# "Walter Pickett - chapter TWO" - some strong language.



## outoftheblue (Mar 21, 2011)

Chapter Two​


Creases of sepia light had begun to pleat the flat, mushroom grey sky, as the day descended into dusk. It had been mostly overcast during the day with the occasional wink of sunshine, but still it had remained warm and humid. Approaching six-thirty, a light breeze was playfully whistling through the trees, leaves rattling.

‘Hmm, _so_…here we are again. A little evening reconnaissance is in store I believe?’

Walter, sitting in his parked car, looked up. He’d been feeding a ten pence piece from finger to finger on his right hand. The glint of silver stung his eyes as it reflected the sepia light, but he was too mesmerised to have noticed. 

Bigglestaff was in the passenger seat, eyes firmly fixed on the wooden structure on the opposite side of the woodland car park.

‘I didn’t think you’d follow me…’

‘_Follow you?_ I think that’s an incorrect term of phrase.’ Bigglestaff pressed a button and the window whirred down a few inches. He flipped open his cigarette tin and plucked a Mayfair from the green felt. _Where had he been getting his cigarettes?_ He had been fully reimbursed. ‘Hope you don’t object to my smoking? No, didn’t think you would. Good, I really require this. While you’re over there having your little intellectual rendezvous, I’ll be waiting out here with the wasps and the squirrels –’ 

‘I didn’t ask you to come.’ He was looking ahead, but he heard the sharp clink of his lighter and then the first scent of Mayfair smoke.

‘And my choices were?’

‘Not to follow me.’

‘No.’ He tapped the end of his cigarette out of the small gap in the window. ‘My choices were,’ he said, ‘to either keep you company, or to decompose in the chest of drawers you keep in the loft, and to continue to listen to Daphne Park lecture me on how unfairly I’m treating you. She’s been living the highlife for too long, and now the impending threat washes over her, but she refuses to get wet –’

‘And I suppose you’re perfect, Michael?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘If I was then I wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of the woods talking to you, would I? No, I’d be Miss Daphne Park’s male escort…’

‘That could be arranged.’

Bigglestaff smiled. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Walter laughed and the tension broke and leaked out of him.

Bigglestaff pointed at the wooden building with his cigarette. ‘What is that?’

‘You know what it is. Remember, I told you? My grandfather left it to me, like he did with the house. That,’ and he smiled at the building, ‘is the _Gamblers Hatch_.’

‘Gambler’s Hatch,’ Bigglestaff considered, and dragged lengthily from his Mayfair. ‘It sounds the kind of place that could suit my characteristics.’

‘Don’t even think it. You’re not invited.’

Bigglestaff nodded gravely. ‘Hmmm, I know. I know. I’ve been banished.’

The Gamblers Hatch was a building that Walter’s grandfather had acquired in the early fifties. It was a place where, “normal rules need not apply”, as his grandfather had described it to him. If Walter was an historian and it wasn’t his own grandfather involved, he would have told the story with great enthusiasm and relish of the gambling, fighting and sexual orgies that had occurred there over a period of years. Yet, just like many instances of historical places, embossed elegantly by past glories and memories, it had been privileged to both ends of the social Richter scale. Walter had returned his grandfather there a mere week before his death as a broken man, wheelchair bound and riddled with Alzheimer’s, drooling uncontrollably from the mouth. 

‘Would your grandfather have approved of your own activities, Walter?’

He smoothed the leather steering wheel with his hands, warming his palms. 

‘_My activities?_’

‘Yes, your pastry eating antics and intellectual ramblings that go on for hours – not an orgy or a poker chip in sight nor ear. I’m sure he’s walking on the veranda as a spirit, hoping to catch a snatch through the window of some much needed action –’

‘I’m not like my grandfather, I don’t bring women out here for sex.’ He slapped the steering wheel and turned to him. 

Bigglestaff remained quite clam, a sepia glint in his eyes as he stared serenely at the Gamblers Hatch, cigarette poised at the threshold of his lips. 

He said, ‘I dare not doubt it.’

‘In fact, my grandfather was all in favour of intellectualism. He viewed poker as an intellectual pastime.’

‘And I’m guessing he invited a guest that he despised?’

‘Regularly, and enjoyed taking his money.’

‘Whereas you only want to pillage Mr Lamb’s soul.’

‘And you – you disapprove?’

‘Not at all.’ He cleared his throat, sighed, and flicked his finished cigarette butt out of the window. ‘I just consider your defensive stance quite amusing and infuriating at the same time.’

The radio was on low volume; a news bulletin declared that the Polish president and his wife had died in a plane crash. He turned up the sound.

‘…_The crash was said to have occurred at approximately 11am, about a mile from Smolensk airport. Early indications are suggesting pilot error attributed to adverse weather conditions. Heavy fog was reported in the area –_’

He switched off the radio.

‘Fragile life, isn’t it?’ Bigglestaff mused, studying the amber glow of his cigarette. ‘In a blink of an eye – oh, it seems we might have company…’

The low rumbling of an engine was soon complimented by the crunching of gravel. Two cars flickered in motion between the trees and came to rest, side by side, at the far side of the car park, their rears facing them.

Two women, hazy in a cloud of white chalk dust, stepped out of a red mini with a white racing stripe. They both ran – giggling about something to each other – mounted the front steps, pausing on the veranda while one of the women searched their pockets. Finally, one of the women pulled out a set of keys and opened the front door and they both disappeared inside, leaving the door open a few inches.

Walter looked back at the two cars, the other a black Mercedes. The silver Mercedes logo winked at him, and then a man stepped out. Dillon Lamb swept his thinning hair with a flippant hand, a small smile curved on his narrow, pointed face. He had obviously guessed the joke of the two women just from watching them, and was now allowing it to digest. Walter, however, had observed it with straight-faced confusion, not understanding the joke at all.

‘Suppose they were laughing about you, Walter?’

The deep, familiar voice now came from the back seat. Walter titled the interior mirror; only Michael Bigglestaff’s mouth, chin and the knot of his dark green tie were visible.

‘_How can they be?_’ he said to the mirror. He felt a stab of anger in his chest. He swallowed deeply. ‘They haven’t seen me yet…they just went straight inside.’

Dillon Lamb was standing side on to him. He pulled a cigarette from his left pocket. He turned a little, so that now most of his back was to him, ducked his head as though something was tossed dangerously in his direction, and lit his cigarette. He blew smoke from his mouth, so that it appeared like a haphazard halo above his head in the sepia dusk, then he cupped a hand over his eyes and inspected the treetops. He smoked quickly, dropped the cigarette butt in the chalk and toed it. Then he ran into the Gamblers Hatch.


**​

‘…When I think, Celina, I create storms, I’ve killed a few ants, blown a few halogen lights and uprooted fields of cress plants…’

A female laughed.

‘In a bizarre way, Dillon, you’re kind of funny,’ said a second female voice with a hint of a smile in her tone, as the first female continued to laugh.

‘Aim to please, aim to please…so…where is he?’

Walter paused at the door. "Gambler’s Hatch" was on a polished brass plaque. He studied his blurry reflection in it, his eyes obscured by the ‘m’ and the ‘b’. His heart leapt as a shadow passed across the small gap between the door and its frame.

‘Probably picking up some things from Abbott’s…’

‘Hopefully Eccles cakes…they’re _divine_.’

‘All I want is tea,’ said Dillon Lamb. Then footsteps. ‘_Anyone?_’

There were sighs of ascent from the two women.

‘When Walter finally makes an appearance –’

‘What if he doesn’t?’

‘Yes, Dillon, what if he skips?’

‘I doubt it,’ he said. There was a clink of a spoon against a bone china cup. ‘Walter enjoys our little gatherings –’

‘Yes, I do, very much.’ Walter stepped into the room, holding a pile of white cardboard boxes, the uppermost one resting just below his chin. ‘Eccles cakes –’

A squeak of delight.

‘Raspberry doughnuts –’

‘Ah perfect.’

‘And some –’

‘_Apple turnovers?_’ Lamb smiled and retrieved another cup from the shelf and deposited a tea bag into it. ‘If nothing else, Walter, you’re _predictable._’

‘So is your humour, Dillon,’ he said. He placed the pile of boxes down on the square table in the centre of the room and slid them strategically so that they circled the bevelled lamp.

‘Ah, you heard my storm theory…’

Walter looked up from the boxes. ‘Yep, I did.’

Dillon Lamb carried the tray of teas over to the table and placed them down. He then settled into the chair opposite Walter, who had his back to the door. Celina Ford seated herself to Walter’s right and Amber Wright, a pale, dark haired woman with striking scarlet lipstick and long, thick lashes, to his left. She had a look that appeared permanently appraising.

‘I’ll open this evenings Gamblers Hatch discussion,’ Amber announced, her finger tracing the rim of her cup, while her other hand fiddled with the gold locket that hung low and taut above the groove of her breasts. ‘Amber Wright, age twenty-five.’ She looked at Walter and nodded.

He cleared his throat. ‘Pleased to attend as always,’ he said. ‘Walter Pickett, aged twenty-six.’

‘Err – Celina Ford…aged twenty-three –’

‘But we’ll not hold that against you,’ said Dillon Lamb.

Amber choked on her tea, wiped her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief.

‘At least someone found me amusing.’ He winked at her. ‘Dillon Lamb…at a crossroads age of twenty-five.’ He lifted the lid of the box nearest to him and pulled out a raspberry doughnut.

Amber said, ‘Bet you can’t eat that without licking your lips?’

Celina rolled her eyes.

‘I thought we could start our discussion this evening with a more personal slant,’ Lamb said, scratching sugar from the corners of his lips with a finger. Amber smiled at him. ‘Yeah, thought that maybe…we could discuss…my neighbour.’

Walter felt a little warmer. He raised his cup to his lips, pretended to drink.

Dillon Lamb rose from his chair and walked over to the kettle. It was on a thick piece of wood that was balanced across a fridge. He selected a box of soft tissues.

‘You – you mean Mrs Fredericks?’

‘No, Celina,’ Amber said, shaking her head gravely, ‘I think Dillon means his _other_ neighbour.’

Celina exchanged quick looks between Amber, Dillon and Walter and then dipped to her cup. ‘Oh – oh, I see.’

‘Yes, we do very few observations of each other,’ said Dillon Lamb, waving a trivial hand in the air. He shrugged nonchalantly and then sat, wiping his mouth with a tissue. ‘I thought that – maybe tonight – we could spice things up?’

‘If we needed to spice things up then we could have played strip poker…’

‘_Why didn’t I think of that?_’

‘Because.’ Walter reached across the table and picked at an Eccles cake. ‘That was my grandfather’s forte. It’s not mine.’

Lamb said, smiling, ‘Shouting at an empty house is yours, isn’t it, Walter?’

‘_What?_’

‘I’ve heard you.’

‘You’re mistaken.’

‘Am I also mistaken that you were watching me last night?’

Walter shook his head. ‘No, I wasn’t.’ He could feel himself getting angry at Bigglestaff, he warned him that he was standing too close to the window. That he would see, that he would get caught –

‘…The bathroom window…’ Lamb was saying.

‘Sorry?’ Walter blinked. The wooden structure creaked against a gust of wind. ‘What was that about a bathroom window?’

‘I was just telling Celina and Amber here.’ He smiled at them both, and they looked tense. ‘I was sitting in my conservatory…I see a light come on just out of the corner of my eye…a silhouette…hanging…peering down at me from out of your bathroom window –’

‘Hold on a moment. Wait. _What is this?_ Are you accusing me of something, Dillon? Accusing me of what?

‘Whoa, whoa, calm down, Walter.’ He held up his hands. ‘I’m not accusing. I was curious, curious, that’s all. Not accusing.’

‘It wasn’t me, it was –’

‘_It was?_’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come now, Walter.’ Lamb smiled, his brilliantly blue eyes looking thoughtful behind his glasses. ‘Who was it – who was watching me?’

‘Nothing, as in _nothing_ was there.’ He looked at Amber, who was licking flakes of pastry off her finger. ‘Amber, can we move on, please? Talk about something else instead of – _this?_’

Lamb set his cup down on its saucer with a clatter. ‘What makes you uncomfortable, Walter?’

‘Nothing, absolutely nothing…you must remember where you are. This is my property. This is my Gambler’s Hatch and you’re a guest here. I do not feel threatened or intimidated by anyone in my own building. Understand?’

Lamb smiled. ‘Whoa, you really are tetchy tonight. What’s wrong?’

‘Walter, is something upsetting you…we’re only concerned?’ Amber asked.

‘Maybe we could help,’ said Celina, looking across at Amber.

‘Nothing is wrong.’ He sighed, unbuttoning his collar. ‘I have a headache. I don’t feel – I don’t feel that good…I think…’

He stood, placed a hand on his temple. It throbbed. 

‘Where are you going?’ said Lamb, looking disappointed.

‘Home,’ he said, ‘need to take some – some Paracetemol.’

‘Will you be safe to drive?’ said Celina, biting at her nail. ‘You don’t want to drive if – ’

‘I’ll be fine.’

'No, you won’t,’ Lamb said, standing and walking around the edge of the table to him. He looked over his face. ‘Your eyes – they look…_glazed._ I think you’re having a migraine attack. I’ll drive – leave my car here it’ll be fine.’

‘Honestly –’

Amber rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘I think, for once, Dillon might be right. Walter, you don’t look well at all you’re really pale and’ – she titled her head as she looked at him – ‘your eyes do look glazed. You’re neighbours, and like Dillon said he doesn’t mind leaving his car here. It’s off the beaten track, it’ll be safe.’

Walter turned to him. ‘You’re sure? I mean, I think I’ll be okay to –’

‘No, you won’t,’ he said; also tilting his head as he observed him. He rested a hand on his forehead, nodded, and then held out an open palm in front of him. ‘You’re burning up…coming down with something by the heat in you. Let me have your keys, I’ll drive us home.’

‘And don’t worry about the rest of the cakes,’ Celina said, already scooping together the boxes, ‘I have a big enough fridge and a fat enough boyfriend, he’ll take care of them.’

Walter nodded and smiled weakly.

‘Good, you see, everything is sorted, no problems,’ Lamb said. ‘Keys?’

He dug in his pockets, pulled out his keys and placed them on Dillon Lamb’s open palm.

‘Right, Walter,’ Lamb said, ‘you just go outside and get some fresh air. I’ll be out in a minute…’

Walter looked at them all in turn and they nodded in encouragement. He walked to the door, right hand placed on his temple; head slightly bowed, and disappeared outside. 


**​

‘So, Walter, is everything fine – nothing troubling you?’

Walter was sat in the passengers seat with his face in his hands, he watched the floor of the car rattle between his fingers as they descended some uneven country road and then took a sharp hairpin where there was an old telephone box, before ascending again.

‘Nothing wrong, absolutely nothing.’

He sensed that Dillon Lamb had quickly glanced at him.

‘I don’t know, Walter,’ he said, sighing, ‘you’ve been acting – well…really strange lately, as though you’re pre-occupied with something…?’

‘Not that I know of.’ He allowed his hands to slide down his face and then drop into his lap. For a moment he saw white camera flashes in the blackness ahead as his eyes adjusted. ‘Why do you think that?’

Lamb shrugged and looked in the wing mirror. ‘Ah, well, call it a vibe…’

‘_Vibe?_’

‘Yes, you know –’

‘I know what a vibe is, Dillon.’ He looked at him for the first time. His profile grinned, a half circle crease bordering his cheek. His fingers flexed on the leather steering wheel, veins bulging.

‘Yelling at your house –’

‘I haven’t been shouting anything at my house.’

‘Thought that maybe you’ve been struggling with a writing project?’ Lamb smiled again, and then changed gear as the engine revved at the top of its lungs. ‘I guess a writer never lives alone, eh?’
Walter looked straight ahead, heart beating faster. ‘I do live alone.’

‘I know, I know,’ Lamb said, taking one hand off the steering wheel to wave away his claims. ‘I don’t mean your wife and daughter – they’re in Auckland? Thought so, thought it was somewhere long haul. I mean writing, Walter, I can sympathise…you’re never alone; things are always ticking over in your mind. You can make a wrong decision in the writing and you’ve fucked up months of work. The tension must be – well, unbearable at times…’

‘I’d rather not talk about my wife and daughter.’

They made a sharp right.

‘Here we are…home sweet home.’

He swung the car left off the road, through an open gate and into a large drive. He switched off the engine.

‘If you do need anything, Walter –’

‘No, I’m fine. Really. Thanks for the offer and thanks for the lift.’

‘No problem.’

They both got out of the car. Walter stood, breathed in the night air, scented by freshly mown grass and hosepipe water. He inspected the front of his house, the three upper windows reflecting strips of moonlight, red ivy entwined around the chimney breast. 

‘I was thinking,’ Lamb said, passing him his keys, ‘that maybe the next time we should hold our little meeting at mine…what do you say?’

‘I’d say…_why?_’

Lamb shrugged. ‘Change of scenery…might be inspirational.’

‘Wouldn’t be a change of scenery for you.’

‘I don’t need the inspiration.’

‘So in essence you’re saying that I do?’

Lamb walked across to the gate in the tall privet hedge. Walter followed him with his eyes, his hands in his pockets. He had a care free air that one either found infuriating or secretly admired.

The sounds of waves emanated from Lamb’s house. Steadily, night-by-night, the gushing and hissing of water cajoling and spraying over a rocky terrain grew stronger. _No, you don’t have an issue with inspiration_, Walter thought, _I can hear that for myself._

A butter yellow light painted a small square in Dillon Lamb’s loft conversion window, and then a shadow passed quickly over it…

‘How about your living arrangements, Dillon?’

‘I’m sorry, Walter?’

‘Your living arrangements…you’re so interested in mine after all. I wondered about yours?’

‘Mine?’ He shrugged, and looked over his shoulder at his own house, his attention on the light in the loft conversion. ‘Very little to tell, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Just my tabby and I – sure you’ve seen my cat before, Walter? Grey tabby…_Hercule_.’

‘Yeah…a few times.’

Lamb laughed and nodded at his house. ‘I have to leave the light on for him. He starts clawing everything in sight if I don’t…and I couldn’t risk leaving him out until I got back.’

‘Oh right.’

‘On that note –’ 

‘_On that note…_’

‘On that note.’ He smiled. ‘Good night, Walter…have a think anyway, Celina and Amber think it’s 
a good idea – having the meeting at mine, I mean.’

Walter said, ‘I suppose it wouldn’t harm…just once.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I must say, you’re looking much better already. Amazing what a little drive and conversation can accomplish.’

The wrought iron gate squealed on its hinges and then clanked closed. Walter stood and listened for his footsteps crunching across the gravel drive and then the sturdy thuds as he stepped on to the elevated wooden porch. The door slammed shut. The sole remaining interest in the air was the sound of the creative flow that continued to seize The Household of Lamb...


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 25, 2011)

brilliant, really good job! one thing i would suggest is putting more tags in the dialogue, it gets quite confusing at times not knowing who is talking, especially with the reference to Bigglestaff:
"‘Am I also mistaken that you were watching me last night?’
Walter shook his head. ‘No, I wasn’t.’ He could feel himself getting angry at Bigglestaff, he warned him that he was standing too close to the window. That he would see, that he would get caught –
‘…The bathroom window…’ Lamb was saying.
‘Sorry?’ Walter blinked. The wooden structure creaked against a gust of wind. ‘What was that about a bathroom window?’"
i thought maybe the italics was Bigglestaff talking but it isn't very clear.
Asides from that though, excellent. You've set up the characters really well, i'm finding my favourite character so far is Bigglestaff himself  
there's some really nice imagery in there too like "then changed gear as the engine revved at the top of its lungs." 
Another thing is that there is repetition of 'sepia', about three or four times, but i get the impression that it is purposeful?
Nicely done


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## outoftheblue (Mar 26, 2011)

Thanks again Jon - I'm glad you liked it, because from looking over the thread it was quite a long thread! (hope you didn't get too bored with it! haha!)

As for the small extract that you highlighted, now that you've pointed it out I can see what you mean. I'll probably have to go over all of the book again and just make sure everything is right. I've been over it several times, but as you know things can still slip through even then. But yes, I think you're right and maybe I need to add a few more tags in. I try to avoid them at times, because I like the flow of quick dialogue - especially in an interrogation scene, because I like slowing it down, and then speeding it up, and slowing it down again. 

The italics - they're either Walter's personal thoughts (when they're not in inverted comma's), or when they were they're just in dialogue to emphasis, to suggest an edge or irony about their voice without telling a reader that they have. Bigglestaff isn't a part of the scene with Dillon Lamb, Celina and Amber, only outside at the start of the chapter when Walter is waiting in his car.

It's funny you say that Bigglestaff is your favourite, because he was one of my favourites to write. I think it's partly because I knew how many twists were a part of his character in terms of the plot and how the novel turns out. I'd have to say, though he doesn't appear in chapter 2, I really liked writing The Laughing Bronze Buddha, because there was a sort of limitless appeal about his character, I was able to use him any kind of way and it helped as a plot device too. But he wasn't only just used as a device, he's a massive part of the plot too.

Don't know whether you find it true, but I always find that my favourite characters to write are never the main protagonist of the novel - they're either the enemy or friend or colleague, or right-hand man of the protagonist. I don't know whether anyone else finds that in their own writing?


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 26, 2011)

nah it isn't too long, don't worry! 
yeah my tutor for creative writing said not to worry about using tags. if they're kept as simple as "____ sam said/ _____ ben said" then the reader only takes them in subconciously, it doesn't take away any tempo. that's why you have to be careful using descriptive tags because they can break the tempo/flow. your dialogue does flow really well, it's just a few tags are necessary because it gets a bit confusing otherwise. 
yeah, that's how i use italics too. i was just confused because you mentioned bigglestaff and i thought it might have been him talking and only walter hearing him. 
at the moment the buddha hasn't really been in it much so my favourite character is still bigglestaff, but time will tell  i understand what you mean because usually i write in first person so the protagonist is basically just myself with a persona, so other characters are more... i don't really know how to describe it - separate from yourself? like they have more a life of their own. but i still find the protagonist is my favourite, writing first person, you become that character so much that you find you don't want them to come to any harm and care about their well being  and because you are writing them as part you, part persona, there's an odd sense of alter ego/self preservation going on too. haha it's quite mad really which is why i like your idea for this story so much - it basically takes that idea and puts it on paper as a solid thing.


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## outoftheblue (Mar 26, 2011)

yeah, I can understand what you're saying. I've always considered first-person as like being an actor writing his own script, whereas third-person is a Directer, directing the actors that he's written the scripts for. If that makes sense?

Thanks again for the compliments. I've done that alot, as in tags. Sometimes, though, you don't have to add them...especially if there are only two in the conversation. I try and use them as infrequently as possible, because I find that it helps me develop a 'voice' for a character, so therefore when they speck you know, via characteristucs of their speech, who is talking. For example, Bigglestaff has a certain way of speaking - he's almost constantly provocative and questioning in his manner, and he tends to use the words, "indeed" alot, which I've done deliberately, Daphne Park is more flirting with her tone and refers to Walter as, "Walter dear", and The Laughing Bronze Buddha, "Mster Walter, Lady Park, Mister Michael" - and not sure whether you've noticed with The Buddha, but I've tried to write his dialogue so that English isn't his first language, not sure whether this comes across ok?

Anyways, I'll put chapter 3 up for you if you want me to? I'll list it the same as the others so when you get the chance, feel free to take a look. Seeing the opening 3 chapters (because that's what you usually send to Literary Agents, Publishers etc etc), is a good way of rounding off feedback on the opening on the book. 

Thanks again!!


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 26, 2011)

thats a nice analogy, i feel there is a bit more control to first person than that but it is more refined. third person gives a much wider scope and so a lot more to mess around with without having to offer explanation. i noticed in this chapter, on the drive home on one hairpin bend, you mentioned a telephone box. if it was first person you might question why the narrator is looking out for such small details, but in third person it's more in passing.

no problem, glad to help. yeah, dialogue i find is the trickiest part of writing - trying to actually give your characters a voice. its good not to overuse tags, and to make the reader work to learn the character, but paradoxically, though the aim is to immerse the reader in the story and characters as much as possible, if they get confused, they have to take themselves out of the story and retrace their steps to figure out who was saying what so the opposite is achieved. there's not a lot of work you have to do to correct it, but when introducing several characters into one scene i think it is very important to establish them first before removing tags. as regards the buddah, i did kind of come across - it's weird, did you ever watch thunderbirds as a kid? you know kirano, tintins dad; in my head that's the voice the buddah had, but more jovial 

yeah awesome, i'll give it a read tomorrow sometime  i have an assignment due for monday so it will be a welcome break haha!


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## outoftheblue (Mar 27, 2011)

Aahahahahahaha! I didn't know who Kyrano was, but I've just looked him up on youtube! You're quite close actually, he does sound like The Buddha. Yeah, you're right though...he's more jovial (because of his permanent grin). 

Yeah, I can see what you mean (using the telephone box as an example). I prefer to use third-person, and I tend not to use first-person very often. I'm not sure why, I just enjoy writing in third.

Thanks for doing that. It's up and posted now anyway, I hope you enjoy it.


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 27, 2011)

haha he is awesome. thunderbirds is the show i grew up with, i always wanted to be the pilot of thunderbird two... but that's irelevant! 
out of curiosity, is the telephone box a motif? i'm the other way around see, i prefer first person, i find it easier to narrate it - it lets you put yourself into the shoes of the character and into the setting/situation. by doing that you can imagine how you yourself would react and put your thoughts straight out onto paper, as opposed to having to think of the whole, how all of the characters are reacting and keeping up with everyone. it's also handy for plugging gaps  but each to his own eh! 
no worries, i will give it a read as soon as i can


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## outoftheblue (Mar 27, 2011)

Ah, that's cool - well, as you say, each to their own. I just like the 'movie' feel of third-person, I'm not sure why. I've often thought about writing in first, but then I've always ended up writing in third.

As for your question about the telephone box - let's just say, the telephone box isn't entirely innocent and it was dropped in there for a reason. It's a small thing, but I'd hope that by the end of the book that people would go back and think, 'ok then, I missed that...' - but in a good way, if you know what I mean?

You mentioned in one of your earlier posts with regards to the book that you thought it'd be one of those stories you'd have to read a few times, because there are things you'd notice in 2nd, 3rd readings? You're very right about that: There are many other little things that are in the book that have been put in quite innocently, but have significance to the 'twist' of the novel. I enjoy doing that, it's one of the thrills I enjoy about writing this kind of genre/style - adding little red herrings, and little clues that might appear nothing, but later on are really important. And this book are full of them. I'd say the genre of this book is: Psychological/Mystery/Suspense (those are the stand-out genre's that the book touches upon)

And I had the biggest thrill of my writing life with this book too. I don't know whether it's ever happened to you, but my character fooled me into believing something about them when it was the complete opposite. And do you know that feeling when you miss a step and you feel your foot go through the air? That kind of weird, double-take, sensation? That happened when one of the characters revealed this secret. And it was weird too, because the novel is essentially about an author who was being pulled this way and that by his own characters, and I was finding that fiction was imitating life, because it was happening to me as I was writing "Walter Pickett" - the most weird, but great experience I've had writing, I must say!

How are your projects getting on?


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 27, 2011)

yeah, i suppose it depends what you're ultimately aiming for. 
haha i thought so, it's like you were saying about being a director. it's amazing just how much work goes into films that people don't ever notice - if they kept their eyes out and paid full attention, they could figure out the plot before it was over. kubrick's the shining is absolutely ram packed with them, it's really bizarre. yeah, i know what you mean, my own book is stuffed full of them too. it seems we are very much writing in the same genre, but with inverse plots - yours is reality merging into fiction, mine is fiction merging into reality... don't worry i'm not stealing your ideas  but yeah there is a definite satisfaction in thinking up really subtle hints to drop in, knowing that for the most part people will completely miss them until the second reading. makes you feel sneaky  
haha man, that is bizarre! i've let my characters go a bit astray before now, just kept on writing without thinking about their actions, but not so much that it's surprised me or completely caught me out. i think the oddest sensation i've had from writing was when i wrote my first book. it's all first person, and all but one character is based loosely on people i know. the whole story is about britain becoming a totalitarian regime, and towards the end, it comes out what the government are really up to, and the people fight back against armed police - naturally it isn't going to go well. i found that i'd gotten into the skin of my character so much that i was getting slightly delusional and was genuinely nervous about what was going to happen to _me_ when i faced the police in the fictional stand off because i was kinda making it up as i went along  also some of the events in the book are based on true events, just dramatized and modified to fit the book - i find my memory of the original event is full of elements from the modified version.


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 27, 2011)

oh, and since i wrote it, i still catch myself looking over my shoulder to make sure i'm not being followed


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## outoftheblue (Mar 27, 2011)

That's Cool Jon. Well, if you are stealing my ideas you'll have a reason to look over your shoulder...Gary's (my name by the way) gonna get ya! Hahaha 

I'm guessing that the book you're referring to is 'The Intersection'? I just clicked on your Lulu link, and read the blurb and it sounds what you describe in the post.

Well, when you get to read chapter 3 you'll have to let me know what you think. Another character (as in real, and not Walter's character) is introduced in the third chapter.


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 27, 2011)

hahaha i'll remember that! 
yeah that's right  i thought i might as well put it on lulu, wasn't really intending to try and get it published because it's my first attempt at a full novel and didn't think it would get far, but i figured at least its doing something other than sitting unread on my hardrive. 
aye, will do! i wish i had time now but i'm stuck with a 2000 word essay on 18th century poetry... it's grim to say the least.


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## outoftheblue (Mar 27, 2011)

ah, sounds challenging. Don't worry, no rush for you to read it or anything  Read it when you can, that's cool.

I've heard about Lulu, but have never put anything on there. Would you recommend the site?


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 27, 2011)

yeaaah, "discuss the technique's Pope employs to create satire in his poem 'the rape of the lock'". fun  
erm, it's quite good. it's completely free because they print on demand, and you can pay extra to have it listed on amazon or other sites, and pay for marketing packages and stuff. i don't know how well their marketing things worked, i just did the free bit. you can set your own price on your work too so you can make a profit and they only take i think 20 percent commission. but it's kind of like the myspace of literature. it's free to put up your work and you don't have to impress anyone to put your work up - naturally this means there's a tonne of really bad writers on there that got turned down by publishers, so it isn't really the kind of place to expect much recognition. on the other hand, there's nothing to lose because you retain all of the rights to your work so if you can still get it properly published anytime. 
i'm aiming to get my second book published properly, which is about a quarter of the way in now, though going quite slowly. depending what the response i get for that book is, i may send off my first one too and see what happens. the second book has three chapters up on my thread if you were interested, it's called lights out. the genre is very similar so you might like it


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## outoftheblue (Mar 27, 2011)

Yeah, I'll definitly take a look. I'm headed off my laptop in a bit though, so I'll take a look at it tomorrow. But sure, I'll read them - least I can do! 

I'm re-reading the Harry Potter books at the moment. I've already read them all twice through, but reading them for the third time. I think J K Rowling proves that you don't have to be the most Literary of writers to create an incredible peice of work. How she creates such vivid characters, to me, is incredible and genuine genius. Not only that, but the entire world she's created. I watched an interview with her and she offered one of the best pieces of advice I've heard in a while - something along the lines of, "writing something that, when the reader reads it, they feel as though the author is holding much more back - the feeling of 'the author knows everything, but they might not be telling ME (the reader) everything"

It's like a depth thing, you feel like you could ask J K Rowling ANYTHING about the world of Harry Potter and she'd be able to answer it. I think that kind of knowledge for your idea/your world/your characters is incredible. 

I recommend that you watch the documentary, "A Year in the life of JK Rowling" It's all up on youtube. It gives you some insight into how she writes and the end is great, because it shows her doing a family-tree of all the surviving characters after the final Harry Potter book - basically she's invented a whole new generation of their families (she'll never use these, but 'she needs' to know for 'her sake', and I think that's so important. It shows that at the end of the day, when you're writing a novel, the first person you have to please is yourself, worry about other people's opinions after you've written it.)

Sorry to gabble on!


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 29, 2011)

hey, thanks for looking over my chapters, really glad you like them 
i agree, JK Rowling gets a lot of stick and i don't know why. loads of my friends slag her off because she 'ripped off' lord of the rings or whatever, but at the end of the day, lord of the rings ripped of mythology. everything comes from something, especially with writing. and while i read them around last year to finally finish the series i started at 10, i wasn't that impressed - only because i'm an adult, and they are childrens books. that is what people always forget, she really is a brilliant writer, i'm hoping she will write some books for adults next. 
yeah i know exactly what you mean, in my first novel, in order to make sense of it myself, i had to make an enormous spider chart with the greater picture. i had to write in how everything was working, what exactly was happening behind the scenes and how it could work, even though very little of it actually went into the book. and even then it came nowhere close her notes must have been. 
i will indeed give it a watch  that's exactly why i thought she put that last chapter into the last book about how they all lived happily ever after - it would have been fine until she put that in. but it was all because she needed closure. i suppose when you've been with these characters for, what, a decade or more? then it must be difficult to just close the lid on your laptop and say "well that's the end of that" and stroll off!


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## outoftheblue (Mar 29, 2011)

ahahaha...your last few words, "and stroll off..." that made me laugh! haha!  I don't know, it's like the end of LOST that I mentioned earlier. I didn't mind the ending, I think, in this case, Harry shouldn't have died, because I don't think that would feel right. It makes sense that he'd have children and become a big part of that magical world (future magical world).

I have to disagree about the comment, 'rip-off' of Lord of the Rings, because to me Harry Potter is nothing like it. The only similarity is the use of Wizards. And Wizards have been used in loads of stories/books. I think it's because Harry Potter has become so big, that it's an easy target and people look for weaknesses in the material. I'm reading them all for the third time, and they still make me laugh! Ron and Hermione's interaction in the books are so funny.


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## Jon Prosser (Mar 30, 2011)

haha i like that word. oh yeah, i don't think he should have died, that's not what i meant. but there was no need to do the whole 'things worked out for the best, and now everyone is married and has children, all of the characters went on to lead rich full lives' thing, i mean granted it is a kids book. but as much as JK Rowling wanted closure on the whole thing, i think it was too self indulgent to be actually put in. she should have just excluded the entire chapter - though saying that, i suppose if i were a kid i might have wanted to know that it all panned out in the end. 

oh yeah, i disagree with it, but that's what a lot of people say. my counter to that argument as i said is if harry potter is a rip off of lord of the rings then lord of the rings is a rip off of mythology. i think that people just envy how much money she has made out of it - maybe thinking that she hasn't earned the right to so much. i've only read the entire series through once, but up to the fifth book i read countless times as a kid, and i always thought they were brilliant.


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