Alexandra Wolfe's Blog, page 38

The 3 Act Structure

The classical 3-act structure has it roots deep in pre-history, having initially come from Aristotle’s Poetics. Much of what defined a well written play has now been transferred to not only the art of screenwriting, but also full-length works of fiction.

The main characteristics to remember, are:

that the first act sets up the action
the second act is where the confrontation takes place
while the third act offers the resolution to the story
there should be a plot point at the end of acts one and two, which clearly takes the story in a different direction
there should be at least one strong main character who steers the action
that the story is clearly character-driven, even though the subject matter may concern physical action. In fact, all the important structural story-beats should ideally be linked to the main character and their evolvement throughout the story.
the actions and or reactions of the main character should drive the story forward.

Follow these simple rules and you can’t go too wrong when construction your next novel.

True Friendship

It’s not the number of friends we think we have in our lives, but the trueness of a single friend, that counts. The friend that is more excited about your good news than you are, when you email them or call. And when everything has, or is about to go horribly wrong in your life, who is it you can count on; who will be there for you when you need them the most?

That’s when you find out who your true friends are. But in order to have a friend like that, you must be that kind of friend to begin with … the one who is willing to move heaven and earth, if necessary, when needed.

What kind of friend are you?

This Side of Heaven

Words always seem to fail me when I think of you. I inevitably find my only expression with tears as memories well up from somewhere deep inside, threatening to overwhelm me. I don’t know how to let you go. Even after all this time, you linger like a fragrance upon my soul. Why is it I don’t know how to unleash this torrent, this river of grief still lingering in my heart? Where’s the plug that I can pull? Where’s the tap I can turn to stop more pain filling up my heart? Where’s the understanding everyone promised me would come with time?

Where is it when I need it most, in this dark, lonely place.

Lost in thought, waiting for you.

You, like some dark shadow wait in the back of my mind, waiting to be found, waiting to be brought back into the light once again. And still I burn with something left unspoken. A final word left hanging in the air, a thread of memory, leading back down through time and space, to you.

Never again will I touch your skin, caress your sweet lips with mine. Never again will I breath in the scent of your soft, warm skin, as we lie entwined body moulded to body.

My heart breaks to know I will never find you again, this side of heaven.

 

Character Development

Or, 20 questions you should ask yourself in the creation of each of your main characters.

Pretend you are walking down a street, and you see your character for the first time. Describe them in one word. No matter how far fetched or illogical this initial impact may be, it may prove invaluable. Use clippings from newspapers or magazines as illustrations of how you envisage your character by their ‘looks’.
Take physical impressions next. The posture, stance, stride and rhythm of movement. Possibly some body gestures, as well as bulk and density of physical build, as these will give some clues to their character as well.
Are you reminded of an animal or object? Be careful of clichés.
Can you sense or see a colour to the character? Are they a bright person, or do they blend in with their surroundings?
What kind of clothes does the character wear? This is usually a key to psyche and social status.
The person’s voice, their tone and quality. Do they speak with an accent? What sort of words do they use? How do they say something, and what do they prefer to leave unsaid?
Where does the character live during the story? How does this affect them?
Where and when were they born? What about their childhood? How does their background shape their personality?
Early influences? i.e. Parents/teacher/first love/hero? These can be a key to personality.
Decade. Does the one your character lives in influence them? Shape them or their style i.e. 60s. Do they accept the standard of their time, or rebel?
What is the most important thing to the character? What do they want more than anything else? Do they daydream or fantasize at all?
What is their conflict? Is their conflict imposed by circumstances? Or have they created them? And who will settle them?
How far will they go to get what they want? i.e. steal or commit a crime? This may hook the reader by this ploy too.
What does the character fear most? Will it keep them from achieving their ends?
More revealing areas: Gambling/alcohol/money/love how do they handle competition?
How do they react to children, old people, foreigners, or the sick?
How does the character shape the plot?  How does the plot shape the character?
How does the character interact with other members of the cast? Who acts as their foil? Who contrasts or compliments them? And, who threatens them?
Do YOU like or hate this character? What is desirable or negative about them? What are their faults? Mix and match light with dark in much the same way a painter would.
Finally, what is there to make the reader care about what happens to them?

Quote, Unquote

“If you do not understand my silence,

You will never understand my words.”

— Alexandra Wolfe

In Correspondence With 2

10 St James’s Sq, London

November 27, 1852

My Dear Mister Turing,

As I lay here amid my bedchamber, under the thrall of a terrible malaise, my mind is still in flux with so many questions raised by your visit, yesterday. And I am drawn back to a number of strange events in my life. Notwithstanding, the very unusual man who paid my mother and I a visit when I was but 8 years-old. A man, I must confess, who confounded me even more so than you, Mister Turing. His manner, his behaviour, his dress and the clipped vowels of his speech all spoke of more than I could fully grasp, nor comprehend at that time. Till my mind chanced upon thoughts of this very meeting, late last evening, and connected it with you.

The similarity is quite startling and, of this day, now, I can conclude he too, like you, Mister Turning, must have been another visitor from a future I have yet to determine. A future that both of you feel is full of dread and yet, so many wonders as to spark the imagination beyond all dreaming. I am besot to wish I did live in such times as my mind would be given such flight as to soar. And that the detriment of my body being of the female persuasion would be no cause for doubt among such like-minded peers as I might enjoy, in the enlightened society of this glorious future.

That you both did speak of such things give me hope, Mister Turing. Hope that my words to you and now, in these letters I furiously pen to your future self, might spark if not,speak to you, in this brave new world.

My body slowly fails me, Mister Turning, and I tire easily. My doctors, of which they are full of dire pronouncements, have told me my body will not last this year alone, let live to see another. So I am again drawn to your words and those of the gentleman from my past. One Morris Connelly, someone who claimed a great deal, such as yourself. And to which, I now must confess, I give braver thought to than I dared imagine.

For when, that afternoon, in chambers over seen by my Mother’s keeper of my virtue, I did listen intently to Mister Connelly’s lilting voice, and was given inspiration to create, on that day, a machine he said he knew I had within me. A machine that would fly not unlike the birds in the garden, and sky. His bright eyes and gentle smile encouraging me. So that I was quite beset with an unhappiness when he did take his leave of my mother and I later that evening.

Though to this day, I am sure I saw his face amid a crowd, or across a room. But a glimpse of a future I so want to see, Mister Turing. A future that Mister Connelly assures me that, on this day, even if my death should come. I might yet glimpse.

Will it be so? Will death be my flying machine to take me across to another shore? To one set hence from this time, this place? Is it possible? I believe so.

My past has happened for me, but for you and Mister Connelly, it is still in your future. And only when you act upon a moment will it then become my past, and only then will I have the memory of its occurrence. Such is the displacement of time. A fact I believe Mister Connelly may have already surmised with our help, Mister Turning. My formulations say so. Harmonic resonance, Mister Turing, harmonic resonance. I do hope it is the right key for your lock.

And now, I must rest some more for the truth is, the writing of this letter to you has taken much strength of will.

I remain most sincerely,

The Hon. Augusta Ada King,

Countess of Lovelace

Tree Project – Day 109

Tree Project – image 109

After two days of beautiful, fluffy white snow, it’s cold and raining with the potential to be freezing rain later today. The snow, as a result, is fast becoming slippy slush. We are, however, expecting more snow tomorrow. I far rather the snow than freezing rain. As I am sure the trees might as well.

Tree Project – Day 107

Tree Project – image 107

Snow, snow, snow, well, I did ask for it to snow. I just forgot that the cleaning crews like to come out and do their work in the wee small hours of the night: between 1-2 am! Still, I’m sure the trees didn’t mind, and they now have a blanket of snow to keep their roots warm.

Tree Project – Day 106

Two things about today that are significant: it’s snowing and, I have a head cold. The head cold is keeping me inside, so all these shots are taken through a crack in the sliding door while wearing my boots and parka. Yes, I am that anal. Upshot, maybe not the best pictures in the world. But now everyone can see how it snows here.

Tree Project – Day 105

Tree Project – image 105

From a beautiful but cold day yesterday to … freezing ice pellets. Ice pellets blowing horizontally may I add. It’s only about minus 1 out there, but the weather is edging on the side of brutal. A thin film of ice, a patina, is building up on everything. A very nasty combination to say the least.