Laura Brewer's Blog, page 8

Chapter Breaks Control The Pace

I started writing Warrior Song, the third in the Talmanor trilogy, during NaNoWriMo some years ago. Because of the speed at which you write during that challenge, I didn’t bother with such details as where my chapter breaks would be. I won’t say that was a mistake, since I got a large chunk of the book written, but going back and adding them in is harder than doing it in the first place. Those points in the story that will make page-turning, natural breaks don’t seem to be in the right places. The flow of the story suffers for it and will take a lot of tweaking to fix.

Chapter breaks do several things. They give the reader a sense of accomplishment, like mile markers when walking. They pause the story for an instant, building suspense. Finally, they pace the story.

How a story reads, fast or slow, has much to do with the chapter breaks. Action/adventure and thrillers, in particular, often have shorter chapters that leave a reader breathless. Your eyes feel like they’re running faster to keep up, or catch what happens next. The books themselves may be shorter also, but not always.  The longer the work, the more you must pace the writing flow to accomplish what you need the story to do. If you have a 500 page novel with 10 page chapters and a constant breakneck pace, your poor readers will be exhausted when they’re done. With a shorter work, you can have the reader climb a hill and start running, faster and faster down the other side. In a longer work you want more of a roller coaster effect, with an increase in height or degree of turn as the book progresses. Towards the end, many books have the slightly shorter chapters of a faster pace.

Where the chapter breaks falls is at least as important as length. You want the tension building at the end of each chapter to keep the reader turning the pages. As annoying as it is to have a hard time finding a place to put a book down late at night, that’s exactly what you, as a writer, want. If the reader has to force themselves to lay it aside, you have accomplished a major goal. Part of that is having a good story, of course, but without the right pacing, even a good story can lag. You might think of the end chapter tension as the kinetic energy the roller coaster has built up by time it reaches the crest. You want that pause just as the story reaches that crest. The energy is high and it takes effort to hold it back – or put the book down.

This pacing wasn’t something I really had to think about in the earlier books. It seemed to come naturally, but I was writing those breaks as I went. It was intuitive to break the chapter at a point where there was a glimpse of where the story was going, or appeared to be going, just over the crest. You could see somewhere ahead, but still hidden from view were the turns or loops the story would take in the next pages to get there. Often, a story will take unexpected turns at the beginning of a chapter, leading to another build in tension. The reader is kept guessing as to just what is going to happen.

Even in formula romances, at least the good ones, you get the suspicion that the two people, who hate each other’s guts, are going to fall in love. What you don’t know is how the story is going to take you to that seemingly impossible place. The combination of strategic pauses and glimpses of a possible path ahead are what determines the pace and turns pages. This is all the more important in books where we have an idea where the main plot is going to end. If the end point is visible, the path to find it must not be. But that’s another post.

Toddler vs English Language – Toddler Always Wins!

Kids just learning to talk can be amusing, and exasperating. My youngest was 14 months old before he said anything other than the basic mama/dada words out loud, though we did hear him mumbling to himself for several months before that. When he broke out in real speech, it was overnight. He had been practicing by himself. He chose his moment for this breakout with care, it seemed.

We were getting ready to go to a camping event and trying to get the van loaded. He was not helping. Finally, his older brother turned to him and said, “If you don’t stay out of the boxes, I’m going to duct tape you to the ceiling!” He wasn’t serious, of course.

Our baby looks up with this bright, look what I can do face, and said, “Duct tape?”

This had the effect he wanted, everyone laughed and tolerated his “help” a little better.

For the next week, he answered everything with “duct tape”. Then he started using sentences. Overnight.

By the next spring, his vocabulary had grown, but sometimes his comprehension was a bit odd. We had cats, as we almost always do, and he had discovered their food and water bowls over the winter. For some reason, he became fascinated with putting the dry cat food in the water and watching it get plump and soggy. For this he was scolded, “No! It makes the cat food nasty.” His young mind decided to rearrange this statement.

For a while after this, every time he didn’t want to do something, he’d say,”No! It’s nasty called cat food!”

We took him to another, larger, camping event. Groups of tents became micro communities and we were set up with families, some of whom also had toddlers. This was great. We set up a play area and could watch them without their getting underfoot, or wandering away. They could play, make friends and ignore the adults, which I think toddlers live for.

Now, if you have ever done any group camping, you know how thin a tent wall is and how sounds carry. I woke up one morning to hear the mother in the tent next to us, preparing breakfast early. She seemed to be trying to coax her son to eat. The child’s words rang out as only a child’s words can do.

“No! It’s nasty! It’s cat food!”

I pulled the covers over my head and whispered to my husband, “Oh, my God, it’s spreading!”

I took pains not look at the other mother that morning, for fear she’d learn how her son came by this unusual statement about her cooking.

When it comes to the English language, it doesn’t matter what adults say. The toddler always wins. This is the core of a grandmothers revenge.

So, How Many Kinds Of Edits Are There?

Some of what are called edits, I would put in the category of critique, preferably done by my writers group with notes and discussion I can revise from. Pace, consistent voice, plot, etc. are the kind of things you want to correct early, during the first or second revision. This is where I catch parts that need to be cut or expanded. I work on the flow and pace of the story. Changes here require actual rewriting, not simple corrections. Sometimes they require massive rewriting. Sometimes I get ruthless with the delete button. To me, editing is something else.

Not all edits are the same. I imagine everyone has their own way to break it down, but here’s my process. Being slightly OCD where my writing is concerned, I tend to correct typo’s at all points of the process, partly because if I don’t, I may not see it again. These disappear with distressing ease. Otherwise, I work on the big things and narrow down to the nitpicky details.

For the first edit, I read the entire thing out loud. I make notes and highlight as I go. This is usually for the second revision, after I have already made sure there are no loose plot threads or other major content things. Reading out loud is a great way to catch those awkward phrases. If I read it to someone it’s even better. I can see their reaction when something is not clear. This read will fine tune my paragraphs and sentences. I’ll note where I need to reword and refine the phrasing. Then I take my notes and do the revision from them.

I let it sit for at least a week or two and work on something else. I need to come at it fresh for the next run.

The next edit I usually do in hard copy. This is the first serious typo/spelling/punctuation/ grammar edit. I go slow. After I work through it front to back, I start at the end and take it paragraph by paragraph – backwards. This keeps you from getting caught up in the story and the technical errors are easier to see. This seems to help break the tendency to read what I intended to type, rather than what I actually typed. Once I correct the errors on the computer, it’s ready to go back to my team for their final nitpicky read.

Once I get the marked up file back, I go through and make what are, hopefully, the last corrections. They aren’t of course.

Next is the edit of galley proofs, or their ebook equivalent. For ebooks, you have to make sure there’s no formatting errors. The first time we reformatted a book for mobi, around 2/3 of the periods disappeared. Not all of them, which might at least have made sense in a techy sort of way. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make sure all your periods are there? It is the final nitpicky edit all over again. I can’t offer any specifics on galleys yet, as we haven’t done actual printed books at this time, but I suspect it’s the same kind of thing.

Something to note, Selarial’s Song was my first book and I had to learn as I went. This was not a single time going through the process, but what seemed like endless times. It spanned years. I once threw the manuscript in the closet for 5 years in disgust. There were some major shifts in the story as I decided what worked and what didn’t. Somehow, the meat of the story still stayed in line with the plan for the overall trilogy. The rest have been a walk in the park by comparison and the process gets faster the more I do it.

Team Building For Authors

This morning, I saw several articles on team building and networking for authors. Indie authors do not succeed by writing alone. We have a team. We have a team even if we don’t quite realize it’s a team. Wherever you are in the process, take some time to think about this. The job of writing and marketing is not something one person, however skilled, can do alone. You will drown in a sea of tasks if you try. So how do we swim in the modern publishing sea?

The first job of any writer is to write. If you get too busy trying to handle all the promotional requirements alone, you will lose focus in your primary task – writing. My first team members were, and are, my crit group. They are the first to be my sounding board for new ideas, the first to encourage, the first to advise. When it comes to marketing, they also are among the first to spread the word. But more is needed.

When I first decided (gave in to the idea after repeated prods) to go indie, my son agreed to help with the tech side, like formatting, contracts, finding some potential artists for the cover, etc. In short, some of what a publisher would do. He decided to form his own small publishing company to help other indie authors and artists who wanted to e-pub, but lacked the technical skills. That solved the first problem.

The tasks of effective marketing have become a big, scary tidal wave. You must find the right reviewers and get out requests, arrange for other eyes to copy edit, find the right artist for your cover, line up promotions. Then there is branding and social networking. That wave is looming over my head.

At the very least I needed an assistant to do the preliminary research on promotional and review options. Fortunately, my son is in the process of adding to our team, exactly what we need. This prophetic child of mine managed to be working on this about the time I fully admitted to myself that I am not able to do this alone. It’s actually funny the way it worked out. I’m about ready to yell, “HELP, I’m Drowning!” and, bless him, he already has the life preserver in hand.

Everyone’s experience is different, but we must swim that sea. Look at the team you already have. Do your members have all the needed skills covered? If not, what areas is your team weak in? Once you answer the questions, finding that life preserver for your writing is a lot easier.

Build your team and WRITE!

For more ideas:

http://t.co/7qTh7RdBtD

https://www.createspace.com/en/community/community/resources/blog/2013/09/24/book-marketing-have-you-tapped-your-network?ref=1466658&utm_id=6118&cp=70170000000c3cP&ls=Email&sls=CSP_Newsletter_Members

Dream Song – Chapter One

 

Dream Song is the second book in The Songs Of Talmanor trilogy. Book three, Warrior Song, is scheduled to be released early in 2014.

Emerald eyes blazed as Alcar leaned forward, hands pressed to the polished table. Kirrlea watched as he stared incredulously at the stony faces of the Singer Council. Her mind cringed at the anger she felt simmering below the surface of his thoughts and urged caution. It would do them no good to set the Council against them.

“I cannot believe you’ll just leave her there. Selarial’s one of your own. You assure me she lives, but even you do not know how badly she was injured from the backlash. She needs our help!” Alcar’s tone bordered on insolence and he had cause, she knew.

There had been no contact with Selarial for nearly four months; not since Alcar’s ship had been destroyed. Not since the psychic backlash had ripped her mind away from them and triggered a psychic lock on the world where she had crashed. The Council still found that fact puzzling, and it had caused the team a great deal of pain. The mind link, that should have provided support for Selarial, was cut off when she needed it most.

“Lord Alcar, she has medical treatment on Taledra. She is not alone, Ishanee and Gerith are there to guard and her whole crew will support her healing,” Jalina said, the healer’s mind touched them gently with compassion that did little to dispel their pain.

“There has also been a report only hours ago, that the Thess’n activity in the sector where your ship was destroyed is too intense to risk. We can not go to her aid if it means drawing an enemy fleet after us,” Cairoluin informed him. Her aged face was as cold as her voice was hard, but she disapproved of Alcar’s training in the Istari arts and would oppose him in anything, Kirrlea thought.

“The Tirnas is equipped with stealth, I could get in without being seen,” Alcar insisted.

“Not with the amount of fighting going on.” Voraila added, “We can’t afford to lose you either. The decision is final, Lord Alcar.” That was a dismissal and, even in his anger, he knew it. Without another word he turned and left. Kirrlea stayed at his side offering what comfort she could.

Raithalos waited to carry them back. The Runner grazed in apparent unconcern for Alcar’s distress, but Kirrlea knew that was only in deference to the Peace of the Vales. She trotted over to nudge Alcar in the chest as they came into the meadow before the Singer’s Hall.

“You look as if sweet grass had turned to sand in your mouth, lord. Did they not agree?” She turned her silvery head to look at him as he swung up on her back.

“No. Let’s go home,” Alcar said.

Kirrlea preferred to walk on her own feet and they weren’t in that much of a hurry. She did have to admit that she would rather not have to slow to Alcar’s pace. Riding one of the Runners was the best way to get into the Vales. Vehicular traffic of any kind was restricted. Raithalos was a close friend and usually good company, but none of them were in any mood to talk about it yet.

The plains lay in golden waves, parched under the fierce heat of the summer sun. It swished pleasantly against her fur as she loped at Raithalos side. Alcar turned on Raithalos’ smooth back and she slowed. Kirrlea sighed. Alcar seemed drawn to looking backward today. She studied him where he sat. The hand that shaded his eyes was brown, the legacy of twenty-five years in space. That, alone, made him stand out on a planet whose human natives were very fair. Their pale ivory skin never took on more than a faint golden hue even after decades in space. There were other differences too. Though tall and lean for a human, he did not have the lithe, slender frame of the Sorthians. He had let his hair grow in the past two years and it lay across his shoulders in traditional war braids. Though dark, it was not quite the blue-black of his adopted people either. His eyes fascinated her almost as much as they did Selarial, being a vivid shade of green that stood out sharply among the gray-eyed Sorthians.

At the moment, all Alcar’s studying could not bridge the cultural gap that was a difference in perspective. Because of the bond, he would share the long life span of his new people, but he had not developed the patience that came with it.

A shrill greeting shattered the silence and they looked up to see two swift shapes diving towards them. Trev, Roth’s mate, took his favorite perch on Alcar’s shoulder while Roth glided over their heads, her velvety black feathers glistening in the sun. From the rage pulsing in the Lidans’ thoughts, they already knew the Council’s decision.

“It’s a good thing I insisted you two stay out of the meeting this morning. As satisfying as it might be to watch you rip the Council members to shreds, we will need them eventually,” Alcar said, reveling in the image for a moment.

“Roth would not attack the Council. Though dealing with an irate Lidan probably would not have improved their temper,” Kirrlea replied.

“You do yourself no service,” a stern voice spoke to them all. Master Olahran’s touch was unmistakable.

“I am not Sorthian born and this proves it,” Alcar said. Kirrlea felt him lock his mind shields to anyone outside the team. “Selarial’s own mother is content to leave her trapped and injured on that backwater world.”

Olahran studied him in silence for some time before he spoke. Sunlight glinted of his white hair, an unusual mark of age that rarely showed till near death. Kirrlea could not remember him ever being any other way.

“If you think Lady Voraila is content, you have not learned as much as I thought. The discipline to accept a necessary action, however unpleasant, hardly means she doesn’t care. She is at least as frustrated by the situation as you are – and as worried. Lady Voraila, however, is not indulging herself by giving in to emotions that serve no useful purpose.”

Kirrlea drew on the bonds they shared to pull them into a deeper mental link. An instant later she wondered if that had been such a good idea as their mutual rage and frustration feed each other into a mighty storm. The Sisha made no effort to control the intensity. After several minutes, the calm that she usually maintained made itself felt. It took a surprising amount of effort for Alcar to channel his anger into determination. Abruptly, memories surfaced of the day after Alcar’s awakening in the Vales.

 

“It is not your fault, Alcar,” she had told him.

“I should have known. I should have heard what Nafron was saying about the risk sooner.” Alcar had been unable to look her in the eye. His guilt had become a well sucking him into its lightless depths. “A lot of good people died all because I was a target.”

Olahran had approached the bed then, his voice had been cold. Kirrlea had rarely seen him display anger. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to say that. Every man and woman in the Ventura’s crew entered the Fleet knowing they might have to sacrifice their lives to protect the Coalition. You will not belittle that sacrifice by wallowing in useless guilt.” Olahran’s voice had gone colder still. “You have a job to do Lord Alcar. You want to blame someone? Find out who leaked the information and set up the assassination attempt. Go after them with every asset you have.”

Kirrlea’s thoughts had been for Alcar alone, “He’s right, Alcar. There are more important things for you to do. Get your strength back. Learn what Olahran can teach. We will find the furless outcasts who caused Selarial to be exiled on Taledra and destroyed the Ventura. We will rip them to quivering shreds.”

Her rage and determination had done more to transform Alcar’s lingering guilt than Olahran’s arguments. She shivered as she remembered the way his eyes had gone from pain to rage and then deadly calm in a matter of seconds. She knew well the look of a predator on the hunt.

Since that day Alcar had driven himself relentlessly to recover from his injuries. He had set himself to learn everything Olahran could teach him about his Istari talent with the same determination. He had pushed mind, body, and soul beyond exhaustion. Kirrlea knew there was only one purpose behind that drive. Alcar had given his allegiance to Sorth and the House of Talmanor, but his deepest commitment lay with Selarial. And vengeance drove him.

She wondered if Olahran knew what he had done.

 

Linked as they were, Alcar could not help but share the recollection. If he had any way to go after Selarial on his own now he would, but he didn’t even have coordinates for the planet. Bitter frustration surged through him at the thought of being balked by the Council now.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered at the idea of waiting several months to act.

“Yes, you can, Alcar. You have to! If you give up we are all lost. Selarial is lost. Patience. Get your forces ready. Nafron is not going to cut you loose to deploy until he is sure you have achieved control,” Kirrlea told him earnestly.

The link between them surged again as Roth and Trev added their arguments to Kirrlea’s. Roth was intolerant of any delay, but she was easily distracted by the promise of battle that Kirrlea offered. Trev, less volatile to begin with, helped stabilize the balance between them all.

Alcar looked up to see Olahran watching him. Olahran’s eyes, so full of wisdom, looked into his calmly, seeing past all the resentment. Alcar felt the strength of will in him, a sense that Olahran had come to terms with harsher trials than those he faced. Still, he sensed neither criticism nor any belittling of the current challenges.

Alcar staggered a step as Olahran released him. For those few seconds, not only had Olahran breached his defenses; he had deftly separated Alcar from the team mind. He would have to research the how and why of that little object lesson. The why seemed obvious, but Olahran’s lessons were rarely that simple.

“I came to meet you because of a change in schedule. Nafron needs you in a briefing at the Towers as soon as you can get there. I switched your students to this afternoon. Jethal is taking them to the firing range for the rest of the morning,” Olahran said.

“Anything I should know about the briefing?” Alcar asked. His father-in-law was not an alarmist and Nafron had known of his meeting with the Singers. The summons was urgent from the timing alone. He buried his personal turmoil beneath the facade of determination.

Olahran shrugged. “That’s all I know, but I did hear ships coming in earlier. There is a flitter standing by.”

“Thank you.” Alcar’s swift wordless question to the team was met with an indignant reply.

“Of course we’ll come!”

Raithalos cantered easily across the remaining distance, swift, but far from the speed she was capable of. She stopped at the waiting flitter.

“Good hunting, lord. You will find what you seek.” She nudged him gently in the chest, a gesture of approval.

 

The flitter dropped them off at the security entrance to the central Tower. The morning sun scintillated off the pure crystal of its walls, overpowering the multihued reflections of the seven other towers. A guard waited to escort him to the briefing.

“Lord Nafron is in Operations, Lord Alcar,” he told him.

“Thank you. Carry on,” Alcar said, striding quickly to the nearest lift. Trev reclaimed his place on Alcar’s shoulder, but Roth stayed overhead as if she was scouting. Kirrlea wordlessly called his attention to the increased tension in the guard. She sensed that only the team’s presence kept him from escorting Alcar all the way to the briefing room.

Operations took up most of the second level of the Tower with a smaller portion occupied by the secure communications relays. To exit from the lift on this level required both a passkey and a psychic trigger. Alcar went through the process with less patience than usual. Quick strides took him across the main room. He paid no heed to the various screens lining the walls. Lord Nafron’s guard stood before the door to the briefing room. She opened it with a crisp nod to Alcar.

Nafron sat at one end of the long table, making some adjustments to the settings on the small holo projector used for stellar maps. His face was expressionless, but something in the set of the shoulders, the close-cropped dark head, told Alcar he was concerned. Master Dhugean, beside him, looked grim. As Alcar came farther into the room, he saw a familiar, but unexpected, face.

“Mitani! When did you get in?” Alcar asked, smiling. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other. He had not changed a bit; the tanned face still looked deceptively youthful coupled with the pale hair and light blue eyes. Alcar had served with the Trader Captain when they were both young and foolish. They had worked together several times since then. Lean and wiry, Mitani looked as tough as ever, though his eyes were more weary.

Mitani bowed formally. “About an hour ago, Lord Alcar.”

Alcar rolled his eyes at the formality. He had to put up with that from a lot of people, but Mitani shouldn’t be one of them. “We’ve know each other too long for that nonsense. Besides, your presence here suggests you have a report for us.”

“Several, actually,” Mitani said in a lighter voice.

“And a certain urgency,” Kirrlea added pointedly. She and Roth greeted the Trader with a brief touch of welcoming thoughts.

Mitani nodded in agreement. Nafron dimmed the lights and activated the map. Stars blossomed above the small holographic projector. He made an adjustment and tiny designations appeared on the primary Thess’n worlds. Mitani pointed out one designated TB3 that was deep into Thess’n territory.

“This is one of their main shipyards. The Thess’ns have stepped up production. The ship that made this run noted a dozen new hulls nearing completion that are larger, more streamline, than their warships. We have a few images of them, but the resolution is not very good. It looks like a new class of battleship.” Mitani passed Alcar, who happened to be closest, a data chip. Alcar inserted it in a handheld reader and after a quick review, passed it to Nafron.

“I agree. It looks like it will have a capacity similar to our Nebula class. We’ll turn these over to the engineers for evaluation. The crew who gathered these deserve a commendation,” Alcar commented.

For over a year, Nafron had arranged for some of the Sorthian merchant ships as well as selected individuals (mostly from the Tower Guard) to work in closer covert alliance with the Traders Guild. The Guild was one of the Coalition’s most useful groups for gathering intelligence and had been running covert ops in Thess’n territory for several years. They were in fact the only ships to cross the border with any regularity, all supposedly in the name of legitimate trade. Even the Coalition Intelligence Committee was not fully aware of what they were doing. Nafron chaired that committee and the Guild’s reports usually came in to him. That was something Alcar had only recently learned.

“Raider production seems to be up by at least thirty percent. I assume they are also training a corresponding number of troops though we haven’t located their training base yet.”

Nafron gave no outward reaction to the report, but Alcar sensed his worry. Alcar wanted to send a strike force into those shipyards. It could even be done with the right backup, he thought.

“How sure are you of the source, Captain?” Nafron asked.

“I’d stake my life on it,” Mitani replied in a tone that told Alcar he already had. “There are additional reports of bases being reinforced here, here, and here.” He pointed out the locations and Nafron made appropriate notes. All three were strategically located for staging an invasion. “They haven’t moved in additional troops yet, but they are stockpiling material. They’re being very clever about it too. Most of the assets are in concealed underground bunkers. One of our people happened to stumble on to how they were doing it. Now we know what to look for, the number of these bunkers is staggering. I’ve got some recon pics for you.” He handed them both hard copy and a data chip. The hard copy was marked to point out the bunkers and notations made on stores, known or suspected. Marginal notes showed how they were concealing them.

“Voids! If this is accurate, they are planning something major. The bases would put them within striking distance of half the Coalition. I know it’s risky, but if you can have your people keep an eye out for when then they start moving in troops and ships, it would help. I’ll make sure our forces are briefed in on this and they will all be told what to watch for,” Nafron said. At least the timing was good. Ne Rill Aris would begin in three weeks and the festival always drew as many offworld traders as could secure a landing permit. Few knew that it also covered for rotating out their covert forces as well as the exchange of information. Most of Sorth’s forces that had been out for any length of time would be coming in.

“Anything else?” Nafron asked.

“Not really. That last data chip includes a lot of details that may or may not be of importance. Lady Arthea has a report on some of the weapons from Tarkus arsenal, but I believe she intended to take that directly to the Singers. All I know is that they seem to be using them against their own people from time to time in order to curb the rebellion.”

Alcar swore a particularly vile oath in Sorthian that startled Nafron.

“When you can swear that appropriately in a new language, I would have to consider you fluent.” Nafron’s thought had a wry twist.

“Let us know when you find out anything at all about their plans. I do not ask to put the Guild ships at unreasonable risk, they are too valuable, but if we can find out where the Thess’ns plan to strike in time to meet them…” Nafron said, knowing it was, at best, improbable.

Mitani nodded, Nafron had just redefined the rules. It wasn’t unexpected.

“I will consult the Guildmaster on the matter, Lord Nafron,” he said with a slight bow.

“You do know he plans to attend this year? He should arrive in the week preceding the festival,” Nafron said. “If that is all, go ahead and check on your ship.”

Mitani bowed formally. Alcar caught his eye as he left and smiled gratefully. He’d have to extend an invitation for him to visit Talmorie in a day or so.

“I can’t say I am surprised by the report. The Thess’ns have been building up to this for a long time,” Dhugean said.

“I’d be less concerned if we had a reliable way to get a warning out when and where they plan to strike. With the location of their forward bases, they could strike almost anywhere with very little notice,” Alcar said uneasily.

“Well, I will have this information off to Admiral Deece this afternoon, along with the rest. You missed the earlier report. They have been sending recon ships in direct line courses, searching for the holes in the long-range sensor coverage,” Nafron said.

Alcar whistled. “They were doing that before I left the Fleet. Though, they weren’t coming straight in then. Voids, I suppose the Cartel is still balking at a Declaration of War?” Among other things, Nafron was Sorth’s Ambassador to the Coalition Assembly.

Nafron raised an eyebrow. “We were barely able to get the Military Preparedness Act passed. I will try, since the Thess’ns have committed repeated acts of aggression against several different worlds in the Coalition. The Cartel is fighting it still. It’s just another attempt to break the minimal majority the founding worlds hold. It is both selfish and short sighted of them, but then, they usually are.”

“I would look to who is profiting by the delay. Has Intelligence been able to discover anything at all?” Alcar asked. He was going to find out who leaked the information that led to the Ventura’s destruction.

Nafron sighed. “Not yet. That is something else I am going to work on when I go back to Caledeon.”

“We need to work up new operations aimed at penetrating the Thess’n leadership. Any chance of getting a secure sensor relay placed at the forward bases?” Alcar asked.

Dhugean looked skeptical. “The Fleet has remote sensor drones, but they are impossible to hide once they start transmitting data.”

Routine sensor sweeps would pick that up, Alcar thought. There weren’t all that many messages sent across the border. If they sent one from a location near a base, it wouldn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t a matter of encryption, but of any signal where it didn’t belong.

“One of the engineers brought me an idea two days ago that may just solve this problem, Alcar. She wants to build a recon drone using a dar crystal link for communication, just like our computer systems use. I plan to wait till she has the idea farther along before I present it to the Council, but I had her put the design team together and flagged it priority. The good news is it won’t involve new technology, just adapting existing systems to work together in a new way.”

Alcar thought hard about that one for a moment. It sounded almost too good to be true. A dar crystal link could extend telepathic communications to virtually unlimited distance with less drain on the telepath. Sorth had numerous pieces of equipment that used a dar crystal link to allow for telepathic operation, including computers. If the engineers could design a drone that could be operated remotely by telepathy – the possibilities were enticing. He hesitated before asking the obvious question.

“How long?”

“To build a prototype and do the preliminary testing, it would take anywhere from several months to a year. I’ll know more once they have time to draft the design concept.”

Alcar knew he could not afford to get distracted with the idea of a new toy. “All right, it’s time to step up our alert level. I want all the ships to maintain ready status with the fighters at plus five to lift.” He paused, wanting to make a change in organization but not certain how the suggestion would be taken. Alcar shook his head. He’d just have to trust Nafron’s good sense.

“Lord Nafron, would you object to me creating a new office?” Alcar asked.

“I expect you have a good reason. What kind of office?” Nafron wondered.

“Intelligence. It is almost the same problem we had with the Traders Guild. Most of our people in the field are volunteers acting more or less on their own. The information isn’t coming in to a single source and it needs to be. As I understand it, except for the Singers and Istari we have actually assigned to specific ships, our people are sending it back to whomever they think it needs to go to. There is no telling what we’re missing because we have only part of the pieces.”

Nafron’s eyes widened in surprise and Alcar shook his head. One of the problems with Sorthians was with their long lifespan. They tended to leave a haphazard system in place without really looking at how it could be made more efficient. The world had some of the most respected scholars in the Coalition, they trained their children in military disciplines from the time they were small, they shared a psychic talent equaled only by the Zhyreans – and had the most archaic infrastructure Alcar had ever seen. He couldn’t change it all; that would be a mistake. But the loose organization and minimal government was not satisfactory for wartime conditions. Intelligence should be pooled in any case.

“You are right, Alcar. It should have been done long ago. Most of the reports do come to me. It would be more efficient to have someone else looking at everything first.”

“Is there anything else for today? I have students this afternoon,” he reminded Nafron. Alcar did not sense the satisfaction in Nafron at Alcar’s tone of command, but Kirrlea did.

“No, I’ll be back early I think,” Nafron told him.

Alcar bowed respectfully and left. He barely noticed the increase in the guards on duty, though their alert posture got a nod of approval.

 

Kirrlea and the Lidans took off on their own once they returned. The day’s lessons did not require their assistance and Kirrlea usually had a full enough schedule working with the healers. Alcar entered Talmorie, the complex of structures that was the main dwelling of the House of Talmanor. The hold proper dominated the complex. The huge structure of pale rose stone somehow managed to be graceful, even delicate, in spite of its mass. It was full of high arched windows and topped by graceful spires. Wide, high walls formed an outer courtyard around three sides. Not fortification, they served instead to deflect the heat in summer and the violent storms that crossed the plains in winter. The temperature dropped noticeably as he entered its shelter.

Alcar still was occasionally surprised to be living in such a place. Talmorie was an archaic combination of barracks, local school, gardens, and family living quarters with overtones of a community Town Hall. On the other hand, it also boasted sophisticated communications equipment and he could access Operations from here if he had to. At least their family had a somewhat private wing on the south end.

The students were prompt. Sorthian children learned early the consequences of keeping a teacher waiting. Alcar surveyed them quietly for a moment. This class of Istari had been studying with him and Olahran for several weeks already. Their individual training prior to this had varied greatly and there were still gaps to be filled. Something must have happened this morning though; they were subdued.

“Lord, I must report an error on the firing range,” Borrias said. His stiffly correct posture spoke volumes about his embarrassment.

“Yes?” Alcar did not allow verbal speech in training. They were going to be doing Special Ops once they were ready. He made sure they lived and breathed stealth. It didn’t matter to him that some of his students were barely ten years old. They would grow up soon enough. Major challenges lay ahead of his Istari and Alcar did all he could to ensure their survival.

“I failed to trigger a containment field and the arrow exploded.”

“You know that such an error would have fried a potential prisoner.” The boy nodded and Alcar continued. “What if you had been trying to isolate hostages from an enemy?” Alcar could see this had not occurred to any of them.

“The main reason for using the crystal tipped arrows is their versatility. Never forget that. If the only purpose was to secure a prisoner, you could do that with a stunner. For that matter, always keep as many options open as you can. You could also do this-”

Alcar’s thoughts shaped the power into what appeared to be a ball of light hanging over Borrias’ head. With a thought, he twisted it suddenly and it fell about Borrias’ shoulders in tight bands. The young man’s eyes flared with panic for a second. Alcar let him test the bonds for a moment before he dissolved them.

“The practical limitation of that is you have to be fairly close in order to control it,” Alcar said. He looked at Borrias sternly. “You will have the target replaced and on the range before breakfast,” Alcar told him. The time spent making a new one would ensure he didn’t forget the lesson.

The rest of the lesson went as planned. Alcar had started them on combat applications of their talent, particularly Special Ops applications. Today’s assignment was to become persistently unnoticed. It wasn’t really an illusion, more a matter of tricking the mind of any onlooker into believing they didn’t see anything at all unusual. As long as you did nothing to attract attention (like making noise) it worked. At most, someone might think they saw a drift of windblown leaves or sand. It was incredibly simple in concept and, like most simple things, difficult to master in practice.

It was part of his job to help train these young warriors how to use their exceptional psychic talents effectively. Istari had not been sought and trained since the war with Tarkus, nearly one thousand years past. Alcar’s discovery of his own talents had brought about a rebirth of the Order. Once, Istari had been paired with the Singers, greatly extending the abilities of the team as a whole. After the losses that had resulted, Alcar intended to change their focus somewhat.

It occurred to Alcar that he was following exactly the course Selarial had said he would. Holding a position of leadership in their House, finding and training Istari in preparation for war. He fully accepted the responsibility he had unknowingly taken on when they had become bound to each other. Among Sorthians, the Power of the Singers passed from mother to daughter and the rule of their House automatically fell to the senior Singer’s lord. He had not known that at the time and was ill prepared to accept the responsibility at first.

Selarial had been right in that time would bring a change in perspective. Alcar was a native of Tarrel, of human birth, but these past months on Sorth had made him aware of how truly he belonged here. Also, he would much rather fight Thess’ns with the Power to back him than as a captain in the Fleet. It allowed him far more latitude and he had a score to settle with them. Several scores.

“Next week, we need to take them into the hills for some true practice,” Olahran spoke at Alcar’s side, startling several of the students. Alcar managed to keep a straight face. They had planned this. Olahran had actually been in the room the whole time. Few of the students managed to keep control of their intent, Alcar saw.

“The next lesson will be a review of the dangers inherent in allowing anything to break your concentration,” Alcar said wryly.

After going over the results of the session with additional instruction for some, he dismissed the class and Olahran joined Alcar in his study.

“They are coming along well, Alcar. Tell me, where did you learn that binding?” Olahran asked.

“I tried that in desperation during the cleanup on Othcaris. It worked fairly well at the time. I have experimented with it a little. It’s not very efficient. It takes a lot of energy to control it and, for me, it’s useless at over about thirty meters. At the time, it was the only thing I could think of. That is something, above all, they must learn. In the field they won’t have the time to leisurely choose between approaches. I wish we had access to the Fleet training simulators. They will soon be ready to train on actual scenarios.” If Sorth had sims, Alcar hadn’t heard of it.

“We should be able to use the course in the Vales. It’s set up for versatility, but we would need one of the experienced Singers to run it. The adversaries are all illusions. It’s useful though, for training purposes.”

Alcar didn’t really want to have anything at all to do with the Council right now. He said nothing, mulling over alternatives. He grudgingly admitted it was the best solution. The difference between a Singer’s and Istari’s talent was mainly in implementation. Singers controlled their Power through their voice, as well as mind, where the Istari control was purely psychic, both strength of will and intent. The Singers generally had a much greater degree of control, but their methods were necessarily slower in response. Not everything, since a lot of their skills were within the ability of every Sorthian to some degree. They just needed to be taught. Potentially, the Istari were stronger in combat simply because they could quickly throw their Power into the fray with nearly no preparation. Of course, the danger of overextension was greater as well as the risk of losing control of the Power altogether.

“Forty full Istari that we’ve found so far, but look at the ages. Except for me, they are all children. The oldest is just twenty-two and half are still minors. Why have there been no candidates among the adults?” Alcar wondered out loud.

Olahran chuckled. “Two reasons, most of the adults with the strongest gifts have long since channeled those abilities into a specific area and the ones who have chosen military careers are either in the Fleet, or out with our forces already.”

“I guess that makes sense. Any chance of –” Alcar was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

 

Bright colors caught her eye, startling in this barren, gray place. How odd, she thought, as something fluttered past, a splash of vivid blue on a wispy bit of something that seemed like the fragment of a dream. She drifted aimlessly, noticing occasionally other bits of color floating with her in this vast sea of mists. There was no direction; no day or night – what were those? There was only drifting mist and those strange pieces of brightness.

Sound intruded now, flowing about her as dimly remembered voices, incomprehensible echoes that ebbed and surged. She resisted the pull of those sounds. There came with them a feeling of discomfort and she wanted none of it. Another shred of color, this a soft gold, caught her attention, distracting her from the sounds that were growing fainter.

 

Illana shuddered as she pulled out of Selarial’s mind. She tried every day to reach her, to find some fragment of memory they could use to restore what had been shattered. Selarial’s skin was a ghostly pale shadow of the healthy ivory it should have been. She looked so fragile. In her heart, Illana knew this was way beyond her skill. They needed the Singer Council itself on this one.

“Illana, we have done the best we can. Give her time to heal,” Ishanee told her. The Sisha put as much reassurance as he could behind his words. They were all worried about the Singer. The physical damage to the brain was bad enough, but it was nothing to the extensive psychic trauma Selarial had experienced. At least the physical injury was slowly responding to their efforts.

For the first few weeks after the incident that caused the shock, they had held a hope that she’d come out of the coma on her own. Either that or help would arrive from offworld. That help had not yet come and they all feared they knew why. There had been some kind of shielding over the entire world that prevented any outside telepathic communication ever since Selarial’s collapse. It isolated them from the help they needed to heal the Singer and the implications were frightening.

“Ishanee, are you up to a little trip?” Arith asked as he entered the room quietly. There was a faint undercurrent of hope in his voice.

Ishanee looked up to see the com officer tense with suppressed emotion. Arith was the youngest member of Selarial’s crew and at times like this it showed. “Of course I am. What do you need?” he asked, curious.

“One of the archeologists may have found the sight of the cache, or at least a ruin that dates to that time. I think we should go check it out.” Arith would not quite dare, even in his thoughts, to express the possibility of finding the answer to the psychic lock over them.

“I might as well. There is nothing I can do here that Illana and Gerith cannot do just as well. Is Vorn coming with us?” he asked.

Arith nodded. “He’s gone to gather some of our equipment from the ship. If we do find anything in writing, we’ll need the translation programs. I don’t think any of us can read the runes Tarkus used.” Vorn had been the crew’s steward, but he also specialized in alien contacts and linguistics.

Ishanee agreed, feeling a faint stirring of hope in Illana for the first time in weeks.

 

How Conflict Drives A Story

Conflict is a part of life. In a story, conflict is essential. It defines and drives your plot. Without conflict, you have little to engage the reader. No one wants to read a story about everything being perfect. Even fairy tales have conflict.

A quick word about plot here. When distilled down to essentials, the plot is the path the story will follow. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy gets girl. Simple, right? So, how does boy lose girl? That is where conflict comes in. Does he lose her because he does something stupid or are they separated by an earthquake? Maybe daddy doesn’t like his haircut. It could be anything, and therein lies the story.

There are three types of conflict, one is internal the other two are external. Most longer works will deal with all of them to some degree. Only in flash fiction are we likely to find a single type.

Internal conflict is man vs self.  Every human being goes through periods of inner turmoil and uncertainty. This causes growth. In a story, it may encompass anything that challenges the character and causes him/her to question self. This soul searching resonates with the reader because we identify with the questions the character is asking. It builds empathy and expectation. We may see the character’s reasoning is faulty and understand that they will come to a bad end if they don’t learn better. This transfers the conflict to the reader. We want the character to overcome and learn. Be careful here. If they don’t learn, we will also want them to come to the expected bad end.

The first type of external conflict is man vs man. This may or may not be any sort of physical conflict. It could be competition for a job, a girl, or a detective matching wits with a criminal. This kind of conflict is present in nearly all fiction and encompasses far more varieties than I can numerate. We experience this constantly from disagreements over what to have for dinner to international wars. Again, it engages our empathy, we identify with one side or the other. We want to cheer the character on. Except in short pieces with a single character, most stories are going to have at least some of this type of conflict. I have read two novels that did not, only two.

The other type of external conflict is man vs environment. While this can be man vs wilderness, like Robinson Crusoe, it is actually anything that challenges the character/s outside of the first two types. Maybe the crew of an interstellar transport has an engine problem and has to find a way to fix it by themselves with whatever is on hand. That’s man vs environment. It does often have elements of survival, but not always. It may not even be the main character that’s at risk. It could be a biologist racing to find the cause/agent/cure for the outbreak of a new disease. It may be as simple as a man trying to deal with how the blender works while his wife is in the hospital. We will always empathize with a character’s struggle to solve a problem, even if it’s outside of our area of knowledge or experience.

Conflicts and the way the characters deal with them, define a story and make it unique. Think of the plot as the basic framework, the story arc as the time line and the conflict as the substance. The three must fit together, but the conflict makes us turn the page.

In Bonds of Light

A silver thread of light that binds

All as one

Hearts and souls and minds

In truth

Deeper than time

 

Sharing all that lies within

Eyes open

The memories of joy, of pain

In power

A single mind

 

Healing touch upon the heart

Cleansing flows

Surging swells of Light impart

Life, Peace

Each thread alone.

 

This may be one of the first Songs specifically made for the communal sharing of minds typical of Sorth. By Selarial’s time, the experience had become an important ritual.

First Words Equal First Impressions

We are taught early on how important first impressions are when meeting people. A bad or wrong impression can ruin the chance for a solid friendship or a job. Sorry folks, that’s just the way it is. If we by chance meet someone on a really bad, stressful day and respond abruptly, we will never know the friend we might have passed by. It happens to all of us. The other person will most likely write us off as not worthy of their time.

What about our writing? The first words on the page are our first impression with a reader. We have all seen bad covers that sometimes had absolutely nothing to do with a book. It’s important, but not as critical as those first words. When browsing through a bookstore, real or virtual, we don’t have time to get to know the whole book. The blurb may tell us what kind of book it is, but it is when we look at the first words that we are sold or not.

Editors know this. That is the reason most publishing houses only want the first few chapters for submissions. Quite often, decisions are made on the opening paragraph. Sometimes just the opening line. They know readers are going to decide to buy or not based on that first impression.

What makes a good first impression in fiction?

First and foremost it is the strength of the writing. If ever there is a place where you need to put every ounce of effort into crafting your sentences, this is it. The writing needs to be lean, with as much impact in each word you choose as you can muster. I cannot possibly stress this enough. I tried many openings for my first book before I thought I might finally have gotten it right.

Second, but no less important, is giving a taste of the style of the book. Your voice for the book should be loud and clear. If it’s humorous, make the opening catchy. If it’s horror, something at least a little scary needs to happen. The opening must show the true style of writing.

Third is tension. Whatever the plot and style of your story, if it doesn’t have tension, it’s dead on the shelf. Here is where word choice in the opening can be so critical. You don’t need a fight scene or an attack by monsters to have tension. Those things are fine, if they fit your story. More important is the way you use your words to show the conflict in the scene. You can have a full on brawl, but if the word choice and phrasing is weak, you don’t have tension. You just have a mess.

Example: 1. It was a dark and stormy night, eyes gleamed threateningly from the woods.

2.Thunder crashed. Startled, he slipped on the rain-wet rocks. He stood and his blood pounded in his ears. Eyes watched from the wood.

You tell me which one would entice you to keep reading.

If it was a real story, I’d have a name in there, but you get the point. The first one is just blah, ho-hum, put this book down and pick up another. The second puts you in the scene instead of describing the scene.

By the way, an opening is not the place for worldbuilding or backstory. That will kill the book faster that cyanide. That is exactly the problem I had with my first book. I did manage to get most of it weeded out, but I have since learned how little that matters on the first page. When I get around to doing a print version, the opening is going to be leaned out to nothing but the essentials. If you are so inclined, take a look at the opening to Selarial’s Song and compare it to the opening of Narethi Rising that I posted here last week. The opening for Narethi Rising is far more powerful – and it’s basically a first draft.

Should You ‘Ax’ Your Adverbs? And Other Writing Conventions

Yes, I know, there’s been a lot of talk about this lately. Folks from both sides of the argument, for the rules and for breaking the rules, have been posting vigorously in defense of their positions. I will throw my thoughts in the ring. They are both right, and they are both wrong See, I can sit on the fence too! There are reasons though.

One of the reasons editors, publishers, etc. have been severe in adherence to writing conventions is that few aspiring writers have any clue about how and when to break those conventions and grammar rules. Conventions are common customs, but not actual grammar rules, which are less flexible.

Are all adverbs bad? Of course not. Sometimes they are the best way to describe an action, without lengthy verbal phrases, when there isn’t a good verb to use. Sometimes even when there is one that will work, it will come across coy or downright silly. Adverbs are a legitimate part of speech and should be used when needed. They should not be over used, or abused. He slowly opened the door. There is not a substitute for opened that can convey this, but you could reword to improve the sentence. He eased the door open. It’s a small change that puts the emphasis on the action. New writers tend to throw adverbs into every other sentence like throwing candy to the crowd in a parade. I suspect that the statement to “ax the adverbs’” was in self defense from the poor phrasing and sloppy writing that goes along with abuse of adverbs. I’ll be honest, when I see an excess of adverbs in the first paragraph, I put the book back. If the author has not learned their craft better than that, I will not waste my time.

Show, don’t tell is another important convention. This convention should seldom be broken. Following this keeps the reader involved with the story in a way that the author’s narrative simply cannot do. When you have a break in specific action to carry the story forward and yet need to inform the reader of some of the general happenings, let a character do the describing . For instance, if you have a story line involving a people preparing for a pending attack you aren’t going to show everything done in preparation, but you can use bits of character narrative interspersed with some specific events to convey the sense of preparation. This can cut needless pages and preserve the building tension in the story. For those of you who don’t know (it had to be explained to me too) showing is exactly what it sounds like. Giving the reader the story from inside one character’s thoughts and actions. Make sure it’s one at a time, if you have multiple points of view. Telling is author’s narration describing what is happening, like describing an event to your neighbor that you’ve only heard about. The character can describe things, but the author should keep his or her voice out of it as much as possible.

An important grammar rule that is often broken has to do with conjunctions. I will be honest, I have this problem myself. I have to pay attention to this rule, or I break it all the time. Sentences do not start with conjunctions. If you have started a sentence with and or but, fix it.  Either go ahead and connect it with the previous sentence where it belongs, or make it a proper sentence on its own. There are a few times where this rule can be broken for emphasis, but in almost all cases the writing will be stronger if you reword instead. I know this for a fact. I had many to fix in my last book and the improvement after I reworked these sentences was amazing. One place it is okay to break this rule in moderation is in dialogue. People will sometimes add to what another person said in conversation, so it can be used that way. Yes, we have rude characters too. In most cases, follow the rule and reword your sentence. It will be better, I promise.

There are numerous other conventions and rules. I am not about to cover them all, but the same thought applies. Never break the rules because you are too lazy to figure out how to do it right. Only break them when it strengthens what you want to say.

My bottom line is that good grammar is essential to good writing. Learn good grammar first. You have to know the rules to figure out when the rules can be broken on purpose to give your writing added punch.

On Children, Puppies and Hot Chocolate

I have seen several blogs lately about children, both advice and funny anecdotes. All of mine, save one, have left home and have their own families, but they have left their mark on the world as toddlers. My eldest was, perhaps, the most prominent in this area. Or maybe not, my other two boys did their part too, now that I think about it. But that’s another story or two.

It started when I was carrying our second child. As the due date approached, my husband and I attempted to explain to our 2 year old son that he would soon have a brother or sister. This was a disaster. He was adamant. He did not want a brother or sister. He wanted me to have puppies! Have you ever tried to reason with a 2 year old about anything? He eventually got over this sulky, non-cooperative attitude about two weeks later. If I remember correctly, it was because we got him a puppy.

Now, a brother or sister was acceptable, if not enthusiastically welcomed. It was time for further explanations. I thought it a good idea to prepare him for the fact that I would be breast feeding (he had long since been weaned). This confused him for a while, but he worked on it. He thought about it.

One day we were driving along and he suddenly brought up the idea again. He pointed to my breast and said, “Milk?”

I said, “That’s right, that’s where the baby will get it’s milk.”

He thought this over some more. He pointed to the other breast and said definitively, “Hot Chocolate!”

Evidently, I was supposed to come in flavors.