To Prologue or not to Prologue?

Posted on April 14, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

I’ve probably got no business starting another novel.  There’s some editing to be done on the three I’ve already written; the task of getting them published in some form or another; not to mention all the unfinished projects I have around the house.  But, as I said in my previous post, I’ve been “infected” by the germ of a new novel.  It’s a sickness; I can’t help it.

The plan was to do the necessary research for the new book while editing book # 3 (a contemporary, non-Jane-Austen story: more about that later).  But I wanted to at least set down my thoughts for how I would begin book #4 first.  So I wrote what amounts to a prologue.  Great!  Then I wrote a little more…and a little more.  Fun stuff!  But when I reread what I had so far, I realized I didn’t have a prologue and chapter 1, I actually had three prologues!

Prologue: an introductory passage before the main action of a novel, play, or long poem.

I’ve heard that prologues are out of vogue at the moment (so having not one, but three of them, is probably not a good thing), but I thought, “surely Jane Austen must have utilized this fine literary tool.”  Nope; I checked – nothing that’s officially called a prologue in any of her novels.  She was big on epilogues, however.  Here again, they aren’t labeled as such, but a final chapter clearly serving that function.

Epilogue: a short chapter or section at the end of a literary work, sometimes detailing the fate of its characters.

My favorite JA quote of all time (and my personal writing philosophy) begins what amounts to the epilogue of Mansfield Park:

Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery.  I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest.

I like the way Austen ties up all the loose ends for us; she doesn’t leave her readers dangling, wondering “but what ever happened to so-and-so?”  I try to do the same, but one prologue and one epilogue per book is probably the limit.  Gotta work on that.

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The Germ of a Novel

Posted on April 12, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

If you have seen the ’95 version of Persuasion with Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds, this spot will look familiar.  In the movie we see Captain Wentworth sitting on that very bench outside the pump-room in Bath before he rises to speak to Anne, who meets him in the doorway. I recognized the place when I visited Bath two years ago, and so took this picture.

Preparing to write this blog entry, I went looking for a quote from this scene to use here.  Only one problem: there apparently was no such scene in the book!  In fact, unlike in the movie, there doesn’t seem to be a single scene that takes place in the famous pump-room.

I think I know Jane Austen very well, but some of what is so familiar to me I have derived from the movies made from her books, not from the books themselves.  Although I have read them all multiple times, I have seen the movies more.

I rewatched Persuasion last night and called it research, because I have an idea for another novel that will relate to the events of Jane Austen’s life when she was writing it.  It was her last completed work, written near the end of her short life.  At forty, she was definitely “on the shelf”, no doubt having long since given up the idea of marriage for herself, but making sure that her heroine, Anne Elliot, had a second chance at finding connubial bliss with the galant Captain Wentworth.

…how should a Captain Wentworth and  an Anne Elliot, with the advantage of maturity of mind, consciousness of right, and one independent fortune between them, fail of bearing down every opposition?  They might in fact have borne down a great deal more than they met with, for there was little to distress them beyond the want of graciousness and warmth.  (Persuasion, chapter 24)

So, as I said, the idea for another book has germinated in my brain, and now I enter a research phase.  I won’t rely on the movie; I’ve begun reading Persuasion yet again.  I need to study more about Jane Austen’s life during that period as well.  The writing itself won’t start in earnest for a couple of months, although I couldn’t resist dashing off this short prologue just for fun (I’m a great fan of prologues, by the way).

Jane Austen put down her pen with the gesture of solemn finality the occasion seemed to require.  She sat a moment, gathering the necessary strength to lift her feeble frame to a standing position so that she might wind a string around the manuscript.  Persuasion, she had entitled it.  She was thankful to have been granted enough time to see it through, to finish the story that was perhaps closer to her heart than any of the others.  But, now that the last “I” had been dotted and the last “T” crossed, what more remained for her to do?

She had been careful to tie up all her loose ends as neatly as ever, seeing to it that, unlike in real life, everybody not greatly at fault had been returned to tolerable comfort in the end.  It set her mind at ease to know the good-natured Miss Musgroves would be suitably married.  And she had even taken the trouble of putting Anne’s invalid friend, Mrs. Smith, in the way of a secure future.  More importantly, Anne and Captain Wentworth were at last reconciled.  This time, their happiness would not be threatened by either objections at home or by want of money… or by debilitating illness.  As author of their lives, if not of her own, she had been able to do that much for them.

My husband hoped I was done writing for a while.  Sorry honey – just getting started.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000037_00034]UPDATE: This small germ grew and DID become a finished novel, published in 2014 as The Persuasion of Miss Jane Austen!

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Shall We Dance?

Posted on April 7, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

I admit it; I watch Dancing With the Stars every week.  It’s not just for the sake of seeing people dance, for I usually ignore the numbers done by all professionals.  I think what intrigues me most is the magic of the non-dancing “stars” (a term interpreted very broadly in this case) getting a chance to try something beautiful, brave, and improbable – to waltz, cha-cha, and jive with the best of them. 

For me, dancing is a bit of a dream, something I’ve always wanted to do.  And unlike becoming a world-class ice skater or climbing Mt. Rainier, learning to dance is still within the realm of possibility.  After all, I am younger and probably in better condition than Kirstie Alley, who’s holding her own very nicely on the show this season. 

Dancing is all about romance – a stylized act of courtship set to music – which is probably why it appeals to women more than men.    In Jane Austen’s day, however, single men were no doubt more eager, since dancing afforded them one of their best opportunities to talk to, and about their only opportunity to actually touch, single women.  So the ball became a social highlight and an indispensable part of the courtship process.

  The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family … Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother; and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham…  The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended less on any single event, or any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was at any rate, a ball.  (Pride and Prejudice, chapter 17)

The Bennet ladies anticipated a night of pure felicity. Things didn’t turn out quite as they planned, though, especially for Elizabeth.  The handsome Mr. Wickham was absent; she was obliged to dance with the odious Mr. Collins and the proud, disagreeable Mr. Darcy; and she was mortified by the unseemly conduct of her family.   

Dancing plays a prominent role in Jane Austen’s writings.  I didn’t appreciate how often it’s mentioned in mine until I did a word search to locate this clip from For Myself Alone.   I was surprised to discover how many of the pivotal scenes I’d managed to set on the dance floor.  

Arthur declares, “It is not fair to urge her in this manner.  Let her choose for herself as well as the rest of us.  If Jo is opposed to dancing tonight, surely we are capable of finding some other source of diversion …”

“No, Arthur,” I interrupt.  “Thank you, but it is all right.  I have no serious objection, and it would be selfish of me to spoil everyone’s pleasure.”

“Well, if you are quite certain …” 

He offers his hand again.  This time I take it.

I have accepted that same steady hand dozens of times before, but always in friendship.  Everything is irrevocably altered now.  For me, Arthur has changed over the course of the last three months from friend to foe, and as of tonight, unwelcome admirer.  No wonder, then, that I sense an unfamiliar charge when our fingers meet this time.  It gives me an odd, unsettled feeling in the hollow of my being as I rise to take my place opposite him. 

The truth is, I will never be invited to appear on Dancing with the Stars, and I will likely never convince my husband to sign us up for ballroom dancing lessons either.  But I can live out all my fantasies through my characters – one of the great perks of being a writer.

 

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Mightier than the Sword?

Posted on March 31, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

A couple of days ago there was another report in the news about the terrible consequences of cyber-bullying, kids using social media to dis their classmates on a massive scale.  Not that gossip and slander are new.  They’ve always been around; only the tools have changed.  Consider the case of Mr. Wickham:

I have no right to give my opinion,” said Wickham, “as to his being agreeable or otherwise.  I am not qualified to form one.  I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge.  It is impossible for me to be impartial… (but then he goes ahead and dishes his dirt on Darcy anyway)...We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him but what I might proclaim to all the world; a sense of very great ill usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is… His behavior to myself has been scandalous.  (Pride and Prejudice, chapter 16)

When Wickham is done, Mr. Darcy’s reputation is in tatters.

Gossip and slander play pivotal roles in my novel For Myself Alone.  In fact, the prologue is nothing but.  Do you remember that party game we used to play as kids where you send a “secret” through a string of people, whispered ear to ear until it comes out unrecognizable at the other end?  I think we called it “gossip,” actually.  Anyway, that’s what I had in mind when I wrote that section.  Although there’s no malicious intent in this instance, the results were still damaging.  Later in the book, a life-long friendship is nearly destroyed by a more deliberate case of character assassination. 

In both novels, the gossip/slander comprise and important part of the conflict necessary for a good story.  As writers, we have to torture our characters on the page.  As human beings, I hope we are kinder with the words we say, write, text, and tweet.

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Father of the Year

Posted on March 26, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

I’m doing yet another read-through/edit of my first novel with the thought of e-publishing if no other options break soon.  I labeled the file “Final!!!!!” months ago (so as to distinguish it from an earlier incarnation now named “not-so-final-after-all”), and yet I continue to fuss over and finesse it, never quite satisfied. 

Anyway, today I read through a chapter where Mr. Darcy reveals some of his views on his impending fatherhood.  It made me stop and think about the odd assortment of fathers who inhabit Jane Austen’s novels:  Mr. Bennet (endearing, but indolent and negligent), Mr. Woodhouse (hypochondriac, self-absorbed), Sir Walter Elliot (irresponsible, vain), Mr. Dashwood (dead), General Tilney (greedy, vindictive).  Only Mr. Morland seems kind and reasonable, but then we don’t get to spend much time with him.  The prize for Austen’s all-time, lousy father-figure probably goes to Mr. Price, however.  To ease the financial strain on the family, Fanny was sent away as a young child to be raised by her rich aunt and uncle at Mansfield Park.  Years later, as punishment for displeasing her uncle/surrogate-dad, she’s uncerimoniously returned to her home of origin, only to find things even worse than she’d remembered: 

It was the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety.  Nobody was in their right place, nothing was done as it ought to be.  She could not respect her parents, as she had hoped.  On her father, her confidence had not been sanguine, but he was more negligent of his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than she had been prepared for… He swore and he drank, he was dirty and gross.  She had never been able to recall anything approaching to tenderness in his former treatment of herself.  There had remained only a general impression of roughness and loudness; and now he scarcely ever notice her, but to make  her the object of a coarse joke.  (Mansfield Park, chapter 39)

At the opposite end of the spectrum, we find our hero Mr. Darcy.  I foresee that he will be a model father – better than even he at first supposes.  (See the new excerpt from The Darcys of Pemberley I’ve just posted.)

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Darling Exiles

Posted on March 22, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

In her present exile from good society, and distance from everything that had been wont to interest her, a letter from one belonging to the set where her heart lived, written with affection, and some degree of elegance, was thoroughly acceptable.     

Earlier today, I was reading another writer’s blog post about proven rules for writing fiction, which she had compiled from various successful authors.  She ended by inviting comments from other writers on the topic.  So I added one of my own.  Decided it was worth posting on my own blog.  

“Here’s another rule I live by: Never throw anything away.  I wrote a delightful scene, intending to use it to open my first novel, only to discover in rewrites that it had no business being there.  I had to sacrifice it for the greater good, for the sake of the book as a whole.  I loved that scene, and it would have been too painful to delete it.  Instead, I cut it out and set it aside for 5 years.  Just recently, that scene became the basis for a very successful short story.  I was thrilled to resurrect it from the archives and give it new life.  So, you don’t really have to “kill your darlings,” as the saying goes.  You just may have to exile them to some distant land until you can think of a good reason to bring them home again.”

What was to be the opening chapter of The Darcys of Pemberley became Mr. Collins’s Last Supper instead, and it’s currently a finalist in the “Jane Austen Made Me Do It” short story contest.

In the quote leading off this post, Fanny Price had been banished from her beloved Mansfield Park to languish in Portsmouth.  For the sake of the story it had to be done, but, even so, it must have pained Jane Austen to send poor little Fanny into exile.  And, I imagine, it must have pleased her as much as it did me to summon her darling home again.

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The Villains We Love to Hate

Posted on March 18, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

When I decided to write a sequel to Pride and Prejudice, what I most looked forward to was reveling in the happiness of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.  That was before it dawned on me that I couldn’t make a novel out of 300 pages of happily-ever-aftering (no conflict = no story, remember?).  And, as it turned out, I had the best fun writing the parts of the original novel’s “bad guys”: Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, Miss Bingley, and Mr. Wickham.

Mr. Collins I dealt with straight away, as you may know from  the opening to The Darcys of Pemberley , or from reading my related short story, Mr. Collins’s Last Supper (finalist in the Jane Austen Made Me Do It short story contest, and now available for Kindle).  I will have to leave you in suspense about Miss Bingley and Mr. Wickham (Hmm, Miss Bingley and Mr. Wickham – they would make an interesting couple).  As for Lady Catherine, I started with what Jane Austen provided in her epilogue:

Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew; and as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character, in her reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent him language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time all intercourse was at an end.  But at length by Elizabeth’s persuasion, he was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation; and, after a little farther resistance on the part of his aunt, her resentment gave way … and she condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had received…

Since I had committed to contradicting nothing of significance from the original novel, this was the framework I had to work within.  So, there would have to be a reconciliation … eventually.  But I was at liberty to lead Lady Catherine a merry dance first, wasn’t I?  

I’d hardly begun writing when I found Lady Catherine was up to her old tricks again – trying to run everybody’s lives (including her poor daughter Anne’s) according to her snooty ideas and selfish agenda. I couldn’t let her get away with that.  I had to take her down a peg or two.  Surely you would agree.  I don’t want to give too much away, but here’s a tidbit:

When the dining room summit concluded, Lady Catherine was in no humor for idle conversation or to otherwise linger in the company of persons who had witnessed her mortification at the hands of her own daughter.  Giving the plausible excuse of a headache, she went directly to bed. 

This scene is fresh on my mind today because I just sent off a story based on it to the Chawton House Library Short Story Contest (Yes, another contest!).  I enjoyed revisiting that chapter as much as having a cup of coffee with a dear friend after a long separation.  And I remembered how much fun it was to write it in the first place.  I really put Lady Catherine through the wringer that day.

I’ve heard it said that actors often like playing villains more than nice, ordinary folks.  Based on my own experience, at least, it’s the same with writing.  Maybe it’s the freedom to do and say things we would never do and say in real life, and all without real-life consequences.  But I think it’s also because we know we need the “bad guys.”  They bring in the conflict, and therein lies the story.

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Writing Right

Posted on March 15, 2011 by Shannon Winslow
She told the story however with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in any thing ridiculous.  (Pride and Prejudice, chapter 3)
 
Story telling is an art, but it is also a science. Just as there are immutable laws of physics that cannot be ignored, creative writing has rules which must be obeyed, a formula that must be followed. The protagonist must be sympathetic, or the reader will never care what happens to him/her. The plot must have conflict, or there is no story. The manuscript/screenplay must hit certain plot points, and the story must be brought to a satisfying conclusion. If the writer violates one of these dictates, the reader will instinctively know something went wrong and be let down by the result.

Jane Austen was a master story-teller.  Presumably without any conscious design, she managed to follow a pattern that has since become tried and true.

Using a proven framework is enormously helpful to a writer. It is a fool-proof safety net. Stay within the guidelines, and your story will work. The problem is we creative types like to think we’re producing something original. We cry out in protest, “I refuse to prostitute myself by pandering to the masses, to sacrifice my art for the sake of a set of arbitrary rules.” Okay, so that’s a little overly dramatic, and the rules aren’t at all arbitrary.

The fact is, there are no new stories, only new ways of retelling the old ones. Something in our human psyche longs to experience, again and again, the hero triumphing against all odds, love finding a way, and the bad guys getting what’s coming to them in the end. These themes don’t always win out in real life, but we insist they be true in our entertainment. Otherwise we, as consumers, feel cheated and betrayed. That’s why departing too far from the well-trodden path rarely pays off. There’s a standing joke in the industry that typifies this concept. What do publishers/film producers want? They want a proven commodity presented in a fresh way. In other words, “Give me the same thing, only different.” Sure, no problem.

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Town or Country?

Posted on March 13, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

It’s still officially winter, but our clocks did “spring” ahead this morning.  That’s close enough for me.  Knowing that we’ve probably seen the last of snow for the year (except in the mountains, where it belongs), and that each day is a few minutes longer than the one before, gives me a real lift.

I’m fortunate to live in a beautiful part of the world (Washington State), and in a semi-rural area where tall evergreen trees and tangled undergrowth still dominate the landscape, maybe not unlike the lush greenery of Mansfield Park.

It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring.  She had not known before what pleasures she had to lose in passing March and April in a town.  She had not known before how much the beginnings and progress of vegetation had delighted her – what animation both of body and mind she had derived from watching the advance of that season which cannot, in spite of its capriciousness, be unlovely, and seeing its increasing beauties, from the earliest flowers in the warmest divisions of her aunt’s garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle’s plantations, and the glory of his woods.     (Mansfield Park, chapter 45)

She’d been sent back to Portsmouth where confinement, bad air, bad smells, substituted for liberty, freshness, fragrance, and verdure.  The contrast made her appreciate the glories of her adopted home all the more. Fanny Price’s preference for country life over town probably reflects her author’s own bias.  Jane Austen spent five unhappy years in Bath, where the family moved after her father retired and was obliged to give up the Steventon rectory in Hampshire. 

Austen’s description above of the unpleasantness of town reminds me of a passage in my book The Darcys of Pemberley:

The weather turned uncommonly warm for June, which might have been pleasant in the country with the amendment of fresh air and cooling breezes.  Yet there were no such friendly modifying influences in town.  The simmering heat only served to intensify the more unpleasant aspects of living in close quarters with so much humanity and horseflesh.  If one dared open the windows in hopes of some relief from the stifling air indoors, one quickly closed them again against the noise and odors emanating from the streets.  For those who had the option of somewhere else to go, the advent of such conditions began turning thoughts toward getting out of town. 

Hmm.  I guess Jane Austen isn’t the only author with a solid, underlying preference for country over town.  That’s something else we have in common.

 

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Watch out for that Intrusive Author

Posted on March 10, 2011 by Shannon Winslow

“Author intrusion” is a definite writing “don’t” nowadays.  The fiction author is not to call attention to him/herself in any way, thereby interrupting the flow of the story and the reader’s total immersion in it.  But in the 18th and 19th centuries, it wasn’t uncommon for authors to address readers directly in the narrator’s voice, sometimes even beginning these asides with the words “Dear reader.”  Here’s one of Jane Austen’s more “intrusive” statements:

Yes, novels; for I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with novel writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding – joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust. Alas! if the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard?  I cannot approve of it.  Let us leave it to the reviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure …  Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body.  Although our productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the world, no species of composition has been so much decried. …there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them.  (Northanger Abbey, chapter 5)

Come on, Jane.  Don’t be shy; tell us what you really think.  (And this is only about half of her diatribe.)  It must have felt great to get all that out of her system and down on paper.  Even though novels are a more respected form of literature today, those who write them can feel just as undervalued at times.  And we aren’t allowed to vent our feelings all over the pages of our books, at least not so obviously.

I love what Jane Austen says here about authors sticking together, that we should be each other’s best champions.  I have an idea.  Let’s make a pact to do as she suggests, and see to it that the heroine of one novel promotes the interests of the next.  From now on, no matter what genre you write, find an appropriate place for your hero or heroine to support the nobility of what we do by uttering these words (also quoted from Northanger Abbey):  “The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.”  That ought to do it.

Update: Be sure to look for the intentional incidences of author intrusion in my Northanger Abbey sequel!

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