My primitive brain

Tags

Gregory 1, NaNoWriMo, plotting, word count, writing

Usually I am a very focused person: I find it easy to shut off from outside distractions and apply myself to a project, sometimes for hours at a stretch.  But in lock-down, my ability to concentrate has all but deserted me, with the result that I am making glacial progress with “Gregory 1”.  This weekend, for instance, I managed to write just under six hundred words – and most of those weren’t very good.  And to judge from the writers’ groups that I follow, I’m not alone.  With all these empty days and weekends and no competing attractions like meals out with friends or holidays in exotic locations (or even just down the road), we should all be writing fistfuls of books – it should be like NaNoWriMo on steroids.  But it seems that many people are struggling with their concentration and cursing themselves for it – and then I found out why.

An article in the New Statesman (I’m not a regular reader; I was searching for help with “why can’t I concentrate” and came across this piece) explains it all.  This is the key paragraph: “The basic science you need to know is that your brain’s prefrontal cortex (a chunk behind your forehead) processes ‘higher functions’, such as critical thinking, inhibiting impulses and, crucially here, the ability to focus.  ‘The prefrontal cortex has got this built in genie that causes it to weaken with stress signalling,’ Professor Arnsten says, ‘whereas the related stress chemicals actually strengthen the primitive brain systems.’  So essentially, when faced with immediate physical danger, your prefrontal cortex shuts down to make way for the more primitive parts of your brain – the parts that can respond quickly and basically in order to protect you.’  And that’s where we are now: we’re all faced constantly with an invisible, ongoing, potentially deadly threat.  We can’t resolve the threat so our primitive brains remain on high alert – and our concentration (a higher function) is buggered.

In the past I have always maintained that the most efficient way for me to write is to do it in large chunks of time – a half-day or day – to give myself the best chance of becoming immersed in the time period and in the vocabulary that I need to write Sam and now Gregory.  But this system has obviously been scuppered by current events and my grasshopper brain, and so I can either accept that I’m going to spend hours sitting in front of a screen and ending up with six hundred words and a great deal of irritation, or I can adapt.  And I have decided that for the duration of this focus-stealing situation, I will instead aim to write for thirty minutes a day – no more.  I reckon that even I can concentrate for that long; indeed, I might even break it down into two quarter-hour sessions if I’m struggling.  With daily exposure I should be able to get back into the 1820s groove reasonably quickly, and to make sure that I hit the ground running I am going to finish each time in the middle of a scene, or maybe even in the middle of a

Scorching Sam

Tags

Plank 6, plotting, title, word count, writing

One of the decisions I have to make for each Sam book – and, surprisingly, I make this decision near the end of the process – is when in the year to set the story.  I already know the year, of course (“Plank 6” is set in 1829) but not the season.  The plot of each book usually spreads over three or four months, and of course the time of year forms part of the background.  “Fatal Forgery” was autumnal, “The Man in the Canary Waistcoat” was summery, and “Worm in the Blossom” and “Portraits of Pretence” were both set in the spring, while “Faith, Hope and Trickery” encompassed the whole second half of 1828.  I am now mulling the season for “Plank 6” – and this decision is difficult because I am sitting here at the top of a mountain in sweltering heat.  And as with all extreme weather conditions, I cannot remember what it felt like to be at the other end of the thermometer.  So if Martha ends up ripping off her stays and jumping into a tin bath of cold water, you’ll know why.

One benefit of the heat here is that I have not been tempted to go out wandering in the countryside – and so I have hit the ground running in terms of word count.  On day one (yesterday) I managed a respectable 2,829 words, while today I bashed out a very pleasing 3,515.  Of course word count is not the ultimate aim – this is only the first draft – but I use it as a handy measure of how productive I have been.  And in those two days I have brought back two characters from earlier Sam books, created a whole new character I was not expecting, and given him a dog called Sloane.  Or maybe Hans – I can’t decide.

And don’t forget: the title poll for “Plank 6” finishes at the end of July, so there’s only a few days left to cast your vote.

Ups and downs

Tags

ALLi, Alliance of Independent Authors, bookshop, Hart's Books, library, Plank 6, research, word count, writing

I’ve snaffled myself a writing afternoon in the middle of the working week – don’t tell my clients – and have enjoyed the crazy research threads that you follow when starting out on a new plot.  Among my search terms today: apothecary, infarction, st martin’s lane, acne and butler’s pantry.  Allowing for trips down numerous research rabbit-holes, I am reasonably pleased with just under 890 words written in (what is currently) chapter three of “Plank 6”.

And as if to reward me, an interview I did with the Alliance of Independent Authors – which I joined last month – has appeared on their blog.  I can’t imagine there’s anything you don’t already know about why I love financial crime, but just in case – here’s where you can read it all again.

In other news, I hear from Hart’s Books in Saffron Walden that five tickets have been sold so far for my talk there next Wednesday.  It sounds like it’s going to be an intimate little session but they are often the most fun.  And once you’ve done a talk to three people in a tiny local library, five in a bookshop sounds like riches indeed!

Death and birth

Tags

character, London, Martha Plank, research, Samuel Plank, word count, Worm in the Blossom

I know what you’re thinking: I’ve been idling away my time in the sun and not getting on with “Plank 5”.  Well, it’s not true: Sam, Martha, Wilson and I have had a lovely few days together while my husband has been away, and I can report that I have now written a quarter of “Plank 5”.  I know that sounds like slow progress, but with a publication date of March 2018, I’m happy with it.

As tends to happen with my writing style, the plot is developing in unforeseen ways.  I have just killed off someone – no-one central, so no need to worry – and had to do quite a bit of research around that.  I was about to dump the body in Carnaby Market (a fruit and veg market alongside the now-famous fashion street) until I consulted the marvellous British History Online Survey of London (a terrific resource, which describes each individual street and its history) and discovered that the market had closed in 1820 and been replaced by new homes – plus ça change and all that.  So the poor fellow is instead in an alleyway between two new buildings.

I have also spent some time making sure that my character records are complete.  For each recurring character I keep a record of anything significant that I have said about them in any of the books – appearance, family history, marital status, food preferences, odd habits, etc. – so that I can be consistent.  After all, there must be at least a dozen of you out there who have read all the Plank books, and you would notice if someone tall and dark suddenly shrank and went blonde.  My latest challenge has been the Atkins family tree.  George and Louisa Atkins run the Blue Boar coaching inn in Holborn, now home to Alice Godfrey and little Martha, and in “Worm in the Blossom” I casually mentioned in passing that they had six children.  Of course, I did not realise that I would like the Atkins family so much that I would keep hold of them for future books, and now I need to sort out their family tree.  If only I hadn’t made them so fertile…

The end is in sight

Tags

beta reader, editing, plotting, self-publishing, word count, writing

It’s not toiling in the salt mines, I know (actually, there are salt mines in the very Swiss valley I can see from here and I have been into them, so I know whereof I speak), but this editing stage was Hard Work.  I say “was” because, hurrah and huzza, it is now over, for the time being at least.

When I last left you, I had just finished telling the story.  I then spent two whole days – long days (my mind was so full of Plankish thoughts that on day one I awoke really early and was editing by 0445…) – reading what I had written.  My main tasks were to make sure that the plot worked, by looking for inconsistencies, things that couldn’t have happened that way, lines of enquiry opened and then not pursued, characters being in two places at once and so on.  Which meant that I had to keep the whole story in my mind at once – utterly exhausting.  How authors do this with huge tomes, I cannot imagine: I struggle with 62,000 words and a fairly limited cast list to remember who did what, when and why.  Yes, you can (and I do) write Post-Its and chapter summaries and the rest, but that’s only for the big plot moments and when it comes to the nitty-gritty eventually you do have to rely on your own memory kicking you and saying, “But surely she said earlier on that she didn’t like soup, and here you have her diving into the gazpacho”.  (Not an actual example: Martha would not have much truck with gazpacho.)

BUT I have done it: I’ve read it all, marked it up and made the corrections.  I have also put dates on every chapter – a feature of the Sam Plank novels, as he is a constable and his notebook would be carefully dated.  In the end I went for the very beginning of the year, and the action lasts from 8^th January to 12^th April 1827.  It wasn’t a spectacular year weather-wise; there was a solar eclipse in February but it was barely visible from London, so we can safely ignore that.

So where next?  My husband flies out to join me this evening and I am taking a few days’ holiday.  He is bringing with him a Mac disc that we hope might resurrect my nearly-dead MacBook so that I can retrieve the Missing Chapter; otherwise it will be a prompt visit to the Apple Store when I get home.  When the chapter is found (or – worst case scenario – re-written), it will be slotted into the draft, and the whole thing re-read before I send it for beta reading by 19^th August.  (I find the setting – and indeed announcing – of deadlines to be absolutely essential for the self-published author.)  Then it is in the lap of the gods – i.e. the beta readers.

Meanwhile, I shall be thinking about the book’s cover – the designer is on hols until the end of August but it’s all in the plan – and its title.  (If you haven’t yet voted for your favourite, please do.)  I shall be doing the other bits that I can do – such as getting permission for the cover quote, choosing the review excerpts to include in the front material and so on – and enjoying the feeling of having reached this stage.  I have also, in my research for “Plank 4”, found a few interesting things that I want to include in “Plank 5”, “Plank 6” or “Plank 7”…

The story is told

Tags

plotting, word count, writing

Thank the heavens: I have done the bulk of the first draft of “Plank 4”.  Owing to technical mishaps it is a rather more confused draft than I had hoped for: there is one whole chapter missing, to be retrieved from my almost-dead MacBook, and all chapters written since then are not numbered but instead have “NEW” at the start of their titles, so that I can tell them apart.  Current word count (minus missing chapter) stands at a whisker under 62,000, which is what I had hoped.  There will be a bit of jigsaw assembly when I get home, but I’ve done the best I can for the bulk writing, and it means that the story is told, which is a significant milestone, and I had an extra chocolate biscuit to celebrate.

However, I still have four days of writing retreat left – husband arrives on Thursday evening – and plenty that I can do in that time.  I need to:

• Go through the confetti of notes that surround me, saying cryptic things like “get Soho address” and (still!) “where does Rambert go on Thursdays?”, and address or discard each one.
• Decide when in 1827 to set the story – it takes only about two months, so should it be spring, summer, autumn or winter?  I need to check the weather reports for the year, and also look at the other three Sam Plank books to see what would work, but I’m quite keen on a wintry January/February setting.
• Having done that, add some comments about the weather – after all, Sam is an Englishman!
• Go through the draft while up at the wifi zone, looking up anything that I have indicated with [[double brackets]] – this is how I tell myself that something needs to be checked, often etymology (would they have said that in 1827?) or trifling historical detail which I love but cannot allow myself to chase down as I write otherwise I would never write (what was men’s underwear called in 1827 – linen?).
• Read the whole thing, making sure that all plot points are picked up and tied off.

Once I am home and can do that jigsaw, two more major tasks remain: putting dates on each chapter, and thinking of a title for each one.  The first job drives me mad (you’d be amazed how often you say things like “yesterday” and “four days later”, so that changing one date throws them all out – I have to print out a Big Calendar for the year and use a pencil only), while the second is an absolute joy.

Back in gear

Tags

beta reader, Fatal Forgery, historical fiction, plotting, Samuel Plank, word count, writing

Well, it just goes to show what a day of rest, recuperation, retail therapy (OK, so it was bin liners and orange juice, but it’s still retail) and – let’s be honest – whinging can do.  After that low point, yesterday my keyboard was on fire – just shy of 4,000 words and a real push towards the end of the first draft.  (Roy, I trust you’re on standby: I’m hoping to get that draft to you by 19 August.  Roy is my amazing beta reader, everyone – there’s not a plot inconsistency or a character contradiction he can’t spot, and he has an elephantine memory for what Sam did and said in earlier novels.)

Talking of which, as readers of earlier Sam Plank novels will know, I do like to include a little twist towards the end – not a twist in the tail/tale exactly, but just something unexpected.  And I did have one in mind for “Plank 4”, but on my regular post-lunch constitutional yesterday, sitting on a bench with this amazing view, I thought of a new one:

Would it work, I wondered – would that fit with my characters, and with the subject I now wished to introduce?  So I stopped off at the wifi point and did a little research, and, do you know, it fitted perfectly – it couldn’t have worked more neatly with what I have already written and how my characters have developed if I had plotted it from the very beginning.  This feeling will be best recognised by other writers of historical fiction: you modern types can write what you want, you lucky things, but those of us with historical settings have to be true to what actually happened.  It’s a question that is often put to writers in historical genres: how closely do you observe historical truth, and when can you depart from it?  I can’t speak for anyone else, but my rule of thumb is this: if it is known, then I must observe it, but if it is not known, then I can interpolate with what seems to fit.  While writing “Fatal Forgery”, for instance, I found out that Henry Fauntleroy had a son.  This was very annoying, as I didn’t really want him to have a family life interfering with my plot, but the son was real and had to be accommodated – I couldn’t ignore something so central.

Anyway, most fortuitously, this new plot angle I have conceived does fit with both historical fact and my characters, so I am feeling particularly splendid as I ready myself for work today.

Ebbs and flows

Tags

editing, Fatal Forgery, word count, writing

I started this writing blog back in 2013, to chart my progress in writing and (eventually) self-publishing my first Sam Plank novel, “Fatal Forgery”.  My aim was to impose some discipline on myself – it’s harder to slope off to the shops where you’ve promised to report back on how much you’ve written that day – and to share experiences with other amateur writers.  After all, writing can be a very solitary activity, and I know I sometimes wonder whether I am the only writer struggling with plotting or dialogue or marketing or whatever.  (Spoiler alert: I’m not.)

The point of all of this preamble is to remind you and me that I am resolved to be honest in this blog – there’s no benefit to be gained, for any of us, unless I tell it How It Is.  And at the moment, it’s painful.  Yes, I am lucky enough (amazingly lucky) to be able to take a fortnight off work and hide myself away in a private little apartment in Switzerland, with wonderful views and lovely walks.  I know that a retreat like this is beyond the reach of many, who have greater family commitments and more financial constraints than I do, and so I am not complaining.  I am simply saying that location and opportunity are no guarantee of good writing.

I have written about 85% of the words I need for “Plank 4”.  The Sam Plank novels are short – they seem to come out at about 62,000 words – so the end truly is in sight.  I have the plot all planned, so I know where I am going.  And despite my recent MacBook collapse, I have managed to scrabble back to about where I was, with only one complete chapter now to be retrieved from the dead-ish machine – and I can work around that, as I know what it is about, even if I can’t recreate it exactly.  But things are just not “zinging”.

I remember days when I couldn’t wait to get writing – when I had words tumbling out, desperate to be recorded.  But yesterday was not a day like that: it was hard work.  But the words have to be written, and to sustain myself I remember two things.  Firstly, this is why we have editing: as long as I get something down, I can polish it later.  You can’t edit nothing, so something is better than nothing.  And secondly, this is A Phase.  I remember it from when I was writing all three of the previous books, and interestingly it always hits at about the 80% mark – when I wonder whether this is actually not a very good story and perhaps I should start again.  (This is not a realistic option, as the unforgiving countdown on the left reminds me…)  So my remedy is this.  Later this morning I will drive down the mountain and treat myself to lunch, and allow myself an hour after that to gaze at the lake or mooch around the shops or eat ice-cream, or all three.  And then I will drive back up here, turn on the laptop and write.

Day one in the Sam Plank house

Tags

retreat, Samuel Plank, word count, writing

My husband flew home yesterday after a few days’ holiday, leaving me at the top of a Swiss mountain with a car and a cupboard of word-count-based rewards:

Last night, in preparation for an early start, I set up my “desk” on the dining table:

And this is my view from that seat – out of the balcony over the treetops.  Pretty enough to be a rest for the eyes, but not busy enough (apart from the small, darting birds chasing insects) to be distracting:

Interestingly, as I have been anticipating the start of my retreat, my mind has been working ahead of me subconsciously, and over the past few days my husband has become used to me saying suddenly, “Don’t talk to me – pass a scrap of paper” as I scribble down another idea.  In fact, the whole ending of the book (or at least, the ending at the moment) changed yesterday, which is rather exciting, as I always like to have something of a twist.  So my work folder is now stuffed with Post-Its and bits of paper from wherever I could find them, including receipts and torn-up cardboard packets.  All I need to do now is get writing, so I’ll do just that.

Losing the plot

Tags

plotting, word count, writing

As you may know, I am only a part-time writer.  Indeed, for much of the year, owing to having to earn a living from a full-time job, it’s very part-time – perhaps half a day a week if I’m lucky.  Now this works fine until about this point in the year.  Let me explain.  In order to fit in writing one novel a year, I have to plan my time carefully.  I start writing in January, and aim for 2,000 words a week.  In July I take two/three weeks off work and write solidly, aiming for at least 2,000 words a day and finishing with a complete first draft that I send out to beta readers.  Late August and September are devoted to editing, and then the book is published in the third week of October.  (November and December I take a writing break, and then start again in January.)

Now this piecemeal writing of 2,000 words a week is perfectly manageable until about now – late June.  At this point I have about 40,000 words written.  And I’m losing the plot – literally.  Each time I sit down with Sam, I have to spend at least an hour, and sometimes more, re-reading what I have written so that I can remember the story.  And at the end of each writing session, I have to make careful notes of what I intend to write next, in case I forget before the next writing session.  As a consequence, I spend less and less time in each session actually writing – and, moreover, I get panicky because I can’t keep up with all the plot lines and I worry that I will forget something critical (perhaps kill off a character twice, or send Sam on a wild goose chase).  Frankly, I am now counting the days until I can forget about other things and just live with Sam for those dedicated weeks, and fill my mind with his story only.  I can only imagine the luxury of being a full-time author.

So what to do?  I had a gripe about it over lunch with my husband, and he came up with an excellent solution (he’s an engineer – that’s what they do).  He pointed out that “writing a book” is about more than just writing: it is also about reading and considering.  So he suggested that I print out what I have written so far, and for my next diarised writing session, I read it.  And then read it again, and again, so that the story becomes fixed in my mind.  I immediately printed out this very rough and incomplete draft, cycled into town to buy a lovely new folder – pretty stationery makes nearly everything better – and now I’m ready to go with renewed enthusiasm.