Opening A Story

If there is one tip about writing I have tried to teach my students at school it is this: writing is about thinking. While some writers might drift along unconsciously, writing is very much a conscious art. Different writers have different methods of writing and the thinking that goes into that writing. 

Some authors write out all their plans of how their novel will run from beginning to end and then flesh that novel out. Other authors begin with a key character and follow the journey of that character. Still other authors simply have a simple concept or question and begin writing from that point - allowing the world of their story to write itself into existence.

In short, all writing begins with an idea. If we look to the Bible at the very beginning it says: Genesis 1:1-5 

1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. 4 God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.5 God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

God himself started with a single word, a word that had the power of infinite concepts. He knew exactly what He wanted this 'light' to be and He spoke it forth into existence. J.R.R. Tolkien once wrote that as an author he was a 'sub-creator' under God. That is what writing is all about: creating.

One thing I have been considering recently is where you should begin writing. In my previous blog post, I indicated that I had been wanting to begin with a prologue. However, I removed that prologue because I realised that while it felt incredibly descriptive and powerful, the entire story did not benefit from that prologue. 

So how did I begin my story? I went back and I wrote in a new first chapter that begins with a simple statement about children. I used this as a slight hook to introduce my main character as a child and demonstrate an event that happened to her. This will form the frame for the subsequent events which take place when she is an adult.

However, opening a story is something which can be incredibly difficult for me. I have the ideas, but I do not ever want to.

The following is an opening paragraph for the first book in a young adult series I thoroughly enjoy, Throne of Glass: 

“After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment—though an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines. That was expected by Adarlan’s most notorious assassin. What she did not usually expect, however, was a hooded man in black at her side—as there was now.“

While this paragraph may have its issues (although the writing grows stronger as the series progresses), what appeals to me about this opening is that it begins with A) our main character, B) she is in chains and C) she has been in slavery for a year. This directly leads the reader to realise that the main character is not precisely ordinary.

One of my other favourite books in Mistborn: The Final Empire begins with a prologue. The prologue does, however, introduce a major character of the book and it begins with the sentence: "Ash fell from the sky." This again is drawing because it highlights that there is something unusual about the situation or scene in which the story will open.

The first paragraph of yet another book that I enjoy (Theft of Swords) opens as follows: 

"Hadrian could see little in the darkness, but he could hear them - the snapping of twigs, the crush of leaves, and the brush of grass. There were more than one, more than three, and they were closing in.

I enjoy this opening because of how it deliberately includes information as needed - you are provided with the main character's name, what his current activity is (listening) and the fact that some things or people are after him. Yet the writer does not reveal who the 'them' is.

Normally it is considered bad practice in writing to practise using large amounts of pronouns or adverbs. However, as seen here the use of a pronoun in 'them' is highly effective. Also, it is worth paying attention to the fact that J.K. Rowling uses plenty of pronouns, and Harry Potter is now one of the largest literary fiction series of all time.

So however you choose to begin writing, choose to write in a way which 1) draws the reader in, 2) includes interesting detail or ideas and 3) is relevant to the overall story you are trying to tell. 

Next time I'll write on characters over setting and the arguments for why characters are more important and the arguments I also hold for why setting might be more important.

P.S. - Two excellent sites on writing opening sentences are here as follows: 

http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/7-ways-to-create-a-killer-opening-line-for-your-novel, and http://thewritepractice.com/first-line/

An Abandoned Prologue

The following is a prologue to a story I am currently writing. I took the prologue out however, because it did not introduce the main character right at the beginning. Have a read and let me know what you think. Some part of this may make its way back into the book, but for now here it is:


Prologue

Permit me the luxury of a brief and tragic tale. A tale in which our hero ultimately becomes our greatest villain. It begins after the Great War laid waste to the world, wherein the Fae people were driven to destruction and humanity’s greatest saviour became their ultimate doom.

A solitary figure strode across the ashen and desolate plain, a tattered grey cloak billowing behind him. He was a tall man and strongly built, with matted, silvery hair, a scar-lined face and the grizzled complexion of a warrior. His attire, scorched armour made from gears and machinery whirring and whistling together, spoke of a man possessed of a strong temperament and wholly together. Yet his left arm was stripped free of any covering, the skin burnt and twisted into a darkly scaled mess that ended in five sharp claws. And in his crystal clear eyes roared the fires of madness and bloody death.

All around him lay fragments of what had once been men and women, taken in one single blow from the world. Now they were ash heaps, “...to dust,” muttered the man gutturally, never breaking his stride. His voice was low and mellow with a hint of treble to it, a voice dripping with charisma and effortlessly listenable. Assuming one was not distracted by the madness in his eyes. Further, assuming anyone existed on the plain to listen to his speech.

He was hunting, hunting for something. No, for someone. His nostrils flared, as if he were a purebred stallion - not a stallion, a hunting dog. I am a great dog of war. His perceptive eyes narrowed, looking beyond the swirling ash and charcoal heaps dotting the landscape. Here and there tongues of fire licked up through gashing wounds - the earth itself hungry to devour the remnants of battle. And yet, despite the light from these flames the landscape was incredibly dark and colourless - all shrouded in grey mourning cloth spun from cinders and black, choking soot.

Conqueror, he thought to himself, I am the conqueror of the dead. But no consolation, no solace, was to be found in this line of interest. Conqueror of the dead and a hunting dog of war. And like a hunting dog he stopped for one moment and then inhaled, one long and deep breath.

A scent, familiar and pungent, blasted through the noise of conflicting odours: ash, dust, smoke and blood. It roared through his nostrils, awakening instincts honed to perfection by unique combinations of chemistry and sorcery. This was the scent he had been searching for and as his eyes rolled back, breathing in the thin trail of vapour, a menacing grin spread across his face, detailing a set of sharply pointed teeth. In that moment, one could have been forgiven for believing they observed a wolf or a shark and not a man - yet no one stood upon the scorched plain to observe this phenomena.

No….no one stood. But several crawled or rolled themselves around onto their sides now as he raced past. Living corpses, grotesque and decorated with the outcomes of war and violence - moaning in agony as they slowly burnt. They were already dead and yet did not recognise this fact: refused to die as they burned, their limbs and torsos blackening and turning to charcoal as they fought the inevitable. They were few in number, these living dead, perhaps only twenty odd bodies dotted the fire-swept land. Yet, for their few numbers they seemed to be an endless sea of lost souls.

These men and women the hunter stumbled at, momentarily, for they had been his friends...once. But he shook his mane of silver hair and snorted irritably. Friends, no more.

He had no time for friends, or for enemies. No fear, no love, nothing but the wild lust of power drove him onwards. Nothing would stand in his way and his quest for salvation. Saviour, he thought with that grim smile flowering once more on his face as he strode, I am the saviour of humanity.

He started and stopped suddenly, the sheer stench of his prey awakening him from his routine running. Now where are you? He sniffed again, inhaling that foul - yet sadistically pleasant - odour once again. Ah, just to my left.

He turned, faster than humanly possible, dodging a weak sword thrust, headed towards his midriff. His clawed hand swung at that same moment, catching the blade and knocking it from the hands of its owner. A slow chuckle gurgled from his throat as he perused his adversary - the target of his hunt.

She was robed in a shimmering cloak which had once been blue but was now a stained purple at the hem, washed as it was in the scarlet pools beneath her. This cloak was as askew as her short shorn hair, a rough blowing straw-coloured mess riding above her childish face like a bird’s nest atop some lumbering bull. Her nose was bent in a broken mess, yet her eyes glared out furiously, arguing against the desecration of her face.

“You truly are a monster,” despite the anger in her eyes she stated this calmly, softly, with only the hint of a sob rising from the back of her throat. This sob melted into her lilting accent, “Why?” Her body shook with tremors of silent grief, her anguish spoken not through words but in shudders of voiceless pain.

He cocked his head, observing where she lay like a newborn filly, her legs trapped awkwardly beneath the weight of her body. A gust of wind flicked her cloak aside, revealing the dirtied, plain breastplate she wore beneath. His gaze scanned across her, witnessing the remaining and battered armour covering her arms and legs. Did I truly love her once?

Disdainfully he spoke, “It had to be...I,” he paused briefly, “I am the saviour of humanity and if I must be a monster to accomplish this, then a monster is what I am.”

He crouched before her, reaching out his left hand as he extended one black claw to stroke the side of her face. The stroke was soft, caressing as it began. Then maniacally it cut - one sharp and long slash down across the woman’s cheek. The wolfish man pulled back the claw, a single crimson tear dripping on it. Raising the claw to his mouth, he allowed his tongue to travel along its length, drawing the bead of blood into his mouth.

“The taste of freedom is full of pain and loss,” he mourned. “You were, as ever, my greatest victory and my heaviest defeat.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “Yet the price of victory - the cost of salvation must be paid. In full. I do what I do now, in order that others can not, will not, pay the same price.” A tear rolled down his face. “You...understand. You must understand!”

He shouted these last few words directly into her face, as she stared ahead, looking somehow beyond him. Then, sensing the lapse in his monologuing she retorted harshly, “Go to hell!”

He flinched, as spit flew at his face, mingling with the tears that poured down his brow. “I am sorry. I truly am.”

The claws of his left arm curled into a fist, the darkly calloused skin throbbing and beginning to glow with a deep, hot orange. Steam rose from the skin along the arm in gentle puffs as the orange deepened further in the centre - the entire length of his arm glowing with a red-hot light. Within seconds - within half a second - his left limb held more in common with a branding iron than any human appendage.

He extended one claw and with a spurious movement and a flurry of motions, etched a line around the woman sprawled before him. A line that began to blaze and burn with tongues of fire as he drew, until his victim was surrounded with a golden circle of flame.

“I wish this had all been under better circumstances. Another while. Another world. Another war. But all I can suffice to state is that this, truly is the end for us. A new dawn must emerge and you no longer have any part in that. Farewell.”

Faster than the woman could even think to reply, the man lashed out with his burning touch, striking her across her cheek. The single cut he had made previously, lit up with a flash of white heat - as if her blood was turned to fire from the inside. She froze at the touch, her body crumbling and disintegrating into ash, as she screamed a single word, echoing upon the still air, “NERO!”

As the word carried upon the wind, the circle of flames rose in unison, joining into a solid bar of white-hot light racing toward the heavens. The flame extended for one brief moment and then instantaneously vanished - dissipating into the still air. The woman was gone.

The throbbing heat in the man’s arm began to cool, the colour leeching away. White-heat, changed to red, turned to sunset orange, again returning to the black carapace of skin that marred an otherwise normal body.

The man remained crouched before the spot where the woman had previously continued to exist. A sense of regret and sudden shock seemed to overwhelm him and he covered his face with both hands as he freely wept.

Falling onto his back, he released his hands, allowing them return to his side. Tears flowed from bloodshot eyes and he gazed up into the sky as it began to prepare itself for the arrival of night - twin moons floating merrily across the sky.

“I loved you,” the man whispered, pain singing in his words, “Mara…”

And his words drifted endlessly into the void of eternal loss.

My Writing Journey

 In this past year I have seen God work in incredible ways in my life. I have seen Him move me four hours away from friends and family to the country, I have seen Him provide the right accommodation, free electricity for three months, a church with newfound responsibilities and spiritual family, and of course a beautiful wife in Jeanille. In that same time I have had people in my life pushing me and reminding me about my writing gifts and talents.

I am not simply referring to my students. While they do keep telling me that I should write a book (which I jokingly refer to as Mr Terrington's History of the World in 1001 Pages) I have had the desire to write long before. It is for this reason that I also began blogging, in a quest to find some outlet to write down my thoughts and practice my word-smithing.

Currently I have two stories/novels on the burners, one is a science-fiction/fantasy set in a world of superhuman individuals. The novel will tackle the idea of authority, power and leadership, and I am four chapters (over 10,000 words at present) into the writing. I also have another story which is simply in the idea stage, which will be another science-fiction/fantasy hybrid set in a mythical world. This is a novel which I intend to be more allegorical in nature, focusing on a 'magic' system and struggle between good and evil which will be representative of how I see the spiritual struggle between the same things on Earth. 

Writing is something which takes time, unfortunately. Which means I have been putting aside time each day to push through and write my story. I have, through the process been learning many lessons. Some are purely literature lessons. Others are life lessons. However, I have been left considering what it is that I want to convey to others through my words (both in novel form and through this blog).

For this reason I have decided to unite both my blogs under the banner of this one blog. I will continue writing my reflections on life. However, I have also created a separate page with links to reviews of anything creative (novels, films, games etc.) which inspire me and will be posting some blog posts which are reviews of those fictional works. I will also post some thoughts about the process of writing and literature in general. 

In short follow my blog: if you are interested in writing, reading, my life, God, Christianity, spirituality, thoughts, opinions, or any combination of these!

The Literacy of Empathy

From my other blog: 15 May 2015

I felt the need earlier in the week to begin a new blog given that my other blog is primarily focused around my thoughts on spiritual ideas that I am learning. I recognised that I also had many literary or education based thoughts that I wanted to write down (for my own benefit if no one else's). So here is my first blog post on my Ironic Contradictions Blog.

Empathy is a topic that we have been considering in one of my educational units at university. The point of this consideration revolving around the ability to think from student's perspectives and the fact that empathy is an important social skill that all teachers should be aware of. This concept was put into practice for me when in another task I created a resource for teachers to be able to teach on pop culture in the classroom: https://prezi.com/kxo40lzbooji/. This resource enabled me to reflect on the idea that a teacher should, where practical, be able to think from the perspective of their students and come up with ways of teaching material on a level that engages with and reaches them. From my perspective, true education is not about grades and numbers. It's about leading a student to a point where they take on board the lesson for themselves (kind of how preaching should lead individuals to personal revelation on spiritual ideas).

I wanted to call this concept the literacy of empathy, given the amount of focus placed on literacy. Literacy being the practical use of language in essence - and being literate revolving around: social skills, reading, writing; and analytically or critically thinking etc. So for me the concept of a literacy of empathy is being able to practically think in another person's shoes. It doesn't mean that the shoes have to fit you or agree with you, it simply means that individuals should learn to think about how another person might view their actions. As a teacher I believe this means planning lessons so that students' interests are reached. As an individual I believe it means moral responsibility for ones' actions.

I suppose one thing that sparked my thinking on this issue was a comment I received on an essay recently. I felt that I had engaged with enough reading material and references for this essay, however I was told by the marker that I should have used more of the readings. And this made me stop and reassess. I wasn't told to use more referential material (although maybe they did mean that full-stop). I was told to use more of the specific, unit reading. And I thought to myself 'how closeted is that?'

It's not the first time I've been told off for going outside of the assigned texts either. Once I was told off for using J.R.R. Tolkien and the essence of the reasoning was that he was too Christian and I should use a secular point of view for the same point (Particularly ironic because we were undertaking a unit on the Philosophies of Heaven and Hell).

You see, being told that I have to use specific course materials is fine every now and then, but I have an issue if they don't accept my use of wider reading material that says the exact same thing. Is the goal of education to promote a systematic brainwashing whereby students all use the same texts and provide the same answers and get the same marks? If so, by all means insist that only course material be used. If however, you wish for personal education on the student's level to take place, then you must allow students to use wider resources that they connect to on a personal level.

I suppose if I saw two essays of a similar standard and one drew solely from the text provided while the other incorporated texts and materials of interest to that student, I would be more inclined to respond to the second essay with more enthusiasm. To me that is what an empathetic individual should do: encourage the healthy interests of others and try to see those interests as they do. I know that I have several friends (and one girlfriend) who don't quite see why I love superheroes and sci-fi on the level that I do. However, they still try and take an interest in those things when I talk about them - that is empathy. They don't act in a sympathetic surface level of 'oh that's nice for you', it's a genuine interest because they are interested in me as an individual.

This is my reflection: we should become literate in empathy. I feel that it has so many practical implications from understanding how characters in fiction work through to understanding your friends and family on that deeper level. Empathy is about looking deeper and too often people become trained in a literacy of sympathy: to feel sorry and understand on a surface level, but they rarely delve deeper. I know I want to train/educate students in the future to become deep thinkers - to be empathetic and not sympathetic. I know I want myself to think in the same way and truly care about people and who they are and how they see the world. I think it holds spiritual, emotional and practical applications for a healthy life. What about you?

Persuasive Writing

From my other blog: 2 June 2015

I'm currently helping Jeanille prepare for some English testing which will help her as she continues to follow her dream. I'm very proud of her for chasing her dream, much as I am proud of anyone who chases their dream (I'm just especially proud of her for the obvious reasons). As part of this English testing she has to learn how to write better persuasive pieces. This is something that I've often worked on with students during my placements and so it's something I wanted to write a blog post about.

Obviously it's important for me to note that there are plenty of other and better resources for you to learn how to write persuasively. I merely want to share my own unique methods of constructing arguments.

1.     The first step for me is to always consider my intended audience. This revolves entirely around the idea of empathy. I want to use empathy to consider how my audience will respond to what I am saying. I would estimate that ninety percent of the time if you hit your audience with the right emotional tugs you can manipulate them to feel the way you want them to. And persuasive writing is essentially that: manipulation of the heartstrings. It's something that the persuasive writer must enjoy and attempt - reading the audience and then working out a series of arguments and counter-arguments that will target them more closely.

2. The second step is to consider what type of style I should adopt. This involves considering the question of whether I am writing a persuasive piece on the internet or for friends, creating a mini-essay, or writing academically. Each of these involves different methods, registers and lexicons that I need to be using in a calculated method (i.e. I would not be as colloquial in an academic essay as in this piece).

3. The third step involves actually writing the persuasive piece once all the thinking about how to respond has been considered. Trust me, however, most writing is all about the thinking and pre-planning. Even something as spontaneous as writing of this sort is the result of half-cooked ideas which have been marinating in the brain until they are baked to perfection.

This is where you structure your piece clearly, working out the techniques that you want to use (I tend to find simile, metaphor, alliteration and allusive, emotive language the best myself) and creating something that flows together neatly. No matter what you are writing about, the best persuasive writing (or any writing) flows in a polished fashion. This is also the reason why it is best to edit your work when you are finished. Even the best authors edit their work thoroughly once finished.


4. In short, persuasive writing is all about appearing as if you have the most reasonable idea to say in any discussion. The question of whether you truly have the most reasonable argument is another issue. It's about bluffing your audience, manipulating them to agree with you and to suspend their cynicism. This of course is why there is one final thing which I must point out to you about persuasive writing. The key element of persuasive writing is to be self-aware and self-informed even before you begin writing. You need to understand your own points of view on various issues, and you need to be able to shift that point of view to argue for issues you may not agree with through empathy. Until you understand an issue from both sides you cannot properly argue the issue. And so, as with most writing, it is understanding that plays a key role in the final product.