Not to people, to society or culture. Gus wasn't even sure just how big their property was. The perimeters seemed to simply fade off into a vague wilderness, presumably government-owned. Gus never much liked the government. He wasn't sure why.

The tree-farm was a maze of dirt and gravel roads, with mounds of earth hosting strange gardens and rising up like islands in a sea of stone. Innumerable nooks and crannies permeated this tract of land. Many hidden crevices, and even small caves. Gus investigated them ceaselessly as child, and as a teenager, and then later as an adult when he returned from Iraq. From the war.

Gus doesn't talk about the war. Not because something bad happened there, but because

nothing

happened there. He sat behind a desk for two years, wearing glasses with the wrong prescription lenses. He didn't bother mentioning it to his superiors, even though the glasses gave him horrible migraines every other night. For two years.

There's an artificial pond around the center of the tree-farm, at most about forty-feet deep in the yawning trench near the middle of it. Gus's father, Charles (we'll call him Chuck, since that's what he calls himself), was struck by lightning while floating on an inner tube upon that pond.

Chuck was a troubled man, who often said troubling things, even before he was struck by lightning. He claimed access to alternative dimensions, universes parallel to our own, which apparently sometimes seeped through in areas where the fabric of reality was frayed. He declared that he was in commune with strange, inhuman creatures, what some might call fairies or gnomes or demons or ghosts. Chuck didn't like to use those names for them, because they weren't really their names at all. They were just words that humans invented to identify that which cannot be identified. Explain that which cannot be explained.

Gus's mother, Natalie, was troubling as well, but in a different way from Chuck. Gus had always been a little bit afraid of his mother, although – much like his feelings towards the government – he could not specify why. She was beautiful...enough so that it pained Gus to look upon her for any decent length of time. She rarely smiled or laughed.

When she did smile, she hid it...turning her head away from anyone that might be watching, as if her own pleasure was an embarrassment. She never commented on the ludicrous things Chuck had spoken of, never offering confirmation or condemnation on those stories, those tall-tales, those ramblings of a seemingly delusional man...

Gus wasn't sure if that made his father's stories seem more truthful, or less.

When Gus was twelve years old, his father was weed-whacking around the artificial pond when he accidentally came upon an underground hornet's nest. The sound (and probably the whacking) of the weed-whacker sent the hornets into a frenzy, and they swarmed around Chuck like an angry black-and-yellow cloud. He jumped into the pond, which was a mistake, because the water allowed the hornets to retain their stingers as they stung him, since normally they would die once releasing their only weapon.

By the time Gus came to see his father in the hospital, Chuck was so swollen and puffy and red that he looked like a different person. He looked like the Michelin Man with a horrifically bad sunburn. Chuck asked Gus what he wanted, if he could have anything. Anything in the whole wide world.

Chuck thought he was going to die, you see. The doctors had told him he was likely to be fine, but Chuck never put much faith in doctors, or really any kind of authority other than his own. Chuck had communed with the spirits, after all.

Gus asked his father for a weapon.

[Francis Buck]

Oh, and for anyone that's writing medieval fantasy (or at least medieval-esque), I found this link that's pretty damn great for worldbuilding. It's not the end-all be-all, but it's something to start with and could maybe point you in the right direction.

Also, this person's articles are fantastic, and every one of them is spot on. It's especially good for less experienced writers, or those who aren't as familiar with the fantasy genre and some of its more tired tropes (I can't take credit for finding this one, it was pointed out to me by JohnWitch).