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This is a continuation of my blogging here at WdC |
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This will be a blog for my writing, maybe with (too much) personal thrown in. I am hoping it will be a little more interactive, with me answering questions, helping out and whatnot. It follows on from the old one, which is now full. An index of topics from old and new can be found here: "Writing Blog No.2 Index"  Feel free to comment and interact. And to suggest topics! |
| Novel #32 So, the next novel… This is one of those stories that was a reaction to a pop culture thing that really irritated me. Being a writer meant I had a perfect outlet for my frustration… and also means that this story has aged remarkably badly. Singer, Not The Song (title from lyrics from a song by The Who) started life as a short story. A humourous tale crapping all over modern music, with a hint of sci-fi about the ending. Well, I set down to rewrite it. 33 days later, 67500 words on, and it was finished. Originally it was 70k words, but the whole last chapter felt like a tacked on, feel-good after-thought, and that wasn’t what the story needed. It needed to end ambiguously. But it’s still essentially a comedy, no-one dies, music is still slammed, I make fun of TV shows and the main bad-guy character might or might not be a British TV media guy who appears all over the place. Within years every joke in it was dated, and it was rejected 5 times. So, my gripe was with the absolute glut of “talent” shows (the word talent used quite wrongly) that filled television at the time. And, from my years as a teacher, I used another thing I noticed to add to what I assumed was the humour – I taught classes with girls named “Tayla”, and had seven different spellings of the name! So I named every single girl in this story Jacinta, and each was spelt differently. A month of venting my spleen and a novel was born! The précis: Basically a show much like any other TV talent show throws up a winner, the second placed person somehow sells a lot of records, their fans riot, the bad-guy media mogul who is in no way Simon Cowell takes over, Australian beer is used to destroy everything, and the world collapses at the end. That’s it! How’s that for a synopsis that gives away absolutely nothing. Excerpt: The Old Dragon And Duck Hotel was an authentic Victorian pub built in 1996 by an Australian with too much money and not enough sense. In what British people considered genuine Victoriana (which was to originally include children cleaning the chimneys until the chimney cleaners’ union had complained about it) strode Marcus Kennedy as though he owned the place. But the few glances cast in his direction by the other patrons told him that he might actually have walked into one of the few places in London where he wasn’t even known. That was not a comfortable feeling, and he hated being on the back foot from the word go when negotiating with some-one, even the father of some-one whose contract he already owned. In a booth by one of the stained glass windows he saw the man, staring at the pint in front of him with calm detachment. And for once his smartphone was not in his hands. Marcus slid in opposite him without so much as a by your leave. “What the fuck’s wrong with your daughter?” he growled angrily. He was beyond caring. He needed to get this album out and strike while the iron was hot and any delay was, quite literally, going to be money. He smiled at the mogul. “Drink?” he asked calmly. Marcus could barely control himself. This jerk was playing with him! Well, he would feel the full wrath of Marcus Kennedy if he continued this sort of stupid arrogance. Who did this guy think he was? No, really, who was this guy? Marcus calmed himself. “Look, maybe we’ve got off to a bad start.” He offered his hand. “I am Marcus Kennedy.” “I am Andrew Sumner,” the man replied, taking the hand firmly and shaking it with more power than Marcus had been ready for. “Pleased to meet you.” Marcus knew he was on the back foot again. He had spent fourteen weeks with this man’s daughter and he had only just found out the guy’s name. This man was good, very good. Maybe there could be a place for him somewhere in the organisation after all. “Look, we need to talk about your daughter,” Marcus said, getting down to business straight away, trying to gain any ascendency over his opponent. “Let me guess, she won’t do anything. Right?” His smile was sympathetic and charming and Marcus fell onto the back foot yet again. “I need you to come in and talk to her,” Marcus said. “What makes you think that’d do any good?” he asked. “Because I’ve seen families like yours, where the kid is so focused on having a career that they have no relationship outside of their parents. It’s dangerous for the child, and the bond needs to be broken if they are to grow and progress. Do you see the problem we have and that your daughter will continue to have if things continue down this path?” He even used his sincere face to make sure that what he was saying was getting through to the man. But the response he received was not anything he was expecting. “And in normal children, I am sure you are one hundred per cent correct,” Andrew replied quietly. “But, you see, Jacintah is not a normal little girl. In fact, I would go so far as to say that neither you nor anyone else has met her likes before.” He leant forward. “And the singing she did for you on that show was not what she is capable of. That girl who got second place, she sang so much better than my Jacintah ever could. But not now. Now my Jacintah can sing her under the table. Her voice will soar with the eagles. You will have the finest voice to come out of a kid in years, and this time it won’t be destroyed when she reaches eighteen, and she won’t go off the rails. You’re going to have a kid the other kids are going to watch and love, and who parents are going to like being a role model for their little girls. She is going to be loved across generations, and her talent is going to show through as well. She is going to make you – and me, of course – a lot of money, Mr Kennedy. But I need to be involved.” Slightly longer excerpt there, but I do still like this tale, and the ending is something I am surprised at how well I contrived it. The three beta readers who have perused it have said they enjoyed it, though it might be too British and/or Australian they all said for a US market. It can be amazing the emotions that can lead to works of writing. Anger and frustration clearly work for me! |
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