Posted by Mike Lathouras, 17th April 2024
I remember, many years ago, reading an article by a leading author, who wrote on the amount of detail a writer needs to offer, in a work of fiction. Although I don’t recall the author, the lesson stayed with me from well before I even fantasised about writing a novel. His counsel was to provide the least amount of information about the environment, scene or the person who you’ve just introduced and let the reader paint the rest of the picture in their mind. Of course there may be instances when a detailed description may be necessary. But in general…I wanted the novel to be ‘edgy’; to immediately engage the reader in action, drama or humour. I took the risk of disallowing page space for character development early on in the book and to do so while the story progresses. I agonised over that and wrote a few first chapters only to dump them and come back to the original version and work from there.
The theme is the same as the title, “One Mad Year”, proving a need for some chronology throughout, but not so much as to become an account of the goings-on in a year. Again, taking the lead from that author’s (I wish I could recall his name) advice, a minimum ‘date-stamping’ was used so as not to distract the reader to be tracking ‘where’ in the year they are at any time. I guess that also fits in with me being a generalist. No apologies. Of course, if one is trying to write an edgy, funny novel, the last thing I’d think a reader wants to endure is a long character development or an extended ‘scene-set’. I’d be putting that book down quick-time. Think to when you’re sharing story with a set of your quick-minded, in-your-face-critical, bullshit-calling mates. Timing is everything and to get the dramatic or comedic tension rising, making yourself vulnerable is an essential. You just don’t blurt out an anecdote and expect the right response. It needs to be orchestrated and choreographed in your mind before you start. It helps to be able to think on five levels.
In my later professional roles I was lead negotiator for my team and company division at the worldwide-deal level. Negotiation is much like chess, in that, while you’re engaged in considering a move, you’re also considering the ramifications of it and as many alternative moves as possible as well as pre-empting the other player’s (or other party’s in a negotiation) response. That was assistance in writing One Mad Year, particularly considering the connections with other parts of the story and building the context or precedent for something that develops later on. Busy stuff, sure, and often when I’d be clambering out of bed, early in the morning, for a tinkle (hey I am 64), I could feel my mind’s gears start to turn, which destined me to a long early morning toss-and-turn session, throwing ideas around, consistently berating myself that I should be asleep. Again, of course, I’m not claiming One Mad Year to be a funny novel. I could not have thought of a more ridiculous bar to be setting for myself. To have a reader sense that an author is trying to be funny or dramatic must be a classic slap-in-the-face for any writer. Yak! The humour needs to come out from the character’s actions, choices, realisations, errors of judgement, interactions (etc) which makes the content selection even more important.
The more difficult thing I encountered in writing One Mad Year is to have the diction be authentic and Australian. Now, I’m not saying every Australia married couple or parent would necessarily talk that way, but this isn’t a story about an every Australian family. It’s a fictional story, about this one. About a bloke born and raised in Brisbane, Australia, having a wife born and raised in rural Queensland, Australia. I’m also not committing that their Australian vernacular is contemporary. I expect some much younger Australians won’t recognise some of the terms used. Then again, they may. I will let my readers be the judge of that but I think it’s pretty darn authentic Brisbane-ite. Probably more Central Queensland, then. And a bit to the west, probably.
A ‘fast-start’, which is not a literary term, to a novel’s story is not new, I’m sure. There’s some risk in using that approach. I’m quite sure that the first few pages of One Mad Year will be the traditional novel reader’s equivalent to falling down some stairs. Some may not like it and be left wondering, after the first few pages, who is this character and what did he have for lunch?
OK, OK I’m being a smart-arse, but you get what I mean.
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