I’m sure many of them do, but I like to think that many more allow themselves the freedom to be taken where the story leads. I’m firmly in the camp of those who fly by the seat of their pants when it comes to writing. And I make no excuses for it.

Yes, there has to be some kind of pre-planning and pre-plotting, but don’t let anybody kid you into believing there’s an overall formula for writing novels. The plain fact is that there isn’t. Authors are individuals and will do it twenty-ways-from-Sunday differently than the guy next door. It’s good to learn from all the preferred methodologies but there simply isn’t a one-size-fits-all model to help the budding author.

No matter how much or how little planning goes into a story, writers will find themselves stumbling across many scenes which suddenly take them off in different, and unplanned, directions. I promise you, it will add greatly to the story – and to your enjoyment in telling it – if things happen in a way you hadn’t thought about during the pre-planning stages.

The biggest example of the impossibility of pre-planning every crook and nanny of a book can be found in character dialogue. Let me make an admission as a member of the hardboiled action genre – the first book I fell in love with was Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice! If you’ve read it you’ll know what I’m talking about, if you haven’t, treat yourself to a literary gem that continues to spawn Holywood film remakes. But I digress. The point I want to make is this: I can see how Miss Austen could have storyboarded (or whatever it is they did back in the early 1800’s) but no way could she have pre-recorded some of the most memorable dialogue you’ll ever come across. Permit me to give one of many examples:

“Miss Bennet,” replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, “you ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that not only your sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr Darcy. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

“If you believed it impossible to be true,” said Elizabeth, colouring with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?”

“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.”

“Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family,” said Elizabeth coolly, “will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence.”

Ah! – they don’t write them like that anymore! The point is this: Could Miss Austen have dreamed up this exchange during her pre-planning phase (if indeed she had any pre-planning phase) or did she just go with the flow and write as it came to her when describing a key encounter in her novel? I would have to think it’s the latter – and therein lies an answer all budding authors seek.

If you’ve got an idea for a story, don’t get too hung up on all the do’s and don’ts. Think of a general beginning, middle, and end, switch on the laptop or PC, and see where your imagination takes you. When it’s finished and you start to redraft, you’ll know yourself what needs to be tweaked, added, rewritten, beefed up, watered down, deleted etc. etc. That’s when the real planning starts!

Here’s a short exercise that might help. Decide on your genre – romance, action, crime, vampires etc. – and then place person A in a position where he/she is meeting person B. Decide the setting, let’s say aboard a yacht, and start writing a short piece about what brings them together and the things they might say to each other (tone is all important – are they potentially friends, enemies, lovers etc.). Release the images and thoughts in your head and start typing. See where the mood takes you. What about this for an opening paragraph?

He heard her footsteps on the wooden gangway which separated the bobbing yachts tied to their moorings in the dimly lit marina. Typically, she was an hour late. The wait gave him time to rehearse what he wanted to say. When the evening was over, she would either agree to stay out of his life or she would be dead.

A bit dramatic, I know, but the possibilities are endless. Is she a ‘fatal attraction’ acquaintance? Is she a policewoman trying to prove his guilt for a crime? Is she someone from his murky past? Is she a blackmailer? You decide. Try to put together no more than a page or two and see what you come up with by way of setting the mood for the novel, and hinting maybe  at what might lie ahead for both of them (without of course giving too much away!).

The only purpose in an exercise such as this is to help banish the demons of staring at a blank page. Whatever you come up with is likely to be consigned to the bin, but it will hopefully provide some confidence in your ability to tell a story and inform you about the kind of style you might end up using.

Of course, it’s not as simple as that. There’s a long way to go in the novel process. However, you are at least testing the water and taking the first steps.

Start writing – and good luck.

The post Are you a plotter or a pantser? appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

I make no apology for indulging in a bit of nostalgia – it’s nice to take any opportunity to promote something I’ve grown up with and returned to time and time again.

But what has a 1952 film got to do with a blog about writing? Bear with me, please, and I’ll get there.

Directed by John Forde (who got the Best Director Oscar for it) and starring John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara, Victor McLaglen, and Barry Fitzgerald (who was cruelly overlooked for Best Supporting Actor) the film is a glimpse into an old Ireland that is perhaps glamourised and typecast, but one we all imagine is deep in our roots.

I did a bit of rummaging around and found a wonderful tribute by Reel Classics, which described the film as “storytelling at its finest – transparent, unpretentious and beautiful”.

Imagine the breathtaking scenery of the West of Ireland; the trapped-in-time quaintness of the village of Cong, where the film was centred) and the reclusive luxury of the Ashford Castle estate, where many memorable scenes were staged, and you just have to get yourself there, if an opportunity arises.

You can’t call yourself Irish or Irish American unless you undertake The Quiet Man pilgrimage to a corner of the world that is truly blessed. Me? I’ve visited the area and done the tours more than twenty times – but then I’m a self-confessed, hopeless romantic.

Right, that’s my bit done for Bord Failte (the Irish Tourist Board). Now the reasons for highlighting this cinematic diamond.

The Quiet Man first appeared in 1933 as a short story by Maurice Walsh. It was published in the Saturday Evening Post, a bimonthly American journal, popular as a shop window for budding novelists. Walsh sold the rights of the story to Forde later that year for the princely sum of $10. It was at heart a simple story of human relationships, though it grew to represent much more by the time Forde brought it to the big screen almost 20 years later.

In total, Walsh’s short was exactly 7,000 words – that’s right, I checked! Although the names of all the original Walsh characters were changed later by the screenwriters, the film keeps faith with the overall storyline.

I was fascinated by the change in the opening paragraph. Here’s what Walsh wrote:

Shawn Kelvin, a blithe young lad of 20, went to the States to seek his fortune. And 15 years thereafter he returned to his native Kerry, his blitheness sobered and his youth dried to the core, and whether he had made his fortune or whether he had not no one could be knowing for certain. For he was a quiet man, not given to talking about himself and the things he had done.

And here’s what screenwriters Frank S. Nugent and Richard Llewellyn came up with for the film:

A fine soft day in the spring, it was, when the train pulled into Castletown, three hours late as usual, and himself got off. He didn’t have the look of an American tourist at all about him. Not a camera on him; what was worse, not even a fishin’ rod.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but either version would have me wanting to read on.

What lies at the heart of Walsh’s story is a simple tale of a man returning to his roots and falling in love with a local girl. He has to win her affections and then battle her brother’s redneck prejudices before they can have a life together. An inevitable showdown between the hero and his brother-in-law eventually becomes unavoidable.

It’s a straightforward tale, easy to describe, and easy to build a frame around.

It can be a bit like that for all stories. Even the most convoluted thriller, or detective whodunnit, starts with a basic outline that can be quickly summarised, in much the same way as we try to provide readers with a flavour on our dustsheet summaries.

The real work of an author begins when he/she has to overlay their story with settings, scenery, character descriptions, and actions.

Subplots come next – those twists and turns that take the reader temporarily away from the main story, but which enhance enjoyment and experiences as our characters embark on the story’s journey.

My advice to new authors is to keep true to the above formula. If you can’t summarise succinctly what your story is about, then maybe you should be thinking of writing a different story!

First see the path clearly and uncluttered from A to Z before you start to add the bells, whistles, and little pink ribbons.

Look what Maurice Walsh did with a short story. Look how the screenwriters turned it into a full-length novel.

The choice is yours, but the principle is sound – the basic skeleton of your tale is what’s important. Get it right and it will always be there for you to fall back on when you lose your way down the side roads of sub-plotting.

FOOTNOTE: Here’s an interesting snippet about The Quiet Man. The final scene of the film shows Maureen O’Hara whisper something into John Wayne’s ear. It’s clearly unscripted and there’s genuine shock in Wayne’s face as he reacts to the words. It has been the subject of wild conjecture ever since. According to O’Hara, only Wayne, Forde and she know what she said, and she’s not for telling.

Anyone got any suggestions?

The post The Quiet Man – made the year I was born! appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

Let’s take a look at this specialist subject as a homage to the men and women whose art is often overlooked when the credits roll at the end of a screened adaptation of their work.

There is no better example to explore the art of screenwriting than the 1980 film The Long Good Friday starring Bob Hoskins, Helen Mirren, and Pierce Brosnan.

The story was written by Barrie Colin Keeffe, an English dramatist and screenwriter, who originally penned the work for a TV film. The option was never taken up because of concerns over some of the plotlines. In many ways it was one of those classic pieces of rejection that must have been heart-rending at the time, but turned out to be the kind of pre-ordained fortune that leaves us scratching our what-if? heads.

If nothing else, it provided British cinema with one of its best ever gangster films. Don’t get me wrong, It’s classic noir stuff, not for the faint-hearted. Although laced with pure nuggets of humour you’d struggle to find in a dozen other films put together, this is a story of raw violence. If you haven’t seen it, take my recommendation to put it on your to-do list.

Hoskins play Harold Shand, a prosperous East End gangster who’s about to conclude a lucrative deal with some American counterparts when his cosy little world starts to explode, literally. But between the mayhem he manages to come up with some gems of dialogue.

Here’s an example:

Harold: Alan found him dying. He’d been nailed to the floor.

Jeff: When was this, then?

Harold: Well, it must’ve been just after you saw him and just before Alan saw him. Otherwise, you’d have noticed, wouldn’t you? I mean, a geezer nailed to the floor. A man of your education would definitely have spotted that, wouldn’t he?

Or what about this?

Harold: You don’t crucify people! Not on Good Friday!

My own favourite:

Pool Attendant: They kept it all incognito. They’re gonna collect the body in an ice cream van.

Harold: There’s a lot of dignity in that, isn’t there? Going out like a raspberry ripple.

Okay, enough of the excerpts, let’s look at the art of the scriptwriter. Barrie Keefe made it a career choice from an early age. Although he joined the National Youth Theatre as an actor, and actually started work as a journalist, he turned quickly to television. His first play, Substitute, was produced in 1972 and his first theatre play, Only a Game, in 1973.

He was writer-in-residence at the Shaw Theatre in 1977, resident playwright with the Royal Shakespeare Company in 1978, and associate writer with the Theatre Royal Stratford East from 1986 to 1991. He taught dramatic writing at City University, London from 2002 to 2005. In 2010 he was awarded an honorary Doctor of Letters by the University of Warwick.

I mention all this to underline the vocation and grounding Keefe had in his profession. There’s no evidence he wanted to be a novelist. His one, true calling appeared to be the use of scripts to tell a story – and in that regard he differs greatly from those of us who aspire to have their work read between the covers of a paperback (or on the screen of a Kindle!).

Can we learn anything from the Keefes of this world? You betcha!

The scriptwriter’s biggest friend is dialogue. He must devise and use it non-stop. It’s what breathes life into his characters and the story he is trying to get across. Without dialogue there would be no script (except in the case of the silent movie The Artist, which actually won an Oscar for Best Screenplay)!

Dialogue to a scriptwriter is like mortar to bricks. It’s what holds everything together. The same can’t be said for novelists.

In too many cases novelists often ignore dialogue far more than they should. As a general observation, novels are two-thirds narrative to one-third dialogue (and that’s in the better examples), while a script, by necessity, is weighted heavily the other way.

All writers should make more determined efforts to redress the balance of their dialogue by taking a leaf from the scriptwriting manual. I’ve mentioned before the need to let your characters be heard. Let them talk; let readers hear what they have to say for themselves. Give them expression to cry, shout, curse, pray, moan, groan, and all the other things normal human beings do.

There’s one other important thing we can learn from scriptwriters. Scene-setting can be as simple or as convoluted as you want it to be. Nine times out of ten go for simple!

Here’s an entirely mocked-up piece showing how an author and a scriptwriter might approach the same scene (allow for my exaggerated licence to make the point):

Scriptwriter’s version: It’s 9am on a busy London street in December. A man in a brown Fedora bends his head against heavy rain and crosses the road heading for a restaurant on the opposite side.

Author’s version: Traffic was building in the early-morning rush of one of London’s busiest streets. A man wearing a brown Fedora stepped off the rainswept pavement and prepared to navigate through the maelstrom of cars as he hurried to the small restaurant on the opposite side of the road. It was another cold, wintry day in the nation’s capital and the man was in a hurry to keep his 9am appointment.

Nothing too much wrong with either version. The point to be made is that all writers should start with the first version and add on whatever bits are necessary to tell the story the way you want to.

By fixing the scene succinctly in your head you can conjure up an immediate picture for the reader. The rest is bells and whistles – the add-ons that lend atmosphere or drama to the way you want to tell the story.

If nothing else, the scriptwriter shows us how to produce the skeleton. The rest is up to us.

The post The difference between an author and a scriptwriter appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

Research leads to writer-confidence in relating key information or capturing the atmosphere of a setting. More than that, it informs the reader by adding to his/her knowledge bank (no matter how subliminal). To do it properly, however, requires a balanced approach and an eye for what is important as opposed to what can be little more than window dressing.

I was once told that just because you know the detail of something doesn’t mean you have to bore the pants of everyone by telling them how clever you are. It’s all very well, for example, that you might know the precise calibrations and mathematic formulae for manufacturing a car engine but do your readers really want to spend time reading about it in a romantic novel, or, for that matter, any other kind of novel?

The stick-to-what-you-know approach to writing is as sound now as it was whenever whoever said it first said it. Most debut writers are encouraged to stay within the comfort zone of knowing their subjects and knowing their locations. It’s when you stray outside these areas that research is essential.

I was fascinated to learn that Stephen Leather spent 18 days travelling from Malaysia to Southampton on one of the world’s largest container ships as part of the research for his novel Fair Game. Much of the action centres on a pirate takeover of a similar vessel and Leather wanted to get first-hand experience of life aboard one of these giants. The result pours out of every page, with a depth of detail only possible from this kind of commitment.

But is this devotion the exception rather than the norm?

My first encounter with detailed research seeping out through every age of an action thriller was in the works of Alastair MacLean (he of Where Eagles Dare, among many brilliant bequests to our literary enjoyment). Modern day examples are rife, probably none more so that R.J. (Roger) Ellory, who is feted for a painstaking attention to detail that puts the reader into the centre of his stories.

And wasn’t it Frederick Forsyth who spotted a fatal flaw in UK records of births, marriages and deaths (what we tired old newspaper hacks used to refer to as hatches, matches and despatches)? The ease with which he secured a birth certificate and subsequent passport for his lead man in The Day of The Jackal subsequently led to a change in the law!

Let’s look at an example. If your story involves prison life it is essential you get a feel for it. The best place to start is by interviewing those who have been inside. Prepare a detailed set of questions in advance. Don’t ask a general “what’s it like” question but probe for detail such as typical prison routines – lock-up times, exercise times, work details. Find out about prison menus, and the extent to which cigarettes and drugs are traded. Find out how prison hierarchal systems work among inmates, and the relationships between the cons and the warders. Most of all, find out how men cope with the privations, the loss of freedom, and their feelings when long summer days make them imagine doing ‘normal’ things like going to the beach. These things add useful insight.

All this detailed research is naturally superfluous if the mention of prison takes up little time in your story. We’ve all seen enough films and TV dramas to be able to conjure up short references to prison and then move on to the real meat of our story.

To date I’ve been able to concentrate my scenes on places I’ve visited throughout the British Isles, and in Europe and America. At the time of these visits, I was careful to note things that might be of future interest – things like road and rail links, and what lies beyond the usual tourist routes. Weaving these experiences into a story makes me feel a sense of accomplishment.

I’m a big fan of research – don’t be daunted by it. It’s never too late to start looking around places with a different eye. You’re a writer, that’s what we do! The next time you go on holiday look out for ‘locations’ for your next book. Take notes about the buildings, the traffic, the people, the wildlife, anything to enrich a future reader experience.

There’s nothing wrong with ‘desktop research’. Using a variety of online tools (search engines, Google Earth, Wikipedia etc.) to help with accuracy and clarity is ultimately better than guesswork or assumptions. It you can match this with real-life or first-hand experiences you’ve got it made.

Many years ago I undertook desktop research on more than fifty popular handguns. I read the specifications voraciously until I felt I could field-strip any model and rebuild it with my eyes blindfolded. Yeah, right! It was only when I was invited to a gun club and was introduced, up close and personal, to the modern pistol that I truly understood its raw power and dangers.

I tried to fire a 44 Magnum and got my eyes opened – actually I would have put them out if the instructor had not made me hold my hands away from my body. The recoil took the weapon back beyond my head! After firing three rounds I had to admit I couldn’t continue. It was that that powerful.

Now, when I read a piece about a hero or villain fast-drawing a 44 and casually loosing off six rounds, I have to ask myself: do you think the author did his research? Well, do you?

The post The importance of research appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

It appears the jury is still out. Not too long ago, if you are to believe a lot of things written on the subject, the book industry’s top-hitters, namely publishers and agents, were set against the whole concept of prologues. For some reason their minds are changing – and I can see why.

Prologues work best when an author uses them as a platform from which to launch his/her subsequent story. In almost all cases they should be detached in time from the story about to unfold – a means to provide a teasing event, the significance of which will only become clear as the main story unfolds.

The best examples of the use of prologues are to be found in the novels of Clive Cussler. He made an art out of beginning his yarns with a seemingly unrelated story, usually set in prior decades or centuries, only for the reader to discover that this story (or backdrop) is essential to the understanding and enjoyment of the modern-day tale that is about to unfold.

Cussler did it so well that often the reader feels a sense of loss at leaving the era of the prologue to begin the main event!

Naturally, prologues don’t have to be as separated in time as Cussler often makes them. An event within a year, of even a few months, of the opening main sequence of a story, will serve just as well to grab the attention of readers – provided, of course, the need for a prologue actually enhances the overall reading experience.

The reason why a lot of people aren’t switched on by prologues is that often they are little more than Chapter 1, dressed up in a fancy title that authors somehow think makes their overall product look a bit sexier. It doesn’t.

It’s plain daft to begin with what is called a prologue if the next chapter (now called Chapter 1) simply follows on from the events told in the prologue. I’ve read a lot of so-called prologues only to discover that the ‘first chapter’ begins with the same characters, talking about the same things a mere few hours later!

As I’ve said, prologues should be ‘teasers’ and used only where there is justification for back-dropping a story in a different context, or providing a related event, which will start to make sense for the reader as the story progresses.

They are often used these days as an early means to get inside the head of the baddie, say a serial killer, to tell the back-story of how he/she came to start their murdering rampage. The main story then opens with the detective assigned to the case, by which stage the reader has a sense of the difficulties that will be involved in tracking down the culprit. In this example, if the writer inserts a lot of graphic detail into the prologue, the reader will also engage immediately with the detective in the desire to catch the killer.

Generally, extreme care must be taken with the use of prologues. Not only should they have a proper context, but authors need to be wary of the fact that these are the first views readers have of the style and pace of the writer. They are the shop window and if they’re not dressed properly the reader is unlikely to go much further.

Is there a simple rule on the use of prologues? Unfortunately, not. Bearing in mind what’s already been said there is usually little need for a prologue – and so it’s not a question that should vex authors as much as it appears to.

A story should always be told with the reader in mind. I always like the philosophy of getting a story started in an interesting way, keep it flowing, and end it with as much drama, pathos and fanfare as you can muster. Nothing else matters.

But – and it’s a big but – if the end product can be enhanced by the use of a well-scripted and properly thought-out prologue then not only should the author go for it, but he/she has an imperative to do so.

The post To prologue or not to prologue appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

Standing at five-seven it’s not hard to see why the choice of Cruise puzzled many people, particularly when you consider the larger-than-life ex-MP he brought to the screen is a six-five monolith of raw muscle. It could be the kind of miscasting on a scale of handing Australian actor George Lazenby a kilt and asking him to play James Bond in the 1969 version of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service!

Amazon got it right when they plucked out Alan Ritchson to bring Child’s creation to life in its award-winning series. It’s now hard to read the books without thinking of Ritchson.

The author himself is diplomatic on the subject. Here’s what Child had to say about it: “Obviously, Tom Cruise doesn’t match the physical description of Reacher in the books… but the movie is not going to match the book anyway. More than that though, which actor does match Reacher physically? What people forget is that Tom Cruise is quite possibly the best actor of his generation.”

No argument there. It’s great to see the Reacher franchise getting the TV/movie exposure it deserves – no matter who takes the lead role.

The debate, however, serves a wider purpose. It got me thinking who we, as authors, would wish to see cast in the role of bringing our hero/heroine to the big screen.

Yeah, I know chance would be a fine thing – but bear with me! There’s a serious side to thinking about your characters. Who do they resemble? What traits from well-known people have we used to conjure up an image for our readers? Have we thought about famous actors or actresses at any stage during the construction of our stories?

Whether we admit to it or not, portrayals on the big screen shape forever the way we think of and remember stories. An interesting example of this is Rod Steiger who turned down the title role in the 1970 film Patton. As a result, whenever we think of Patton, there’s only one image that springs to mind – that of George C. Scott, whose performance is still ranked as one of Hollywood’s finest.

An interesting aside to this is that two years after Patton was released, Steiger was in pole position for the lead in The Godfather but spoiled his chances by refusing the part of Don Corleone (taken by Marlon Brando, his co-star in On the Waterfront 18 years earlier) and insisting that he play the part of the younger son Michael (taken by Al Pacino, who later turned down Star Wars!).

While we’re on the subject, here’s a few more what-could-have-beens:

Will Smith turned down The Matrix (Keanu Reeve).

Alec Baldwin turned down The Fugitive (Harrison Ford)

Melanie Griffith turned down Thelma and Louise (Susan Sarandon)

Michael Madson turned down Pulp Fiction (John Travolta)

Robert Redford turned down The Graduate (Dustin Hoffman)

Mel Gibson turned down Gladiator (Russell Crowe)

John Travolta turned down Forrest Gump (Tom Hanks)

Hugh Jackman turned down Casino Royale (Daniel Craig)

Clare Danes turned down Titanic (Kate Winslett)

Susan Dey turned down Grease (Olivia Newton-John)

Tom Selleck & Nick Nolte turned down Raiders of the Lost Ark (Harrison Ford).

Believe me the list is pretty endless. I like the multiple rejections list which includes Richard Gere, Sylvester Stallone, Burt Reynolds, and Arnold Schwarzenegger all turning down the Die Hard role made famous by Bruce Willis.

Or what about Daryl Hanna, Michelle Pfeiffer, Meg Ryan, and Molly Ringwald leaving a clear field for Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?

Okay, I’m starting to show off a bit, but let me finish this section with my favourite story. Apparently, Tom Cruise was lined up to take the lead in the 2010 CIA action film Salt but when Angeline Jolie got wind of the story, she muscled in. The script was rewritten to change the gender of the lead character from Edwin Salt to Evelyn Salt!

Imagine that happening to one of your novels?

Let’s go back full circle. Who would you want to play your lead character in a film or television adaptation?

I’ve had a bit of fun trying to dream up actors and actresses for roles in recent books I’ve read. See what you think.

The Mel Comley books about policewoman Lorne Simpkins would make a great television series featuring British actress Suranne Jones.

Matt Hilton’s hero, Joe Hunter, deserves someone of the stature of Jason Statham or Hugh Jackman.

What about Gerard Butler for Stephen Leather’s Spider Shepherd?

I need help here. Give it a go – match an actor or actress with a character from your book or from a recent book you’ve read. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

The post Who would you get to play your lead role? appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

It’s all well and good having fancy cover blurbs and trailers to entice readers into your parlour but when they get tucked into the first course you had better be at your writing best. Killer opening chapters are what ‘sells’ you as a writer, so make sure you bring your A-game to the table.

It doesn’t matter what your book is about, or how you intend to unfold the story, you MUST ensure there’s enough going on in those opening pages to convince the customer that this is a journey he wants to undertake with you.

Often what is required is little more than attention to detail. The first chapter should be written, rewritten, edited, re-edited, tweaked and re-tweaked. For goodness sake don’t fall flat on your face with typos, poor grammar, weak dialogue, or action that wouldn’t get the attention of a nervous fly.

The first chapter is your shop window. You simply can’t afford to take any risks with it.

The ante has been upped even more these days with the introduction of Amazon’s ‘Click Inside’ preview facility. Online eBook buyers now rarely commit to a purchase without sampling the goods on offer – in this case the opening chapter of your book. It’s here they’ll learn about your style as a writer, the kind of story you’re about to tell, and whether it ‘fits’ with their expectations.

Tick the right boxes and you’ve got a sale. The alternative is to languish in Click Inside’s limbo land of lost opportunities!

There’s no rocket science to the approach you need to take. If you’re an author, you’ll also be a reader. Put yourself on the other side of the shop-counter and take account of what it is that draws you into a book. What kind of opening chapters are likely to hook you?

There are thousands of ways to begin a story. Depending on the genre or context of the opening sequence, there’s no such thing as one way being better than another. Authors are individuals and each story has its own separate lure, so don’t go looking for a pre-formatted way of starting.

The only advice I would dare to give is to beware of what I always refer to as flowery descriptive sequences that are usually more about the author showing off his/her command of language and flair for the literary craft than it is about setting a strong base for their story.

We know you’re a writer, get on with it! Stop holding up the train while you discuss its ugly carbon omissions and the danger they’re doing to the environment!

There are plenty of opportunities for you to get flowery (if that’s what rocks your boat) but don’t do it in the opening lines. Leave that for the travel writers and tourist bloggers.

If you want to convert a window-shopper into a customer, you’d do well to put some substance into what you’re putting on show. It’s their first serious look at you as a writer – for goodness sake put on your Sunday best and make a good impression!

The post A strong opening chapter is akin to a shop window appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

Who? He’s the guy behind the Oscar success of the silent movie The Artist – you know, the one that scooped all the top awards at the 2011 Oscars? What makes him unique is that he won not only Best Director for the film but was also nominated for Best Original Screenplay!

I must admit to doing a double take when I first read about that. How on earth do you go about writing a screenplay for a film without dialogue? Imagine trying that with a full-length novel?

Apparently, Monsieur Hazanavicius did extensive research about 1920s Hollywood and studied silent films to find the right techniques to make the story comprehensible without having to use too many intertitles (printed text used mostly to convey dialogue).

According to Paste Magazine a lot of people scoffed at the idea of a silent film getting a screenplay nomination. “It turns out,” Paste tells us, “the script is rich in detail and explains how every scene is supposed to be set up.” The surprising thing about the kind of detail required is that the entire script took only four months to write!

 I think I’m getting more jealous by the minute.

Before continuing, I thought I’d give you a flavour of the script. – you can view the entire document at Paste and other sites:

A man who visibly works for the studio, some assistant or other, comes into the courtyard, climbs on a crate and makes an announcement. All the men who had pressed forwards turn on their heels, leaving the assistant surrounded only by women. The man says something to one girl, who begins to dance. He motions to her that it’s ok and she heads off towards the wardrobe section. He does the same with a second girl and she gets hired too. Then it’s Peppy’s turn. She puts a lot of energy into a few top class tap steps, impressing the guy to such an extent that he smiles admiringly then signals that she’s hired.

 All straightforward stuff, nothing to write home about, but somewhere in there the author managed to find a formula for box office success. To do it without dialogue must have been pretty daunting.

So, what about storywriting sans dialogue? Can it be done? Should it be attempted? The answers have to be an emphatic, non (I might as well stay in Le Francais!).

Consider the above excerpt against some of the screen’s most enduring dialogue scenes. Let’s look at A Few Good Men and how Tom Cruise (Lt. Kaffee) and Jack Nicholson (Col. Jessep) squared up to each other in the final courtroom scene:

Col. Jessep: You want answers?

Kaffee: I think I’m entitled to them.

Col. Jessep: You want answers?

Kaffee: I want the truth!

Col. Jessep: You can’t handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinburg? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago, and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like honour, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon, and stand a post. Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think you are entitled to.

Kaffee: Did you order the Code Red?

Col. Jessep: I did the job I…

Kaffee: Did you order the Code Red?

Col. Jessep: You’re Goddamn right I did!

Okay, I admit to self-indulgence – I’ve always loved that dialogue. I also admit I’ve no chance of ever being able to come close to emulating what was achieved here. What I do know is that I would rather tackle a dialogue-intensive chapter than one devoid of speech. The fact that the screenplay writer for The Artist proved how effectively it can be done, doesn’t mean it will start becoming fashionable, or that we as authors should begin to revise the balance we strive for between our verbal and non-verbal passages.

I don’t see editors returning manuscripts with thick red lines through the dialogue. I’m fortunate to have a brilliant editor who adds little ‘show me’ notes – he’s trying to get me beyond saying what I see to living/breathing what’s happening mode. Get inside the head of the character and use his/her words and emotions to bring scenes to life. This is the lifeblood of the fictional novel.

Screenwriting is an altogether different art form. In the meantime, we should celebrate the genius of The Artist – but remember it is those scenes that involve our characters opening their mouths and talking that are often the most memorable for readers (and viewers).

The post Best screenplay – for a silent film! appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

So where does an author start the naming process?

We all do it differently but put no less thought into coming up with names that roll off the tongue, stay memorable for the reader, and somehow capture the character we’re writing about.

Lee Child’s engrossingly enigmatic MP wouldn’t be the same if he were not called Jack (just call me) Reacher, and how did Stephen Leather take an everyday kind of name like Dan Shepherd and make it resonate through a gripping series? In the latter case, Leather’s use of the nickname ‘Spider’ provided an easy alliteration that we, as readers, instantly buy into.

So where did the names come from? The secret might just be as basic as authors playing about with a list until they get one they like. By building a great character (and great stories) around the chosen names, they hope to succeed in getting the reader to identify with the overall concept in such a way that the name remains with us.

Obviously, it helps if you’re a prolific author who constantly finds interesting stories for your character and therefore builds the brand through the series.

Many authors use the names of friends, either in full or by coming up with a subtle derivative. This helps not only to prepare a nice long list but also makes it easier to describe characteristics and traits if the actual person is always on the mind when writing about their fictitious alter ego. Not much good if your friends are plain John Smith (with apologies to all John Smiths!).

There are also some pitfalls to be avoided.

Let’s say an author picks a name for a character who is an eminent surgeon with a private practice in a particular city and you attribute some unsavoury or unprofessional actions to the character. Where would the author be if such a professional with that name actually existed? Unlikely? Pick a name at random, Google it and see what happens! You’ll be surprised.

By the way, he or she doesn’t have to be a surgeon – the same applies to any profession, including police officers, who figure most in popular fiction.

Our literary forefathers could delve into the realms of the surreal to come up with tasty bites like Robinson Crusoe or Wilkins Micawber. And you really had to be there to understand the mind of PJ Wodehouse when he gave birth to Bertie Wooster, Watkyn Bassett, Gussie Fink-Nottle and Tuppy Glossop!!

The process, however, could be as simple as the choices faced by all parents when picking a name for their child, although in this case they have half the job done for them. There’s not much they can do about the surname but just think of the tizzy they get into trying to come up with a first name that “sings” to them when they bolt it on.

The modern writer has to find both halves of the equation!

And perhaps the secret is as simple as that. Start with one half – either the first name or the surname – and then try to find a match. It would be interesting to know if Child decided first on Reacher and then added Jack, or was it the other way round?

When all is said and done, the readers are the people who decide whether the choices we make are appropriate. So why not ask the readers? In these days of social media it would be an interesting experiment for authors to Facebook or tweet their friends/followers/fans and ask them to submit possible names for particular characters.

I can just see a typical post – I’m writing about gangland criminals in London and have decided to include twins by the names of Ronnie and Reggie. Does anybody have a suggestion for a surname??

The post Character names really do matter appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.

I’m talking mainly about the start-at-the-bottom-rung kind of entrepreneurs who know from the get-go that there’s a lonely road ahead. It’s the sort of road where they will encounter long hours, discover little monetary return for their labours, and face dark periods of despair. Yet they soldier on, trying to lay the foundations of their business in the hope it will take root and grow.

Some will eventually succeed. Many will not, but it doesn’t stop them climbing back on the saddle after they’ve suffered a fall. Indeed, one sage once remarked that to truly succeed in business you first need to have failed!

Personally, I would rather succeed first time around. Thankfully, statistics show that most entrepreneurs do manage to make a success of their first venture. But can the same be said of authors?

The book industry is full of such people. At the top of the tree are authors, many of whom must pursue their passion on a part-time basis in the hope of establishing themselves to an extent that will enable them to make the jump to a full-time profession. In the meantime, they sacrifice family life, social life, and a whole lot besides, in a single-minded – yet realistic – determination to turn their creative skills into a career.

And make no mistake about it – book selling is a business, perhaps one of the world’s most successful and evolving businesses. Just look at the support businesses that have sprung up behind authors:

Publishing houses

Cover designers

Proof-readers

Editors

Agents

Marketers

Social Media Platformers

eBook Converters.

There are many more, not to mention the bookstores and online book sellers standing at the end of the chain.

However, today’s new breed of indie author has to roll all these businesses into one. He/she has to be an editor, proofer, agent and marketer – small wonder therefore that many still have a mountain to climb after they finish writing.

Remember this the next time you buy a book. Think of the long hours, stretching into days, weeks, months and even years, it has taken to place the work in front of you – and all at a price far less than the cost of a gallon of petrol (probably not a good comparison since everything these days seems to cost less than a gallon of petrol, but you get the drift!).

Without readers these people simply couldn’t exist. The thing that continues to drive them is that book-buying is an annual growth business, and that readers are demanding more diversity than ever before.

Somewhere between the author and reader there is a natural match-up waiting to happen. The trick is for the author to find a way to cross that bridge, and for the reader to take a chance with a new kid on the block.

 Have you recently read a new author? Do you usually buy a ‘paper’ book or are you into eBook downloads? Do you check the background of an author? Do you consider you get value for money? If you have any views, I’d love to hear them.

The post Writing a book is like starting a business – well almost! appeared first on Joe McCoubrey.