Wordsmithing: soggy secondary characters

Wednesday, 26 June 2013

SECIONDARY CHARACTERS NEED ZIP - TUESDAY only not

For work, I'm writing Individual Activity Support Plans and Risk Assessments: lots and lots of them. And, in my spare time, I'm applying for jobs. You know when you see the perfect job: not a comparable job... or even a well-paid one, but the job you find totally inspirational; the job you've always wanted but didn't know exists? I'm only allowing myself to glance over my shoulder at one of the jobs I'm applying for - I don't want it to know how much I want it. I'm working out how to sell my skilful self without resorting to grovelling or, worse still, to opting for the Oliver Twist's-eyes approach.

On the Reading front, I'm having so much fun reading Tessa Dare: yet, I rarely read Regency novels.

SHARON SHINN

On the Writing front, I'm writing the last words for Hal Longleat today. As it has been seen by Betas, this is the slightly more polished end of the first draft. I have specific revisions to do. I have been concentrating on speech patterns for Hal and the other pages. The last specific revision is to check the character development arcs for the other pages - I can't allow any saggy support characters to wobble their way around and through my MG novel ;)

DONALD MAASS: TIPS TO WRITE TO:

Secondary characters sometimes need zip. Here’s a simple way to work on that…

71 Pick a character other than your MC. What would your MC never, ever guess about this person? Spring that surprise.

RETURN: YA Paranormal Romance

I was running late. But, it was nothing I couldn’t make up with a bit of effort. I shook my head. Confident and happy? I smiled. Increasing my stride, I pushed until the muscles in my legs burned. I kept up the pace even when the hill grew steeper.

Magpie Lane was hardly wider than a ribbon that edged the woods but that didn’t stop traffic using it to get to the motorway quicker. Large trucks and fast cars loved Magpie Lane. They sent vibrations running through me rising from the soles of my trainers. I felt the disturbance in the ground, even before the air pressure tried to knock me off balance. I hunched my shoulders as the cab hauling a container spat stones up at me.

Jogging on the spot, at the entrance to woodland, I ached to leave the road and go inside. My Mum was probably still asleep but I could hear her you-never-know-what might-be-in-there lecture buzzing on repeat inside my head. I should run safe. Not even I would argue that running through the woods on my own was the best definition of safe but I wanted to run-wild and the woodland offered me that. This early, I should be safe from axe murderers or perverts in the trees and besides, I was fast.

I jogged down the slope into the trees. From two paces in, I felt different. Freer. It felt so right. Running in the woods did great things for my style. Avoiding the roots and dodging branches forced my stride longer, I had to step higher. The woodland, The Weald, was only a sliver of ancient woodland that the developers forgot to build on but it felt like it could have been anywhere. Everywhere. At any time. The oaks and beech trees dominated the space and the skinny, silver-birches squeezed up beside them. I laughed. For a second, the woods reminded me of school and I needed to run a lot faster.

Pages

Wednesday, 26 June 2013

SECIONDARY CHARACTERS NEED ZIP - TUESDAY only not