Happy UKYA Day: Why I love UKYA

Thanks to lovely Lucy Powrie for organising UKYA Day – and so many other UKYA things during the year. I absolutely love #UKYAchat: such a fantastic way to gather swathes of the community together to fill in the gaps between when we are in the same space! You’re a star, Lucy. I think we’re all blown away with how much you do. It’s incredible at any age: the fact that you have the known-how and dedication already is such a statement to what brilliant things lie ahead. Thank you for all you do for all of us. The support and positivity of the UKYA community is so important to so many people: a constant reminder that some corners of the world are full of enthusiasm, creativity and lovely people being lovely to each other.

It’s the UKYA community that inspired me to turn YA Shot from a little local event I was working on with Hillingdon Libraries into something much, *much* bigger. I knew there would be the support and enthusiasm to dream big because everyone would rally behind us and the fact that YA Shot will support all the libraries of the London Borough of Hillingdon. YA Shot is thriving because of your support: your interest, your RTs, your commitment to books and libraries… And the best is still to come. Join Lucy, George Lester, Holly Bourne, CJ Daugherty and me at 7pm on the #UKYADay live show for fun, bookish mayhem and the biggest YA Shot announcement yet. I hope you’ll agree that it captures what UKYA is all about. If you miss us, the news will be up on the website – www.yashot.co.uk – launching at the end of the #UKYAday celebrations (i.e. ~9pm 12 April 2015). Catch us on Twitter via the #YAShot hashtag.

As you’ve probably gathered, there are many reasons I love UKYA. A lot of them revolve around how wonderful the people are (which I wrote about in this post for the UKYABA), but an equal number centre on the books.

People disagree on whether YA is an age category or a genre. I’d put my flag firmly in the genre camp. One of the defining features of YA as a genre is that it can move across genre boundaries: it often sits on and in the ‘between’ spaces. It’s the perfect home for books that are lots of things at once. And I love that. I love that there’s a space on the bookshelf where Literary Contemporary can meet Fantasy and/or Magical Realism AND sit alongside Historical Fiction and Thrillers. Sometimes all in the same book.

Where UKYA has the edge is in the diversity not just of its subject matter but of the characters who people our pages. The UKYA community believes passionately that books and people are and should be diverse. We don’t always agree on exactly what that means or how to achieve a body of literature where diversity is as normal and natural as page numbers, but we all agree on the goal. UKYA authors and readers think and care about the issue: that is an incredibly important first step.

I also love that UKYA affords a particular edge in terms of moral implications. In general, UKYA is less dictatorial than, say, American YA (and I say that as a dual British-American citizen). UKYA often shows different people navigating different issues and situations in a ways that let the reader figure out whether they are doing it well or badly or somewhere in between.

There’s an argument that UKYA is more nuanced in general. Happiness and hope are generally not absolute in UKYA, just as they aren’t in the real world. That’s such an important message for people – tweens, teens or adults: that life can be good and happy and hopeful even when it could be more so. It doesn’t have to be picture perfect to be really pretty good.

In a lot of American YA (and MG) there’s a tendency to a ‘clear cut’ moral and an almost entirely happy ending for the main characters: there’s a lot more walking off into the sunset. I’ve never enjoyed that as a reader or as a writer. It’s not real and, for me, it doesn’t fulfil an emotional need because it’s so unreal. I like endings that are perhaps a little happier and a little more hopeful than real life tends to be, but I don’t want the Hollywood version. I want to see people happy with what someone in real life might get if a bad situation turned out really, really well.

I like complex, messy endings: endings that say that a life that is a qualified success, with a qualified level of happiness, is more than good enough. It doesn’t need to be rewritten to reach the 100% happy/successful mark that no one ever manages in reality to represent a satisfying ending. We don’t need the 100% version: it’s still a happy ending. UKYA excels at that message.

I also have a soft spot for the particular type of clever snarkiness mingled with outright silliness that only a Brit can deliver.

Three cheers for UKYA!

 

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Bogged down at the beginning?

In books, as in essays, the beginning is sometimes the last thing you write – or at least the last thing you work on before finishing.

It’s not just that the beginning is, in some ways, the most important bit – if people don’t read on, it doesn’t matter how good the rest is; it’s also that you can’t write a good beginning until you know exactly what it’s the starting point for. No matter how carefully you plan, you never know exactly what will end up on the page and what, therefore, your beginning needs to offer your readers.

It’s easy to write a functional beginning. Surely, it’s just about the story starting in roughly the right place with the right people present, some interesting questions and Things Happening? Nope. Sorry. It’s not that simple.

The first thing to do is acknowledge that faint sense of unease about your beginning. It’s going to need work: a lot of work. Most beginnings do. But it’s equally important to acknowledge that until almost everything else is done, there’s only so far you’ll get with it, no matter how hard you try. And you should try: beginnings get better inch by inch, rarely all at once. That said, the main thing is to know that you will have to come back to it at the end. That’s when, if the rest of the book is ready, you’ll be able to fix the start.

New Book sold on the basis of a synopsis and give-or-take 50 pages. They weren’t terribly good pages. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there was some good writing and it was all very functional, but it wasn’t right. This weekend is when I need to fix it. The rest of the book feels happy. I am content and relaxed about it (to the extent I am ever relaxed about anything to do with writing). But the beginning is still bugging me. As it should, because it is just not right.

Though last night I started to really make inroads into fixing it. I worked on the first 3824 words. There are now 3304 words. In other words, 12 pages have become 10. Hopefully, I’ll get down to 8 or 9 but we’ll see.

The main thing I knew was wrong about the beginning was that it was slow. It wasn’t obviously slow – plenty of interesting, fairly important things happen to the main character internally and externally, and lots of questions are raised. But still it dragged. Even I wasn’t in a rush to read on when editing. This is a Very Bad Sign: writers ignore it at their peril.

I was also worried about the fact that one of the three characters we meet at the start will disappear and never reappear. There’s an important reason for his presence at the beginning of the book, but how much time do we want to spend with him? Isn’t it better to do what we need to but efficiently? Yes! Fewer pages with The Nobody!

What else? The writing. I knew it was clunky and had to grit my teeth to submit it: knowing your writing is clunky isn’t the same as fixing it and I know my own writing process enough to understand that no amount of time or effort (there had been a LOT of both) was going to get it further… until the rest of the book was done and heavily edited. I know why it’s clunky now, or at least I’m getting there with this understanding.

Point #1: At the beginning, when there is no book, clarity means spelling things out. There are no ‘next pages’ where little hints and questions get explained: there is no development so that the implicit may become explicit. There was far, far too much I’d said on the page that I didn’t need to with an entire book to come to do just that. Don’t be obviou: you only need to be reasonably clear about some things at the beginning. Other things can become obvious over time and do not need to be spelt out on page one event if they are very important.

Point #2: Don’t say things twice. At the beginning of the book, things are happening for the first time. It’s easy to worry that readers won’t see that they’re important unless you repeat yourself. There is a whole book to do that in – gradually and over time. As you edit, cut the repetition in the beginning. It is slowing you down and making your writing clunky and it is just Entirely Unnecessary.

Point #3: Don’t draw attention to things that don’t matter, unless they’re purposefully there as red herrings (or, as I prefer to call them, wanton fish – a lovely post-anaesthetic semantic leap into the absurd). My Nobody character is there to be a nobody. My beginning must make this clear then not dwell on it or him, otherwise I’m muddying the waters in ways that are unhelpful and boring.

Point #4: Is this absolutely necessary? Beginnings should contain only that which falls firmly into the ‘Yes’ category. Sometimes beauty and interest can make things necessary, but they must be very beautiful and/or interesting indeed for this to be the case.

Point #5: Beginnings are like an orchestra warming up. Every element must tune up to come into harmony with all the others. It’s a necessay part of the process of finding the voice not just of the characters but of the book: its particularly rhythmns, sounds, the little threads of language that will make it tight at the level of song. Once the rest of the book is singing, you can go back to the beginning and tune it all up properly so that it does too. Books shouldn’t start softly, with little mumbles of nervousness: they should belt from page one. Not belt in every sense, but in the lanuage sense – absolutely. You can only accomplish this when you have a whole book behind you to work with. That is the ‘score’ for your song: all the ornaments, the developments, the themes. How can you write a stonking beginning unless it references those things, perhaps slyly and shyly, but references them all the same?

So that’s where I am. New Book is almost done, though there is still work to come. But I have a good feeling about that. If only I can sort out this slow, clunky, out-of-tune beginning…

World Building: Starting in the right place

I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but Hot Key’s question today on Twitter pushed me to get on with writing about it, not least because I’m determined to start blogging more regularly again.

What Hot Key wanted to know was how you build a world. It’s not something I’ve done in The Bone Dragon or in MoB (i.e. Book 2). But it is something I’m doing in several of my upcoming novels so it’s been on my mind a lot.

It’s so easy, when you think about building a world, to start with place. That’s what a world is, at base, after all. Isn’t your first image, when you think the word ‘world’, a planet or a map or something of that sort?

It’s a lot of fun to let your imagination conjure up mountains, deserts and seas… vast cities and picturesque villages. What a lovely afternoon you can spend peopling them with fantastic creatures from myth and fairytale or just from your own mind.

But none of this is going to help you write a really good book. A good book starts with a good story. And story is not place. The setting may be hugely important, but usually because it’s almost a character in its own right.

And there’s your answer about where to start: character.

Build your world about the characters you’re going to write about. What sort of world explains who they are? What sort of world will challenge them in interesting and exciting ways, giving you your plot?

Are you doing it again? Are you thinking of your world as a place that will challenge your characters? Do you really want to write a book about people climbing mountains or surviving in the desert? That’s not much of a plot, is it?

Remember, your world is a character.

‘But how does that help?’ you ask. And the answer is… it helps when you remember that it’s only one character. One among many.

There’s the real key: the true place to start. Your world is how all the characters fit together. How does wealth work? How does your setting influence that? How does gender (or the equivalent) work? What are the axes of inequality? What gives people power? What are the social and inter-personal rules? What are the values and beliefs, traditions and norms that underpin these rules?

Those things will grow out of and through ‘place’ – the physical world of your story – but the most important elements of any world-as-story are the people and the structures that dictate how they relate to each other.

Whatever they do, characters are always acting in accordance with the rules or against them: even when characters break the rules, the rules are still there. Which means that whatever characters do, they’re making a socially meaningful decision. They’re inviting consequences and… Hey, presto! We have conflict and tension, risks and rewards, goals and desires, obstacles and aids… We have all the ingredients for a great plot. A great story.

Some of the rules you need to work out to build your world will be relationship rules and some will be social rules… But there are always rules between people: big ones and small ones. Ones for whole societies and sub-rules even within families.

That is the true world you need to build: the world that grows out of who your characters are and the story you want to tell about how they relate to each other.

So don’t start with a map. Start with characters and build your world outwards from them. Don’t ignore your setting, just treat it as one of those characters. But only one of them. Otherwise you’ll end up with a setting to graft a story on, not a setting that is an integral part of your story.

The Bone Dragon Blog Tour

The Bone Dragon goes on tour! A whole range of posts, interviews and even the first 15 pages, hosted by amazing bookbloggers, magazines and book organisations. Thank you so much for giving me these wonderful opportunities to connect with people to talk about books and witing!

On May 13th, Jo Stapley interviewed me on Once Upon a Bookcase.

On May 14, I discussed whether characters should be consistent with BookBabblers. BookBabblers also reviewed the book here.

On May 15, Laura at Sisterspooky hosted me talking about how photography helps me to write. She also reviewed the book here.

On May 16, INIS interviewed me about The Bone Dragon, how many script-consultant work influences my writing, and about what I’m working on now. Betty Maguire also reviewed the book here.

On May 17, Jenny from Wondrous Reads made the first 15 pages available to read for free: a nice alternative to Amazon’s ‘Look inside feature’, especially for talking to independent bookshops about the novel! Read it here.

On Monday 20, Meg from The Book Addicted Girl hosted me discussing whether themes such as abuse and violence are ‘too mature’ for the YA audience. Look out for Meg’s review too, coming soon.

On Tuesday 21, Julie and Lanna from Bloggers [Heart] Books hosted a writing-advice post on when to get feedback: ‘I don’t want your opinion yet!’

On Wednesday 22, Vivienne from Serendipity Reviews let me join in the fun of discussing books I loved as a teenager as part of her ‘YA from my Youth’ series. Do check out the other fab posts in the series too!

On Thursday 23, BookTrust hosted me discussing how I think difficult themes like abuse and violence are best handled when dealing with a YA audience. There’s also a review here.

Thank you so much to all the wonderful book people who hosted the stops along the tour. Thanks also for all the lovely reviews! It’s been so much fun working with you all. Hope to do it again soon!

The name of the Dragon?

Over on http://www.alexiacasale.com, I’ve been warbling about the importance of names, so I thought I might do a post here about the names I picked for The Bone Dragon… and use this as an opportunity to introduce some of the characters (well, a little bit anyway).

One thing I am bad about, as a writer, is that I tend to have too many named characters. It’s hard for people to keep track of them and it detracts from the reader’s focus on the characters who are important. I’m trying to remedy my natural inclination in this regard by naming some people by their role only (e.g. the policeman, Jenny’s mum, the lifeguard, etc.). This has worked fairly well in The Bone Dragon.

The main character has a rib in a pot that gets carved into a dragon. Given the parallels with Old Testament stories about Eve being made from Adam’s rib, I didn’t even have to think about my name character’s name. She was just Evie. Right from the start. There is also an Adam in the book.

Given how quirky the book is, it was really important to me not to strain the reader’s credulity more than necessary, so it made sense for the majority of the characters to have very ordinary names. As ordinary as possible while still being appealing: Amy, Paul, Ben, Fiona, Fred, Jenny, Mrs Poole, Ms Winters, Mrs Henderson…

Phee and Lynne are Evie’s two best friends. For them, I wanted names that weren’t particularly unusual, but weren’t too common. And I knew I wanted one to be a nickname. Phee is probably from Phoebe, but I’m not sure. Just as I’m not sure if Evie is from Evelyn or not. It doesn’t really matter. They think of themselves as Phee and Evie so that’s who they are in the book: it’s all anyone really needs to know for sure.

Who else? Well, there’s Sonny Rawlins. He just turned up, complete with name, so if there was a thought process behind his naming, then it’s not one I was conscious of.

There are a handful of other named characters, most of whom are named in a throwaway manner, so readers know they don’t have to remember these names.

And that’s about it for names. How abou the Dragon, you might ask? Well, things with the Dragon aren’t entirely straightforward. Things with dragons rarely are. You’ll just have to read and see…

What’s in a name?

Names are important. Sometimes they just identify things and there’s a simple relationship between the signified (i.e. the thing being named) and the signifier (i.e. the name itself). Often, however, names do not merely identify things, telling us that A is different from B: often, names tell us something about the nature of the thing they’re naming.

In fiction, it’s rarely enough to name things in order to distinguish them. Names shouldn’t just help us tell characters and places (among other things) apart, but should also convey something further to us. Careful naming is an opportunity to give readers information without telling them anything beyond the name: it can be a great way to info-dump without anyone realising that’s what you’re doing.

Sometimes this can go too far: recently, there was a dreadful murder mystery episode on TV where a character took on a name meaning the same as the phrase he scribbled every time he committed a murder. The trouble with this is the ‘spelling it out bit’ necessary for the revelation of whodunit to work. Why is this a problem, you might ask? Well, in my mind, this approach to naming is by way of making an in joke. The minute you spell the joke out, it becomes both (a) not at all funny and (b) not very clever. A really clever in joke reveals itself, rather than requiring the author to step in.

If you’re writing parody or comedy, then silly names are de rigeur. Or they should be. Who doesn’t like good old PC Plod or (my ten-year old attempt) Detective Inga Vestiggatin. (You are allowed to groan here, but do remember I was only ten.)

Now, I’m not arguing that all names should have a ‘translation’ that tells you something about the character and/or their fate in the story, just that names need to fit: the key connotations should feel natural and appropriate. I would find it very hard to suspend disbelief if, in an action flick that took itself seriously (always a bad thing to begin with), the superhero were called Hubert. Similarly, I would take issue with a modern teenage beauty in a work of serious literary fiction being called Griselda. Each to their own, but I, as a reader, would find the name a terrible mismatch. The writer would have to do a lot of convincing before I imagined a pretty eighteen-year-old each time I saw the name.

Now, obviously books can make new ‘matches’, creating new connotation. But I think the Griselda one would be a real uphill battle. ‘Hermione’ as a nickname for someone clever but not stereotypically pretty makes sense on the basic snap-judgement level we tend to react to names on.

Finding the right name can be really hard. The Wordsworth Dictionary of First Names and the Wordsworth Dictionary of Surnames are both excellent places to start, but they are pretty Anglo-centric. Even if your character’s family has lived in the UK or the USA for generations, they may well have immigrated there at some stage and brought with them a tradition for, say, Italian names or Iranian ones. A little research will help identify some options (e.g. for Italian names), but it won’t necessarily tell you what connotations attach to those names in the language/culture they originated from. That isn’t always a problem if the vast majority of your readers are unlikely to know these connotations, but it is something to consider in terms of doing your research ‘due diligence’ for your own satisfaction.

Sometimes it is the sound of a name that is important. Often this is the case for names that are foreign to the writer and/or the majority of readers. Sometimes what matters is that major historical figures have carried the name: Elizabeth raises a wealth of connotations. Conversely, Benito was a very popular name among the completely apolitical farming communities of northern Italy until Mussolini came along. Sometimes the connotations are to do with other books or TV shows or movies… The key thing to think about is what most readers will associate with the name. Remember to distance yourself from purely personal associations if they are likely to be at odds with what most readers think and feel about a particular name. Unless it doesn’t matter if most readers don’t get the joke. It’s fine to leave in a few little things that you, your closest friends and family will spot, but no one else will bat any eye at.

So, the message is that names are important. Take the time to get it right. You’ll know when you’re there. Conversely, if a name makes you want to itch (I sometimes literally get the scritches when I can’t find the right name for a character), then stop and fix it. This doesn’t have to be during your first draft, but it should probably be by the time you’ve finished your second. If you don’t believe fully in your characters because they have the wrong names, then how will the reader manage?

This applies to everything in your story world that has a name. It’s one of the things that makes writing fantasy and sci-fi so hard. Conversely, it’s one of the few easy things about writing historical fiction.

My last words of advice: remember that other people may well be able to help with names. Just don’t be too proud to ask and to accept suggestions if they’re good. Also, if you’re really bad at names, it’s worth thinking about what genre is going to suit you best as a writer. Because names really do matter and, unlike with titles, your agent/editor is probably not going to offer to rewrite them all if your efforts stink.

All that said, I find names really, really hard to get right. I’m getting better at finding the right names – and finding them quicker – as I become more experienced, but it’s still one of the things I struggle with. Titles are a real issue for me. But more on that another time.

 

Any tips of books of names or how you find names for your characters/places?