Inklings
book review: Cinders
My writing pal Michelle asked me to post a review for her new novella, Cinders.
Don’t make the mistake I did. This isn’t a fairytale retelling a la Goose Girl or Beauty. This book has more in common with the musical Into the Woods than Ella Enchanted. It’s meant for a mature audience. Not explicit, but not for kids.
Michelle is a great writer. The story reads smoothly, with no mechanical problems–and I’m picky about that. If you are interested in a Cinderella story with a darker edge, this may be the one for you. You may not understand her. You probably won’t agree with her actions. You may wonder who to root for in this story. But perhaps you’ll enjoy a Cinderella like this.
You’ll find the book for sale here, and Michelle’s author site here.
punctuation would help
they said my dialogue sounded too old-fashioned.
Things to consider when constructing dialog, from XKCD.com
weird…I posted a cartoon at the Old School today too.
writing/fighting dialogue
photo
I love the Writing Excuses podcast. It’s my favorite companion while folding laundry.
On a recent episode, the topic was stilted dialogue. One mistake that’s hard to avoid in dialogue is having the characters saying things to each other that they already would know about. Authors try to reveal needed information and want to avoid the dreaded info dump, so they put it in dialogue. But often this doesn’t sound natural.
“As you know, I’ve been your foster mother for five years now,” Mary said.
“Yes, but before that, you’ll recall I lived on the streets,” John replied.
Even without the “as you know” or “you’ll recall” this dialogue is dumb because both characters know this information and wouldn’t say it to each other, no matter how much the author needs the reader to know the info. In the olden days, stage plays sometimes had such dialogue between a maid and butler–often enough that this sort of thing has the nickname “Maid and Butler Dialogue.”
In the podcast, Brandon Sanderson described using an argument between characters as a way to get around this problem.
“Good grief, after living here for five years, you still can’t seem to remember when curfew is. You’re grounded!” Mary said.
John frowned. “There ain’t no curfew on the streets. I lived there long enough to know.”
Not a great example, but you get the idea.
Next time you find yourself maid-and-butlering, try turning it into an argument.
pouring poison
I saw this painting on a friend’s blog a couple of days ago and I’ve been in a spasm of angst ever since.
Circe Poisons the Sea, by John William Waterhouse
In Roman myth, Circe poured poison into the sea to kill a rival sea nymph.
This painting has made me stop and ask myself what poison I am pouring. I fear I spew a constant stream of poison into the sea of my fragile psyche.
I can’t write. I’m a hack. I’m deluding myself to think anyone would want to read my blithering. My writing is boring, corny, convuluted, illogical.
Poison.
What is the antidote? What can I pour in to counteract the harm I’ve done? What can I do to stop myself from pouring more, more, more?
In The Sower, Alek dreams of a poisoned stream. When blood pours in, the stream is purified.
I don’t want to bleed.