Edward Lorn's Blog, page 103

Ruminating On: Narration

Recently, I made a new friend on Goodreads, Richard Van Holst. We’ve been talking back and forth over Skype about blog ideas. I’m always looking for a new topic or a topic worth expanding upon. About a week ago, Richard suggested I talk about Narrative Styles. Instead of asking him where I should go with the topic, I decided to delve into the subject my own way. What works and doesn’t work for yours truly. This isn’t exactly gospel. This is just how I see things. Facts will be blended with personal opinions. So there. You’ve been warned.

We’ll start will my least favorite and work our way down to the style I use in over seventy-five percent of my works. Then, I’ll talk about two forms of narration I absolutely will not read anymore.

Third person omniscient (TPO) – The best way of describing TPO is to imagine God telling the story. The narrator knows everything. And I mean everything. There’s only been two books written in this style that I’ve been able to finish without effort. Stephen King’s It, and The Hobbit, by Tolkien. I managed my way through The Lord of the Rings, but it took me almost two years. The problem with omniscient is, normally, it’s pretty boring. Most TPO books live and breath by exposition. You’re bashed over the head with world building, descriptions of places and things that are suppose to give you the lay of the land and scene development, but I feel there are far greater ways of accomplishing such. These books also tend to skip over character development by telling about the cast instead of showing, as the narrator cannot get far enough into the mindset of their characters. Once again, these are only my dealings with TPO. A perfect example of TPO gone wrong is in Stephen King’s Under the Dome. In the book, King takes over the POV of a missile as it glides over New England. King drops from the sky into the dialogue and thoughts of people on the ground as the rocket shoots overhead, then back to the missile again. The chapter is completely and utterly needless. We never bump into the people on the ground in New Hampshire. Their input is obvious, at best—the reactions of any persons seeing a missile being fired over US soil. The only reason omniscient even exists, in my opinion, is because certain authors can find no other way of having their characters describe the details, as in, the characters are not present, but the scene or info given is pertinent to the overall thread of the story. Also, some writers love to head hop, and in TPO, its almost expected if not entirely welcomed.

Third person limited (TPL) –  I wrote Dastardly Bastard in TPL, and I did an all right job of it. The reason I chose TPL was I couldn’t tell the story any other way. There were too many characters and each one of them had their own story to tell. Head hopping is a constant problem to watch for when writing anything in TPL. If you’re in one character’s thoughts, you cannot describe what the character looks like without having them find a mirror. Here’s where most people get confused. In omniscient, it’s quite all right to say that your character’s cheeks turned red because they were embarrassed. But in limited, you can’t do that. Your character cannot see themselves (without some kind of reflective surface, of course) so you have to fall back on different descriptors like, “He cheeks grew warm.” You can only give one character’s thoughts at a time. Chapters and page breaks must be applied if you’re going to switch character POVs. Here’s an example of what not to do in TPL.

Carmine drove west on the interstate. The road reminded him of a movie he’d once watched, The Neverending Story. In the passenger seat, Monica laughed, an inside joke running through her mind.

Sure, it reads well, but the issue is, you started off in Carmine’s head and hopped over to Monica. This is confusing, as there is no way Carmine could know what Monica was laughing at. TPL is the norm in modern day literature. It’s also a great way to lengthen a novel. The more characters you have, the easier it is to build your word count, hopping back and forth from one member of your cast to the other, just in different chapters. One last thing on TPL. It seems readers appreciate this style of narration more than any other. They like knowing what’s going on with all the different characters, something they lack when reading pieces in the next style we’re coming to.

First Person (FP) – I love this form, but a great many readers do not. The biggest problem with FP is that the only things the reader is privy to is the information bouncing around in the narrator’s head. If your main character (MC) isn’t there for something, they can only theorize about it. If your MC runs into other members of the cast, he/she can only know about them what he/she sees and hears. Of course, you could cheat and have your MC be a psychic, but not every MC in every story can be a medium of some kind. If you’re writing in FP about some world altering event, you better make your MC someone in the know; a scientist, a military or world leader, someone with access to vital information, or you run the risk of readers bashing you because you didn’t explain enough. This is why FP is usually reserved for smaller, more personal stories. The main reason I use FP in most of my work is because my characters come into my head telling the story in their own voice. If I write in third person at all, it’s as if I’m forcing the story out. FP is natural to me, as I don’t feel like I’m the one who should be telling another person’s story. I’m just here to transcribe what they’re doing.

The Patterson Effect (TPE) – I, for one, do not like James Patterson. Also, I know that he’s not the first author to write like this, but he’s made it a common thing. TPE is where you jump back and forth between third person and first person with alternating chapters. I’m a pretty literal guy, in the sense that I don’t understand how Patterson’s MC could possibly know what’s going on in the third person sections. Patterson’s cheating. And for a third time, that’s only my opinion. I’ve tried numerous times to turn off that literal side of my mind, but I can’t do it. The only book in TPE I’ve ever been able to read without great effort was Jack Wallen’s Hell’s Muse. In that book, the style makes sense. There’s a reason for the switching of styles in Wallen’s book. The novel is layered like an onion, a book within a book within book. It makes sense. Patterson, not so much.

Agree or disagree, there are facts mixed in with my own personal opinions. This is simply the Gospel According to E. Follow the rules or chance confusing the mess out of your reader. Pick the style that best suits your voice. Do not pick a form because it’s the norm. You would be doing yourself a great disservice if you did. And above all, listen to your damn characters. I will say this until I’m blue in the face, because there’s nothing worse than a forced book. Your readers will see through your charade. You’re the old man at the controls, but you want people focusing on the giant, green, disembodied head hanging in front of them. Keep the man behind the curtain hidden. Never spoil the magic.

Oh, and unless you’re writing a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book, stay the hell away from Second Person. Friends don’t let friends write novels in SP.

E.

Ruminating On: Updates

I haven’t forgotten about this blog. With as many irons in the fire as I have going right now, I’m just trying to keep afloat in this sea of manuscripts. The first draft of Pennies for the Damned is finally done and submitted to Red Adept Publishing. Life after Dane has had its content edit and is now waiting for line editing. Jeff Brackett and I have started on Chucklers. And just to top everything off, me being the glutton for punishment that I am, I’ve actually started writing Stalag Red, as well. Sheesh. After simply writing all that, I’m out of breath.

My point is, I’m a busy little bumble bee. Honey don’t come cheap, kiddos. Work, work, work and more work, all for my readers. You’re entirely worth it, though, and I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else. I honestly have the best job in the world.

So, don’t forget about Ruminating On, because I haven’t. I’ll be updating this week thanks to a prompt from Richard Van Holst from over at Goodreads. He wants to know my take on Narrative Styles, and I’m apt to oblige him.

Until Thursday! LYF!

E.

Book Promo Time!

My debut novel, Bay’s End, has been marked down to $.99 for the time being. Also, my short story collection, What the Dark Brings, will be free for download between 4/7/2013 and 4/11/2013. Click on the images below for Amazon US. If you’re located outside of the US, I will post links under the covers for the UK, Canada and Germany. Please help spread the word. 

 

Bay’s End UK - http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bays-End-ebook/dp/B00737JM16/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365293054&sr=8-1&keywords=edward+lorn

What the Dark Brings UK - http://www.amazon.co.uk/What-the-Dark-Brings-ebook/dp/B009S9LNBE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1365293089&sr=8-2&keywords=edward+lorn

Bay’s End Germany - http://www.amazon.de/Bays-End-ebook/dp/B00737JM16/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365293126&sr=8-1&keywords=edward+lorn

What the Dark Brings Germany - http://www.amazon.de/What-the-Dark-Brings-ebook/dp/B009S9LNBE/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1365293126&sr=8-4&keywords=edward+lorn

Bay’s End Canada - http://www.amazon.ca/Bays-End-ebook/dp/B00737JM16/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365293190&sr=8-1&keywords=edward+lorn

What the Dark Brings Canada - http://www.amazon.ca/What-the-Dark-Brings-ebook/dp/B009S9LNBE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1365293223&sr=8-2&keywords=edward+lorn

Larry Laughlin Joins Facebook

Drop on by and give him a like.

Larry Laughlin on Facebook

Pennies for the Damned

Well, ladies and gentlemen, Pennies for the Damned has officially been submitted to Red Adept Publishing. I figured I’d share the working synopsis with you. Keep in mind, until the book comes out, everything is subject to change.

“Larry Laughlin has lived a rough life. Moving back to the quiet town where he was born was supposed to be a good thing. With the events of Mexico still fresh in his mind, he’s found a new mission in life; one last person he intends to kill. His father.

But, as Larry already knows, schemes can so south on you in a hurry. With his plans put on hold, Larry must travel from Ohio to Nevada with a mysterious teenager, a girl known only as Brooklyn, to try and save his long lost brother. What he finds in Nevada will drive him even farther away from his intended target.

On the road again, Larry arrives in the Big Apple, hunting down his most cunning adversary yet. Manhattan offers up a charismatic gun dealer, a fetish club, and a warehouse of horrors Larry might not survive. 

Will there be Pennies for the Damned?”

Get Inside Chucklers!

I’m writing about a character who relies on random trivia knowledge to keep himself calm. Instead of scouring the internet, I figured I’d give my friends and fans a shot at showing up in my newest book. Post your very own useless information (make sure I can verify it somewhere) and I will put it in the novel Jeff Brackett and I are working on, Chucklers. There’s room for hundreds of responses, but only one per person, please. Give me your best.

If I choose to use your trivia, you will be acknowledged at the end of the book.

Comment below.

Blah-Doop

Today on Facebook, someone posted a meme with a picture of a shark painted into a toilet bowl. I shared it with a status update that said, “Blah-doop.” The story you are about to read is one of my many guilty pleasures. I think every horror author tackles this subject at some point in time. Most notably, you should remember the Shit Weasel from Stephen King’s Dreamcatcher. This isn’t exactly a tribute to that scene, but I like to think it’s just as morbid, not to mention hilarious.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…

Blah-Doop

by Edward Lorn

There was something in the toilet. The man could hear it breathing.

Blah-doop

Gilbert Nunez heard the sound during his morning bathroom appearance, before getting ready for work. While alleviating his swollen bladder, Gilbert noticed bubbles – big, round fuckers, the size of grapefruit – rising, then popping in his stream. The sight was odd, but did not exactly unsettle him.

“Musta be air een’da line,” Gilbert thought aloud. He wasn’t proud of his broken English. Twenty years stateside hadn’t done a thing for his Honduran accent.

Gilbert flushed the toilet and began to undress for his shower. The commode swished and swirled as he took his clothes off, the tank hissing while it refilled. He washed his hands in the sink – a silly action, really, considering he needed to shower anyway – letting the hot water soothe his aching, arthritic fingers.

The man in the mirror was familiar, but much older than he’d remembered. Soft, wrinkled skin, brown from years of working orange groves, darkened further under his eyes. It lent a bruised quality to his face. Sixty years did not a stud make. If he didn’t know the man lingering in the reflection, Gilbert would have thought him a sad sort, lost in life, age having throttled what little strength he had into submission. The years had not been kind, but those spent with his Maria were splendid.

Blah-doop



Maria wouldn’t have thought another thing of the noise coming from the toilet. She would have dismissed it as nothing more than what he originally had: just trapped air. Still, it was beginning to bother him.

Gilbert ran his shower extra hot. The warmth would do well on his tired bones. Stretching an arm into the stream, he tested the currents’ temperature. Perfect. Maria had been fond of long hot showers. So much so, that after most nightly dinners he’d been left with nothing but cold water to wash dishes. Their little, one bedroom hovel in eastern Texas had needed a new water heater for nigh on twenty years. But what with Maria’s death and Gilbert’s lack of any stable income, the appliance’s replacement had been placed on a burner so far back Gilbert could no longer see it.

He stepped into the shower, sucking air through his teeth as the hot, powerful blast of water hit his unready flesh. The sting of the torrent slowly died away and he was left with a comforting feeling. It occurred to Gilbert that this was what a womb must feel like. Surrounded in warm liquid, the only sounds coming through being the rush of blood in his own head and the hiss of a faraway world somewhere outside.

Blah-doop



Big Duck was knocking on the door when Gilbert finished his shower. The burly old bastard stood on the porch, chewing tobacco the color of dead leaves. His thumbs were hitched into his coveralls. He spit the crud over the railing in one fluid effort. Not a drip landed on Big Duck’s chin. The sight abhorred Gilbert. He’d never understood anyone’s fascination with smoking or chew. Both stunk and ruined your teeth. At Gilbert’s age, he’d grown to appreciate smells more. Especially when his own tailpipe could backfire and clear a room within seconds flat.

“The fuck? Ain’tcha ready fer work?” Big Duck spat again. This time he didn’t bother aiming over the rail. The brown gunk landed just to the left of Big Duck’s foot, staining Gilbert’s welcome mat. Maria had bought it.

“Jeest ah moment.”

“You got a shitter?” Big Duck reached around and picked at his ass. “I got a build up somethin’ the size of Texarkana a’rumbling down muh tracks.”

“Fist door on right. I get dressed.” Gilbert nodded, pulling his towel tighter round his waist as he left Big Duck to stink up his home.

Just before Big Duck closed the bathroom door behind him, Gilbert heard the noise in the toilet again.

Blah-doop

“The fuck’s wrong wit’cher john, Hilberto?” Big Duck grunted. Gilbert didn’t want to think about why.

“Air een’dah pipes,” Gilbert called from the bedroom as he bounced around trying to put on his jeans. He’d gained some weight since Maria died – clothes didn’t fit so well anymore.

“Somethin’s ticklin’ my cornhole.” Big Duck chuckled. “Shit’s got a mind of it’s own. Hurumph!”

“Seek focker.” Gilbert shook his head. He never did understand those guys that needed to-

“Goddamn!”

The cry startled Gilbert, cutting his mind off in mid-thought.

“Beeg Duck?” Gilbert buttoned the last bit of his fly and made his way down the short hall to the bathroom.

“Help me, motherfucker!”

“Oh sheet!” Gilbert quickened his pace, his bare feet squeaking on the hardwood floors.

The commotion behind the closed door of the bathroom sounded like a wrestling match. Big Duck squealed and whined, begged and pleaded. Was that gurgling Gilbert heard? Big Duck was no longer saying anything meaningful. His words were liquid, bubbling things.

Gilbert tried the knob. It was locked. Thrusting his shoulder into the wood, it gave easily.

Big Duck was a folded duck. His eyes bulged from their sockets, about ready to pop. Blood flowed freely from the corners of his mouth and drained from his nose in thick strands. Both of Duck’s legs were flush with his chest. Bent in two, like a hideaway mattress, Duck was pulled into the toilet inch by inch.

Gilbert was aware of the cracking sounds that came as bones were pulverized. He didn’t act. The oddness of the situation had turned him to stone.

Once the last of Big Duck disappeared into the commode, Gilbert chanced a step forward.

The water in the bowl was pink. Tendrils of blood diluted, snaking into oblivion.

Blah-doop

Gilbert jumped, flushing the toilet at the same time. Whatever was in there, could fucking stay in there for all he cared.

Welcome to the New Followers!

I wanted to pop in and drop a big ol’ “Thank you!” for following my blog. The schedule is listed above in the page tabs. My weight loss project, Losing a Backstreet Boy, has been moved to its very own website, so if you’re interested in that, pop on over. The link is posted below.

I try to keep things entertaining and informative, but sometimes I just riff on writing and life. I hope you enjoy my ruminations. 

Thanks again!

E.

Project Losing a Backstreet Boy

Big Al’s Readers’ Choice Awards!

Big Al’s Readers’ Choice Awards!

Hello, everyone! Big Al’s Books and Pals Readers’ Choice Awards are now open for voting. This helps out indies (self published and small press, alike) get a little steam behind their books. Please vote. It’s as simple as clicking on a drop down menu. If you find one of my books on there, vote because you believe the book’s worth it, not just because you know me. If I win in my category, I want to win fair and square.

Stalag Red, by Edward Lorn

 

Synopsis:

“Deep in the heart of Nazi Germany, a fringe concentration camp has fallen silent.

Two years after the fall of Hitler, a troop of French and American soldiers on a mission to close any remaining POW camps, stumble upon the derelict site.

But the compound is not as bereft of life as it seems.

Inside, they will find unimaginable horrors. Unable to leave the camp’s grounds, the soldiers must find out what happened inside its walls or die trying.”

Coming 2014

(Photograph from danandholly.com)