Cage Dunn's Blog, page 82

Close the Door

So I can have a little privacy, please!

But what happens when the door is closed? How many monsters are creeping up and hiding in the dark, just waiting for you to open the door and come back out, vulnerable and night blind?

As a kid in the country, the toilets that sank into the pits of doom (and boy, could you smell that devil down there) were the monsters; they also hid the monsters, and they were the most fearful moment of the night terrors – the ‘I gotta go to the toilet!’squeal at oh-dark-hundred.

Yeah, the midnight (or later) need to pee. And who has to take the littlies out the back, down the longest, darkest, roughest path? Yeah. So, out we go, hands gripped so tight the blood won’t flow – you don’t let go, ‘cos if the monsters grab you . . . and drag you off . . . and eat you . . . and spit out the bones . . . and no one comes looking for you . . . until the sun comes out . . . and you’re dead (or worse).

And in a storm? Rain is nothing, just a bit wet (and that doesn’t happen too often in places like that town), but the lightning, the thunder – and of course, the long-drop dunny is conveniently placed under the tallest tree in the vicinity (keeps it cool in summer, kid) – and the near-misses people speak of. And the ones that didn’t miss, and the people who don’t speak of their close call, but go white in the face, or turn away, or hyperventilate.

Lightning kills, thunder deafens, storms are the calling card for fear.

For the littlies who can’t hold on, who fear the monsters of the toilet more than the shame of a stinky wet sheet, who cry each night the thunder rolls into town to greet their sleepless minds and distended bladders – this is hell.

Of course, it’s always an adult who says ‘Don’t be silly – there’s nothing out there!’ They’ve been blinded and deafened. They no longer see or hear the truth of the shadows, they don’t know. Their brains have been ‘blocked’ to the real. Zombies.

If they opened their eyes, if they listened hard enough, turned their thoughts away from[image error] ‘big problems’ they’d see it – they’d see them – and they’d . . .

Don’t know. What is it that changes grown-ups into mindless, memory-less, fearless (stupid) things – WHO WANT TO CLOSE THE DOOR! and leave the smaller, weaker, more vulnerable person outside, in the dark, alone . . . with . . .

 

BTW – new title due out in Feb – don’t know what it will be yet, so stay tuned.

The Rodeo

It was an invitation. Immi held it in his hands. An invitation to the next round of the bull-riding competition in the prize category. In the prize category. That meant he was in with a chance. It meant he was good enough to be called a pro – a professional bull-rider. Good enough to – maybe – earn a living doing the thing he loved most.

Following the rodeo circuit. The dust. The smell of bull-shit. The sound of bellowing bulls as they were prodded into their pens. The crack of timber as idiots walked too close to the railings.

He smiled. His world. His life, now. He was good enough to get the Invite, to the Special, to be a Pro. In the bull-riding. Not his best skill, but it would do to open the door, to get people to notice him, maybe back him in the next round. Like the professionals get. Backers who pay their way around, supply kit and vehicles, maybe even horses.

He could get rid of his old horse truck, trade it in – or chuck it! He could buy new jeans, of the sort with no seam on the inside. What would life be without that chafing? But only professionals could afford the best gear, the best swagger.

Soon. Because Immi had the invitation in his hands. He was on the inner now. A professional who received invites to the money-spinner rounds. Prize money – enough for a normal cowboy to live on for a year or more – if he were a frugal fellow, like Immi.

He looked up, scanned the small group of people who stood outside the post office in the dusty and still town in the middle of nowhere. Where was he? Ah, yes. The autumn to spring circuit, in the next town – the name didn’t matter, it was the town where he received an invitation into the bull-riding competition. Immi looked at the paper in his hands, the scrawl of black text on white paper, the scribble of a signature on the bottom of the page, the colours of the logo at the top.

His first invitation – with his name on it. Into the prize round. Big prize.

If he could get the knobs to notice him in this field, maybe he could get them interested in backing him in the camp-drafting, or the bareback bronc riding, or . . .

He could get rid of his old horse truck, get something a bit newer. Get new clothes, brand new, from the places that have proper rodeo kit, with no inside seam on the legs. New boots. He was in the professional league now, and a cowboy’s gotta look right, don’t he?

 

Copyright Karel Jaeger 2017

The Invisible

Shall remain unseen for a while longer. The Third Moment of Hell is undergoing a ‘legal review’ to ensure all the words used can be used. The words under this spell belong to the original people of Australia, and I certainly don’t want to use or say anything that isn’t polite or appropriate – so I wait (legal things take time).

So I move onto a new project on the wheel (and I added three new projects yesterday).

What to choose?

The YA stories:

Pick, Lick, Roll, Flick [boys find a recipe for a lozenge with a funny name – supposed to make people smart – but they stole the only copy from the super-knob who kicked their friend in the face (the receipt is for $1m!) and he wants it back, with extra for the camel-snot they left him covered in.]

The Equine Neophyte of Blood Desert [One more year in compulsory training before Neesa can leave this place – but she’s not chosen; left alone in the hall until the Master of Horse arrives and nods at her – but she can’t be chosen by Horse, it isn’t allowed! and the Council of Masters refuses to give leave – so, of course, she returns to her barracks, climbs out the window, over the roof-tops, over the outer wall, and runs across the desert to stake her claim on the choosing of the Blood Horse.

Kraken, Dragon, and Cat – Who Shall Rule? [The Council of Magic needs some discipline, a ruler, but who would make the best ruler? The strongest in Magic, of course! A test is devised by the Sage Masters (the eldest of the elders) – and only three races put up a representative. Which will be the strongest: Kraken, the largest creature alive, strong and mean and volatile; the dragon, with wings stronger than steel, magic to overwhelm any mind, and the ability to slash and burn and destroy; or will it be the little cat with sharp claws?

And of course, there’s Monis Glinker, Priestess Unburdened. Plus a few more. And one or two ideas for the anthology. And some Original Australian stories (which also might require some legal reading processes). Anything else?

I like to write. I like to read, but for the last few years I’ve been limiting the fiction I can read – by making it a reward for a goal reached, like: One fiction read day when [this] part of the current project is complete (usually something big, like a completed first draft, or a completed run-through of one edit session). Next weekend, I get to read!! Because I’ve completed the first steps to all the new projects – and they too are ready to roll!

So, I’ll see you on the other side – but first I have to choose. Which one? Which one? Which one? Anything you want to see?

 

Someday, or The Day After

Someday. It will happen then. Maybe the day after that. Always in the future. Never now. Why?

It was a question that didn’t have an answer. Kiri knew anyway. It was a question she’d lived with for so long, a question she couldn’t answer, or wouldn’t answer, because she had yet to take the first step on the path to Someday.

That was the day she would leave this place. Leave it all behind. Walk away. Start fresh. Change her name, the way she looked and dressed, the way she spoke. Someday.

the day of the new beginning, of the search for a more true self. Someday.

But not today. Today, Kiri would take care of the snarling old woman who lay in the chair all day; the old woman who ran the whole place, who stank of bitter tobacco and rancid fat. The woman who would be her grandmother if her mother or father had . . .

Gone. Somewhere. Somewhere else. They chose their Someday, and stepped out into it. The chose wrong, because the old woman found them. They did not come back, did not come home. They chose the wrong Somewhere Else on the wrong Someday – because how else would they have been found?

She, Kiri, would choose the right day; she would choose the right place; she would not come back – but she would not be found.

Play along, be the one unnoticed, be nothing more than a shadow of dust seen when the door opens or closes. Become the dirt, become the shadow, become the dust. Yes, the dust, because dust can move away, far away, with the right wind.

Soon, so very soon, her Someday would come.

Maybe tomorrow.

Almost, she smiled as she prepared the main meal for the mid-afternoon revellers. She turned it into a grimace, a more normal response to the work she did, the smells she had to tolerate every day in this place. Pressed her bare feet against the sharp rock to remind herself of what was real, what was almost real – but not yet.

The door slammed like a cross-bow bolt in her heart. The old woman lifted her gammy teeth in a smile as the man came in. He was the last.

The group waited for her to serve them. Kiri filled all their ewers of hot wine and pointedly refused to serve the ones who didn’t clear their space; the table was finally cleared of weapons and spoils – shoved under the table and out of sight while the feast for her celebration day was consumed.

She continued, laid out the plates of flat wood and the dull, flat-bladed knives used to lift the food parcels; and she struggled with the heavy full-to-the-brim platters of roasted carcasses: two of goat and one of pig and one with ten roosters. And the old lady’s favourite, a whole ram with the head pointed at the head of the party.

Each dish contained the green edges of her carefully tended herbs: parsley, rosemary, marjoram, lavender. The roots and nuts and seeds: yam, beets, artichokes, carrots, valerian, kava, passionflower – and many more. And the gravy, flavoured with all the most efficacious of them all.

Colourful, delicious, food that filled and satisfied.

The smile snuck into her eyes as they dived in like a raucous gang of cockatoos at a waterhole.

She would not be allowed to participate in the eating. Her job was to serve and to make sure the table did not empty.

Someday. Today was Someday.

Copyright 2017 Rosey Brimson.

 

Oh, A Schedule?

Apparently, it’s a good idea to have a specific and defined schedule to avoid going off-track (or off-tack, as I would be more wont to say).

So, a schedule. Very specific . An outline of the efforts to achieve something.

Hmmmmmmmm.

Write a new post for this site each Sunday; write a blog post for 5bayby14u each Wednesday.

The books? Okay, I’ll start with the books I want to put out this year. But some (most) of them are co-author projects . . . Same deal? Okay, here goes:

Complete and publish ‘The Third Moment in Hell’ [specific?] In January 2017.

Monis Glinker – Priestess Unburdened Feb-Mar 2017.

Monis is the eldest of the priestesses; her last remaining daughter will take the role of Highest at the next summer solstice, but . . . the Beast takes her daughter, and now Monis has nothing. Unless . . .

She uses the secret magic and takes the body of her daughter, puts her own soul inside the dead body. There is now a task to complete – defeat the Beast. Vengeance for the lives it has taken. No other priestess has the secrets of the ________ – because IT kills them, as it would have killed Monis if the ceremony had gone ahead. But now she has a purpose – and nothing to lose.

The Mirror Portal: Book III of The Narrung Sagas. March 2017.

The Once Lost: An Anthology of Ideas. No idea – work on it as it comes.

The A-Z of Short Stories (the title will be amended one day) – work on it as it comes.

A Woman’s Footprint in the Stone of Time – Mar-April 2017 (Title needs some work?).

One small footprint, been there in that stone for 40k years. An ancestor – how does she know – cos she puts her foot in the solid stone and it fits her foot and leaves no gaps and brings a piece of story to her song. So she sings it, at that special time, for the young women to hear of how it all came to be.

Permission to be Human – Apr-May 2017 (with Rose Brimson )

Cover that up!  Nan and the id tag – show it when required on the street, in the market, in the houses where she works as a cleaner.

Always, she’d look wide-eyed up and down, no one must see, no one must know who doesn’t already know. The tag quickly tucked back in the hidden pocket – ‘til the next time it’s needed.

Then the burglaries started. No smashed windows or doors, so the cops said an inside job. They go to Nan, search the house, go out back to the shed, find the gift from old Mrs Marsh – just a simple and useful tool to help with her work because her hands were so sore, so painful from the arthritis. But old Mrs Marsh doesn’t understand how people are, so Nan has to hide it.

Too good for a half-caste – revoke the permission; revoke the right to tenancy – kick her out! Take her to jail to wait for the judge, then boot her back to the bush – where she belongs!

No clothes, no money, no tag to give her permission to be human.

Country Gonna Bite Ya – May-Jun 2017 (with Rose)

It’s about a BOY who HATES that he has to be responsible for his girly tagalong sister – she’s even scared of horses and can’t help with any of the REAL jobs – she’s a PAIN.

Silence is a Lie – Jun-Jly 2017

Annandan, Land of Dragons – Jly-Aug 2017

Dream Slider (unknown, cos I still don’t have a BS or an outline, but if it’s on the list, it gets looked at occasionally, and notes get added, so it’s in there, and maybe for this year).

Dream Walkers (ditto)

Cat Whisperer (ditto)

Dragons and Beer to Go (ha, ha – we’ll see what happens, shall we?)

And [because the focus group liked the idea and humour of it {Harrison and Olivia}]

Pick, Lick, Roll, Flick – 2017 (YA, humour [yeah, yeah, yeah – how can you write about something funny if you don’t have a sense of humour? We’ll see, shall we?].

3 boys find a recipe for a lozenge/lolly – it makes them smart – but they stole the only copy from the guy who paid $1m for it (now lost – and they made amendments to the original due to lack of ingredients) – and he not only wants it back, he wants payback for the camel snot they left him covered in.

_________

Other Stuff:

SpecFicChic Anthology – Submissions due for completion by July – have yet to decide what to do for that, but I still like the idea of Monster in the House-Horror-Scary works. New ones.

Write up a proper plan for structure, using all the things I’ve learned – and have the blanks up and ready to roll (end of Feb at the latest).

__________

And there you have the specific list for 2017 – an impossible task to complete it all, but I’m more than one person now, so with the help of Rose and Karl (and maybe . . .?) it will happen. The stories will be completed; they will be good; they will be read and enjoyed.

Oh, and the path that leads to the track that might provide some small level of cash benefit might appear on the map at some stage. [See, sense of humour.]

[image error]

The Writer Hard at Work

Unnamed

Gone  is the need to speak, the need to communicate. Gone is the way of interacting with people and things and machines and plastic and metal and garbage! Gone. Gone.

She felt like a separate being, not part of the whole, not part of anything. The noise washed over her as if she were a rock in the middle of a fast flowing stream, but the real person was inside that rock, protected and separate, alone and pounded upon by all the things she didn’t want to know about.

The doorbell rang, and she dutifully stood to open it and admit the next lying, duplicitous stranger who dared to say ‘I knew him once.’

None of them knew him; none of them understood why; none of them felt the truth of his disappearance from the world. None but her, and she wasn’t allowed to feel it – because she wasn’t on the ‘in’ side of it all.

The outsider may be allowed to open the door, share her personal space with them because he lived there too, once, but she wasn’t one of them. She was the outsider, the one who stole him from them, the one who deserved to suffer – but why did she have to make him die first?

She heard the words spoken in whispers, ‘Who’s going to dispute the will?’ or ‘Do you think she’ll fight the ruling if it comes out our way?’ or – the best of all when they discovered the fact ‘No will! That means she’ll get everything!’

Oh, no. She will not get everything. They didn’t know, did they? He had nothing. All he ever had was gone long before she met him, long before they realised he was involved with someone. He was desperate enough to seek her help, to ask her to hide his failure, to make it look as if the front were more than smoke and mirrors.

So, that was what she did, and she came to love him, and he loved her, and they had no money, and no assets except this house – her house, which she owned long before she met him. Provable, so they couldn’t get her house.

What a shock it would be for them to see him in the true light of letters and numbers on a page. No assets, no money, no career. A high flyer in their minds, but his books didn’t sell, he didn’t make any money, he lived the life they thought a famous person should live, but it was all on borrowed money – and time, as it turned out.

He was the best person to be a storyteller – his own life was his most fictional work.

Copyright 2017 Cage Dunn

 

A New Dream

Most people seem to think up something to punish themselves with at this time of year – they make RESOLUTIONS. I’m not going to do that – there’s enough other stuff I can punish myself with, so I’m going to punch up towards a new Dream, a Hopeful Destination Dream for this year (2017, in case you missed it).

Last year was a rotter, except for one small achievement: I finished my apprenticeship as a writer. It took six books, of which four are pretty bad when I look back at them, but two of them (one yet to go up into production) are okay to good. The art may not yet be mastered, but it’s well on the way (apprentices move to guilden status before effort and excellent results move them to the title of Master).

That’s a Dream Achieved. I am a writer.

Over the last week (yes, I should have been doing more of the editing for the completed draft, but . . . had to think about it some more) I wrote up 7 (yes, Seven) story ideas (new ones, too) into a Beat Sheet Outline. One I’m not ever going to use (maybe), but I may try to sell it just as an idea (it’s funny, and no one who knows me would believe I have a sense of humour). The other six I’d like to write at least four of them into novels, and also the final book for The Narrung Sagas (even though the first book for that story isn’t what I’d like it to be, I’m still obligated to complete the story for the people who have bought in).

So, seven novels! Can I do it? Yes, I can. Know why? Because I learned the hard way, I did the physical work of completing and publishing all that work last year; because I kept up my search for better skills in the craft of story (although I call it a ‘yarn’ or ‘tall tale’ or ‘lip-flapper’).

And finally, I feel as if I can go on and get some of those stories out of my head and into the world where they want to be, where they belong.

So, my hopeful dream for 2017?

Write, write (times seven) the stories I have prepared, write up (into beat sheets and outlines) the ones that come in the siren song of dreams and distractions (for next year), assist the mind with the short stories and competitions, and most importantly – the biggest dream of all – earn some money.

The big thing about being hopeful of earnings is the specific benchmark: How to estimate an earning strategy for books not yet published?

Okay, specifics. To sell at least 2,000 of each book published this year. To put at least one (I think two) on the KDP Select program and see how that works financially.

Seven titles, final profit point (after all costs) is minimal, but if it all works, what will I get?

Worst case scenario: $4200, best case scenario: who knows? But if I don’t dip the toe in, I’ll never find out – so dive in and join me on the swim of a lifetime.[image error]

Oh, and Happy New Year. See you for the celebrations of Chinese New Year on 28 Jan 2017 (Red Fire Chicken). I’m a Chinese Dog (as is my partner, as was our daughter – a pack of dogs!), but I’m a night dog, a guardian with teeth (really like that picture).

 

 

What a Year it Was – and Not!

The year in repose is quiet, but it wasn’t like that while it lived. I lost friends and family, and many in the public light winked out (not that I think much about them, they have their own friends and family), but it seemed too many for one year; too many people who were speaking words are now speaking volumes when their pictures scuttle across my screen saver and I find myself looking into their eyes and wondering things.

Like ‘where are you now?’ or ‘why so soon?’ or worse things, like ‘why didn’t you wait?’ or ‘you could’ve hung on’ – selfish thoughts and feelings, but that’s what we do when we’re left behind. We miss them, and it’s all about our own feelings. Do they miss the pain? Not likely. Do they miss the shallow representations of obligations? Not bloody likely.

I’m selfish. There are people I miss, and there are people I will always miss. Will I ever forget my daughter? Nope. Not even after so many years. I don’t remember her on her birthday – for me, it’s the day of horror that comes back; the day she left. And my father? I do remember his birthday, but only recently found out it wasn’t even his real birthday – he stole his brother’s birthday so he could enlist even though he was too young! I’ve been doing the ‘hi, happy birthday, dad’ thing on the wrong day for too many years – but I don’t know what his real birthday was! (Those were the days when someone in public office could be bribed to ‘remove’ the real and replace the replica – a permanent record change. My nan did that too, but I wonder how many people notice that – look to see what her age was when her last child was born – I think 8 might be a bit young considering she’d had three previous pregnancies, and all two years apart!)

Anyway, I digress, which is something people do at this time of year – when it’s time to pack it up and forget it after it gets logged and lodged in the attic of memories.

The last year showed us, with fresh blood and pain, just how horrendous war is – it’s not the combatants or the politicians or the borders who suffer, is it? I think we should lay the blame for the pain and suffering and loss of and by the children at the feet of those who continue the spilling of blood: the politicians and allies and . . .

The face of the five year old with white ash from the concrete that was blasted out from under him, the twisted legs of the young girl whose body will never again feel anything, the mother who starved trying to feed the children who ended up stolen by the traffickers and moved on to a hell just as bad as war.

These are only a few of the painful and horrendous moments from the year about to slide away – will it continue next year? Who can stop these things? How many voices are there in the world who care enough to speak out loud enough that the idiots who inflict their views decide it’s bad business to keep doing what they’re doing. There are a lot more of those idiots – they think only in terms of what’s good for them, what makes them richer, bigger, more powerful – but without the people behind them, they too, will one day die and become dust.

I choose to remember the face of the child, I refuse to give power to those who harm the children, I will do all I can to find a way to put the monsters . . . elsewhere, well away from the people they hurt.

 

 

 

The Discovery of Q’s

 And now we’re up to Q4. That’s the fourth quartile of the story construction message. Is it the most important part? Yes, but only if Q1 is the bookend to Q4.

Since I discovered this particular form of words about story structure, I’ve become a convert. Yes, I liked to plan, and I did outlines and chapter/scene discovery pieces, but this has put it all together – much like the first time I built a house (okay, more of a shed really, but we lived in it for a while – and it didn’t leak!).

So, what happens in Q4? We lead up to ‘the end’ and we do it in such a way that the story shows the MC (main character) undergoing the metamorphosis from level 1 characteristics to level 2, and now here, to level 3. The final change (even if only temporary) of the inner person; the overcoming of the internal things that let him down, or held him back, or tried (this is the operative word in Q4 – ‘cos it doesn’t work anymore) to make him fear the consequences (etc.) are finally overcome to enable the MC to be the hero of the story. And he has to be the hero – what’s the point of doing the whole story about this person if he can’t be the hero of his own story?

There’s one very important rule for Q4 – no new info!!!! Very important. The MC has to use only the information he’s earned and learned on the way through the story, and this is where it all comes together, where it plays out the hand in the winning layout, where it gets him to the point of no return – to win (however that win may present itself) the day, the girl, the dog, or the personal satisfaction.

There’s a lot of chat out there (e-world) where story is created backwards – find the climactic end-point (q4) and write the story backwards from there. I like this, but I also like to have at least three (3) points of extreme emotional context associated with that climactic moment before I write up an outline (or now: the Beat Sheet!!!! One of my own creation, because (yep, you guessed it) I’m a know-all who likes doing things my own way – I just steal ideas!) and then let it sit in the pile of other outlines until the story muse yells loud enough that I take it out and ‘do’ that story.

 

So, in recap:

Q1: Title (the first thing a reader sees, so make it the most appropriate name for the story)

Opening Image: book cover and the first opening on the MC.

The six things (see Snyder: Saving the Cat) that come back in Q4 to show the level of change in the MC.

The Inciting Incident: This is the kicker, the breaking of the status of MC’s world, but it’s often not the First Plot Point (PP1).

PP1: The decision to DO something made by the MC – note the distinction: the MC does this, they choose, and then they step out on the path they chose.

Q2: the running, hiding, planning, strategizing that leads up to the MidPoint (MP). MC can’t win any clashes with the baddy, even if we have to meet up with whatever this is halfway through Q2 – it’s called the 1st Pinch Point (1pp). It happens somewhere near the middle of Q2 because the reader needs to know and feel and experience exactly what it is that the MC has to overcome.

Q3: from MP to 2pp to PP2; MidPoint to the 2nd Pinch Point to end the quartile at the 2nd Plot Point. This is the place to fight back with power, with energy, with knowledge. Of course, you don’t win with the first attempt – but you do learn something more, something that changes the MC, something that alerts the inner demons that their time is almost over. But of course, it’s not over, not yet. And the 2pp will show just how strong and intelligent and overpowering the baddy has become, won’t it? There’s always that point where the person gets kicked just once too many times and they consider the option of giving up and letting it all go. But then something happens.

Q4: The PP2 is the last moment of new info for the story – most often, it’s the point where the MC finally sees how it could all come together – and it usually involves some level of defeating those inner characteristic demons before he really sees.

And when he does win, and the Q4 holds all the answers to how the MC has changed (see the six things) from the beginning of the story to the end, and the final image, and the sense of achievement (or some sort of feeling, an emotional grabber for him) or revenge or . . . [your story] and he can walk away at ‘the end’ showing how he learned something, he gained something, he Did It and survived (or died for the right reason).

The End.

Now it’s time for a new story for the new year.

Ready? Let’s Go!

Just remember, the Reader (most important person in your world) appreciates being able to follow the story as if they walked the map of your story – and that’s why the structure works. And for those of us who might have thought it a constraint – within those boundaries is the scope for a Whole Lotta Creativity!

Q3

This is the point where most stories fail, and the reason is simple: the third quartile is the beginning of the fight back, it is the point where the obstructions are too much, especially the character’s own inner demons.

The third quartile of the story is from the mid-point to the 2nd plot point (PP2). In that journey, the reader meets (right in the middle of Q3) the 2nd Pinch point (2pp). Remember what a pinch point is? It’s the place where the ‘enemy’ of the MC (main character) gets ahead, takes back power, wins (or appears to win), etc. It’s the vision (for the reader) of the antagonist. And it’s strong, powerful, seemingly invincible (including the fight against the inner demons). The bad guys are doing better than the good guys, and someone is going to be licking his wounds and questioning his right to be in the world, especially this world.

And the darkest part of the journey is just before he hits the PP2. Why?

Because 25% of the story (the setup) worked towards the power of the PP1. And then 25% of the story worked towards the MidPoint. And now (you guessed it!) 25% of the story works towards the PP2. These three power points are what matters. Hit them hard, make the reader feel them in the bones.

Well, maybe not Hard hard, but know that this is the point where they belong, and what they do, and why you have to hit them at all.

The Q1 is the setup (all of Q1) that leads to the PP1. The Q2 is the response to the PP1, so if PP1 isn’t powerful enough to send the MC on the journey of a lifetime – through hell and high water to Do Something – then it needs to be re-thunked. So it becomes a thunk – a moment that sends the MC on the story journey.

The Q3 is the beginning (note that word) of the ability, the things learned and put into action, to begin the fight back. It’s not the point where the MC can win, but he can begin to work on the problems, overcome one at a time (look carefully at the inner demons, and how long it takes to work on something as simple as being able to say ‘hello’ to a neighbour if you’re agoraphobic), and move forwards and then severely backwards.

The last few major points in the Q3 is the (quoting from ‘Save the Cat – Snyder’ here): Bad guys close in; All is Lost; and Dark Night of the Soul. (If you haven’t seen these before, I highly recommend reading his book and enlightening your author-over-mind.)

 

Next time (don’t know when, ‘cos it’s holiday season, and I’m off to do the things we all know we shouldn’t do) is Q4 – the finale, the resolution, the end.

See you then. Oh, and keep reading.

The Third Moment will be hitting the e-shelves in Jan due to the shut-down of stuff over the holiday period.

Ciao!

This is where to find the previous piece Q2, which has another link to Q1.