Legacy of the Lorikeets


The best mornings used to be the ones when the lorikeets would visit. They’d paint my balcony rail with their plumage, giving the mural of landscape behind them a purpose. With the lorikeets visiting, blue water and swaying foliage would become something steadier: a background they could dive-bomb and ascend. Trees would become the pedestals for their prizewinning beauty. Continue reading

Who are we Fooling? …Choosing Simplicity over Style.

April Fool’s, everyone!

fools-hatYes, I know it was last week; my mind hasn’t been that addled by free time and hard drives full of media. Last week, you might remember, is when I pulled my very first WordPress prank, by posting the ‘lyrics’ to the old Meow Mix commercial, and suggesting it might be literature. I then tweeted about it—twice, like I do for every other post—and invited the world to view it. I crossed my fingers, hoping that the world wouldn’t: hoping, despite myself, that world would prefer rich human debate over literary trends to the image of a long-deceased mouser lip-syncing one word.

Guess what? The world likes the cat better.

According to my stats, the singing tabby got more views than my last two editorial posts: one exploring publishing trends, and the other lamenting what the loss of Dana Plato could mean to writers. Continue reading

Viewpoint Variation

Recently, I was struggling to distinguish the characters in one of my first-person novels. Every character in the story had their own personality, which I had clearly planned and defined, but I was starting to see that they all behaved too much like the narrator. As an exercise, I recalled an incident that happened to me as a very young boy, then forced myself to rewrite it as it might have happened from the perspective of a teenager—who, at the time, seemed to me like a man—I had encountered.

This is the result. Time will tell if it helps with my novel, but sourcing and rewriting an event from a writer’s own experience can be a valuable strategy. It might even be the best definition of the irritating old adage, “Write What You Know.”


Manly Pursuits

By K. Alan

beetleIn summertime, songs would reach Stanley through the fruit vines as he fought to remove an old tree. Every morning, he would arrive to Mr. Greenberger’s ranch-house, wanting to wrangle. He wanted his calluses to come from reins and saddles, not from a shovel. He wanted to be a man for just a few minutes.

Instead, Greenberger would send him in the rusted VW to hack at this stump as its roots clawed the soil. The old oak would have blocked some proposed grapevines; it had to go. Stanley put a sleeve to his brow, and stared along the imaginary line of vines up the hill.

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3 Ideas for Narrative Voice


Fill in the blank, authors.

This post needs comments!

Since my guest-post on The Muffin, where I seek advice about how to achieve the “Strong Female Voice” that so many agents seem to want, I’ve been pondering that question that authors seem to answer differently each time they are asked: what, exactly, is “Voice” in written fiction? It seems that agents want ‘original voices,’ implying that our writing should speak in some wacky or innovative way that’s never been used. Yet, agents also want accurate grammar, and writing that readers can follow easily. There is some contradiction.

Of course, the most interesting stories, particularly novels, tend to feature a variety of characters, so their voices need to identify them in startling, alluring or humorous ways that are still partly predictable. That is a huge challenge, but one for another discussion: for today, let’s narrow our focus to some different types of narrative voice. Here are some ideas, but I hope for some comments to reveal more:

The Voice of Authority

Novels told by an authoritative narrator tend to be easy to read, because the narrator’s job is to make us understand and accept his view of the story. I use the sexist pronoun ‘his’ intentionally, because this is typical of a time when male authors dominated literature: H.G. Wells (who was probably male) had his narrator dictate to us exactly who those pesky Martians were, and how they could slice up Woking for lunch. The Journalist dictated this even while the other characters (including the protagonist, who was the same person) waved sticks and rifles around until they were fricasseed by a heat-ray or two. There was no need to wonder why this was happening: The Journalist told us, and, whenever he didn’t know, he only needed to ask his partner-in-arrogance, Ogilvy.

Boring? It wasn’t when Herbert George did it, but it is when I try. So, let’s move on to…

The Voice of Ignorance

An ignorant narrator is a bigger challenge for me as an author. Any narrator who can’t help me to help me inform my readers is making my life pretty tough. Harper Lee’s approach in Mockingbird is one that has stuck with me, but, at the risk of heresy, she actually cheated a little: grown-up Jean Louise knew exactly what was happening, and was only remembering her perspective as ignorant little Scout. Still, it’s probably more interesting to find out ‘what’s up’ along with a narrator, so let’s step it up now to…

The Voice of Deception

Here is the motherload: the Holy Grail of an unreliable narrator, currently hot with agents and something I have achieved with satisfaction in some of my short fiction. Sadly, attempting it for NaNoWriMo was probably a mistake, as my attempts to tell Death Imitates Art through an unreliable narrator needed a lot more time to refine and tweak. Nearly every detail an unreliable narrator reveals is critical to his or her effectiveness. The idea is for the narrator to keep something critical from us: not just from the other characters, but from readers, too. This could mean that they’re ready for the Linoleum Bin, like Holden was in Catcher but I’ve always felt that Ishiguro did a much more subtle job of this in The Remains of the Day. He designed a perfectly sane, perfectly likeable character who talked around the most important fact about his beloved employer, simply because he didn’t want anyone to judge a man who really should have been harshly judged.

In other words, the butler Stevens acted just like the rest of us do. Maybe, then, the most original narrative voice is just the one each of us hears in our head every day.

I am seeking some insights, here: What is your idea of effective narrative voice? Can anyone read my sample of Death Imitates Art, and comment on whether you can tell what Eloise is hiding? 


Always Open


America’s Stories are Always Open

I’d like to defend America.

This might seem overly patriotic for a non-citizen, but I do not mean ‘defend America’ at its borders or beyond, the way its servicepeople do. Neither do I mean ‘defend America’ from within, like its law enforcement. What I am hoping to defend, here, is the source of inspiration that the America I know can infuse in a writer.

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