This version of my blog is now closed. I've migrated everything over to my new combined blog and website. You can go there by clicking here. What are you waiting for?
Official Graham Edwards blog and website
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Disaster attraction
Why crave apocalypse tales? Why watch Charlton and Mel grapple doom-spawned vampires and leather-clad crazies? Why pursue the ash-strewn trails of Viggo and Don (Tiger too), only to end up hunkered down in a craterish bed sitting room waiting to thumb a lift from Ralph in his horse-drawn Rolls?
If all is truly lost, why seek perverse delight in this end of all ends? Is our hope to hang out with Ish, that Last American? Do we seek an audience with the Walkin' Dude? In planning our odyssey, what route should we map across the Cursed Earth? Damnation Alley looks likely enough, but if you want to get along after the bomb be sure to watch out for Hoppy. And, however hungry you are, don't patronise the Delicatessen.
Why then the lust for liquidation? Why the delight in demise? Why count the days, all the way down to the day of days? Armageddon, Ragnarok, 2012 ... have you made your choice? Is it redemption you seek? Catharsis? Is that a bang I hear or a whimper? Do you hail the great tearing-down for mere gratification, or in the hope of seeing all rebuilt? After the end, the beginning?
Or could it be that the broken world is simply simpler than this muffled reality through which we roam eternally confused? Might it be not the grey-ash wasteland we ache for but pure black and and its companion white? Is the apocalypse, after all, dream or despair?
Discuss.
If all is truly lost, why seek perverse delight in this end of all ends? Is our hope to hang out with Ish, that Last American? Do we seek an audience with the Walkin' Dude? In planning our odyssey, what route should we map across the Cursed Earth? Damnation Alley looks likely enough, but if you want to get along after the bomb be sure to watch out for Hoppy. And, however hungry you are, don't patronise the Delicatessen.
Why then the lust for liquidation? Why the delight in demise? Why count the days, all the way down to the day of days? Armageddon, Ragnarok, 2012 ... have you made your choice? Is it redemption you seek? Catharsis? Is that a bang I hear or a whimper? Do you hail the great tearing-down for mere gratification, or in the hope of seeing all rebuilt? After the end, the beginning?
Or could it be that the broken world is simply simpler than this muffled reality through which we roam eternally confused? Might it be not the grey-ash wasteland we ache for but pure black and and its companion white? Is the apocalypse, after all, dream or despair?
Discuss.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Hardy and the nymphstone
Today I wrote about a storm and a strange thing called a nymphstone. The nymphstone started as a MacGuffin but already it's taking on a life - and character - of its own. More so than I'd intended really. Another reminder of how the outline's just a sketch on the back of an envelope, and the novel's more a gigantic sculpture hacked out of a glacial cliff made of solid, highly resistant and ever-so-slightly radioactive granite (see my previous post about sweaty writing).
I've also taken a moment to reflect on my decision to blog-as-I-go while writing this novel. While it might seem that novel-writing is essentially a dull and solitary experience with very little entertainment value for the outside observer, I'd like to think it might one day be elevated to a spectator sport, perhaps even achieving Olympic status. If you doubt me, I recommend you restore your faith with Monty Python's classic Thomas Hardy sketch.
I've also taken a moment to reflect on my decision to blog-as-I-go while writing this novel. While it might seem that novel-writing is essentially a dull and solitary experience with very little entertainment value for the outside observer, I'd like to think it might one day be elevated to a spectator sport, perhaps even achieving Olympic status. If you doubt me, I recommend you restore your faith with Monty Python's classic Thomas Hardy sketch.
Friday, 4 February 2011
Solid foundations
23,356 words
The Dragoncharm prequel is on track. I've solved the problems of chapter 3, as outlined here. And yes, that's why another 2,000 words have dropped off the count.
Next step is a light edit of chapters 4-6. Chapter 6 marks the end of the first section - or book - of the novel, which is why I'm indulging in all this reviewing. Some writers would shudder at the idea of editing so early in the game. But this is the foundation not just for this novel but the planned sequels, so I need to make sure it's not built on sand.
Of course, come the time for the second draft, I'll rewrite the whole bloody thing anyway!
The Dragoncharm prequel is on track. I've solved the problems of chapter 3, as outlined here. And yes, that's why another 2,000 words have dropped off the count.
Next step is a light edit of chapters 4-6. Chapter 6 marks the end of the first section - or book - of the novel, which is why I'm indulging in all this reviewing. Some writers would shudder at the idea of editing so early in the game. But this is the foundation not just for this novel but the planned sequels, so I need to make sure it's not built on sand.
Of course, come the time for the second draft, I'll rewrite the whole bloody thing anyway!
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Sweaty writing
Over on Aliette de Bodard's blog, Nancy Fulda's posted a nice article comparing writing to sculpture. She takes as her starting point Michelangelo's famous line: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” She goes on to talk about how, through writing and editing, it's the writer's job to carve away all the unnecessary clutter, revealing the story hidden within.
Nancy's right on the button. But there's a spookier aspect to this whole sculpture analogy: the unsettling sensation that the story has been there all along - that I'm not actually writing the thing at all, just unearthing it, like a fossil.
I had a art tutor who was always talking about the physical nature of sculpture. He liked to work on a large scale, outdoors, stripped to the waist, sculpting "with my whole body." It's hard to equate such physicality with writing, although legend has it both Hugo and Hemingway used to write naked. Me, I stay clothed and comfortable, expending only the energy it takes to make my fingers to hit the laptop keys. So why do I come out of a writing session feeling utterly - and satisfyingly - exhausted.
There's only one explanation. The act of writing transports you to another dimension. Literally. Somehwere there's this beach where all the good stories are buried. It may look like I'm sprawled on the couch idling tapping my keyboard - in fact I've abandoned my body altogether. I'm stripped to the waist, digging at the dirt, trying to winkle out the story-fossils before the tide comes in. Occasionally I manage it. Usually it's a close thing. Often I drown.
When the fossils are free though, like angels, they fly.
Nancy's right on the button. But there's a spookier aspect to this whole sculpture analogy: the unsettling sensation that the story has been there all along - that I'm not actually writing the thing at all, just unearthing it, like a fossil.
I had a art tutor who was always talking about the physical nature of sculpture. He liked to work on a large scale, outdoors, stripped to the waist, sculpting "with my whole body." It's hard to equate such physicality with writing, although legend has it both Hugo and Hemingway used to write naked. Me, I stay clothed and comfortable, expending only the energy it takes to make my fingers to hit the laptop keys. So why do I come out of a writing session feeling utterly - and satisfyingly - exhausted.
There's only one explanation. The act of writing transports you to another dimension. Literally. Somehwere there's this beach where all the good stories are buried. It may look like I'm sprawled on the couch idling tapping my keyboard - in fact I've abandoned my body altogether. I'm stripped to the waist, digging at the dirt, trying to winkle out the story-fossils before the tide comes in. Occasionally I manage it. Usually it's a close thing. Often I drown.
When the fossils are free though, like angels, they fly.
Monday, 31 January 2011
127 Hours
I saw 127 Hours yesterday, so thought I'd review it today. I've tried writing my reactions to the movie a dozen times, but I just keep ending up with a list of Reasons Why I Like Danny Boyle movies. So that's exactly what I'm going to give you.
1. Dynamic camera angles
2. Energetic editing, plus profoundly lyrical bits
3. A deep commitment to using the above cinematic techniques in service of the story rather than as an end in itself
4. A fearless commitment to making each film different from his last (yet still stamping each with his unmistakeable authority)
5. Astonishing performances
6. Penetrating emotion that grows out of all the above
7. Intelligence
8. Wit
9. Cool
127 Hours delivers items 1-9 on my list, and in spades. James Franco's stunning performance and Danny Boyle's boundless energy have created a film that just soars.
Also, I think that's the first time I've seen someone faint in the cinema.
1. Dynamic camera angles
2. Energetic editing, plus profoundly lyrical bits
3. A deep commitment to using the above cinematic techniques in service of the story rather than as an end in itself
4. A fearless commitment to making each film different from his last (yet still stamping each with his unmistakeable authority)
5. Astonishing performances
6. Penetrating emotion that grows out of all the above
7. Intelligence
8. Wit
9. Cool
127 Hours delivers items 1-9 on my list, and in spades. James Franco's stunning performance and Danny Boyle's boundless energy have created a film that just soars.
Also, I think that's the first time I've seen someone faint in the cinema.
Sunday, 30 January 2011
The character speaks
25,283 words
Eagle-eyed lurkers will have spotted my word count's gone down. How can that be? I'll tell you: up to now I've been taking decent bites out of the novel. Yesterday the novel bit back.
It was chapter 3 that floored me. Reading back over it, I realised it's way too long: 6,000 words in total. Don't know why I didn't see it before. That's partly because there's just too much going on. I'm trying to introduce a major character, give him a little back-story, maintain the tension I've established in chapters 1 and 2, define the events that bond these two characters together after their initial meeting, foreshadow critical events yet to come ... woah!
Anyway, I wrestled with the words for most of the day, reached screaming pitch, calmed down and decided at last to break one chapter into two. I made a start, gave up, went to bed totally dissatisfied. This morning I realised the problems I'd been trying to solve were the wrong ones. The real problem's actually quite simple: I'd stopped listening to the characters.
The giveaway is the dialogue - more particularly, the attribution. Halfway through the chapter, one of the characters starts telling the other about events that happened years before. It's important exposition. It's just in the wrong place. I couldn't see that, but the character could. I know that because, all the time he's talking, he's fidgeting, impatient, itching to get out of there and get on with the task at hand. As the time, I thought I was writing tension. I wasn't. My character was yelling at me that this was not the time for a pow-wow. And I was ignoring him.
Now I can see what needs doing: strip out the chatter. Cut the crap and get on with the story. Listen to what my character wants to do and let him get on with it. I've got a scene planned for later where he talks about the old times - the kind of scene that orientates both the other characters and the reader - so I'll just save the exposition for then.
I know why I got myself in this mess. I'm working from an outline. The whole novel's plotted out chapter by chapter in a document that runs to about 7,000 words. I don't always work this way. I've chosen to with this project because it's hard to keep on track when you don't write full time (yes, I have a day job). The downside is you can easily end up with a story that's driven by plot, not character.
Think of your average Hollywood action blockbuster. You can tell it's plot-driven because the hero keeps delivering ironic quips. That's because he's reacting to the action, not driving it. Same with a novel. Me, I prefer my characters to be in charge.
The upshot of all this? I'm about to go off-outline. That's a bit like going off-road. It's bumpy and unpredictable and messy and scary as hell. Exactly why I love writing, in other words. More importantly, it means the characters have stopped doing as they're told and starting developing lives of their own. 25,000 words in, this is where the real writing begins.
Eagle-eyed lurkers will have spotted my word count's gone down. How can that be? I'll tell you: up to now I've been taking decent bites out of the novel. Yesterday the novel bit back.
It was chapter 3 that floored me. Reading back over it, I realised it's way too long: 6,000 words in total. Don't know why I didn't see it before. That's partly because there's just too much going on. I'm trying to introduce a major character, give him a little back-story, maintain the tension I've established in chapters 1 and 2, define the events that bond these two characters together after their initial meeting, foreshadow critical events yet to come ... woah!
Anyway, I wrestled with the words for most of the day, reached screaming pitch, calmed down and decided at last to break one chapter into two. I made a start, gave up, went to bed totally dissatisfied. This morning I realised the problems I'd been trying to solve were the wrong ones. The real problem's actually quite simple: I'd stopped listening to the characters.
The giveaway is the dialogue - more particularly, the attribution. Halfway through the chapter, one of the characters starts telling the other about events that happened years before. It's important exposition. It's just in the wrong place. I couldn't see that, but the character could. I know that because, all the time he's talking, he's fidgeting, impatient, itching to get out of there and get on with the task at hand. As the time, I thought I was writing tension. I wasn't. My character was yelling at me that this was not the time for a pow-wow. And I was ignoring him.
Now I can see what needs doing: strip out the chatter. Cut the crap and get on with the story. Listen to what my character wants to do and let him get on with it. I've got a scene planned for later where he talks about the old times - the kind of scene that orientates both the other characters and the reader - so I'll just save the exposition for then.
I know why I got myself in this mess. I'm working from an outline. The whole novel's plotted out chapter by chapter in a document that runs to about 7,000 words. I don't always work this way. I've chosen to with this project because it's hard to keep on track when you don't write full time (yes, I have a day job). The downside is you can easily end up with a story that's driven by plot, not character.
Think of your average Hollywood action blockbuster. You can tell it's plot-driven because the hero keeps delivering ironic quips. That's because he's reacting to the action, not driving it. Same with a novel. Me, I prefer my characters to be in charge.
The upshot of all this? I'm about to go off-outline. That's a bit like going off-road. It's bumpy and unpredictable and messy and scary as hell. Exactly why I love writing, in other words. More importantly, it means the characters have stopped doing as they're told and starting developing lives of their own. 25,000 words in, this is where the real writing begins.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Brief, precise, unexpected
25,782 words
Here's an example of the kind of sentence-level editing I was talking about in my last post. This is a passage from chapter 1 of The Spiral Skull.
Before editing
Pyx opened his eyes, and saw sky and glaring sun. Ribbons of cloud surrounded the sun, thickening even as Pyx watched. The cloud was tinted yellow, rich with toxic sleight. Not surprising. Sleight had a way of creeping up when you least expected it. Almost as if it was seeking you out. Even the sun could be caught by surprise.
Pyx let his head flop sideways. Desert stretched into the distance, flat and white and featureless.
Featureless but for one thing: far away on the horizon was balanced a pillar of fire. It was orange, flecked with red. The top mushroomed wide, spreading until it merged with the gathering cloud.
After editing
Pyx opened his eyes and saw a glaring sky. Cloud ribbons wrapped the high sun, thickening even as Pyx watched. The clouds were tinted yellow, rich with toxic sleight. Not surprising. Sleight had a way of creeping up when you least expected it. Almost as if it was seeking you out. Even the sun could be caught by surprise.
Pyx flopped his head sideways. Desert fled into the distance, flat and white and featureless.
Featureless but for one thing: far away on the horizon, a pillar of fire balanced. It was orange, flecked with red. The top of the pillar mushroomed wide, spreading until it merged with the gathering cloud.
I know what you're thinking: not much difference. Oh, but there is. What I'm searching for is brevity, precision and the unexpected word. Losing 'sun' in the first sentence drops a repetition and gives me brevity. 'Wrapped' is more precise than 'surrounded' in sentence two, which is tighter in many other ways too. 'Desert fled' is less predictable than 'Desert stretched'. And so on.
The above passage is currently the opening to the novel. That may change though. There's a character who doesn't turn up until quite late in the story, and whose POV may be just right for a prologue.
Here's an example of the kind of sentence-level editing I was talking about in my last post. This is a passage from chapter 1 of The Spiral Skull.
Before editing
Pyx opened his eyes, and saw sky and glaring sun. Ribbons of cloud surrounded the sun, thickening even as Pyx watched. The cloud was tinted yellow, rich with toxic sleight. Not surprising. Sleight had a way of creeping up when you least expected it. Almost as if it was seeking you out. Even the sun could be caught by surprise.
Pyx let his head flop sideways. Desert stretched into the distance, flat and white and featureless.
Featureless but for one thing: far away on the horizon was balanced a pillar of fire. It was orange, flecked with red. The top mushroomed wide, spreading until it merged with the gathering cloud.
After editing
Pyx opened his eyes and saw a glaring sky. Cloud ribbons wrapped the high sun, thickening even as Pyx watched. The clouds were tinted yellow, rich with toxic sleight. Not surprising. Sleight had a way of creeping up when you least expected it. Almost as if it was seeking you out. Even the sun could be caught by surprise.
Pyx flopped his head sideways. Desert fled into the distance, flat and white and featureless.
Featureless but for one thing: far away on the horizon, a pillar of fire balanced. It was orange, flecked with red. The top of the pillar mushroomed wide, spreading until it merged with the gathering cloud.
I know what you're thinking: not much difference. Oh, but there is. What I'm searching for is brevity, precision and the unexpected word. Losing 'sun' in the first sentence drops a repetition and gives me brevity. 'Wrapped' is more precise than 'surrounded' in sentence two, which is tighter in many other ways too. 'Desert fled' is less predictable than 'Desert stretched'. And so on.
The above passage is currently the opening to the novel. That may change though. There's a character who doesn't turn up until quite late in the story, and whose POV may be just right for a prologue.
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Writing, rewriting and cowardice
22,424 words
A good session this morning: I've completed Chapter 5 of The Spiral Skull in first draft. My first draft, however, is often more like a second. I find it hard to plough ahead without doing at least some rewriting as I go. This isn't everybody's style. Many writers prefer to work straight through a first draft without so much as looking back, for fear the muse shucks off her traces and disappears into the sunset.
I work a little differently. My writing sessions usually start with a reread of everything I wrote last time. If I spot things I don't like (and I always do) I rewrite there and then. So I'm often an hour into a session before I write anything truly fresh. The advantage is that, by then, I'm well and truly in the zone.
The chapter I've just finished has Pyx, one of my main dragon characters, in a bit of a spot. Things are so perilous, in fact, that he's seriously considering running out on his new travelling companion, Abalone. Now, this cowardly attitude wasn't apparent in my outline - it only came up as I was writing the first draft. So I didn't play it up too much. But when I was lying awake at two o'clock this morning my mind drifted back to the scene and I realised that, at this point in the story, Pyx's cowardice should actually be driving everything he does. So I've rewritten quite extensively to accommodate this, and boy does it work a whole lot better.
Those same night-thoughts also threw up an interesting new idea, namely that there's something odd about Abalone's tail. I've no idea where the thought came from, but I liked it at once. It immediately led me to consider Abalone's back-story - how did his tail get to be the way it is? (And no, I'm not going to tell you what's odd about it - you'll just have to wait and see.) So I've now got to backtrack and introduce this quirk into Chapter 2, which is where Abalone first appears.
And that's the balance I'm always trying to strike. I like to have the story evolve as it goes, and that means allowing space and time to thread new ideas back through the narrative, even while I'm still working in first draft. At the same time I don't want to lose momentum on the book as a whole. Which, I'm pleased to say, I haven't. Yet.
On the subject of Abalone's tail, I suspect there's a short story in there. A kind of companion piece to the novel. A prelude of sorts. Now, when am I going to to find the time to write that?
A good session this morning: I've completed Chapter 5 of The Spiral Skull in first draft. My first draft, however, is often more like a second. I find it hard to plough ahead without doing at least some rewriting as I go. This isn't everybody's style. Many writers prefer to work straight through a first draft without so much as looking back, for fear the muse shucks off her traces and disappears into the sunset.
I work a little differently. My writing sessions usually start with a reread of everything I wrote last time. If I spot things I don't like (and I always do) I rewrite there and then. So I'm often an hour into a session before I write anything truly fresh. The advantage is that, by then, I'm well and truly in the zone.
The chapter I've just finished has Pyx, one of my main dragon characters, in a bit of a spot. Things are so perilous, in fact, that he's seriously considering running out on his new travelling companion, Abalone. Now, this cowardly attitude wasn't apparent in my outline - it only came up as I was writing the first draft. So I didn't play it up too much. But when I was lying awake at two o'clock this morning my mind drifted back to the scene and I realised that, at this point in the story, Pyx's cowardice should actually be driving everything he does. So I've rewritten quite extensively to accommodate this, and boy does it work a whole lot better.
Those same night-thoughts also threw up an interesting new idea, namely that there's something odd about Abalone's tail. I've no idea where the thought came from, but I liked it at once. It immediately led me to consider Abalone's back-story - how did his tail get to be the way it is? (And no, I'm not going to tell you what's odd about it - you'll just have to wait and see.) So I've now got to backtrack and introduce this quirk into Chapter 2, which is where Abalone first appears.
And that's the balance I'm always trying to strike. I like to have the story evolve as it goes, and that means allowing space and time to thread new ideas back through the narrative, even while I'm still working in first draft. At the same time I don't want to lose momentum on the book as a whole. Which, I'm pleased to say, I haven't. Yet.
On the subject of Abalone's tail, I suspect there's a short story in there. A kind of companion piece to the novel. A prelude of sorts. Now, when am I going to to find the time to write that?
Friday, 21 January 2011
Dragons in time
19,096 words
So, the new dragon book. What's it about? Well, I'm not giving too much away yet, but I will tell you it's definitely an extension of the mythology I established in Dragoncharm and its sequels. I have three books outlined: Book One - The Spiral Skull - is set before the events of Dragoncharm. Books Two and Three (tentatively titled Troll War and The Collector of Worlds respectively) explore the timeline in way that's a little more ... extreme. You see, I've stumbled over a form of charm that permits time travel.
In fact, it was the time travel idea that kicked this new project off. After I finished Dragonflame, the third book of the original series, I thought the story was done. I'd told the tale I wanted to tell and, in doing so, embedded my dragon characters firmly into the prehistory of our world. In short, I'd answered the question: "Why did dragons and magic die out?"
But still something bothered me: "What happened to the last dragons, and what sort of lives did they lead? After all their heroics, did they just fade away?" Later, this concern became a concrete question: "Who was the last dragon of all?"
That's the question I've set out to answer. It's why I've called the new series The Last Dragon Cycle. To tell the story of the last dragon, I've had to delve way back into the early history of the dragon world. And into the far future of ours. If that sounds unnecessarily complicated, don't blame me. Blame a dragon savant called Tonomy. He's the dragon who started messing around with time in the first place.
The great thing about time travel is it lets me work on a much bigger canvas than before. I can really explore the history of the dragon world, both past and future, while keeping close to my main characters. On the subject of which, some of you may be wondering if any of the characters from Dragoncharm will make it into the new novels. While in many ways this is a fresh start, with an entirely new cast of dragon characters facing a whole new set of challenges, I can promise you the return of a few familiar faces. At the moment I'm saving them up for Book Three but, hey, anything can happen. As to who they are ... you'll just have to wait and see!
So, the new dragon book. What's it about? Well, I'm not giving too much away yet, but I will tell you it's definitely an extension of the mythology I established in Dragoncharm and its sequels. I have three books outlined: Book One - The Spiral Skull - is set before the events of Dragoncharm. Books Two and Three (tentatively titled Troll War and The Collector of Worlds respectively) explore the timeline in way that's a little more ... extreme. You see, I've stumbled over a form of charm that permits time travel.
In fact, it was the time travel idea that kicked this new project off. After I finished Dragonflame, the third book of the original series, I thought the story was done. I'd told the tale I wanted to tell and, in doing so, embedded my dragon characters firmly into the prehistory of our world. In short, I'd answered the question: "Why did dragons and magic die out?"
But still something bothered me: "What happened to the last dragons, and what sort of lives did they lead? After all their heroics, did they just fade away?" Later, this concern became a concrete question: "Who was the last dragon of all?"
That's the question I've set out to answer. It's why I've called the new series The Last Dragon Cycle. To tell the story of the last dragon, I've had to delve way back into the early history of the dragon world. And into the far future of ours. If that sounds unnecessarily complicated, don't blame me. Blame a dragon savant called Tonomy. He's the dragon who started messing around with time in the first place.
The great thing about time travel is it lets me work on a much bigger canvas than before. I can really explore the history of the dragon world, both past and future, while keeping close to my main characters. On the subject of which, some of you may be wondering if any of the characters from Dragoncharm will make it into the new novels. While in many ways this is a fresh start, with an entirely new cast of dragon characters facing a whole new set of challenges, I can promise you the return of a few familiar faces. At the moment I'm saving them up for Book Three but, hey, anything can happen. As to who they are ... you'll just have to wait and see!
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Yes, I'm writing a new dragon novel
Some years ago I wrote a novel called Dragoncharm. I’ve talked at length about its genesis on my website, so I won’t bore you with all that again. Suffice it to say it’s a story written entirely from the point of view of dragons – a fantasy adventure without castles or swords or even people. The book sold pretty well and spawned a couple of sequels. I dabbled with dragons a little more in Stone and Sky, but they were more on the sidelines. After that I left them behind. For a long time I felt I’d written everything I possibly could about dragons. Job done, time to move on.
I’ve written other things since then, fantasy detective stories and crime novels among them. But it’s always the dragon books that people ask me about. Usually: ‘When are you going to write another one?’
Well, the answer is: ‘Now.’ As I speak, my agent has an outline proposal on her desk for three new dragon novels. It’s called The Last Dragon Cycle (I haven’t called it a trilogy because the concept’s pretty open-ended and so may lead to more than three books). I’m four chapters into the first draft of book one – working title The Spiral Skull – and I’m aiming to have the manuscript completed later this year.
Before you get your hopes up, it’s important to understand this is an entirely speculative process. These novels haven’t been commissioned, so there’s no guarantee they’ll ever see the light of day. But if I do a good job, an editor may decide to publish. This is the reality of being an author, even one with a track record: you’re always pitching for business.
Right now, that’s not my concern. I just need to write the damn story. As I do so, I’ll be blogging about the process, much as I did with a short story called Flatland. As it happened, Flatland never got finished – click here if you want to find out why. Could the same fate await The Spiral Skull? It’s possible, but somehow I don’t think so. This time I think I’ll get to the end. What happens after that ... hey, why worry?
If you’re a fan of Dragoncharm and its sequels, I’m sure you’ll have questions about this new project. Feel free to ask them. Just post a comment on this blog, or send me an email. I can’t promise to have all the answers (you don’t want spoilers now, do you?) but I may be prepared to let a few details slip. If you’re lucky.
For example, you may be wondering if the new books take place before or after the events of the Dragoncharm trilogy – in other words are they prequels or sequels? The answer is: they’re both. What, you think a really powerful charmed dragon wouldn’t be able to travel in time?
And I have a name for you: Abalone. Remember him.
I’ve written other things since then, fantasy detective stories and crime novels among them. But it’s always the dragon books that people ask me about. Usually: ‘When are you going to write another one?’
Well, the answer is: ‘Now.’ As I speak, my agent has an outline proposal on her desk for three new dragon novels. It’s called The Last Dragon Cycle (I haven’t called it a trilogy because the concept’s pretty open-ended and so may lead to more than three books). I’m four chapters into the first draft of book one – working title The Spiral Skull – and I’m aiming to have the manuscript completed later this year.
Before you get your hopes up, it’s important to understand this is an entirely speculative process. These novels haven’t been commissioned, so there’s no guarantee they’ll ever see the light of day. But if I do a good job, an editor may decide to publish. This is the reality of being an author, even one with a track record: you’re always pitching for business.
Right now, that’s not my concern. I just need to write the damn story. As I do so, I’ll be blogging about the process, much as I did with a short story called Flatland. As it happened, Flatland never got finished – click here if you want to find out why. Could the same fate await The Spiral Skull? It’s possible, but somehow I don’t think so. This time I think I’ll get to the end. What happens after that ... hey, why worry?
If you’re a fan of Dragoncharm and its sequels, I’m sure you’ll have questions about this new project. Feel free to ask them. Just post a comment on this blog, or send me an email. I can’t promise to have all the answers (you don’t want spoilers now, do you?) but I may be prepared to let a few details slip. If you’re lucky.
For example, you may be wondering if the new books take place before or after the events of the Dragoncharm trilogy – in other words are they prequels or sequels? The answer is: they’re both. What, you think a really powerful charmed dragon wouldn’t be able to travel in time?
And I have a name for you: Abalone. Remember him.
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Inception
During the Christmas holiday, I finally caught up with everyone else and watched Inception. Liked it a lot. Another great performance from Leo, and I don't believe director Christopher Nolan dropped the ball once in the execution of his complex storyline.
I say complex ... actually, you know, I think it's pretty straightforward. In a good way. The dreams-within-dreams concept has got everyone speculating about Inception's hidden meanings. But I honestly don't think there are any. I think it's a simple story about one man's redemption, told through a dizzying series of reality shifts. Even the (arguably) ambiguous final shot is just a bit of fun, not a serious attempt to undermine the film's essential reality.
I think if Nolan had really wanted to melt our brains, he would have employed more misdirection, and used every opportunity to pull the rug from under our feet. Which he doesn't. Most of the way he's there holding our hand, making sure we don't lose our way. Because the story's not about brain-melting, it's about Leo's character Dom Cobb finding a way back from the brink and coming to terms with what happened to his wife. That's the heart of the story, and it's what gives Inception its surprising emotional depth.
That said, I couldn't help but thrill to all those joyous lurches through unexpected realities, the stunning visuals (a folding city, a zero-g hotel, but never anything too weird) and above all Nolan's bold and confident staging. This is a tight, clean movie that never gets silly, and is never less than utterly gripping.
Now, I've only seen Inception once. Maybe when I watch it again (and I will) I'll spot some of these hidden clues the conspiracy theorists are on about. Somehow I don't think so. I think that with Inception Nolan's done something rather remarkable. He's made a science fiction movie that plays effortlessly to the mainstream crowd, that's packed with audacious ideas and images yet is ultimately about people. No mean feat.
I say complex ... actually, you know, I think it's pretty straightforward. In a good way. The dreams-within-dreams concept has got everyone speculating about Inception's hidden meanings. But I honestly don't think there are any. I think it's a simple story about one man's redemption, told through a dizzying series of reality shifts. Even the (arguably) ambiguous final shot is just a bit of fun, not a serious attempt to undermine the film's essential reality.
I think if Nolan had really wanted to melt our brains, he would have employed more misdirection, and used every opportunity to pull the rug from under our feet. Which he doesn't. Most of the way he's there holding our hand, making sure we don't lose our way. Because the story's not about brain-melting, it's about Leo's character Dom Cobb finding a way back from the brink and coming to terms with what happened to his wife. That's the heart of the story, and it's what gives Inception its surprising emotional depth.
That said, I couldn't help but thrill to all those joyous lurches through unexpected realities, the stunning visuals (a folding city, a zero-g hotel, but never anything too weird) and above all Nolan's bold and confident staging. This is a tight, clean movie that never gets silly, and is never less than utterly gripping.
Now, I've only seen Inception once. Maybe when I watch it again (and I will) I'll spot some of these hidden clues the conspiracy theorists are on about. Somehow I don't think so. I think that with Inception Nolan's done something rather remarkable. He's made a science fiction movie that plays effortlessly to the mainstream crowd, that's packed with audacious ideas and images yet is ultimately about people. No mean feat.
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