People Saying Things

Way back when I took ENG-425 and 426 (Novel Writing and Advanced Novel Writing), the instructor spent a lot of time on the "heavy mechanics" of writing. We covered character arcs, foreshadowing, conflict, point of view, and a ton of other concepts. She'd give us assignments that focused on individual parts of the writing spectrum and eventually have us incorporate them all together.

One thing that was also covered was speaker tags.

It was mentioned as an afterthought. She said to be sure the reader knows who's saying any particular bit of dialog. She made mention that some writers always tag the characters' words and others aren't so consistent.

At the time, something was mentioned by one student that he got very tired of seeing all those "said"s in a story. Another stated (and the instructor agreed) that most people read over them and they become invisible like the periods at the ends of the sentences.

Back then, I agreed.

Speaker tags, in case you don't know, are just the "said"s adjacent to the dialog being quoted.
See here:

• "I'm ready to go," Jason said.

• Mara called back, "Leave me alone!"

• "Wait," the thug said. "Just where do you think you're going?"

As I got older (and with any luck wiser), I started to disagree. I've done an awful lot of reading about writing. There are at least as many theories on how to write well as there are people who write. I haven't agreed with everything any one person has said, but there have been a few points that changed the way I wrote from the moment I read it.

The idea of getting rid of speaker tags was one that hit me hard immediately.

Maybe they do disappear when you read them. I know I've never been all that aware of them when I've read something. I certainly never got tired of seeing them. They serve the vital purpose of letting the reader know who said what.

We need them, right?

But after a little study and experimentation, I don't think they serve any purpose at all.

The reader already knows something was said because the writer put a few words in quotes. All that's needed is something to say from whose mouth the words came. "Said" does work, but what if you didn't use it?

Ever.

I don't just mean find another word like "asked," "answered," "replied," or "whispered." I mean kill the tag altogether.
See here:

• Jason poked his head in the door. "I'm ready to go."

• "Leave me alone!" Mara stamped her foot.

• "Wait." The thug brushed his forefinger across his mustache. "Just where do you think you're going?"

I've gone back through everything I've ever written and looked for this. My writing is was full of simple speaker tags. Now that I'm aware of it, I see that it was making me lazy. I wasn't showing the non-verbal part of the story as well as I could have during character exchanges.

When there are just two people going back and forth you can do away with any sort of simple tag. If you add action to the scene it becomes much richer. You may find a need for an occasional "said" when there are more than two speakers, but still try to use action rather than tags.

Another thing I used to do, based on advice from my old class, was to try and mix the two. It sounds brilliant, but becomes wordy.

Be honest. Which of these reads better?

• "Whatever you say," Roger said, handing the key to Darryl. "You're in charge now."

• "Whatever you say." Roger handed the key to Darryl. "You're in charge now."

For me, the quotes and the fact that Roger is the subject of the sentence embedded between the words is enough to convey that Roger is speaking.

And don't think you're getting away with anything by saying "he said sadly." Make the words sad. Have him do something heartbreaking right before he says them. Don't cop out just because the mechanics almost work.

Every time a character opens his mouth, make the line the best line you can.

Give it a try and see what you think.

Lady Scarlet eBook is LIVE on Smashwords

Thank you for all the support and kind words so far. The enthusiasm over this project has been overwhelming. I greatly appreciate all the kind words and encouragement you all have shown so far. I am grateful for the advice and help you have given me.
I am pleased to announce that the full-length novel, Lady Scarlet, is now live at Smashwords.com.

By the time Vivian realized something was strange about her necklace, she’d stolen £2,000 and boarded an international airship flight. She’s hearing thoughts and voices that aren’t hers. She’s also seeing younger versions of herself, each with a different escape plan.
Agent Jack Durnham knew something was wrong as soon as his partner and the professor they were guarding went missing. Professor Kayhill escaped protective custody and boarded that same airship. When Kayhill turns up dead, the newspapers tie Vivian to the killing and theft of a secret weapon, dubbing her “Lady Scarlet.” Her splintered mind adopts the persona of master spy.
With Lady Scarlet’s help, Vivian outfoxes a crime lord’s thug and Agent Durnham. One wants to kill her to get the weapon she doesn’t have. The second wants to arrest her and use her to catch the thug. When her childhood friend turns up working against her, Vivian doesn’t know whether he’s been duped or if he’s part of the plot. The voices are telling Vivian one thing and each of her younger selves is saying another. Agent Durnham says he wants to help, but Lady Scarlet trusts no one. The magic in the necklace might help, if she knew how to use it. 

Lady Scarlet by T.N. Leonard

Give it a look and enjoy!
Don't forget to tell your friends.

Brave New eWorld

Over the last three months or so I have been doing a lot of soul searching. I’ve been wondering how best to publish my book, Lady Scarlet. Should I go the traditional way or become an independent using the ebook format?
If you’re like me, the choice should be obvious. The only legitimate way to go is traditional publishing. You write a book, find an agent, the agent finds a publisher, you sign a contract, they print the book, ship it to stores, and the store sells it to an audience. This is the way it’s been done for more than a hundred years.
Anything else is vanity printing or just flooding the market with junk that didn’t cut it in the real world.
But is that true?
There is a stigma about indie publishing. We wonder why the writer didn’t follow the existing traditional path to publication. Readers want to know why they should slap down money for a book if a publisher wouldn’t take a chance on it.
Is the writer too lazy to follow through with the process and see the project through to the end? If so, what does that say about the book? Is the book poorly written and that’s why it couldn’t get published by a big name printer? Is the story just a cliché-filled schlock-fest with flat stock characters, wooden dialogue, and stale situations that come together in a predictable ending readers have seen a hundred times?
Maybe.
But there are reasons to consider indie publishing, most of which have nothing to do with the quality of the story in question.
First, by skipping the traditional process, a story can reach the readers much more quickly. Publishers will shuffle books around in a release schedule to maximize their profits. This means a first-time writer’s book can get swept into an unfavorable slot to fill a gap or delayed when someone’s new tell-all biography gets shuffled forward. Anything can delay the release of that “little” novel from the death of a celebrity to a major political scandal. It may also happen that the book will get released on time in the wake of a big world shakeup and will be lost in the mix. Ebooks can be quickly formatted once the writer has finished it and released over the internet almost immediately.
Second is creative control. Maybe one publisher doesn’t want one character to do a particular thing or they ask that a character be added or removed. Maybe the story shouldn’t be set in Denver, but rather Vancouver. Sure, the writer can resist making changes and run the risk of being known as difficult or uncooperative. Personally, I say stick to your guns, but after several months of editorial interference it’s going to be tempting to make some minor changes to “make a better product for the reader.” Editors want these changes so the book will appeal to a larger audience. The trouble is it’s probably not the right audience for the book.
Third is marketing. Without some sort of an ad campaign, a book simply pops into being on the bookstore shelves. If someone sees it on display AND is snagged by the cover AND is intrigued by the title AND picks it up to thumb through some pages, that person MIGHT buy the book. Publishers don’t spend much money promoting books with major advertising. Mostly what happens is they pay the stores to put new titles on special tables right up front by the doors or the register. Sometimes they pay a little more to have the books stacked cover out rather than spine out.
We’ve already seen that other forces of bad timing can overshadow an unknown author’s first release. If the displays near the store entrance are flooded with books about a newly-departed celebrity or an established author’s newest book, there is no place for that rookie writer’s work.
Some writers are tempted to pay an outside company to promote their book since the publisher won’t. Sometimes this can work, but it’s expensive and there are scammers out there ready and willing to take your money in exchange for running cheap ads or doing nothing at all. Also remember that no marketing plan is ever going to be as effective as one reader telling another that this is a great book. This will only happen when someone actually reads it.
Now comes the most horrifying fact of all.
A book has somewhere between two and six weeks to live or die.
That’s right. If the copies don’t start moving quickly, they never will.
Bookstores sell books on a consignment plan, not a purchase plan. Even though one store has a hundred copies of a writer’s masterwork on the shelves, it’s possible not a single copy of the book has been sold. The stores are in business to sell books. They are not in business to sell your book.
Books that don’t sell get sent back to the publisher for a refund. When this happens, there are no more print runs. The book goes out of print and falls into obscurity. Barring a miracle where the writer turns out a bestseller and people want to go back and read the earlier works, the book is not coming back.
Going independent gives the writer more control over the book. Even more than creative control and a reasonable release schedule, the writer can promote the book the way it needs to be done. With electronic listings, the writer is free to market a book under each category that fits. Just because the last book was sci-fi, the second book (a straight thriller) doesn’t have to sit misplaced on the shelf just to be next to the other book by that author.
It also means that the writer can list the book with multiple distributors and keep the book listed despite slow sales. When and if the writer releases another book, there is no push to get copies of earlier works to market in case sales spike. The book has been sitting on the server for months. No one has to worry about selling out if it gains momentum.
With ebooks the writer can run multiple promotions on any of the books. If there are interview blogs, trade shows, or anything else that might garner attention, the writer can adjust the price of the book to support sales and sell more copies from a single dashboard.
With all this available to a new writer, it’s hard to see why anyone would take the traditional route when so much can be done with new technology. Even established writers are opting to have their new works released exclusively on ebooks, through independent distributors rather than big name houses. It’s an amazing way to get a book out there for readers to see.
And it’s not just a steppingstone to attract a traditional publisher. If anything, I see going from ebook to printed as a step backwards. There is something to be said for holding a copy of your very own book in your hand, but with what you give up to do it...I wonder about the cost.
Maybe traditional publishing is the vanity.

Roll and Duck: A Lady Scarlet Short

     I pressed my back against a wooden crate. My pistol was in my hand, held upward.

     Agent Conrad Morgan was to my right, also standing against a shipping crate. He was on the other side of a narrow walk path between stacks of containers. His Webley was out and ready.

     Conrad showed me his left palm and I nodded.

     He turned his head and peeked around the crate into the heart of the warehouse, toward the loading doors that led to the docks on the Thames River. After an agonizing two seconds he pulled back and stood flat against the crate again.

     He held up three fingers then reduced it to two before tapping them against his gun.

     Three men, two with guns.

     I nodded and held my hand out at a little above waist height.

     Conrad tossed his head in my direction, held up one finger, and tapped it to his gun.

     The gunman standing on the right had the little girl.    

     My fingers twitched on the grip of the gun. I shifted my feet, signaling him I was ready when he was.

     Three days ago, Ginny Hargrove, the six-year-old daughter of a London businessman, was kidnapped from her home. Three masked men had kicked down the front door, fired several shots in the air, and dragged her from the family table while they ate. The Metropolitan Police had no leads and had turned the investigation over to the International Police Commission.

     Conrad and I had been assigned to find her. We’d checked on several business associates and rivals of Daniel Hargrove. Our investigation had eliminated all but one in his immediate circle.

     His brother-in-law, Lucas Jenson, was up to his lapel in debt. He needed money to pay his creditors or he was facing ruin. That the ransom was just enough to cover Jenson’s shortfall wasn’t enough for the Met to swarm his London warehouse.

     It was more than enough for a pair of Commission agents.

     Conrad’s eyes went cold. He took in a deep breath. Slowly and silently he let it out.

     I took the time to clear my own mind. For a brief moment I saw nothing but the darkness of the warehouse. The world became silent, except for the sound of my own heart beating.

     Conrad bobbed his head once, twice, and a third time.

     I waited just the slightest fraction of a split second and followed him as he sprang from around the crate. His gun swung to cover the left quadrant in front of us. I had everything on the right.

     Conrad’s voice echoed around the inside of the cavernous space. “Guns down. Let her go. On your knees. Hands behind your heads!”

     I leveled my pistol on the man holding the little girl. He had his arm around her shoulder, but pulled her close by the neck as Conrad and I stepped closer. He waved the gun at me.

     Ginny’s eyes were huge as she saw my weapon. I couldn’t let myself look at her, not even to reassure her that everything was going to be alright. In the moment it would take to give her a smile this could all be over.

     “I said guns down,” Conrad repeated.

     The man hoisted Ginny up by her neck to cover his chest. He held the gun out as far as it would go. I couldn’t hit his chest without hitting her and I was fully exposed.

     “What are you waiting for?” someone said. “Shoot them!”

     Ginny began to kick as the man’s arm cut off her air. He squeezed her even tighter.

     I let my eye wander ever-so-slightly to the right to where it caught hers. She was frightened. Who could blame her? She had no idea we were the good guys. For all she knew, she was being kidnapped again.

     I gave her a quick wink. “Let her go. Get on your knees. Hands behind your head.”

     “Or what?” the man asked.

     “I’ll put you on the ground.”

     He laughed.

     I aimed my weapon low and fired.

     The man fell as his knee shattered. He pulled the trigger, but he was off balance while falling. His shots went wild, hitting the far wall and filling the room with countless echoes.

     I lunged forward, zagging first right to avoid his shots then zigging straight in. I scooped Ginny from his arm. Before the man hit the ground, I grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket, twisted his collar, and used him to shield Ginny and myself. Five more shots went off while I dropped the man and rolled for cover behind another stack of crates.

     I set Ginny down and touched her on the cheek. “Are you hurt?”

     “I want to go home.”

     “That’s where we’re going, Love.” I pointed my finger at the floor. “Stay right here.”

     As I stepped out from behind the crates, I heard the thunder of footsteps and more gunfire. From the sound of things, there were at least a dozen men running in from the office area to where we were.

     Conrad pounded one of the men across the skull with the butt of his pistol. The other was already down, clutching his side and moaning. When Conrad turned, we made eye contact. This hadn’t been part of the plan. We hadn’t known we’d be facing an army.

     I took Ginny by the hand and held her with my left arm as I sprinted back to the crates were Conrad and I had formulated our attack plan. Conrad beat me there. The only exit from there was the door we’d used to come in. When Conrad tried it, the door was locked.

     He jiggled the knob and pulled several times. “Agent Durnham said we’d have backup. We should have waited until they got here.”

     “Jack will come through. He always does.”

     The horde was getting closer.

     I set Ginny down and used my left hand to brush the hair out of my eyes. When I did, I noticed the gold and gray swirl pattern on the envelope of an airship moving past the windows on the far wall. My heart skipped a beat when I realized the backup had arrived.

     I grabbed Conrad and spun him around to face the loading doors that faced the docks. “We’ve got to get to the other side.”

     His eyes sank back into his head and his jaw dropped open. “That would have been easier from over there.”

     He pointed to the scene of our gun battle.

     There was a wheeled cart against the outside wall. Two crates were stacked on top of it, but that made it better. That gave us cover we could use.

     I grabbed a crowbar and pried the side off the lower crate. It was full of powder sacks. I let a few fall out then grabbed several more and threw them aside.

     “Ginny, come on. Get in.” I patted the open space I’d made and began to push.

     Conrad fired his gun at the hallway as the first wave of warehouse thugs came through. “I’ll push. Get behind the crate.”

     I handed him my gun and gently pushed him away as he tried to take position behind the cart. “Open the door.”

     He looked up, nodded, and like a Western cowboy, laid down covering fire as I wheeled us faster and faster toward the far wall.

     Splinters flew as bullets landed all around us.

     Ginny screamed.

     “It’s alright, Love. Cover your ears.”

     She screamed again.

     Conrad slid the last several feet to the door. His body slammed against the outer wall, but he grabbed the lever and pulled. The door began to open as the chain and counterweight began to move.

     But it was never going to open before we got there.

     A shot passed within inches of my left shoulder. It hit the crate in front of me. I ducked and closed my eyes just in time. I felt the wood fragments hit my face, but nothing stuck.

     When I opened my eyes there was a cloud of white flour dust.

     Conrad moved back to stand between me and the storming goons. I pulled the cart hard, trying to stop it. My boots didn’t have the traction I needed and the upper crate crashed into the door. I dashed around the right side of the lower crate and grabbed Ginny from her hidey-hole.

     The two of us ducked under the partially open door and sprinted down the dock. Conrad fired his last shot and rolled after us. A moment later the upper crate fell, creating a cloud of white smoke in our wake.

     I took Ginny by the arm and pulled her close. “Hold me tight.”

     She wrapped her arms around my waist as we dashed toward the end of the dock and what should have been the ugliest amphibious airship ever conceived by man. She was skimming the river as she passed the warehouse, engines at idle, with the portside hatch open. We had to duck under the wing to get there. With my right arm cradling Ginny and my left swinging forward to get every last bit of swing I could muster, I leapt from the end of the dock.

     We crashed through the hatch on onto the deck. I was under Ginny and had to kick myself clear of the opening for Conrad before I could stand. When I did, I held her by the shoulders and checked her over.

     “Are you still alright?”

     She said nothing, but nodded.

     I stroked her hair and set her in one of the seats. “Let’s get you strapped in. Have you ever flown before?”

     She shook her head while I fastened the belt around her lap.

     “Well, you’re about to.”

     Despite everything, her face brightened and she turned toward the window.

     There was a huge splash behind me. When I turned I saw Conrad in the water, struggling to reach the hatch. I bent down and reached out for him just as a bullet hit the side of the cabin.

     “Come on, Conrad! You can do it!”

     He flailed an arm at me and I caught the tips of two of his fingers. With a quick jerk of my arm I pulled him up and in. He crawled away from the hatch as two more shots ricocheted off the hull.

     Once the hatch was closed, the airship began to pick up speed.

     “Strap yourself in,” I shouted at Conrad as I moved forward to the cockpit.

     I tossed myself into the second seat, beside a thin blond man in his mid-thirties. There was an unlit but well-chewed cigar in his mouth, under his shaven lip. His name was Izzy Cunningham and we’d worked together before.

     Another bullet struck the ship as I strapped myself in.

     Izzy looked over and bounced his eyebrows. He pushed the throttle to the stops and pulled back on the flight yoke. “Welcome aboard, Miss Prudence.”

     As the ship nosed skyward something broke loose in the back and tumbled the entire length of the cabin before hitting the back wall.

     I turned to look and saw Conrad, upside down, wedged behind the rearmost seat.

     “Strap in. It might get bumpy.”

     He pulled himself up. “Might it? Well. Let me just-”

     Izzy turned sharply again to avoid the suspension cables on the Tower Bridge.

     Conrad fell over again and bounced between the side wall and the floor.

     I turned to the pilot. “Be nice, Izzy.”

     “Friend of yours, Miss Prudence?”

     “Yes. And a colleague to boot.” My skin crawled. “And I’m sorry. I told a bit of a lie when we first met. My name isn’t Prudence. It’s Vivian. Vivian Hawthorn.”

     He leveled the ship out and turned toward me. His eyes were blank and his jaw hung open. “What?”

     “I’m sorry, Izzy. There was a price on my head and I had to lie.”

     His lips curled up in a wicked, twisted smile. “I didn’t fall off the turnip truck last night.”

     His eyes rolled to the side and a poster tacked to the half-wall that separated the cockpit from the passenger cabin. It was a wanted poster with my picture on it – or rather “Lady Scarlet’s” picture.

     “All’s forgiven if you’ll sign it.”

     I couldn’t contain my grin. “It’s a deal.”

     “And be sure to put a bunch of big fat X’s and a few O’s in there.”

     “Anything you say, Izzy.”

     He looked back forward as he banked the plane toward the center of London. “Everyone good back there?”

     “Yes!” Ginny squealed.

     Conrad groaned.

Origin at the Lego Store

The inspiration for Lady Scarlet initially came from a trip to the mall. We took the kids to the Lego Store - alright, my wife took us to the Lego Store - to look around and maybe pick up a set or two. While the kids were looking around, I wandered around myself.

They have a deal there where you can create your own mini-figures. Grab whichever body, legs, head, hair, and one accessory you like to create each unique figure. The deal is for three.

I began messing around at the mini-fig display, not intending to get anything. I was just seeing what there was. Soon, I had created a guy in a waistcoat, with a sword and bowler cap. He looked like fun, but he needed a sidekick.

Two if I was going to take advantage of the deal.

What sort of people would go on adventures with this man?

I let the pile of plastic body parts lead me on. Soon I had a jester-looking guy and started working on a gunslinger.

But I changed my mind. It seemed like this bowler hat guy would be all brawn and no brains. His companions would have to cover the slack and clean up his messes.

Soon I had a figure in a set of work overalls. While I was looking for just the right hat or hair, I found a woman's hair do in red. That changed everything.

Now, instead of my hot-headed action guy leading the way while others pick up the pieces, I had the brains operating behind the scenes and...with a couple of more pieces, the third member of the team.

I saw it working like this:

The red-headed lady was the brains of the operation, working as a part-time spy/private investigator type to fund her real job, inventing. She'd have crazy flying contraptions, superboats, souped-up motorbikes, and tricked-out cars that were always malfunctioning at just the wrong time. Action Hero Guy was the face of the operation - the one that ended up in the papers (and answering to the police) once things had been solved. Other guy was our leading lady's romantic interest and would often be the 'don in distress' whom she has to rescue.

I saw the whole thing as working something like Remington Steele, where Leading Lady let Action Hero Guy steal the show. Distressed Don would be like Murphy from the first season of the show.

But as I got to working out the details of a first adventure, things got a little muddled. I had each of them saving the other two at various points, eventually letting Leading Lady's cool wit solving the problem, even if Action Hero Guy's fist actually stopped the threat.

It morphed into the story of a woman who was unsatisfied with life even though she was about to marry into a perfect life. I liked having the different personalities being the key to individual parts of the story, or causing bits to happen. I kept that, but closed the focus from different individuals to aspects of Leading Lady's personality.

Eventually, Leading Lady became Vivian Hawthorn. Action Hero Guy became Jack Durnham, and Distressed Don became Benjamin Gilles. Here they are in their container from that day at the Lego Store. They look like children to me after all this time.

Lady Scarlet's World

Lady Scarlet's world is different from ours. First, she lives about a hundred years in the past. Second, certain key events that shaped our past never happened or unfolded differently. Third, magic is very real and powerful, though very few understand or even believe in its existence.

Dates are not locked down in the narrative of the stories but to enter Lady Scarlet's world, imagine yourself in the early nineteen-teens. While not technically the Victorian era, many details will be the same. Rapid technology shifts have shaken the basics of society. Attitudes are changing as new clashes with old. Gender barriers are still there, but so is the idea that anyone with intelligence and drive can accomplish anything. Whole new, previously unattainable possibilities are  open to people with the ambition to try. Railroads and airships have made the world both a smaller and larger place.

But these stories are not steampunk...exactly.

The shrinking world has also grown the world economy. While steamships once took months to reach exotic ports, an airship can reach the same location in days. New commercial markets create vast opportunities for wealth and crime.

To fight the new tide of global crime, several nations banded together to create a worldwide law enforcement agency. Agents from the International Police Commission (I.P.C.) use assets all over the world to fight the new breed of criminal gangs who have also discovered the emerging global economy. These agents are the best in the world, highly trained, and empowered by the member nations to do what it takes to stamp out these upstart gangs.

But while I.P.C. agents play cops and robbers with gangs and crime lords, other forces are at work.

Most people are blissfully unaware that magic exists in this age of steam and steel. Just as robber barons, business magnates, and street thugs vie for power, other groups work in the shadows. This hidden world of magic is as real as the work-a-day world of the regular person. Some lust after power, some seek vengeance or justice, and others just want to be left alone.

The types of magic are equally diverse as the new technologies. Some have their own innate powers, while others are derived from spells or ancient rites. Others come from a mixing of technology and magic and still others are bound to and by powerful relics.

Each form of magic is different from the next and most of it distrusts the others. A secret war rages behind a curtain of coal smoke and human ambition. Lady Scarlet never knew of - nor wanted any part of - the ancient war but it found her anyway.

Getting Started

It's been well over two years now since I first had this idea about a woman who slipped away from her wedding and fell into a world of spies and betrayal. Since then the story has morphed into something very different and, I think, much better. I have had the support of friends and especially my wife along the way.

To all of them I say thank you!

Writing the first draft was difficult. Getting various scenes to line up in a way that made a plot that went somewhere while coming to a satisfying conclusion took a lot out of me. There were times I was too emotionally spent to do much of anything.

I rewrote that draft a couple of times, with some scenes changing, others going away, and others coming out of nowhere.

Then I sent the text off to a few good friends and even got some of them back. I struggled with several suggestions and hoped I didn't tick them off with my responses to their responses. The help they gave was beyond value in getting to where I am.

After that was the start of the re-rewriting.

This process never really ends if you don't make it end. There's always the idea of "what if I did this?" and "why don't I do that?" It's possible to make a good story terrible by over-rewriting it. I had to hope I didn't do that, but I knew I had made some serious changes to my original story and I had gone pretty far from my original idea.

Someday I might explain what that original idea was and where it came from.

I thought the writing part was difficult. I was right.

I thought the rewriting part was more difficult. I was right about that, too.