Hanging By a Thread

I'm getting a bit tired of watching a big budget, usually American, television series for around twenty weeks only to find a great big cliff-hanger at the end. You know the sort. The hero's been chasing the bad guy for the best part of half a year and they finally meet up, guns pointed at each other as they stand in some gloomy shed they talk at length, tying up all the season's loose ends. We know who did what to whom and, however implausible it may seem, how they did it. The only thing that we need to know now is how this standoff will end.

Cut to the outside of the shed. Suddenly the entire building erupts in an immense ball of flame. Who lived? Who died? Cue titles and someone with a Geordie accent saying "And you can find out what happened when we show the next series in the New Year."

What? I invested twenty-odd weeks of my life and a good chunk of my Sky+ box hard drive in the series for that? They made me care about these people that don't really exist and I have to wait half a year to find out if they survive? That's if the series isn't cancelled and they're left in some kind of fictional limbo like 'Sapphire and Steel' or Sam from 'Quantum Leap'. It's just not on.

That kind of thing works fine for the end of a single episode though in the same way that the old black and white serial films used to end each short installment. "How will Flash Gordon escape the villainous Emperor Ming? Find out next week." And it's fine in comics too. It's quite acceptable to finish an issue with the Green Goblin knocking Spider-Man out and throwing him off the top of the Empire State Building. Will Spidey come round in time before he goes bug splat? Probably, yes. My guess is that the Human Torch will fly in and catch him. Again.

But when did you ever get to the end of a four-hundred page novel only to read, 'To be continued in the sequel. Available from all good booksellers next year'? I can't see any good publisher letting that go. Even most of the Kindle 99p authors balk at that. A fiction book has to have a beginning, a middle and, crucially, an ending. Even if its part of a series of linked stories it should also work as a standalone piece on its own. Grab any Sherlock Holmes tale for example and you have everything that you need to know about the great detective in that self-contained piece. The same with Miss Marple or Poirot.

There are exceptions - Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter - but they're few and far between. And even they tie up most of the threads in each volume. It seems that television drama is the only form of entertainment media where it's become accepted and expected for the consumer to wait for the story to continue. Am I alone in thinking that this is wrong?

So in closing I'd like to pass on something that I've learned from all my years of writing. The secret of writing a good cliff-hanger is -

© Shaun Finnie 2014

Don't Get Comfy

Language evolves and grows. It changes with each generation that uses it. And that's quite right, that's how it should be. Most of the time.

When I was a kid there was no such thing as a "comfort zone" to step outside of. The closest thing I had to a comfort zone in those pre-computer, black and white, no private transport or inside toilet days was my granny's sofa, a big black and red leather number. I spent more pleasant times curled up on that sofa with a pile of good (and an even bigger pile of bad) books than I care to remember. Happy days, yes, but I wouldn't have described it as a comfort zone.

Fast forward… er… several years to today and I'm a much more rounded individual, in just about every way. So it's time to get off my backside. It's time to do some exercise. It's time to do something that I would never normally think of doing. To step out of my comfort zone, if you will.

It's time to volunteer to work with under-tens in a school garden.

The Beloved has been working there  for quite a while now and had asked if I would like to join her occasionally in guiding a class of thirty or so children in the gentle arts of planting, weeding and growing their own vegetables. Now I personally have no love of physical work, gardening or (whisper it) children really but honestly, how hard could it be?

Who would have thought that the answer would be "exhausting and like herding cats"? Bless them, the little loves were, I'm reliably told, much better behaved than usual but they were still more than a handful for me. Even organising a relay of kids with watering cans from tap to newly-planted pumpkins was chaotic.

"Thank you, but that's a strawberry, not a pumpkin. It's already been watered three times."

"Sky, does Taylor really look like he needs watering?"

"Are you really part of this gardening group? I know this looks more fun but shouldn't you be in class instead?"

We thought that we'd explained how food grows from seeds quite well until one little lad asked the brilliant question, "So are we growing jacket roast potatoes?"  I think he missed the interim 'cooking' section. They were all energetic and willing, I'll give them that, and quite well mannered too. None of them were rude and they generally listened to everything we said, even if it did sometimes go straight in one ear and out the other. I got called "Shaun", "Sir", "that big man" and (on one memorable occasion) "hey, you!" That particular little girl will go far.

I have no idea how parents of large families cope. My proverbial cap is most certainly doffed in your direction. But I'm still not going back next week.

© Shaun Finnie 2014

This is Not The End

I've written many thousands of words over the years. It might even run into the millions. I wouldn't know; I'm a writer not a mathematician. But among all those words there are two that give me greater pleasure to write than any others.

"The End"

Whenever I write or type that then it means that my story's not far from done. Sure, I may need to do a lot more tidying up, to knuckle down to the hard work of being an author and fill in a load of gaps but when I've committed those words then at least I know in my heart that the bare bones of the story hold together. Once I've  got to that point then I've broken the back of it and sooner or later (and it's usually sooner) then the work will be ready for someone else to read.

I know that most novels and short stories that you read don't actually finish with those two words at the bottom of the printed page but that doesn't stop me typing them in these, my working copies. Some authors don't bother. Many only write these final words when they've written and rewritten and polished their work until it's the best that they can make it. For me it's a placeholder, a marker like an Epilogue or a Prologue. A  specific  place  in  the  tale. When I get to "The End" then all my loose ends should  be  tidied  up, my bad guy should be locked away in a cell or perhaps even dead and my hero should have solved the mystery, cleared his name and kissed the girl. This week I came to the conclusion that I'd done all of these things, or at least my characters had, so it was with great satisfaction that I typed a T, then a H…  you can guess the other five keystrokes.

I've completed the (very) rough first draft of my next novel. For those who have read and enjoyed 'The Happiest Workplace on Earth' then you'll be pleased to know that the new one is a sequel, tentatively titled 'The Storm Over  the  Bay'. If you've yet to sample the delights of 'The Happiest Workplace on Earth' then you have plenty of time to catch up. The new one's still a few months away from publication but it's good to know that I've reached another milestone in the book's life. It's getting pretty close to showing someone else. That's going to be my first proof-reader, my Beloved.

When it get's  to that stage then it starts to slip through my fingers. However many changes I make after that, even if there are none at all, it ceases to be entirely my work. Each book is a   collaboration between the minds of the writer and the reader. The author does their bit and then passes it on to the reader who fills in the gaps between the words with their imagination.

"The End" is really just a new beginning.

Do I Not Like That

How fortunate are you to live where you do?

Maybe your home is close to the countryside like mine? Or maybe you live in a city close to amenities and entertainment centres?

I don't know where you are in the world but given what I know about my readership I'd say that it's a pretty good bet that you're in Europe or America. Perhaps even Hong Kong or Australia. Even if you live in a really rough neighbourhood the chances are that you can walk the streets in relative safety without the threat of being kidnapped by terrorists or detained by the military. We're fortunate to live where we do. We have freedom to say or write pretty much anything that we want to without reprisal. Unless, that is, someone takes exception to our words.

I'm fat, grey and ugly. That's not an insult; it's a statement of fact. I haven't taken any offense at those words or asked the person who wrote them to unfriend me on Facebook. I especially haven't posted any anonymous personal threats. Partly because  it was me who wrote it but mostly because I'm not that kind of guy. If someone says something about me that I don't like I simply stop listening. I don't ask them to repeat it and I certainly don't read any more of what they might post about me on social media sites. But others might have. And others might have called the police, saying that someone was spreading defamatory statements about them online. These days that seems to be the crime of the age.

We do indeed live in a society that is pretty much without censorship but we still have taboos. So-called hate crimes are climbing up that list of subjects that we can't mention. So it's alright for me to say that I'm fat, grey and ugly but if anyone else says it then I'll…

The rest of this blog is censored in case someone, somewhere takes offence.

© Shaun Finnie 2014

Out of the Mouths of Nephews

Cars can be dangerous.

So, I've just found out, can ten year old nephews.

It started out as such a lovely day, bright and sunny, just me and the Nephew on a boy's day out. The plan was for him and me to do a bit of walking and birdwatching in the countryside and then to meet up with his sister and the Beloved for a coffee later in the day.

We drove out through the fields and lanes as planned - well, technically I drove as his booster seat stops him reaching the pedals - and all went well until we reached our destination. The car park was unexpectedly bursting at the seams with vehicles occupying all the parking spaces and much of the surrounding road area too. Who knew so many people would be out on a sunny school holiday? Luckily someone was just backing their Mercedes out of a space as I arrived. I waited for them to move but soon realised that there was no room for them to get past us due to the illegally parked cars down one side of the road.

Being well brought up I did the decent thing and reversed out of the way to allow the other car room to get out. I squeezed my little Fiesta as far as I could up to the kerb but it still wasn't good enough. I'd have to do a little off-roading. I backed the car on to the little grass verge, leaving ample room for the Mercedes to get through. Sadly though I think I may have been a little over-enthusiastic in my reversing.

No driver likes to hear an unexpected crunch and I'm no exception. I applied the handbrake and screwed my eyes tight for a moment as I composed myself. When I opened them I saw the Nephew staring at me in surprise, his mouth open almost as wide as his eyes. We looked at each other for a moment before he broke the silence. with a phrase that only a young boy could get away with in the circumstances.

'Uncle Shaun,' he said as a massive grin spread over his face. 'You are in SO much trouble!'

As tension breakers go it was a good one. We hurried around the back of the car to see what damage I'd done and miraculously found that the car had escaped with just the tiniest scratch to its bumper. However the same couldn't be said for the wooden fence that I'd completely flattened. As s standard wooden fence it was clearly no longer fit for purpose, though it now had a new function as a very small boardwalk.

Of course I reported it but to be honest the owner was much less concerned than I was. 'Ah, it was falling down anyway, don't worry.' So I didn't worry, just considered myself fortunate that the situation hadn't been worse.

The whole thing was clearly the highlight of the Nephew's week, if not month and he couldn't wait to see the Beloved. As soon as we arrived at the deli where we'd arranged to meet he ran up to her and announced in a voice loud enough to cause everyone there to splutter into their cappuccinos, 'Guess what, Auntie? Uncle Shaun killed a fence. It was BRILLIANT!'

And as days go, I think it probably was.

 

© Shaun Finnie 2014