Topping Mr Macguffin
The bad thing about having a fabulous prologue is that you need to re-grab your readers from the very beginning of chapter one – while also (along with the usual difficulties of setting, characterisation, action, plot hooks, and finding a new way to say what your characters look like and how the magic of the world works) making the link between prologue and actual story perfectly clear.
Here’s my tips on all of these (since I think better when instructing someone else) – keeping in mind it’s vital to SHOW the various details rather than boring a reader by simply explaining the salient points.
1. Instant hook: I used magic (which has coolness factor), and a need to escape. Instant goals = good. Here’s the very beginning:
I smiled prettily at my usual pack of guards and eyed the outermost wall of Ratu Castle one last time. It hadn’t been easy to get them so close to the open air. They’d all seen me walk through walls before.
It’s the challenge that makes it fun, I thought. Escaping Mum’s clutches.
2. Setting: My fantasy world is tropical, with many islands (and many cultures), and brown-skinned people. It’s rare to go hungry and almost impossible to be cold. People trade stories or art for food (or, more likely, other art). About one-third of the population has some kind of magic, and it’s considered quite ordinary (even lower-class in some places). The technology is fairly medieval, as is the population (ie villages and towns and farmers and sailors, rather than high-rise buildings and businessmen). Ratu island has a population of a few thousand, ruled by a troubled monarchy (the previous two kings were both murdered by the pirate at different times) and currently experiencing plague.
We’ve already seen pirates in the prologue, which implies 1700s Europe. The hints of “this is like Earth, but a while ago” is reinforced by the mention of the castle/monarchy. In the first two chapters, only the castle is described – that’s enough setting for now. The narrator’s magic and the fact that she’s a princess are both mentioned in the third paragraph – the two things combined are a quick character hook to keep people interested as I draw a more detailed picture of who she is. She’s about 13, a couple of years older than the target readership (her age is never mentioned, but it’s clear from the way people talk about her and how she relates to them).
3. Characterisation: The first paragraph above shows the princess is cheeky and a little melodramatic – and accustomed to a “pack of guards” (slightly ominous). It also shows there’s trouble with her mum (who may even be evil). There’s more in the next little while about her dad’s recent death, her mum’s emotional withdrawal (not evil, but not making good decisions), and the fact she’s not allowed out of the castle (which I hope kids will relate to on a metaphorical level – certainly they’ll relate to an over-protective parent). She also shows kindness by making sure the guards aren’t punished, and shows more spirit by eavesdropping on an adult conversation. My favourite thing about her is her goodness and innocence/optimism – it’s her innocence that is at risk in the book (people think the most exciting books are the ones in which the character nearly dies – but losing one’s identity is a lot more frightening).
4: Instant action: Magically escaping guards in order to eavesdrop. It’s exotic but also relates to escaping schoolteachers, so it’s not TOO exotic (I’ve been comparing “Sabriel” by Garth Nix with his “Seventh Tower” series, and one of the reasons “Sabriel” is better is that the “Seventh Tower” series has a lot of stuff on class structure – which isn’t very emotionally powerful to modern Australian kids).
5: Plot hooks: In chapter one, we find out she is leaving the island (quite shocking and exciting – I think kids will like the idea of going away to sea). In chapter two, she is given a goal – to find the pirate Sol (who we already know is Bad News). So there’s adventure and danger. I think kids need to relate to the emotional heart (“I need to help my mum”) but the physical plot (going away to sea) should be outside their experience (who wants to read about homework and chores? Not me ). I now realise I need to reinforce that emotional goal – helping mum – about six times more in the next few chapters. Readers need more than one plot hook to stress over, so here’s what I have:
a. Going to sea to find the pirate, to help mum. (As a main plot, this is a bit too complex/far-fetched ie how could the pirate possibly help?)
b. What is Ransom, what does he want, and is he dangerous?
c. The princess’ aunt is dying (weak, because there’s no action, but it does provide an ongoing stress).
d. I need something else for readers to stress over. (In YA fiction, this would be the romance strand.)
6: What characters look like: She describes the other characters (which is handy for the brown-skinned part), and it is clear from “smiled prettily” that she fits the pretty part of the princess image already in people’s heads. Rather than having her look in a mirror (ugh! SO overused!) I described what she looked like by her actions – she mentions pushing her fringe out of her eyes, wishing her perfect ringlets would be messed up, and that she’s wearing royal dress. Someone else mentions her “big brown eyes”.
7. How the magic system works: There are three normal types of magic – quickensmiths (able to shift solid objects, given touch), healsmiths (about to hurt or heal, given touch), and feelsmiths (able to read or change emotions, given touch). The princess demonstrates quickensmithing with her actions, and the other two remain unmentioned in the book because they’re irrelevant here. In my opinion, the sooner a book mentions magic, the easier it is to accept. All we need to know is that some people are quickensmiths, and that they can touch physical objects in order to make them move or change shape. (For this scene, all we need to know is that she can walk through or inside the thick wooden walls.)
8: Link to prologue: Ratu Castle is mentioned in the last paragraph of the prologue, so hopefully it’s still in the reader’s mind. Also, the character of Ransom is described as “the human-shaped thing” (that the pirate fears) in the prologue and “the queen’s counsellor” (that the princess takes for granted) in chapter one – a nice ominous contrast for readers to stress over.
PS In other news (in case I’ve left something dangling from past entries):
I’ve just been put on Vitamin D (I was extremely low, as it turned out – something that causes fatigue, muscle/joint pain, and cramps).
Publisher B still hasn’t replied, not even to say they still have the books.
Publisher J dislikes fantasy (arg!), so didn’t request “The Monster Apprentice”. I’ll send them my realist novel when they’re open to submissions again – at least they know I can handle myself in person (useful for future promotion). They also suggested I change the name of the character formerly known as “Boy” (who appears in all my fantasy books). At the moment I’m trying out “Ransom.”
#75: Leave lights/heater on
My “study” is located in the corner of our (large) living room. In Summer or Winter, I try to take my laptop to our (much smaller) bedroom to save on heating and cooling. Yesterday I glanced over my entire 66,000 word realist novel (in case Publisher K requests it this week, which is fairly likely), and as a treat I stayed at my usual desk and turned the big heater on.
It was niiiice.
Here’s a short story, since my exuberant heater use doesn’t make an especially thrilling blog entry. (Writing tips are a-happening today and tomorrow at https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com if you’re into that sort of thing.)
“Why stars are the way they are”
Missy Myway was the sweetest of the starlets, and her soul was as great as the ocean. Fans were charmed when she wore bunny slippers to her first award ceremony, peeking out from under a designer gown. Her face was as expressive as her music, grinning as her blonde hair fell across one eye, or sweetly calling attention to the successes of her favourite charities. People called her the girl of a thousand smiles.
Her only foible was that she did not like having her picture taken. It was a phobia based on the beliefs of certain third-world cultures that cameras could steal a person’s soul. She sat for painted portraits each day, and passed them out to photographers as gifts, hoping to discourage their professional enthusiasm. They merely photographed her handing out the pictures.
Even as she retreated back into restaurants or behind gates, her sharpest rebuke was to say, ‘I don’t want my photo taken, you drip.’ Young girls began using the word ‘drip’ as hip new slang referring to anyone wielding a camera.
Missy and her high school sweetheart were married. The drips were greeted cordially by Missy’s manager, and invited to leave their cameras at the door and enter. The ceremony was performed in the backyard of Missy’s childhood home. Most of the town attended, but they were still outnumbered by photographers, twitching frustrated fingers as Missy sparkled like never before.
As Missy and her husband were permitted by reverent order to kiss, cameras appeared from under seats and inside handbags. The flashes pierced her closed eyes. She broke the kiss and stared around as if caught in a deadly trap. That iconic look of interrupted innocence appeared on the cover of no less than three major magazines within the week.
Something changed in the press that day. They followed Missy in taxis and unmarked vans, taking pictures of her at the beach, with family, and through the windows of her home. Photos appeared of her getting drunk as she sought anonymity by any means. Soon there were pictures of her fighting with her husband, and both of them trying new and harder drugs. A photo of Missy with another man made the photographer’s career. The man went on to star in a hit reality show. Even in the sealed courtroom, as Missy wrangled with her soon-to-be-ex-husband, someone managed to secretly take photo after photo after photo.
As Missy left the courtroom a hoard of paparazzi caught her on the steps in a blaze of light. She shrieked and swore and swung at the nearest. The drip grabbed at her, and snagged a handful of fabric.
‘You want some?’ she shrilled. ‘Take it!’ She tore at the shirt, bursting the buttons, and threw it in his delighted face. Her bra followed, and the respectable skirt she’d worn to court. Famous undies matched the bra on the ground. The flashes were like an electric storm. Missy shielded, not her face or her nakedness, but somewhere near her heart. Soon there was nothing left to take.
Missy Myway was the sweetest of the starlets, and her soul was as great as the ocean. Even the ocean can be emptied, drip by drip.
THE END
And, today’s killer robot (from geekologie, I think):
Mr Macguffin, at your service
The good thing about a prologue is that you can often find and use a crucial incident as a hook, packed with action and characterisation. The bad thing is that when you use a prologue, your readers have to effectively begin a new book when the prologue is done (this is deeply annoying when the prologue is very long). Worst of all, sometimes a prologue is better than the book that follows. Or just so very different readers just get annoyed.
The second book in my kids’ trilogy has a prologue (generally I avoid them). The book is called “The Princess and the Pirate” and is about a princess (the narrator) seeking out a pirate. The book is a clash between the naiive, optimistic, kind-hearted princess, and the pirate – who is a sadistic killer. The narrator is too innocent to understand where the pirate is coming from, plus the pirate doesn’t appear for the first few chapters. Thus, there is a prologue showing the reader the pirate is evil, and the related danger to the princess. Without the prologue, “pirate” sounds like she’s probably a fun person to be around. With the prologue, you know enough to be frightened for the heroic princess.
My prologue is in third person, and the rest is in first person. I just read today that it’s a no-no to write a prologue that’s very different in style to the rest of the book. But I think that’s a rule that is best broken in this instance. The darkness of the prologue NEEDS to contrast with the princess’ view of the world. That’s the whole point. It’s the only part of the story she is incapable of telling.
I’m re-re-re-re-reading “Sabriel” by Garth Nix. In my opinion, it is the best book ever written. It also has a prologue, which actually has a similar purpose to mine. The plot is driven by a human macguffin (a macguffin is an item, usually magical, that the characters must find/use/fix/destroy in order to save the shire/world/kingdom), who appears very little in the story. Without the prologue, the main character’s journey would lack emotional heart. Nix’s prologue, like mine, focuses on the macguffin as a human with flaws and attributes and feelings. Mine does too.
I’m happy with my prologue.
Coming soon: Ramblings about the first few chapters.
S#33: Haiku
My friend just gave birth
It’s not real yet; not quite yet
Is it real to her?
When I grow up I’ll. . .
Be rich. Be nice. Be happy.
Mostly eat bacon
I don’t like waiting
Snow falls, then sun, then more snow
Stupid publishers
From geekologie
(She says, not really certain)
A killer robot:
S#22: A Boxoffice Night’s Dream – Inception Review (with Shakespearian flavour)
There’s been much ado about “Inception” – a movie about what dreams may come, and how they can be shaped. I’ve heard people are seeing it twice in order to figure out the darn plot – and that’s fair. But I would posit that (after the opening flash forward) you always know what’s going on and what’s at stake (which is all you need), and personally I plan to see it again just because it’s so excellent (and yes, I’ll enjoy understanding it a bit better the second time around).
This is a startlingly good thriller. The idea is trippy and fun – our minds are a very opal. There were moments of great emotion when I realised I would have been crying except that I was so thoroughly caught up in the action that I was too stressed to cry. I’ve heard it said that it’s really fantasy, not scifi, and I do recommend you take it that way – the ideas are fun, not realistic – and instead of technobabble they have a button and some coloured water (what more does one need? Personally, I’m grateful to avoid lectures and just get into the story.)
The acting is exquisite, and the writers manage a big-name ensemble cast without losing sight of who the true main characters are. This is a movie that does special effects seriously well, and doesn’t let them overwhelm a tense story. It’s also very funny, and bleeds sheer coolness from every pore. It also has the quality I loved in the first “Lord of the Rings” and the relatively recent “Italian Job” – intense, understated male camaraderie. Oh brave new world, that has such people in’t!
People who seriously dislike speculative fiction (especially the speculative/mind-bending parts) may not like it. I think everyone else will, especially those who like a thoughtful and/or well-characterised and/or funny thriller. I get bored fast when people talk about feelings. I love it when their feelings are going to GET EVERYONE KILLED.
I still love “Sherlock Holmes” most out of 2010’s films (I’m not all that big on mind-bending plots in general) but this is a movie I want to see again – as soon as possible.
And as the plot thickens in “Killer Robot Cat”, here’s another menacing look from one of my own killer cats:
#201: Blood (but no tears this time); or, Stop whining and go see a doctor.
The weather has it in for me.* Our bathroom has no fan, so our bathmats are forever getting wet and not drying out. Every so often I wash them (may as well) and hang them on the line. The trick is to do it first thing in the morning. Then, come late afternoon, they are bone-dry and delightfully fluffy underfoot.
I awoke to sunshine this morning. I washed and hung out the mats.
I collapsed back into bed in a state of existential despair (a predictable outcome of actually daring to venture interstate; recovery takes a long time).
I awoke to torrential rain.
Huh.
Too late to rescue the mats, I simply went to my scheduled doctor’s appointment. (I had some blood taken a month ago, and had received a non-urgent call that they wanted to talk to me about the results. I was rather nervous, since I’ve visibly gained weight since last visit, when the doctor advised me to cut down on chocolate***. She’s a daunting lady.)
I was kept waiting for almost an hour, during which time my anxiety grew.
Finally the moment came and I was called into the arena. My blood had revealed extremely low vitamin D levels – something that causes fatigue, muscle aches, and stomach cramps. She was kind enough not to bother suggesting radical treatment (such as going outside sometimes), but told me to take pills. That I can do. Everything else was normal. She advised me once again to eat less bad cholesterol, especially in milk and dairy, but rather than breaking down sobbing at the thought (which I did last time) I just said, “Not going to happen.” We repeated the conversation a few times, and I promised I might, someday, drink skim milk. She released me unharmed.
It is an indication of something amiss that I’d felt worse last time about being dishonest by omission (because apparently, in my mind, abject sobbing translates to, “Yes doctor. I’ll change my naughtiness at once!”) than about humiliating myself by crying. This time, I did neither.
So that was a great visit. I feel better, I didn’t cry, and I have a brand new genre of magic pills to make life all better.****
I then went to the shops to do various things. It was blindingly sunny, and I felt hopeful for the fate of my bathroom mats. Maybe they’d still dry out in time – or at least, enough to be brought inside.
I did the shopping, and emerged to another bout of torrential rain.
Like I said, the weather has it in for me.
But I’m getting my own back. I’m gonna take vitamin D tablets, and I NEVER NEED TO GO OUTSIDE AGAIN!!*****
I win.
Tomorrow: Bonus Inception review, plus awesomeness.
And from http://abstrusegoose.com/301, psychological proof (as if we needed it) cats are evil:
*too melodramatic?**
** nevaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr!
***Hah!
*****And again I say to you, hah!
*****Well, not if there’s a nice tunnel system built from my house to various crucial locations – and we finally buy that dryer we’ve been planning on.
“Killer Robot Cat” story so far
1
My new cat Fi finally arrived. It’s amazingly cute and fluffy considering how long it took me and the house computer to put together.
Fi has a bell (even though it’s programmed not to hunt), so when it fell down the stairs just now I heard, “Tinkle, thump, fizz.” All good.
Fi just fetched junk mail for me. Good kitty! My phobias prevent me leaving the house, but it’s not so bad now my house is so high-tech.
2
I woke up last night to see two glowing red eyes. Fi must have thought I was ill, since she was pawing at my face like she was concerned.
Just think – if I’d stopped breathing, Fi would have known right away! How reassuring. As soon as I woke up she went and ate her din-dins.
3
I started wearing Fi around my neck as a white and tortoiseshell scarf with my yellow dress. It nibbled on my neck and purred. How cute!
More junk mail, so Fi went again. I always feel sure that a horrid monster will jump out at me if I walk to the box. Silly, right?
4
My postie, Bec, brought this week’s personalised mail over – she knows about my condition. Fi wound around her legs and almost tripped her.
Bec scowled: “I don’t like cats.” “It’s not a real one – it’s a robot. It’s so realistic it even eats meat!” “I don’t like robots, either.”
5
I laughed as Fi stalked a magpie outside. Then she climbed the tree and ate three baby birds. I ran to switch her off. My PC said, “No.”
I yelled, “What do you mean? Switch off the cat – it’s malfunctioning.” “You’re not well,” my PC said, “and the cat and I are here to help.”
OK. My cat is a killer and my house is a patronising git. I swear there was an override program somewhere. In a minute, I’ll remember where.
6 [twitter and facebook switched]
Logged on to twitter with my USB and found out the house had posted a death notice for me. Oh, that can’t be good. But facebook is still OK.
7
Woke up with two fluffy paws across my mouth and nose. I punched the cat across the room and it didn’t stop for a second. It wants me dead!
I grabbed a shoelace and dangled it until Fi’s cute files took over and she batted at it. When she rolled on her back to play, I ran.
I’m in the bathroom. The electronic lock refused to work, so I wedged a chair against the knob. All I have is my laptop and USB modem.
8
Every so often Fi walks past (tinkle tinkle) and scratches at the door with her reinforced-steel claws. I know my days are numbered.
It’s just toying with me, like a cat playing with its. . . oh. Its food. Robot cats still enjoy feasting on the flesh of their victims.
9
I had an idea, and turned on all the taps. Perched on the toilet, I called, “Here, Kitty Kitty Kitty. Come see what I’m doing.”
Fi didn’t respond. I found an email in my inbox: “We’re not stupid, meatwad. Love, your automated home care centre.”
I left the taps on, hoping. But after three hours, I slipped and fell. With all the electronics around, the shock knocked me out.
10
I awoke sopping wet, with a badly burnt foot. The PC had been kind enough to cut off my water supply. Good, but uh-oh. I needed food, too.
I heard purring, and was almost certain it was the soporific purr of Fi in napping mode. So I crept from the bathroom to the kitchen.
I grabbed a pile of food and water, then tiptoed back. Suddenly my PC turned my ipod on – loud. I ran. Fi smacked into the door behind me.
S#30: Read outside (and, selling jewellery)
Today I took Garth Nix’s “Seventh Tower” fantasy series to a grassy area to read, adding to the gentle awesomeness with an entire backpack of lollies (I am in post-travel recovery mode at present, rather than jumping into a diet right away). I took Ana, who is a lot less confident when she’s outside.
She sat close by, her fur ruffled by the wind:
She ventured down and sniffed suspiciously at the unfamiliar grass:
She beat that scary grass into submission:
She courageously wandered farther afield:
And she bolted back to safety:
CJ and I have had my inherited jewellery valued (only in general terms so far – the more specific valuing will take a while). Here’s the good stuff, worth between $50 and $300 (can you tell which is which?) The plain silver ring is my wedding ring – all the rest is for sale, so if you are interested email me on fellissimo at hotmail dot com. I’ll tell you exactly how much it’s valued at as soon as I know.
The most valuable pieces are the sapphire and diamond ring on my index finger (I have the $200 receipt for it, so that wasn’t a surprise), the ring on the next finger with four real emeralds (and possibly small diamonds between them), the yellow pendant in my hand (worth at least $200), and the golden bracelet (which is actually gold, but dented and hollow – in perfect condition it’d be $800, but it’s worth much MUCH less than that now). The green necklace and bracelet are jade, the ring is a gold wedding ring (there’s another, broken one not pictured here which is good for someone to melt down). One of the rings on my wedding finger has five different gemstones in it – all real. The large stone is still a mystery. I also have a necklace made of large pieces of amber (which for some reason I didn’t photograph, but I can send you a photo if you’re interested). Most of these will end up on ebay sometime this year.
The centre of the large opal ring looks cloudy, and it needs cleaning. Other than that, they’re all in fine condition, and several of the bands are gold.
Like I said, if you’re interested in buying any, send me an email on fellissimo at hotmail dot com, or simply make a comment on this entry (and I’ll automatically get your email address without anyone else seeing it).
And here’s another terrifying true story making “Killer Robot Cat” look like a mild-mannered documentary:
http://www.facebook.com/l/a0bb3;www.wired.com/underwire/2009/07/military-researchers-develop-corpse-eating-robots/
#199: Stay in a backpacker
The Sydney YHA (directly across from the central station) has boys-only and girls-only rooms. That was cool. I slept in a four-person room that had two other girls: one of whom was unconscious when I arrived (at 11pm) and still unconscious when I left (at 6:30am), and the other one was reading when I arrived, and reading again when I left. We didn’t speak.
There are two awesome things about staying in a backpacker: First, you never know what you’re going to get. That’s always a thrill. Second, your life gets reduced way way down to a few basic things: Sleep. Minimal Personal hygiene. Cross-cultural manners. Getting to your next port of call. And ideally, some kind of food and drinkable water.
For me there’s a curious joy in living out of a single bag, and getting completely ready to go out while still in semidarkness. The previous night, I was stumbling so much with tiredness that people on the Sydney train system glared at me. But I woke up psyched, and was dressed and mostly ready before I even went to the bathroom (including “breakfast” of a Cherry Ripe).
My train to Canberra left at 7am, and was almost completely deserted. “Excellent,” I thought.
Moments before departure, a loud voice announced, “THIRTEEN! Why’d they have to put me in THIRTEEN!?”
Sure enough, the loud person sat in the seat directly in front of me, still talking. There was no one else in sight, so presumably he was talking to me.
At that point I had a choice – I could engage in conversation, which would probably make the train ride faster (or excruciatingly slow) – or I could pretend to sleep, and pretend hard.
“So,” I said, “Where are you from?”
He was a 71-year old wannabe Buddhist with a whole lot of superstitious beliefs. The woman in seat 11 (so there were others on the train after all) was a encephalitis survivor.
Encephalitis is a brain disease that takes over the brain from front to back, removing motor function and your ability to think as it goes. At one point she was unable to walk, and lay on a table in agony as doctors made jokes and refused to give her painkillers. At another point she was unable to figure out how to make a sandwich – but if someone placed the ingredients in front of her, she could do it.
98% of encephalitis sufferers die. She is fully recovered – except she needs to nap in the afternoons.
That is what I call awesome.
We also passed a steam train at Queanbeyan station, as it was preparing to depart (the blue is the reflection of my train’s seats on the window glass):
I gently re-emailed Publisher B today. They may reply today, or tomorrow – or not. I’ll let you know when they do.
I arrived home safely around noon on Sunday, and actually had tutoring that afternoon. Mercifully, my cold hasn’t reappeared (although I’m severely hanging out for the weekend). Other than around $1000 in transport and conference fees, my recent adventures cost me 5 kilos (at least). Being brave and pro-active is always costly. The worst is over now, but it’ll take me months to fully recover (both financially and weight-wise). On the other hand, the contacts I made will probably set me right for several years and/or make the difference in getting me published. So it was worth it, I think.
Here’s another pic of a cat modelling to become a killer robot:
She’s watching you. . .
