Jane Lovering's Blog, page 2

What to do with a flabby middle

The average book is around about 80,000 words, give or take a full stop.

So, using 'author maths' (which is the only kind I am any good at, I can't even count my fingers and toes and reach the same total twice), you need around 5,000 words to introduce your characters and set up the premise for your book, and, say, another 10,000 to get things moving. And then it's going to take you around about another 10,000 for your denouement, to wrap up all the loose ends and get it all over and done with.

As you can see, that leaves you with...(hastily calculates) around 55,000 words in which you are neither starting nor ending your story. And, if you are not careful, those 55,000 words can just sit there, all lumpy and not pulling their weight, because words will do that, if they are allowed to. They lie back on the sofa of your novel, eating crisps and hogging the remote and doing absolutely nothing to advance your plot. And you need to go after them with the cattle prod of plot development and then give them the kick up the bum of character arc too.
Imagine it like this. You are the boot and the little man is your story, by the way. If you are imagining it the other way round, you may want to rethink the life of an author.

Remember what I keep telling you? That every single word needs to further your plot or develop your character? Take a look at those 55,000 words. Now, stop treating them like teenagers who don't tidy their rooms or bring their dirty plates out into the kitchen, and start treating them like co-workers who are leaving you to do all the heavy lifting whilst going out and getting drunk and coming back and putting their feet on the desks.

Basically, make them work. What about introducing a sub plot to give those 55,000 words something to do? Or a twist to the plot you've got? If you really can't get them to do something, maybe have a think about your plot. Have you got enough to fill an entire novel?

If you are really struggling, and those wretched words have not only taken over the remote but they've eaten all the chocolate too and are now lying back and asking you to make them a coffee - try taking your novel apart. Go through, chapter by chapter and make a list of which characters are doing what in each one. Then sum up each chapter - does it need to be there? What does it achieve in terms of the book as a whole?
Do not let your words tell you this. If they are not dragging your story, kicking and screaming, onto the next act, then they are not working.
And don't let me catch you using the 'really long descriptions' excuse to use up a lot of those flabby middle words. Those are still flabby, they're just wearing flattering clothes.

Editing: You are now at the 'chop chop arrrgh' stage

All right, calm down. Deep breaths. Now. You've written your novel and you've followed my instructions and you are now staring at pages and pages of scribbled on manuscript, convinced that this is the worst idea you've had since you bought that outboard motor and strapped it to the swimming aids in the local pool.
To be honest, that was NOT your finest hourSo now what do you do?

Sit down, have a large cup of tea and a packet of HobNobs, and a think. Do you have one of those Kindle thingies that reads to you? Doesn't matter if not, you can do this with your own voice. If you have got a fancy Kindle, save your manuscript to it and get it to read it aloud to you. If you haven't, then you're going to have to do the DIY version, and read it aloud to yourself. As you go, make notes, and bear in mind that EVERY SINGLE WORD has to earn its place. Remember what I said about huge long descriptions? And lots of words about things that are never going to appear in the book again? I don't want to have to come round and slap your hands...

Notes. Lots of notes.
Thsi is what organised writers do. Apparently
This is the time to move scenes and people around if they don't work where they are. Or kill them, killing them is good - not necessarily really killing them, unless it's that kind of book, but if they don't seem to work, or they appear on the page, say something vital and then go off never to be heard of again - try to think of a different way that information can be got over. Merge two people into one (don't try this in real life, they don't like it). Make your characters REAL. Just take out the boring bits of real life, nobody wants to read about cups of tea, walking the dog, cleaning the toilet...if your characters must do these things then at least have them talking about things RELEVANT TO THE PLOT while they are doing them.

And I cannot stress this enough...every single word you write must advance the plot or deepen the characters. I know you've done lots of research into tree felling, but the readers don't care. They don't need to know how you fell an oak, they just want the characters to do it and move on to the next thing.
Yes, it's complicated. Yes it takes work. But your readers want 'chop chop arrrrgh' not a lectureIn fact you need to get your book distilled down to the 'chop, chop, argggh' stage. Cut out all that flabby prosey stuff, where you describe the night sky for four pages. Readers know what a sky looks like, they want to know what is going to fall out of it.

And, as you cut stuff out, you are going to be thinking 'chop, chop....arrrgh, I love that bit, surely I can leave that in?!' Just think about how important it is to the plot...

Next week I am going to be working on your 'flabby middle'. Won't that be nice?

How to Edit - well, to start with...

So, you've finished writing your novel! Well done! You should now have in front of you, a file of around 75,000 consecutive words! Some of them make sense! Some of them may even be good words like 'sussuration' and 'castigate', two words of which I am particularly fond but find little excuse to drop into conversation. And I am sure you think that these 75,000(ish) words are ready to go out in public, where they will undoubtedly draw the praise of many, the attention of a few, and possibly the finances of a publisher.

But hold your horses there. It is, and I hate to tell you this, extremely unlikely that your book is ready to be seen unescorted and out alone yet. It, like a three year old, may appear to be perfectly functional in all ways, but is still incapable of crossing a road or whipping up a cheese souffle. In fact, you may discover that it isn't even a proper book, but we can sort that out in the edits.

Firstly - put it away. Honestly. Somewhere you can't see it or smell it. A locked box in the bottom of a filing cabinet (you can put a sign on the door saying 'Beware of the Leopard' if it makes you feel more comfortable). At least six weeks should do it.
If you understand this reference, you are My Kind of PeopleBut as long as you can bear it. Whilst it is marinading in there, write something new. Or go on a long holiday - anything that distracts you.

When a decent length of time has passed, withdraw the book and sit down with a big red pen (or highlights open on your computer) a bar of chocolate and the curtains drawn. DO NOT tell people what you are doing. They will Ask Questions, which is very offputting. Now read through your book again, and make notes as you go (hint, if you want to know how bad things really are, do a word search through your manuscript for little modifiers like 'just' . Once you've passed the 200 mark you can scream if you want).  Remember what I said about your characters having to grow and change? And every word moving the action on or developing the characters? Be honest now, can you really say that they do? Do you have four page descriptions of locations (or, even worse, clothes)?

And then, sit back, and think 'why should the reader care about this?'

Now, eat the chocolate. You can despair a bit, if you like, it's natural. You are also allowed to think you've written the worst book ever in the history of books, and that's including that four page illustrated 'Store of The Heghog' you wrote when you were seven.
'A captivating tale of nature' - your mumBut, admit it. There's a few sentences in there, a few descriptions, where you think 'that wasn't too bad'. Maybe the characters are wooden and don't behave like real people but there's this bit where they.... and that's not too terrible. Maybe the storyline still strikes you as unique. There's...just....something....

Now, quick. Make notes. Capture those 'somethings' that stood out for you. Circle them if you have to. Scribble all over your page (it's easier if you've printed it out for this bit, we've all ruined lots of laptops doing this). You will end up with things like 'why did she say this here? Why not earler?' and 'where's the caravan gone?' and, if your handwriting is like mine 'habble flib con not won argon'. Which you can decipher later.

What you will end up with is lots of coloured circles, post it notes stuck on, chocolate stains, scribble, tear-stains, turned down corners and a notebook where you have, hopefully, written ideas. Oh, and lots of chocolate wrappers.

But the main things is - you've got something to work with. And, if I don't get distracted, next week I shall help you with that.

Starting your novel - some words of advice

"Gosh", people sometimes say to me, often from a considerable distance because I have a look in my eye that suggests I might throw things at them if they come closer, "I'd really like to write a book!" Then they look at my ragged clothes and my unheated, damp house and add, "A successful one though." And then, cautiously, sometimes poking me with a stick, "Can you give me some advice?"

So I thought I'd use this blog to give that advice, without the poor souls having to come any closer to me. Can't really help with the 'successful' bit, but I can tell you about how to go about starting...

1. Make sure you are writing for the right reasons. Don't think you will write a book because it's a good way of getting famous, making lots of money or easy. If you think it's a good, easy way of being famous and making lots of money, then writing a book is not for you. Why not try being a contestant on a game show? It will give you your desired effect with less humiliation than writing a book.

2. Make sure you have a Big Enough Idea. That interesting thing that happened to you once won't even fill a chapter, trust me. Your characters have to grow and change and develop over the course of a novel, and dropping an ice cream won't do that. Unless your character is the Incredible Hulk, of course, Because I imagine dropping his ice cream would make the Hulk grow and change quite a lot.
3. Have a vague idea of which genre you are writing in and read up on those genres. For example, romance (my genre) has certain conventions. Like having a happy ending, where the couple get together. Now, you can break that convention, but it will mean your book will become 'women's fiction', and publishers may shake their heads and mutter, and, as a first time author, you don't want to give a publisher the chance to shake their head and mutter. Know Your Genre.
Trust me, romance and the happy ending does not have to mean 'fluffy' books. But work with the conventions.

4. Write. And, whilst writing, ask yourself if everything you are putting in that book is necessary. Remember what I said about characters growing and changing (and possibly ripping their trousers, if they are the Hulk)? Well, every word must either move your story on or develop your characters. No lengthy discussions about dresses, please.
Not relevant, not relevant, not relevant - but nicer in the blue, with the sweetheart neckline and more embroidery on the bodice...


5. Finish it. Doesn't matter if you hate it by the time you get to the end, we all hate every word we've written once we get to the end. But the road to Writing a Novel is paved with unfinished first chapters, you need to stick with it and keep going. It will feel like pulling teeth and you will pray for death around about 50,000 words, but Keep Going. We will talk about making something readable out of what you've written, next time.
When you've written these words, you have my permission to go and eat a lot of chocolate. Or biscuits. Or cake...look, just go and eat everything you can see. It's fine. You're a writer now, it's what we do...

The Unexpected Rose Bowl of Doom...and why I think it should be a cake.

So, you know last week, when I went off to the RoNAs. with my little suitcase and a packet of HobNobs, a bit like Paddington Bear only without the label?

Well, I only went and WON THE RONA ROSE!!!

For anyone who doesn't know, that's the award for the best 'short' Romantic Novel of the Year. Think novella, Mills and Boon length books, in fact, I think Mills and Boon donated the trophy in the first place (It's actually called the Betty Neels trophy after one of their more successful authors. You can look at her books here. She seems like a nice lady). So they gave me a rosebowl.

Here is the rosebowl in question. Also pictured, flowers and the star that you get when you win your category. And the dog's blanket.
And I was wearing unsuitable shoes! Now, if you've ever tried walking around a room carrying a rosebowl and a crystal star, talking in an overexcited fashion to people you haven't seen for nearly two years, and wearing shoes that you can barely stand up in, well. I don't recommend it unless you want people to think you are a) drunk b) in need of medication or c) possessed by the spirit of a three legged terrier hopped up on Bonio and in drastic need of walkies.
Here are pictures:  This is the line up (minus two who hadn't arrived yet) for the Romantic Comedy award. Eve Devon, Trisha Ashley and Matt Dunn, plus me. We all had a good giggle before this was taken, and lots of talk about underwear (although, to be fair, that was mostly Eve and me).

And this is me, post win. Looking, as you can see, somewhat shell shocked. But that might have been the shoes.

And then, the next day, I had to walk back through London, on a kind of inverse 'walk of shame', carrying the Unexpected Rosebowl. It's quite big and didn't fit in any of the bags I had, so it was stuffed, rather ignominiously, into a carrier bag, and turned out to be Quite Heavy when carted through town on plastic handles. Plus, I have no idea what to do with a rose bowl. In my house it's pretty much just a very posh Quality Street dispenser...

so, I put it to the Committee that, in future, all awards should be either very very light things which are easy to pop into a bag and carry for miles without arousing suspicion (like a bath sponge. Very light and squashy)
The new RoNA Rose award. Lacks a certain something, though.or cake, OR something that is v v useful to have in the house (washing machine, log burner) or cake.

I realise it's harder to engrave the winner's name on a cake, and possibly a little harder to keep to pass on to next year's winner, but...IT'S CAKE! Plus much easier to carry, probably internally.

Off to the RoNAs...

Tomorrow I shall be leaving my cosy existence in the wilds of North Yorkshire, for that there London, where I shall be attending the Romantic Novel of the Year Awards ceremony. Once there, I shall be running about with a big pink face, squeaking in excitement at all the very well known people there. I may even try to pee in one or two handbags.

It is a wonderful honour to be shortlisted. You knew I was shortlisted, didn't you? Well, I am. Once with
this, and once with
this. The list of other shortlisters is so esteemed that I am the only person on that list that I have never heard of and, indeed, very few people attending will have heard of me - except in the context of 'watch out for the one with the big pink face, she pees in your handbag if you don't keep an eye on her'.

So, think of me tomorrow, trying to be all polite and well behaved and everything, and trying to look acceptable in the pictures, where I must appear with normal people who look nice and are wearing lovely dresses (or not, in the case of the men) and shoes, and clapping happily at whoever wins. Because it's all about the books, you know, and the best book will most definitely win, even though I am pretty sure it won't be one of mine. It will just be lovely to see some of my friends there and have a giggle and a drink and applaud and just generally lig about.

Oh, and pee in a handbag, that's a given.

Here is the rogues gallery where you can see all the beautiful books and their beautiful authors. And me.

Expecting The Beast, how far up the cat will it go?

Well, we've been warned. Cold weather is, apparently, on its way.

Now, it might have escaped some people's notice, but we've actually been entertaining a little season we like to call 'winter' lately. You know, that time between November and May when it gets darker and the birds finally shut up and the grass stops growing? That one?
Here's a clue. It looks a bit like this, only with less dog. Usually.And the temperature fluctates on a day to day basis from 'nice in the sun but chilly in the wind' to 'cor, blimey that's cold, I'm going back inside to light the fire'. So. Winter is Cold. We can deal with that.

But, apparently, this Cold is bringing Snow! There might be lots of it!

Thanks for that, weather people. Can you stop giving me predicted snowfall in centimetres and tell me how far it's going to come up the cat? I still, despite having had a run of many years at it,cannot think in centimetres, but if the weather person could stand in front of their map and, maybe, indicate? With their hands?
 'In Yorkshire, we're forecasting around five centimetres of snow, which is this much' (holds hands apart to show how deep it is) or, approximately a quarter of the way up the legs of your average cat. For Jane Lovering, that means, don't let Zac out, but Big Arthur should be absolutely fine.'

That would be nice.

How far up the fluffy one? Vaguely?

Good grief, will you look at the cobwebs in here! I mean,...

Good grief, will you look at the cobwebs in here! I mean, I can practically write my name in the dust. Although, why I'd want to given that my name is in fairly big letters on the top of this website I have no idea - certainly time to get in here and have a bit of a wipe round with a damp thingummie...

Anyway. Hello. It's been a while. Mostly because I've been on Facebook, Twitter, publisher's blog, pretty much everywhere, and nobody needs THAT much exposure to me. So, what have I been up to? Well, apart from the things that are currently being taken into consideration by the legal profession (I'm up to forty nine injunctions, I believe that is some kind of record, but I think Sir Tony is really going to like the big surprise I've planted for him in the shrubbery), there's a few things..

I've had a Christmas novella out (this one)
I've got a new book out (this one)
The book (not that one, the one before that, this one) and the novella (yes, that one) are on the RNA shortlist for, respectively, Romantic Comedy Novel of the Year and Short Romance of the Year (I thought that was just Tony, but apparently not).

I've been to Australia, where it was very hot and sunny and I behaved impeccably and didn't get thrown out of anywhere.
But I did look pensively at a large number of different foods, some of which just might have had the Sydney Harbour Bridge in front of them.

I might even go back. There's still a lot of food I haven't looked pensively at. Bacon, that needs a good staring at. Fruit bonbons. Tomatoes. That sort of thing.

Anyway. Back to the blog. It's time this place had the windows opened, bit of a breeze through. There's a very strange smell in here...

RIP Mum

Those of you who follow me closely (although not too closely please, if you are standing near enough to dip your HobNob in my tea then you probably want to go back a few paces.

And a few more.

I can still see you.

That's better)

will know that it's been a bit of a sad time for me just lately. My lovely mum (although I can't take entire ownership rights, my brother has part shares in her too) died this week.  We knew it was coming, so the end was not as much of a shock as it otherwise would have been, but even though I was prepared, I still didn't account for how 'adrift' one feels when the last parent goes.  My dad died nine years ago, so I've had a little practice though. 

I suddenly realised that there is now nobody who remembers me as a newborn baby (my brother is younger. And anyway has a terrible memory and would probably invent some stuff about me being awful and unmanageable. Or something), or my first steps, or my first word.

And then I think, 'hang on. Why does it matter anyway? I clearly learned to walk and talk, although shutting up is more of a challenge, so why do I need corroborating evidence? And why should her death have to be felt purely as it related to me?' 

Someone is gone who was once here. More lives are impacted than mine, she will be missed by my brother and his wife, who cared for her in her last years. By the nine grandchildren and three great grandchildren, by the step grandchildren and great grandchildren.

So there's now a Betty-shaped hole in the world.  One that she filled for 86 years, so she gave it a good go and, hopefully, achieved a lot of the things she wanted to. She certainly gave a lot of sit-coms a good thrashing, and also enjoyed murder mysteries rather a lot. She could pronounce 'there's been a muurrrrrrderrrrr' with more Glaswegian emphasis than even Taggart managed, despite having been born and brought up in Windsor.
Never knowingly overfacedShe will be well and fondly remembered.

Now I inexplicably want to go and eat a giant dessert...

How to know what you don't know...

Write what you know.

That's what they say, isn't it? And, as long as you've led a jet-setting life, with frequent space flights interspersed with cattle ranching in the Peruvian uplands and occasional bouts as an angst-ridden rock star, then that's great. You've got enough material, go, write!

But what if you've never been further than Uttoxeter? What if you've never even met a rock star (hard to imagine, I know, but there must be some people out there who've never been hauled aboard a tour bus) and your day job involves pencilling tick boxes on a council form for compost bins?  What then?

(Wanders off to imagine book about Uttoxeter-dwelling council worker...)

OK. So I'm going to tell you how to write about what you don't know.
I don't fancy yours muchEmotions translate. That's all you need to know.  You may never have been widowed, but remember that time your cat died when you were nine? Remember that feeling that you'd never see them again and how hard it was and how you missed them? Hold that feeling...

You may never have decided to up sticks and move to Spain to get over your loss. But remember that school exchange visit to France, when you spent the first three weeks feeling desperately homesick and missing your mum and then you discovered you loved cycling along the lanes in the sunshine? Hold that feeling.

You may never have suffered from a life changing illness. But remember when you had that flu that time? And you couldn't get out of bed for a week even to answer the phone and you felt so awful that you were sort of afraid you'd die? And how it took you six weeks before you could stay up past nine o clock and how you felt as if you were about a hundred years old for ages?  That...

Because we all know so much more than we think we do, but none of us can have lived all the lives we write about (at least, not if you want to write more than one or two books, or recycle the same plot). But emotions translate. Loss is loss, whether it's your husband, father or dog, grief is the same. Its severity and duration vary depending on the relationship, but the sheer gut-pulling, hunched-over-crying, inability to function shock remains the same.  Fear is fear, whether it's your child straying out of your sight on the beach or a noise behind you in a dark forest, your mouth dries the same way, your heart thunders, your body freezes...And love, whether it's a partner, your dog or Aiden Turner, you still feel that warm smile on your face when you think of them (unless you've got a dog like mine, in which case your jaw sort of clenches at the same time).

You know so much more than you think you know.
Except space travel. You're on your own with that one.