Hear, hear!

I was looking forward to watching the 5-part dramatization of Len Deighton’s 1978 novel, SS-GB, which I’d read and enjoyed many years ago. 

Unfortunately, the BBC chose to schedule it in conflict with an ITV series I’m already watching, The Good Karma Hospital. The BBC does this a lot; it doesn’t need to, since it isn’t really competing for paying viewers (or advertising space). So, I consoled myself with the thought that I’d eventually buy the DVD of SS-GB.

Now, I might not bother. There have been so many reports from a variety of sources that the director is an advocate of the Mumbling School of Drama. I won't surrender!

Considering this series is likened to a noir detective drama, I’d have thought the director would have seen the old noir movies featuring Bogart, Mitchum, O’Brien, Lake, Cagney, Robinson, Raft, Lorre, and Duryea to name a few. These had atmosphere, but also good diction (even when mangled American!), and the music never smothered the dialogue.

This is only the latest example of a number of recent productions that I have decided not to watch. I recall some time ago watching an episode of the new Dr Who; at a critical juncture, the good Doctor was making a dramatic announcement, but it was drowned out by the foreground music. I gave up on that series.

SS-GB is directed by Philipp Kadelbach and stars several German actors who spoke their native language on set and on screen, with subtitles. Great authenticity. Interestingly, some viewers commented that they found it easier to understand the Germans than anyone mumbling in English. A number had to resort to subtitles to comprehend what was being mumbled by the English-speakers.

The day after the transmission, a BBC spokesman said they “will look at the sound levels on the programme in time for the next episode.” You’d have thought that somebody might have considered doing that before transmission, considering that there have been other mumbling issues for the BBC involving Jamaica Inn, the crime series Quirke, and Happy Valley.

There’s no issue with other series, such as Game of Thrones, Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries and Murdoch Mysteries, for example, all of which have dark themes and an international cast; even the Dothraki is intelligible in Game of Thrones!

At least I can hear what all the international cast of actors are saying in The Good Karma Hospital. That’s good karma, indeed.

Writing – editing - look out!

The other day I picked up one of my wife’s newly purchased paperbacks by a successful and popular author and opened it at random, page 280. I immediately thought that the author and editor had not really given the work enough consideration, if this example was anything to go by:

            She looked alarmed. “You’ll come back to London soon, I hope.”

            “If you’re there, then I’ll devise a good excuse.” He looked at her fondly, but his smile faltered.

            “I’m looking forward to riding out. I haven’t ridden a horse in years.”

            “Don’t worry, (the horse) is very placid. She’ll look after you. And so will I!”

No author name, no book title. That’s not the point. Let's consider this as an exercise in editing.

I checked the previous page and a bit. The scene is from the heroine’s point of view. So how can she ‘look alarmed’ since she can’t see herself? She felt alarmed, if we want to be simplistic, though this is virtually ‘tell’ rather than ‘show’. She could show ‘alarm’ in several ways – stepping back, a hand to her throat or covering her heart, her lip quivering, her heart tripping, all visual or emotional responses.

As for ‘looked’ – we have variants of that repeated no less than four times in 8 lines of contiguous text in the book. They’re ‘echo words’ – lodged in the subconscious and spewed out in the first draft phase; but they should be expunged in the later editing sessions.

She looked alarmed. “You’ll come back to London soon, I hope.”

            “If you’re there, then I’ll devise a good excuse.” He looked at her fondly, but his smile faltered.

            “I’m looking forward to riding out. I haven’t ridden a horse in years.”

            “Don’t worry, (the horse) is very placid. She’ll look after you. And so will I!”

It’s quite simple to get rid of all those repetitions, look:

            Her throat tightened in alarm at the prospect of him never leaving here. “You’ll come back to London soon, I hope.”

            “If you’re there,” he said with a gentle smile, “then I’ll devise a good excuse.” But the curve of his lips faltered.

            “I’m excited about riding out. I haven’t ridden a horse in years.”

            “Don’t worry, (the horse) is very placid. She’ll take care of you. And so will I!”

As they’re both in a foreign country as they talk, perhaps she should have said, “You’ll return to London…” rather than “come back”.

And there’s still the question of why his smile faltered. Did he mean what he promised or not? As she noted it, wouldn’t she dwell on that, fearing his sincerity?

What caused the sudden switch to riding on a horse – when riding was last mentioned about a page earlier? No continuity of thought or speech, no leading phrase to generate the thoughts or words about riding; no flow.

Yes, this is a trifle unfair, a section 'taken out of context'. How many authors (me included) self-edit every little section of a book that can be about 100,000 words long? I’d argue that we try. But perhaps as some authors become successful, like this one, they become lazy and don’t exert themselves. On the other hand, in my humble opinion the editors aren’t doing their job, either.

So, look out for those irritating repetitions.

Writing – what’s easy and hard to write?

Today, I popped in to the local Writers’ Circle. The chairman Ian had set a writing exercise, asking each of the fourteen attendees to write what they found hard and easy to write about.

This is a complex question.

Poetic

For those who don’t write poetry, this was certainly found to be hard to tackle – whether rhyming or not. 

That’s the idea!

Getting the idea was often elusive for the writer. That’s difficult to resolve. You have to have an inquisitive mind that is always asking ‘what if?’ A word, phrase or event can trigger an idea. If you can’t waylay ideas to generate in your writing, then you’re probably not destined to be a writer.

Muse, where art thou?

Wait for the muse? It can work, but it can also take a long time. As one famous author put it, ‘I wait for the muse each day. It arrives at 9am when I sit at my desk.’ In other words, he enforces discipline in his writing because he sees it as a job.

Oh, the pressure!

A few found they could write better when under some time constraint. That’s what journalists find – they have to deliver to a deadline. That deadline won’t shift. It has to be met. Writing to a self-imposed deadline can help you to train yourself to write regularly.

Excuses, excuses!

Then there was the question of motivation. How to get into a writerly mode. The basic answer is to sit down and write. Of course writers are very good at procrastinating. Anything rather than actually write; there are umpteen excuses. See a reference to this in my Friday’s forgotten book blog here.

Even for writers who find it easy to write, it still requires effort. That is allocating time to write, ensuring that you do write, spilling words onto the page or screen.

Point of view

Deciding on a point of view for the story can prove difficult for some. Determining this will affect the story. If it’s first person, then the narrator (presumably) survives any threat, so the danger must be faced by others possibly close to the narrator.

Voice over

Attaining a ‘voice’ for the story proves difficult for others. ‘Know your character’ can help here. Immersing yourself in the story with your characters will gradually bring out the appropriate ‘voice’; different professions have different ways of doing and saying things; but don’t overdo this, either.

Slang etc

When to use vernacular – and how to check its authenticity. Recommendation – don’t use it. Writers of Oor Wullie and the Broons comic strips are proficient; most aren’t. Try reading Mary Webb’s Gone to Earth – a good book but hard going!

Not enough words!

Some find it hard to write a lot – often too busy thinking about the right word to write. Get the thing written first, and then you can find the best words in the self-edit stage. Immerse yourself in the scene, using all the character’s senses, and describe the scene so the reader can ‘see’ it. Avoid padding, however!
 
Research
Reluctance to write historical fiction ‘because of the risk of getting something wrong’. Do research for the period, but limit it to what you need for the story, otherwise you’ll be forever researching and never creating your own fiction. Read fiction set in the period you’ve chosen to get the flavour, so you can immerse yourself; when you come to write your own piece, the style will tend to reflect the period. Don’t overdo the research and include everything just because it’s interesting! Even a short story might require some research.

Speaking of dialogue

Some writers find it hard to write dialogue and rely too much on narrative – ‘tell’ rather than ‘show’. (Show is more than simply using dialogue, however). Again, ‘know your characters’ to the point where you can ‘hear’ them speaking. Dialogue creates character and moves the story forward and is a faster read than dense description.
 
Self-doubt
Fear of criticism, fear of not getting it right, can freeze the brain so little or nothing is written. Beat the fear, just let the words flow because you know that this is only the first draft and it can be honed.

Confidence is linked to the above. The more you write the better your writing should become. Writing regularly should improve your confidence. Generally, writers are sensitive about their work and are filled with self-doubt. That’s healthy up to a point; but restrain those doubts and just write. If you find this writing business painful to do, perhaps you should try something else? You either persevere or give up. Good writers didn’t start out being good, but they persevered, and locked away those self-doubt fears in a little box under the bed.

 
Write what you know
One answer to lack of confidence is ‘experience’. As we all go through life we build up a wealth of experience. Use this to drive your characters. This is ‘what you know’ – life’s experience. Of course some things we won’t be directly involved in – murder, war, etc. Some experiences have to be gained vicariously through voracious reading – fine, use these too, suitably adjusted for your characters. This is where research comes in again – non-fiction books (biographies, histories, for example) contain a wealth of knowledge and experience you can tap into.

Writing - the recruitment scene in The Magnificent Mendozas

Here’s the promised excerpt from The Magnificent Mendozas. I'm not giving anything away - almost everything here can be gleaned from the book blurb. Descriptions of all the characters were given earlier in the book.

This is the important recruitment scene.

I hope you like it – and itch to find out what happened before and also find out how the story pans out. Notes of interest can be found at the end of the excerpt.

Diego is the circus owner; for the rest, I’ll repeat part of the blurb here, which might help: The gringo town of Conejos Blancos has just hosted the Mexican circus; no sooner do they move on to their next venue when Hart and over thirty desperadoes take over the town – and the adjacent silver mine! The sheriff is slaughtered and many of the citizens are held hostage.

            In desperation, two boys escape from the locked-down town.

            They recruit seven Mexican circus performers, the Magnificent Mendozas: the troupe comprises Mateo, the leader, and his wife Josefa, both expert knife-throwers; José, younger brother of Mateo, a trick rider who lusts after Josefa; Antonio Rivera, sharpshooter; Juan Suaréz, gymnast and trapeze artist with his companion Arcadia Mendoza, who is also expert with bow and arrow; and Ramon Mendoza, escapologist.

***

Josefa smiled down at the two boys where they sat on the edge of a narrow bed of furs in the capacious wagon, sipping mugs of coffee. Standing at the entrance flap, Mateo studied them also, stroking his pointed beard. Diego sat opposite them on another bed.

She laid a hand on the shoulder of the freckled lad. ‘Didn’t I see you in Conejos Blancos?’

Lowering his coffee mug, the boy said, ‘Yes, Ma’am. Name’s Emmett – Emmett Rosco– ’

‘The sheriff’s son,’ she said. ‘Yes, now I remember.’

‘I’m Gene, his best friend.’

Josefa studied them both, surprised at their appearance.

Diego growled, ‘Don’t you know you could be in deep trouble, sneaking in without paying?’

Looking glum, the pair nodded.

‘Leave them be, Diego, they’re doing no harm,’ Josefa said. ‘The show’s over.’

‘That may be so, but I’ve a good mind to send these two back to the sheriff. His father will know how to chastise him.’

Emmett’s lips quivered. Something was wrong; Josefa felt it in her bones.

Gene stood and moved protectively in front of Emmett, his face screwed-up. ‘Leave him be! His pa’s dead – murdered on Sunday!’

‘Oh, Madre de Dios.’ Her heart somersaulted and she knelt in front of Emmett. She grasped his shoulders gently. ‘Is this so?’
 
Tears rimmed his eyes as he nodded. ‘Yes… We escaped to get help – your help,’ he croaked.

‘Escaped?’ Diego echoed.

‘The town’s been taken over by a bunch of desperadoes,’ Emmett said in a quavering voice.

‘And they’re going to rob the mine!’ Gene added. ‘We’ve been walking all night!’

Josefa eyed Mateo. ‘That explains the state they’re in.’ She gestured at their muddy clothes, dirty faces, and tired eyes.
 
Emmett shrugged off her concern. ‘It doesn’t matter about us, Ma’am. They’ve taken everybody’s guns…’ Then, haltingly, he explained how the town was so swiftly taken over, mentioning the wounding of the doctor’s wife and the murder of the town drunk, Mr Watzman. Between them they enumerated the number of sentries and guards they’d spotted – sixteen plus five leaders. ‘We need your help, Ma’am.’ He delved into his pants pockets and brought out a weighty handkerchief bundle, opened it and displayed many coins. He held them out to her. ‘We can pay.’

‘Yes,’ said Gene. He looked at Emmett, seemingly at a loss to say more.

Emmett said, as though his words were rehearsed, ‘You’re all heroes. We’ve seen how good you are with so many weapons. And I – we – reckon you could whup the bad guys real good.’

 
Gene nodded vigorously. ‘Yeah, you’re handy with knives, guns and bow and arrows – sure, you could…’
 
Diego held up a hand. ‘Wait, that’s enough!’ He sighed, adjusted his tight-fitting vest. ‘I sympathise with your town’s plight.’ He pursed his lips. ‘And I’m sorry about the sheriff – I mean, your father… But I have a business to run.’ He was about to say more, it seemed, but stopped and stared at Josefa as she spoke.
 
‘Mateo, get the family together,’ she said.
 
Diego shook his head, his jowls wobbling. ‘No, Josefa, you can’t be serious about this.’
 
She offered him one of her smiles. ‘We’re just going to discuss it.’
 
A few minutes later, the rest of the Mendoza troupe crowded into the wagon.
 
Ramon said, ‘Mateo’s told us everything.’
 
Antonio eyed Emmett. ‘Is Naomi – I mean, Miss Gray – is she all right, son?’
 
Emmett evaded his piercing deep brown eyes. ‘I don’t know for sure, Mr Rivera, but I think so. She’s being held prisoner in the mine office with her pa.’
 
Josefa had never seen Antonio look so tense, so angry. He’d never seemed to care a fig for any woman before; he simply used them. But something now in his manner was different. Maybe he was a changed man.
 
‘I must go,’ Antonio said, casting his gaze on the others. The look was plain enough. Come with me.

Diego grunted in disgust. ‘How can you agree to help those gringos?’ he demanded.

 
José nodded. ‘We owe that town nothing!’
 
‘They beat up Ignacio,’ Juan argued.
 
Arcadia clung to Juan’s arm. ‘And our takings weren’t so hot, either.’
 
‘It wasn’t the whole town who attacked Ignacio,’ Josefa said, ‘just a couple of drunk miners.’
 
‘Josefa has a point,’ Ramon said, his tone reasonable. ‘We shouldn’t brand all gringos the same.’

‘Why not?’ snapped José. ‘They do exactly that to us!’

 
Arms akimbo, Juan said, ‘José is right. Why put ourselves in danger for gringos?’
 
‘Precisely!’ Diego shouted.
 
‘Then I will go alone!’ snapped Antonio.
 
‘No, you won’t,’ Josefa said. ‘I’ll go with you.’ She glanced at José and gleaned pleasure from his disapproval, his face twisting.
 
‘Where my wife goes, so must I,’ said Mateo, resting an arm on her shoulders.
 
‘This is ridiculous!’ José barked, glaring at Josefa.
 
‘You forget,’ Diego said, ‘you’re going up against desperate men – killers. You heard the boy, they’ve murdered two people, shot a woman… When was the last time any of you fired a weapon in anger or killed anyone?’
 
Ramon cleared his throat, pushed out his chest. ‘We’ve done our fair share of fighting, Diego – before we joined your circus. None of us might like it, but we’ve spilled blood in our defence and that of our loved ones...’
 
‘This is different!’ Diego snapped.
 
Mateo shrugged and stroked his moustache, studying Juan, Arcadia and José. ‘I recall my cousin telling me about seven gringos who helped his pueblo against many bandidos.’
 
Juan laughed. ‘That was just a story.’
 
‘No, it was true.’ Mateo pulled a gleaming knife from the sash round his waist. ‘Pepe showed me his bullet wound scars,’ He gently touched the blade point to his left arm, the bicep and the forearm. ‘Here and here.’ He jabbed his chest, below the heart. ‘And here… He was lucky to survive. Not all of the gringos survived.’
 
‘Precisely,’ Diego said again. ‘You would risk your life and the lives of your family – your entire troupe – for strangers?’
 
‘The two little gringos have offered us much.’
 
Diego guffawed. ‘Twenty dollars?’
 
‘Twenty two and forty cents!’ Gene corrected.
 
Smiling, Mateo returned the knife to his sash. ‘No, Diego, I do not speak of the money they have offered. It’s called faith. These boys have faith in us, my friend.’ He scanned the rest of them and one by one they nodded agreement. ‘Just so.’ Mateo smiled. ‘You go on, Diego. We will catch you up in Colorado Springs.’
 
‘This is utter foolishness.’ Diego shook his head and made his way to the exit flap. ‘You’re all crazy, but I will pray for you.’
 
Josefa smiled at the circus owner. He clearly wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t bring himself to be, and she understood this as she looked at the trusting faces of the two boys, Emmett and Gene. They melted all their hearts, she felt sure.
 
‘But I don’t know what I will do to replace the Magnificent Mendozas!’ Then Diego flung the flap aside and left.
 
Emmett stood up. ‘Ma’am, I thought all of the circus people would come back to help.’ 

Mateo chuckled. ‘Sorry, young man, but your rate of pay is not very enticing. You get seven of us – the Magnificent Mendozas. That should be enough.’

 
Eyes and mouth wide, Gene stared, then said, ‘Seven against twenty-one?’
 
Mateo nodded. ‘Three-to-one – not bad odds, I think. Your Texas Rangers would be comfortable with these odds, no? Besides, we will have the element of surprise.’
 

***

Notes of interest, perhaps.

1. In fact the odds are somewhat greater than three-to-one, but they don’t know that at this stage.

2. I’ve tried not to be too blatant with the allusion to the seven gringos who saved a Mexican village.

3. I’ve attempted to inject humour, pathos and the kindness of strangers.

4. Already implied in the book, José covets his brother’s wife, Josefa, hence the interchange here.

 

5. Antonio had developed an attachment to Naomi Gray, the mine owner's daughter, hence his concern here.

6. If this were a film, each speech would be short, perhaps no more than two or three lines; in fact, even in a book, the length of a speech should be broken up, to reflect real life. So that's what I've attempted here. The only potentially long speech is Emmett’s, but that is broken up by reported speech, briefly relating the events that the reader is already privy to.

7. Ideally, each character present should contribute to the dialogue or why is he or she there? The downside of that is that giving each character something to say or contribute means that there’s the strong risk of overdoing the use of ‘said’. In this scene I’ve tried to reduce the frequency by using actions tied to speech.

8. Bravery is down-played; no histrionics (well, just a little – ‘not bad odds’).

***

The Magnificent Mendozas is available now in hardback only.

 

 

From the book depository, post-free worldwide here

 

From Amazon UK here

 

From Amazon COM here

Writing tip – It’s too long!

This is a companion piece to my blog ‘Writing tip – It’s too short! here

As we writers know, some publishers set an upper limit for fiction submissions. There are several valid reasons for this. The limit can vary from 50,000 to 100,000. Rarely do they want in excess of 100,000. Yes, there are exceptions, though I haven’t found any when searching on my wife’s behalf for her 150,000 romantic suspense novel.

So how do you clip off those extra words, expunge all that precious prose?

Here are ten suggestions:

1. Break the novel into two books. This will only work if the plot and flow of the story permits. The ideal point to break would be where the protagonist encounters a serious obstacle that seems insurmountable. Not the final black moment, but similar. So end on a cliff-hanger. That will inevitably require some rewriting. If you’ve captured the reader for the first ‘half’, then ending in this way is likely to entice the reader to seek out the follow-up.

Some books previously published were chopped up into smaller units because of their size – notably The First Chronicles of Thomas Covenant – that ended up as a trilogy (to be followed by others!) Edgar Rice Burroughs ended on a cliff-hanger at the close of The Warlord of Mars, the second in what amounted to a trilogy. Dickens did it all the time with the magazine versions of his novels: leave the reader wanting more. But not all books lend themselves to this kind of surgery.

Be ruthless. Yes, a good author should ruthlessly edit anyway. But many just tend to tinker rather than excise. Follow these suggestions and cut, cut and cut; put the manuscript away for a while, come back to it with fresh eyes and then cut, cut and cut again.  

2. Is every scene doing something to add to the plot or increase our understanding of the characters, or move the story forward? If the scene does none of those things, why is it there?

3. Is all that research that you’ve infodumped really necessary? Can it be condensed without losing the salient points in order to aid the story?

4. Repetition. Time and again I read where the same sentence or two is repeated, though using different words; the sense is the same, twice. Combine, or excise. Same goes for whole paragraphs.

5. Too many characters. This is a tough one. It depends on the type of story, naturally. A saga, or the first in a series, might contain a good number of characters. But do they all do enough to justify being there? Some need to be sounding boards, perhaps, for the main characters; others need to be there so they can meet a grisly demise that will signpost the threat to the protagonist. Fine.

Compare the screenplay of a novel; you’ll notice that some characters have been dropped, while in other cases two or more have been fused into one. (Yes, this is to save on actors’ pay, but it’s also to make the story less complicated). All your characters have to work or they don’t belong; in which case, send them to another work in progress.

 
6. Description. I believe description is necessary to put the reader into the scene. Admittedly, there are authors – and readers – who are happy with minimalist description; or none at all, relying on neat character-filled dialogue. That works, when done well. Though my argument is, it’s a novel that rattles in the reader’s head, not a radio play. Still, there can be too much description. Is all the description through a character’s eyes? Or is it imposed by the author? If you’re writing omniscient POV, then the description may tend to be too rich. If it’s character POV description, keep it tight and relevant, to create mood, foreshadowing or a sense of place and character.

7. Dialogue. Some characters can become irksome, running off at the mouth without let up. These folk need reining in. Does what they say have relevance to the story, to the forward movement of the plot? Occasionally, you can get away with ‘one sugar or two, Vicar?’ when the mood’s appropriate, but be ruthless where possible. Dialogue also falls into the repetition trap – beware, and if found, cut!

 
8. Scene shifts. Scriptwriting gets round much of the tedious bits by scene shifting. Do the same – unless it’s necessary, do you have to relate how your characters get to the next scene? Start the scene with them there.
 
9. Conflict. Without conflict, there’s no story. The conflict doesn’t have to be physical. It can be verbal, psychological, or even caused by the environment. Some scriptwriters arrive at the conflict slowly, letting us get to know the individuals first. That’s fine. But you’ll grab your reader faster and more firmly if you begin with the conflict and then get to know the characters through their actions. Cut the lead up to the conflict – go for the jugular straight away.

10. Tangent. If you don’t watch them, characters can go off at a tangent and take the plot with them. It’s interesting as you go, but is it necessary to the story’s main flow? Yes, you need sub-plots, but you can have too many of them. Be ruthless with the sub-plots and leave them only if they serve a purpose.

 
Finally, don’t discard. That might sound contrary, considering the purpose outlined. If you’re going to excise vast chunks of prose, that’s good. But cut and paste these chunks and save them elsewhere in another document. You never know, some or all of them may prove useful at a later date in another work in progress. If nothing else, it doesn’t seem as if you’ve entirely wasted your time on all that prose! [Whenever I decide to edit, I always start with a new copy, so I’ve always got the earlier version, in case I have an aberration and go too far!] Remember too that the time spent on those words wasn’t wasted; the simple action of writing improves your style every time, every day.
 
Of course, if you have a plot-plan and stick to it and monitor your word-count as you work, you’re less likely to exceed by too much that upper limit. I would estimate that 5,000 words over isn’t going to be frowned upon.
 
Truth is, you can always add more; the obverse is also true, you can always cut more.
 
Nowadays, of course, if you feel you cannot cut your prose to meet the upper limit of a publisher, you can always resort to self-publishing at reasonable cost – though bear in mind that usually every extra page of your masterwork will cost more in production and postage.

***

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Writing tips - visualisation

Time and again, in writers’ early drafts I encounter a lack of visualisation. They don’t see the scene, so can’t accurately convey what is happening to the reader.

Some writers prefer dialogue, which admittedly moves the story along. Yet, while people are speaking, they’re usually moving from one room to another, or using props of some kind, otherwise it’s a very static story. I’ve read about characters chatting over a meal, yet from the POV of the main character it would be difficult to know what they ate or drank! If the meal is of no consequence, then why is it in the story? It’s a prop? Well, it should be used as a specific entity, not as a vague ‘thing’. Characters might comment on the quality of the food, or reminisce about a grand meal they had in the past, even if merely asides pertinent to the conversation – and direction of the story. No, we don’t want flab inserted for the sake of word-count, but we do want to feel we’re there, and one sure-fire way of doing that is to indulge in specifics.

An entire book could be written about setting the scene, about showing the reader your characters’ world and how they fit into it.

The following is an extract, so a few points above are made here also:

Visualization

Remember, a book is a movie inside a reader’s head. Setting the scene means seeing it in your mind’s eye. This might entail zooming in on details or even panning around a street scene, particularly when you’re writing in omniscient mode.

Visualization is often neglected, especially in a first draft. If you can’t ‘see’ it, then your readers most certainly can’t.

People don’t exist in a vacuum – they’re standing, sitting, lounging, and walking in a solid world of your making. Let the readers see it – but let them see through your characters’ eyes.

This applies for every scene, to varying degrees, depending on the importance of the dramatic incident.

Use all the senses when possible – sight, touch, smell, sound and taste.

‘Well, come in.’ She stood aside, swept the slight train of her dress behind her and gestured for him to enter the hallway. She shut the door. ‘You’ve come to the right place, to be sure. Hang your hat, Mister.’

         He hung the slouch on a mahogany hook by the door.

         Turning on her heel with a swishing sound of satin, she said, ‘Follow me, sir.’

         He did so, trailing behind her swaying red bustle as it swept over the narrow strip of hall carpet. Even though it was still day, wall sconces were lit, projecting a warm ruddy glow everywhere Corbin looked. There was a sickly-sweet smell of cheap perfume, which he surmised probably served to keep at bay the pungent aroma of body odour and tobacco smoke. He heard murmuring up ahead.

Once he had passed through an arched doorway, a heavy brocade curtain fell behind him and all sound ceased. They were in a large room, each wall lined with two or three chaises longue, the walls papered in a crimson flock design. Seats were either occupied by young women with painted faces or anxious-looking men of all ages. The women wore white dimity wide skirts and soft ringlets of hair cascaded over bare shoulders; some fluttered lace fans in front of dark coquettish eyes. Most of the men only gave him a cursory look then returned to studying their boots or chatting to each other; the women too resumed their conversation, ignoring him. It was as if they were all congregated in a railway station waiting room. Only here the tickets were to Paradise, even if it was ephemeral. (The $300 Man, p 15)

      You need to personalise the visualization, too.

      Using an earlier sequence where Corbin meets   Jean after many years, I’ll give an example:

Her smile hadn’t been that way before, he realised. Something had altered her face – her nose still turned up at the tip, but it had been broken and was now slightly askew. The freckles were barely noticeable under the powder. Her thin lips usually offered the promise of a winsome smile but now they were dark red and unnatural. At one time her hazel eyes sent his heart soaring when she looked at him, but now she was hardly focussing on him or her world. Her mind was in some dark and distant place. Life once brimmed from her, now it was little more than a flickering candle in a gale.

She’d offered him a lopsided smile, which set off his memory of a younger, more innocent Jean. We see how she is now and how she was, in stark contrast. It’s visual description, but combined with Corbin’s emotion-filled memories and the maturity he’d gained since last seeing her.

- Write a Western in 30 Days, (pp131-133)

 

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