Month: March 2015

Help me choose the best blurb!!!

~ ChanAtkins ~ 11 Comments

1) 13 year old Danny is new in town. It’s meant to be a new start, but for Danny and his mother the old problems remain. He’s a troublemaker and she has a habit of attracting the wrong men. With his new misfit friends in tow, Danny vows to scare men away from his mother. Enter Lee Howard. Local nightclub owner. Violent control freak. He is about to become a very painful thorn in Danny’s side… What do you do when your mother is dating a real life monster and no one can see it but you? Spanning the decade that brought us grunge and Britpop, Danny’s struggle is accompanied by an eclectic soundtrack. A powerful coming-of-age story of friendship, love and fighting back.

2) Having moved towns to escape his mother’s ex-boyfriend, Danny vows to keep his beautiful mother single and scare away any potential suitors. He soon makes friends with the local misfits and troublemakers and finds himself on a thrilling musical journey. Everything is as it should be for a teenager; good friends, good music and first love. However, things turn darker when his mother meets local nightclub owner Lee Howard. Howard is a dangerous control freak and there are very few adults who will believe a word Danny says. Who is Lee Howard and what does he ultimately want from Danny?

With his own personal soundtrack in his head, Danny explores the power of music in the decade of Grunge and Britpop. This is a story about music, dreams, first love, the friends who would risk anything to save you, and the choice between escaping or fighting back…

3) ‘Never go anywhere without music. I’m telling you. You never know when you are going to need it.’

England, 1993. Danny is 13 and falling in love with music in the decade of grunge and Britpop. New in town, life seems to be the up when he makes friends and feels the flush of first love. Added to that, is his determination to keep men away from his beautiful single mother. His plans backfire however when local nightclub owner Lee Howard enters his life and wins over his mother. Howard is a dangerous control freak who seems to be addicted to violence.

Told from both Howard and Danny’s point of view, The Boy With The Thorn In His Side is a powerful coming-of-age saga about friendship, music and the choice between escape or fighting back…

4) ‘I was always looking for music that made me shiver. You ever felt that? You know, when the words, or the chords, or the arrangement, something, at some point in a song makes you shiver, makes a tingle run down your spine, makes your hairs stand on end. I lived for that. I hunted it down. When it came it took my breath away and it felt like I was falling… I felt the music beating in my veins and I remembered that I was alive, and that this was a life.’

Set on a council estate in the south of England during the decade that brought us grunge followed by Britpop, The Boy With The Thorn In His Side is a gripping coming-of-age-story. Danny is on a journey of musical discovery and obsession, falling in love for the first time and having the best friends in the world. But he’s also got a problem…his mother is dating a real life monster and no one can see it but him. Lee Howard owns the local nightclub and is a control freak who seems to be addicted to violence. This intense and gritty novel follows the power struggle between Danny and Howard, as each tries to get what they want.

5) ‘I don’t have my headphones on yet, but the music is always in there. I have a constant walking soundtrack to my life you see. There is a song for everything. For every bit of pain, for every bit of joy, for every single moment I can see in bright clarity in my mind, for people’s faces and people’s words and for all the things left unsaid…’

In the decade of grunge and Britpop, 13 year old Danny is a music fan in the making. He is also on a mission to deter unsuitable men from his beautiful single mother. With his best friends behind him, a soundtrack in his head and first love on the horizon, things are looking good. Until local nightclub owner Lee Howard comes on the scene and sweeps Danny’s mother off her feet. Howard is a control freak who seems to be addicted to violence and Danny finds there are very few adults who will believe a word he says. A dark and gripping coming-of-age story about the power of music, first love, the friends who would do anything to save you and the choice between escaping and fighting back.

Stan

~ ChanAtkins ~ 8 Comments

Stan was a man. Bigger than most. But not in a way that made you look up to him or fear him. Stan was a man who lived mostly in the background. No one knew what he thought or felt.

Like most men, he was a creature of habit. He never came downstairs in his dressing gown. He always arrived fully dressed in his trousers, shirt and cardigan. I never once saw him wear a t-shirt or jeans. While she made us hot buttered toast, Stan sat in his chair at the table by the window. He always sat one side, and she always sat the other. Every morning he had the same breakfast. Half a grapefruit and a cup of tea. He was a polite, neat eater. Though his hand shook as he lifted the spoon to his mouth, we tried not to look.

He always shaved before he ate. You’d see him in the kitchen at the mirror next to the door. I’m not sure why he didn’t shave in the bathroom. Sometimes he would remind me of a very tall Father Christmas. He was a bus driver in his day. A gentleman, they said. But children never believe that old people were ever anything but old. He walked with a stick he seemed proud of. It had badges stuck to it. He was always left behind. Did he mind? Or did he prefer it? I used to feel sorry for him because he walked so slowly with his stick, and she was always in a hurry and wouldn’t wait. She was busy with us. Busy with the life of a woman. But maybe Stan liked the background. Maybe he enjoyed being the scenery.

It was just the way it was and no one questioned it. Did we ever run back to him? Did we ever go to his side to walk and chat? I don’t think so. But I did look back once, when we had gone to see the deer…We hurried on, but I looked back and he was just smiling at the deer, taking his time.

His place was under the house. The cellar was his domain while hers was the kitchen, with the hot bubbling twin tub, and the smell of cakes and gossip. The door to the cellar was maroon, the paint flaking. You ducked your head to go inside, and then stepped down onto the cool dark earth. I want to go there now. I want to see the big chest freezer which was hers and ours – full of ice lollies in the summer and peas we had helped to shell. Is there still a ghost at the back called James?

To the left was another doorway. You were underground, tunneling. Low roof. The smell of earth and rust. Stan had a room. It was his place to go. You weren’t allowed there, but why would you want to? It was full of men’s things for fixing. Work bench and tools. Tin cans and glass jars full of screws and nails. In there, how many hours did he while away in the dark, tinkering? Stan was the fix it man. If something broke you took it to Stan. Bikes and toys. Punctures and dodgy chains. You took it and left it with Stan and it would come back fixed.

In the garden, we made up games and sat in the sun and he grew things. Tomato plants at the bottom against the fence. Peas and beans in the raised bed. Marrows on higher ground. Always marrows. He had a compost heap next to her rotary clothesline. He also had the lounge. He had his chair and she had hers. In between sat a coffee table and a lamp and his jar of boiled sweets.

Stan was a man. Quieter than most. I didn’t feel I could reach out to him or find a way in. I was a child and building my own shell. He was a man that towered above us all, with his Errol Flynn moustache and his neat white hair. She was a firecracker who bitched and moaned and criticized until we cringed for him. But he loved her more than words could tell and you could see it in his eyes and hear it in his words. She was small and fiery, didn’t suffer fools gladly. He was a gentleman who never raised a hand. Never raised his voice or answered back. They said that on the day he died she threw herself across his body and sobbed the words, no, no, no.

When he was gone it was too late to ask him what he thought or felt about things. It was too late to slip a small hand into his, or walk at his side and at his pace.

Stan was a man. Better than most.

Top Tips Tuesday; Dialogue!!

~ ChanAtkins ~ 2 Comments

DISCLAIMER!! I am not an expert or a professional. I am sadly not a bestseller either. These tips are written from my own personal experience as a writer and as a reader. I hope you find them helpful if you are struggling with how to write convincing dialogue.

You see, dialogue is my thing. I love reading it and I love writing it. I am guilty of slightly cringing when I come across dialogue that does not convince. The prose might be beautiful, the descriptions breathtaking, the plot gripping and so on, but if the dialogue is stilted, stiff or unconvincing, it will annoy the hell out of me and make me want to stop reading…

Show not tell? As writers we hear this mantra all the time and it is an important one to understand. You do not want your narrator, whether first or third person, ‘telling’ the reader everything. There are many ways to avoid too much telling, and using dialogue is one of them. Let the characters do the talking. In short, let them speak! You don’t need to keep telling the reader that Brian said this and Lucy said that; let the people talk! If the characters are talking, they can do some of the ‘showing’ for you. Instead of using the narrative voice to tell the reader what is going on, allow the characters to talk and have conversations that put this information across. Conversation is fascinating if you think about it. Think about what people mean, but do not say. Think about whether they are lying or exaggerating for effect. Think about what their body language can convey to the other characters. Does Brian scratch his beard when he is thinking? Does Lucy tug at her lip when she is nervous? Don’t rely on reams and reams of pretty narrative to get your story told, or to move your plot along. What is a story without its characters? Use them and let them speak, let them do the telling for you, in their own way.

Visualize your characters. Every time you write dialogue, you should be able to see your characters in your head. Obviously you will know, or you should know, what they look like. Write down their general descriptions such as age, sex, hair colour and build so that you don’t forget. But more importantly than that, build them in your mind. See them completely. Know their face as you would know the face of someone in real life. Learn their mannerisms. Do they stammer or stutter? Do they bite their lip? Do they brush their hair behind their ears when they talk? When your characters start to speak, when you start to fill their mouths with words, see them in your mind. Know every little detail about their physical presentation, so as you start to write the words, it is like having a little movie playing inside your head.

Read dialogue out loud. As you write it, as you start to make the characters speak, read the words out loud. Become them. Become their mouthpiece. Don’t worry about accent, just say the words as they would say them. Let your face become their face, along with any nervous twitches, throat clearing or wiping of noses. Read it out loud as you write it down and it should become obvious if it sounds wrong. Personally I read it out as I am writing it, and then read it out loud again when I am going back over it. This usually points me in the right direction and helps me pick out any words or phrases that do not feel real.

Pay attention to people when they speak. Sounds obvious, but sadly not all of us are terribly good at listening these days. We are often good at talking, good at voicing our opinions, but how well do we stand back and really listen? Practice this craft and you will be rewarded with a deeper understanding of the way that people speak. People do not speak in long, flat, monotones of dialogue. They break their speech up with pauses….their voices go up and down, their body reacts as they speak, releasing sighs, laughs, coughs and eye rolling. All sorts of things go on when people speak. They frown, they make faces that convey their opinions on things they are hearing or seeing. They interrupt and talk over each other, they trail off, or get distracted and change the subject. Watch and listen and where possible take note. When people are talking around you, become a silent observer. Listen in on conversations on the train or the tube or the bus, or while in the shops, in the Doctor’s waiting room, in the school playground. People are everywhere and they are never quiet! You can learn so much about speech and will find it easier to apply all these quirks to your own characters.

Don’t force things on them. Okay, you want them to help you ‘show’ not ‘tell’ too much. But don’t use them like puppets either. Don’t force your opinions into their mouths and be careful that you are not making them say something that is not realistic, just because it helps you push the story forward. Know your characters inside out and know what they would say and what they would not say. Dialogue is all about personality. Yes you need to drive your plot forward, so you need to move the characters about and you need to be in control, but just not too much. Be subtle. Think about how your characters will react. Imagine they are real and exist in your life. They come to the shops with you, they eat meals with you, they go on walks with you. Now ask yourself, would they really say that? And in that way? Or are you just wanting them to?

Be realistic. Think about your characters before, during and after you make them speak. If they are a teenager and it’s been a long old time since you were one, are you really getting it right? Are you sure you know how young people speak now? What about regional aspects? Not just accent but regional phrases and cultures. Would they really say it the way you have written it? Think about gender. Think about every aspect of your character’s personality and life. Does their background effect the way they speak? Are they quiet and withdrawn? Do they mutter? Be consistent or it will come across as unconvincing. Use dialogue well and it will really help bring your characters to life and encourage the readers to fall in love with them. Make your characters individuals who speak differently to each other. One will speak one way, and one another. Some people say ‘um’ a lot, some people start sentences with ‘so’ or ‘like’. Some people have a favourite swear word…

Avoid cliches/predictable dialogue. Hard to avoid unless you are aware of what they are, or can be, but my advice would be to read, read, read. Only when you have read really bad, contrived and cliched dialogue will you know what it is! If you’re not sure, just think about things people would never say in real life, and imagine that. Over dramatic, over the top, overly wordy or descriptive, that kind of thing. Who talks like that in real life? Well I suppose some people do, and if you are writing about them, then fair enough. However, bear in mind that if things get too predictable every time your characters speak, then something is lost. Remember that one of the main reasons characters fall flat or fail to convince the reader, is poorly written dialogue. You want your readers to believe in your characters, fall in love with them or loathe them, want to be friends with them or wish they could take them to the pub for a drink. This is not going to happen if your characters to not speak like real people.

I think that is all! For now…!

 

Who Is Richard???

~ ChanAtkins ~ Leave a comment

Our journey to school is the same every day. Behind the wheel, I drive us, the wheels of the car following the same path smoothly without question…down the hill, up the hill, over the bridge, stop at the lights, over the roundabout, and then the next roundabout, follow the road, see the people, bumper to bumper, yawning, past the garage, over the train tracks, turn right, down to the next lights… I could do it blindfolded. I could do it in my sleep. And we see the same things out of the windows, and we pass the same people, like Richard.

Who is Richard? We don’t know, but we can guess. We make it up to suit ourselves. We see him every day. We think he is called Richard, because apparently he used to come in the off licence for his Stellas. He wears a dark green parka, he walks like Liam Gallagher, he has the hair cut too. Ian Brown. Sometimes with dark glasses on, sometimes without. Always with his headphones on. What is he listening to? We can guess…

So now it gets embarrassing. Because I’m sure he knows that we talk about him. Maybe he sees us too. The same silver car passing him every day, sometimes as he walks over the bridge, over the tracks, sometimes as he passes the traffic lights further down… Maybe he sees the kids pointing, sees their mouths shouting, it’s Richard! Maybe he sees me, this mad woman behind the wheel, grinning at him like a lunatic.

I have to look away now. It’s Richard, yeah Richard! Then look away and pretend to drive. Oh my god if we ever bumped into him in a shop! I just know the kids would let me down. Mum? It’s Richard. How the fuck do you know my name?

But Richard we know you! We see you! Every day, with your hands in your pockets, you swagger down the pavement like you just walked out of the 90’s, and I just know what you’ve got in your ears, The Stone Roses or Oasis? Us too! I get so excited sometimes. We’re rolling past him and I want to roll the window down so he can hear it; Richard! Listen! Charlatans! Whoo hoo!

But he wouldn’t be able to hear because he is always plugged into his..

Richard…I’d say you are a bit over forty. I’d say you were mad fer it. I’d say you know your music and you know that everything since then has been shite. I’d say you probably have kids…Where are you going every day? Off to work? With your bag on your back. You must walk there, you must walk quite far..Wonder where you start? Wonder where you come from.

Sorry Richard. Poor Richard, who might not even be called Richard. But it’s not my fault you caught my eye! In your parka, with your haircut, like a relic from Britpop, you were always going to make me smile! Look at him, I said to the kids, I can tell you right now what music he likes! Not like today. You can’t tell anymore what music someone is in to  by the way they dress, because they all seem to dress the same. But you’ve got it written all over you! It’s a joy to behold.

There goes Richard. Every morning we see Richard. It would be a sad day if we didn’t. And I don’t know why, but for some reason, I want to drive past and wave to him, I want to be playing Slide Away or She Bangs The Drums or North Country Boy at high, high volume, and he’ll hear it over his own tunes, and he’ll turn and see us all smiling and waving and he’ll know that Richard, WE SALUTE YOU!!