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Wood the Writer

~ Author of Tales From Undersea

Wood the Writer

Category Archives: writing

Traitor’s Revenge is out now in paperback

03 Sunday Jan 2021

Posted by Jessica Wood in author, Blog, book launch, pirate, self publishing, steampunk, story, writing

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book, book release, paperback, paperback release, steampunk, steampunk book, steampunk fiction, ya, ya literature, young adult literature

I hope that everybody had a fun and safe Christmas and New Year and that you’re now getting back into the swing of work. Or maybe you’re still working through those Christmas sweets!

Traitor’s Revenge, the first Tale From Undersea, is now out in both ebook and paperback format from Amazon. Formatting and putting together the physical book myself was a real headache, so I’m especially proud now that it’s done. I know that the international mail service still has a lot of restrictions and delays (I still haven’t received all of my Christmas presents!) so I hope they will be resolved soon. I will also be doing a ‘wide’ release on other websites soon.

I’m also hard at work on the next few books in the series. I even started working on an additional novella during my Christmas break, when I was supposed to be resting!

Here’s hoping that 2021 will be kinder to all of us!

Get your paperback copy of Traitor’s Revenge from Amazon.

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Traitor’s Revenge is out now

08 Tuesday Dec 2020

Posted by Jessica Wood in author, Blog, book launch, indie, self publishing, steampunk, story, writing

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book launch, creative writing, debut author, debut book, steampunk, steampunk book, steampunk fiction, writing, ya, ya fiction, ya literature

After three years of work, my debut novel and first book in the Tales From Undersea, Traitor’s Revenge, is out now on Amazon!

US store

UK store

I know I said it in the book’s acknowledgements, but thanks again to everyone who helped with the book and supported me over the years. I hope to put out many more books in this series!

I’ll be launching the paperback at a later date, as well as publishing the book on other platforms.

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Tales From Undersea: Traitor’s Revenge – Preview

17 Tuesday Nov 2020

Posted by Jessica Wood in author, Blog, book exerpt, indie, self publishing, steampunk, story, writing

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book excerpt, book preview, book promotion, creative writing, steampunk, writing, ya, young adult, young adult literature

“I won’t mind getting away from those sailor superstitions. I’ll be glad when we can retire and I can finally get my own place on dry land. Free of otters,” Rico said.

“He’s just a baby, he can’t help it,” Shiro retorted, cradling Kappa.

“I can’t sleep at night from that thing screeching.”

“You’re never on time for your shift, anyway.”

“The only cries I should be hearing at night are from whoever I’m-”

“Not in front of the baby!” Shiro yelped, covering Kappa’s ears.

Rico forced his hands away, leant closer to the snuffling otter, and loudly said, “I was just saying to your master that I want to hear-”

“If you traumatise my baby again, I won’t bother patching the cracks above your bed the next time there’s a leak,” Shiro said, pulling Kappa away.

“Just another reason why I need my own place,” Rico said, retreating to the corner to polish his pistol. “I’ve never had a house of my own before,” he added with a dreamy glint in his eye.

“Me neither. It will make a nice change,” Shiro said, staring wistfully at nothing in particular as Kappa chewed on his sleeve.

“You two won’t miss our adventures?” Marina asked, finally putting her book down. It was impossible to concentrate on reading with those two quarrelling, anyway.

“Maybe a little,” Rico said, pausing his polishing for a second to stare at the wall. “We have had some good times on this old clunker.” He knocked the metallic wall, listening to it echo and ripple throughout the entire room.

“Like the time we ran into that dragonturtle,” Thandi said with a grin.

“Or when we found that floating island full of hidden rum barrels,” Warwick added.

“Or the time I fought a narwhal with my bare hands!” Vernon said.

“That never happened!” Julius laughed.

“It did too. I’m putting it in my book,” Vernon said, tapping his quill against the pages of his manuscript.

“But…but retirement will be good too,” Rico said, polishing his gun harder.

“Yes, it will be nice to focus on writing,” Vernon added as he fiddled with his quill.

“Good for you,” Marina grumbled. “I’m only sixteen and my mum is already making me retire.”

“What’s so bad about that? I wish I could have retired when I was sixteen,” Warwick guffawed. “Could’ve saved myself a lot of bother.”

“She’s only doing it because she loves you, Marina. You know that. She wants you to have a better life than all of us have had,” Kei said.

“I’m happy with my life already. What are you going to do with your share, anyway?” Marina asked, looking straight at Kei.

“Well, I won’t have to put up with you lot anymore, for one thing,” Kei said, returning her a tight-lipped smile.

“As if you could go without us for more than two seconds.”

A metallic ringing brought their talk to an abrupt halt and made each of them freeze. The alarm. An approaching enemy. Their card games and books were quickly abandoned as each of them hurried out the door, scattering to their stations.

 

Coming to Amazon December 6th!

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Writing update – 16/9/2020

16 Wednesday Sep 2020

Posted by Jessica Wood in author, Blog, Editing, self publishing, story, writing, writing update

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creative writing, wip, work in progress, writing

I have a projected release date for my first self-published novel – November 3rd 2020. I picked this date because it’s my birthday.

I did send the novel off to some contests but wasn’t shortlisted for any of them. I had also planned to submit it to some publishing houses but decided against it because

  1. Due to the Corona virus outbreak, many small publishing houses which would have taken a niche book like mine have unfortunately closed down.
  2. The publishing houses which are still in business have been overwhelmed putting out their delayed books and dealing with a bigger slush pile (although I do think it’s a good thing that more people have been writing during quarantine).
  3. I just really hate writing synopsis.

I had been planning on self-publishing for a while, anyway, and this also means the book will be out sooner. I know that sales will be slow at first, but it’s still the first steps to becoming a career author, not a hobbyist or part timer.

Progress on the second book in the soon-to-be-published series is also going well. I’m on the developmental edit stage right now, which is taking a while, but once that’s done it will be ready to send to beta readers. My goal right now is to have this second book published by Midsummer next year and the third by New Year’s Eve 2021, so that I can gradually increase the number of books I publish each year and become accustomed to the publishing cycle. But at the rate I’m going, I might be beating those deadlines by several months.

Until then, you can read an excerpt of the novel here.

Tales From Undersea – Traitor’s Revenge (excerpt)

04 Monday May 2020

Posted by Jessica Wood in author, Blog, book exerpt, self publishing, steampunk, story, villain, writing

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book, book excerpt, book sample, creative writing, lit, oceanpunk, pirates, seapunk, steampunk, story, vikings, writing

“Move aside. I’ll take her,” a new Viking joined the fight, the others parting to let him pass. Judging by his age, the quality of the axe in his hand, and the commanding tone of his voice, Alethea guessed that this was the Viking Chieftain.

A roar from Iku-turso interrupted their fight. Each of them instinctively covered their ears, forgetting that they were all wearing diving helmets.

“Chief,” one of the Vikings said over the sound. He was a tall Polynesian man with ink black skin and long hair which flowed in the water. His Viking attire was decorated with patterns and symbols of the Polynesian islands and a shark toothed club hung from his holster. The man looked as if he could punch through walls and kill an elephant with a single fist.

“Not now, Inoki,” the Chieftain said, not looking at him as he swam closer to Alethea, who gripped her own sword tighter. She considered how quickly she could draw her gun from her holster and fire, or how quickly she could draw Robert’s gun from its hidden pouch if she needed to.

“Chief, it’s about to rip the Fenrir apart. We need to leave now,” Inoki said, placing a large hand on the Chief’s shoulder.

Alethea risked a glance to see that the creature, blood pouring from its cut tentacle, close to tearing off the Fenrir’s hull. Glances between the Vikings told them that they would have to leave, without the stone.

“Damn you pirate arseholes. Think you rule the entire ocean,” one of the more particularly violent Vikings said, throwing his axe to the ground in frustration. It took him a moment to remember that he was underwater and desperately grabbed it again before it floated to the surface.

The Chieftain said nothing. He kicked himself off his crewmate to cross the distance to Alethea. She barely raised her sword in time to clash against his axe.

“I hope you don’t think Redscalp’s treasure is yours to take, Barracuda,” he growled.

There was something in his voice which shook Alethea. Something which bothered her even more than the axe in his hand or the monster roaring close by.

“Who are you?” she asked without knowing why.

With a motion so swift it made her gasp, he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer. She could see his face clearly through his helmet. She could see his greying red hair streaked across his forehead and his dark brown eyes, looking straight into hers as if he were inspecting her. Even in the cold Nordic sea, her blood seemed to boil.

“I already told you, I’m Petturi Konna. And I am the rightful heir to Redscalp’s treasure. It’s what I’m owed.”

 

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The Venus King Mysteries – The Mystery of the Plastic Bag. Chapter One.

17 Friday Apr 2020

Posted by Jessica Wood in Blog, story, writing

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comedy writing, creative writing, mystery, satire, writing

“Have you tried the mortgage advisory board?” Jude droned from behind the desk, occasionally glancing out the window at the sunshine beating down on the streets and the ice cream van rolling past with its tinny music blaring.

“I already tried,” Venus replied, rocking in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “They fired me after I accused the manager of being an imposter and I pulled on his moustache.”

“What about driving lorries?”

“I suppose being on the road would be useful,” Venus said, rubbing her chin. “But no, it would be bad if a mystery were to occur and I was out of town.”

“Are there any jobs that you’re interested in?” Jude sighed, sinking even deeper into the chair which had become far too accustomed to the shape of her body. “Or any places in town which haven’t fired you yet?”

“It’s not my fault I keep on getting fired! I just can’t concentrate on the job when there’s a mystery to solve,” Venus said, taking her pipe out of her pocket and sucked on the mouthpiece, trying to look thoughtful and distant.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“It’s alright; it’s made of liquorice,” Venus said, taking a bite to demonstrate. The taste made her gag a little, but it looked cool, which was the most important thing.

“If you don’t try and concentrate, you’ll never be able to hold down a job,” Jude said, holding her hands behind her head.

“It’s not that I don’t want a job,” Venus said, “it’s just that all the ones I do get aren’t… parallel to my interests.”

“And what are your interests?” Jude asked.

“I wish to solve the greatest mysteries which plague the town of Shuffleforth!” Venus said, leaping onto the desk, sending several papers flying and drawing stares from the other people around her. “Be they supernatural or the work of mankind, I, Venus King, will solve them all!”

“Except you need to be a qualified detective to solve crimes,” Jude said, pulling her most important papers away before Venus could leave boot prints on them. “And the supernatural… That’s not even a real job. I don’t have any listings for ‘supernatural detective’ in my database.”

“But that’s what I want to do with my life,” Venus said, finally jumping down from the desk and settling back into her seat. “I think that’s the only thing I could be really good at.”

“Have you ever solved any actual mysteries?” Jude asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well… I found out who was stealing all the newspapers from our street,” Venus answered, her eyes shifting slightly. “Turns out the paperboy was too lazy to deliver them all and was dumping them in the hedges behind the allotments. But isn’t there anything on that database? Anything at all?”

Jude sighed once more and took another long look through the list of jobs on her screen.

“How about this – Quidrealm. You know, the pound shop? They’ve been asking me to send them someone. And there was that girl who-”

“Yes, Madison Wilkinson. The plastic bag. I read all about it,” Venus said, sucking on her candy pipe again.

A few weeks ago, the police had found the body of a young woman named Madison Wilkinson hanging from a telephone post just outside of town. That was strange enough, but what nobody could figure out why she’d been holding a Quidrealm bag. It had been brand new, yet empty. Venus had tried her best to help the investigation, but they had pushed her away as they always did, saying something about how she ‘wasn’t qualified’ and ‘only got in the way’. Eventually the police had put it down to suicide and closed the case. But they’d never explained the plastic bag. It had been bothering Venus ever since.

“I’ll take the case!” Venus said, standing up triumphantly.

“It’s not a case; it’s a job,” Jude said. “But at least we finally found you one. Please try to keep this one for at least a few months.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Venus said, “I’ll give this case all the time it needs.”

She marched out of the job centre without so much as a thank you or a goodbye. Not that Jude minded. She was just glad that the girl was out of her hair. For a few days, at least. Until she lost her job again and wound up right back here.

Venus began scanning the manager’s office the moment she entered, searching for clues. The manager hadn’t seemed to notice during the interview, which Venus had aced thanks to her ‘extensive experience’ in retail. She just left out the fact that none of those jobs had lasted longer than six months.

“Well, you have enough experience. And we need somebody right away,” Kerri, the manager, said. “I’ve been short staffed the last few weeks since somebody left unexpectedly. And most of the ones the job centre send don’t last long.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen with me,” Venus said, hoping that her eyes weren’t shifting too much.

“That’s good to hear. Stick around here for long enough and you’ll go far here at Quidrealm. In five years’ time, you could be where I am right now,” Kerri said. Venus smiled and swallowed a lump in her throat, severely hoping that it wouldn’t happen.

Of course it wouldn’t, she told herself. She was a detective. A sleuth. An investigator of both the paranormal and more-or-less normal. That was her calling and her purpose in life. She wasn’t going to be stuck here.

She was taken to a back room and given a scratchy shirt and a badge which said ‘Xander’.

“We don’t have any Venuses,” Kerri said as she rifled through the box of badges, sporting the names of employees who had already left Quidrealm behind. A surprisingly large amount for a store which had only been open for seven years, Venus noticed. “You’ll have to wear this until we can get a new one.”

“Not a problem,” Venus said as she attached ‘Xander’ to her chest. The name on her badge didn’t matter much, anyway.

“You’ll have to do something about your hair,” Kerri said as she took her in with an upturned nose.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Venus asked as she gripped one of the curls she’d been up half the night styling just for this interview. She took pride in her blonde locks and the Victorian style curls which were so important to her aesthetic.

“You have to wear it up.”

“Oh, of course,” Venus said, finding an old rubber band in her pocket left over from a previous failed retail job. “Because of the fresh fruit and vegetables.”

“We don’t sell those.”

“Then why-”

“Store policy,” Kerri answered. Her gaze remained fixed on Venus, still unsatisfied. “Don’t you have any proper shoes?”

“These… aren’t proper shoes?” Venus asked as she lifted one of her brown loafers, freshly polished.

“Uniform rules are black shoes only.”

“But aren’t I going to be behind the counter? Nobody will even see my shoes.”

“Wear black shoes from tomorrow,” Kerri answered, not waiting for any reply as she led Venus out the door.

So far so good, she thought. Despite her apparently inappropriate and highly illegal shoes. She’d passed the first trial and gotten through the gate. Now all she needed to do was find some more information.

“I heard about that girl who was found mur… dead with a Quidrealm bag in her hand,” Venus said as she followed Kerri through the back rooms.

“Yes,” Kerri said as she opened the door to the shop floor. It was mostly empty except for a small child pulling things out of their packages and leaving them on the floor. Neither Kerri or the child’s mother seemed to notice or remotely care. “That was terrible publicity for us. Sales went down two percent the week afterwards.”

“So how exactly did she come to have that bag in her hand?” Venus asked, reaching for the notebook and pen she always kept in her pocket. “Do you know what was in it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kerri said sharply as they reached the cash registers. “You know how to use an electronic register, I assume?”

“Oh yes, I’ve used lots,” Venus said. She was about to launch into several more questions about Madison’s death but Kerri spoke first.

“Lavender here will show you what to do. If you need me, I’ll be in the office,” she said before walking abruptly back the way she’d come.

“Hi, I’m Lavender!” the woman behind the counter said. Taking a single look at her, it was clear the name suited her. She bore lavender eyeshadow, lavender lipstick, and bore a scent of cheap lavender perfume which made Venus cough a little. Her smile was impossibly large and she wore her tacky uniform as if she’d been born in it.

“Venus,” she introduced herself with a handshake. No lavender nail polish, she noticed with surprise. That must have been a store policy, too.

“Welcome to the Quidrealm family!”

“Family?”

“Yes, we’re all a family here. Just think of me as your mum.”

Venus didn’t want to tell her that she already had a mum, even one who didn’t support her sleuthing dreams and questioned why she couldn’t find a ‘nice normal’ job and move out. But she didn’t have time to argue back before Lavender was tugging her behind the register which was to be hers.

“Alright, let’s get you all set up and then you’ll be ready to serve the customers!” Lavender said as if they were preparing to put on a parade. She grinned through Lavender’s demonstration of how the electronic register worked – which Venus already knew – and the process of serving customers – which she was more than familiar with – then had her stand and watch as she served a few customers.

“Now you’re ready to serve customers of your own,” she said as if she’d just graduated from astronaut training and was about to go on the first mission to Mars.

It wasn’t that much different than any other retail job she’d ever worked. The customer didn’t have their money ready even after waiting in line for ten minutes, answered several phone calls, and left without so much of a ‘thank you’ with their single pack of gum. He did take the time to call her ‘Xander’ in a highly mocking tone, though.

“Easy,” Venus said with a smile.

“Oh dear, Venus. You forgot the most important thing of all,” Lavender said with a slightly flattened smile which might have been her equivalent of a frown.

“What?” Venus asked. “I smiled, I said ‘thank you’ and ‘have a nice day’. I even checked his ID for the energy drink he didn’t buy.”

“But you forgot all about the upselling,” Lavender said, sweeping a hand over the box of candy hotdogs next to the counter. “You must ask every customer who comes to your counter if they want any Sweetdogs today.”

“Why exactly?”

“So Quidrealm can earn more money, silly!”

“What happens if we don’t try to upsell these?”

“Then you don’t get a ranking on the leaderboard.”

“What happens if you’re at the top of the leaderboard?”

“It means you upsold the most for the week.”

“I know what it means, but what do you get? What’s the reward?”

“You get to be at the top of the leaderboard!”

Venus wanted to say more, but had a feeling that there wasn’t anything more to add. So, she turned to the next customer who had now arrived at her counter, and put on a practised fake smile.

“Welcome to Quidrealm!” she said as she reached into the customer’s basket.

“What do you mean ‘welcome’? I’ve been here for half an hour already,” the customer said, a large middle-aged woman with a face like a storm.

“I… sorry…” Venus said, trying to scan and bag her collection of discounted Easter chocolate, emoji pillows, and crisps which tasted like sandpaper. Finally bagging the last item, she caught Lavender’s enthusiastic smile and nod in the corner of her vision before she turned to the customer and asked. “Would you like any Sweetdogs today?”

“What?” the woman said, looking up from her smartphone as if she’d only just realised that Venus was there.

“Uh… Sweetdogs?” Venus asked, tapping the smiley hotdog on the back of the display box. How a candy hotdog could smile when it knew it was about to be eaten didn’t make sense to Venus, but then again she was a sleuth and not a marketing executive.

“Are they free?”

“Uh… no. They’re £1. Just like everything in the shop.”

“Why you asking me then?” the customer growled.

So much for upselling, Venus thought as she finished the transaction.

“That’s £33.10,” she read.

“What?” the customer said as if Venus had just insulted her entire family. “Why is it so expensive? I thought everything was a quid.”

“Well… you bought all the Easter chocolate and 14 bags of crisps,” Venus said. “And the plastic bags are 10p each.”

“10p for a plastic bag?”

“Yes. Plastic bags have cost that much for a while now. It’s because they’re not bio-degradable, so we want to encourage people not to use-”

“Fine, whatever!” the customer said, slamming her debit card in front of Venus, nearly denting the countertop.

“It’s contactless, madam,” Venus said, pointing to the card machine with a shaking hand.

“Well how the hell was I supposed to know that?” the customer grumbled as she made a big show of holding her card against the machine in the right direction. When it beeped and Venus’ screen recorded that the transaction had gone through, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was even more thankful when she heard the buzz of the printer spitting out the receipt and the customer picked up her heaving bags.

“Your receipt,” Venus said, handing the long stirp of paper to the customer.

“I don’t need that!” the customer said. “I thought you said you didn’t want to waste paper.”

Before Venus could say anything else, she left the store still muttering to herself. Venus turned to Lavender, who smiled back at her.

“I’m sure the next time will be better,” she said.

 

I’ve wanted to write a mystery story ever since watching A Series of Unfortunate Events, and this is a plot I thought of whilst I was bored at my previous retail job.

I was taking a break between the first and second drafts of a different novel and felt like writing something fun and lighthearted, and this is the result. I’d like to finish and publish it eventually, but until then I thought I’d post it here to see if anybody would like it. Let me know in the comments what you think and if you’d like to read more. Or sign up to my mailing list for updates.

Why Your Stories Should be Fun

23 Tuesday Apr 2019

Posted by Jessica Wood in author, Blog, Common Criticism, criticism, story, writing, writing advice

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creative writing, lit, writers, writing, writing advice, writing tips

If you’ve ever heard or read stories written for a creative writing workshop, or judged a writing contest, you’ll likely have seen a similarity amongst almost all of them – They all tend to be dark, gloomy, and depressing. This is because many people who are just starting out as writers have an idea that for writing to be good, it has to be serious and at least give the illusion of being deep. Or at least, they think that this is the only type of writing which will get them recognition from writing teachers and contest judges. And considering the amount of MFA teachers and literary contest judges which support this way of thinking, they’re not wrong.

Even professionals seem to be believing this to some extent, given the huge increase in the amount of ‘dark and gritty’ tv shows, movies, and books which have come out ever since Game of Thrones became the most popular show on television.

I believed the same thing for a long time during my early writing days. My first novel was a YA fantasy story, yet it was still about as angst-ridden as they come. A lot of it was a reaction to a bad period of my life, and expressing it creatively did help me a lot at the time. Yet once I ditched the angsty novel and started writing one with a more light-hearted and comedic bent, I started to enjoy writing much more. It’s also been surprisingly beneficial to my mental health as well.

When should stories be dark?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not immedietly turned off by a story just because it’s dark or has a sad ending. I just finished binge-watching You which is insanely creepy and has a sad ending, yet it has still made me want to read the book it was adapted from. The essence of drama does come from characters suffering, after all. Authors who have been through bad situations, or have relatives or ancestors who have, often need to record their experiences in the form of fiction as a form of both personal therapy and preservation.

What I’m trying to get at is that while these stories may be good, they may be popular, and they may win awards, it doesn’t mean that every single story needs to be the same, as so many Hollywood producers seem to assume. Just because a story can be dark, that doesn’t mean it has to be.

Game of Thrones works as a dark story because intended it as a subversion of the noble-bright nature of classic fantasy stories such as Lord of the Rings. You works as a dark story because it is a reflection of the far too prevalent real world phenomenon of women being stalked and harassed by ‘nice guys’.

There are certain types of stories which should deal with serious issues, and other types which should exist simply to cheer up audiences. When you come home from a tough day at work, you are much more likely to turn on a light-hearted comedy than a gritty realistic drama, because in that situation, you need the comedy. In many ways, this makes a story more memorable and more likely that the viewer will want to watch more, or re-watch the show.

Fiction is primarily a form of escapism, both for audiences and authors. So, they absolutely should read about characters struggling through and overcoming difficult situations. But if all readers see is characters constantly dying or giving into despair with no hope, they aren’t going to be caught up in the escapism.

Light and dark

Light does not necessarily have to mean the complete absence of dark. Even stories which are classed as comedies or are made for children can still delve into serious issues, often using humour to soften the blow. In many ways, these are my favourite types of stories, and I admire authors who can deal with these more sensitive issues while still retaining a comedic bend. A Series of Unfortunate Events is intentionally dark and outright points out in the narration that nothing is ever going to go right for the child protagonists. Yet audiences stay hooked because both the show and books make such good use of dark humour. You can see the same thing in many other works. My Little Pony had an episode about cults. Recess had an episode about psychological torture. Do I even need to mention the number of deaths in Disney movies?

Writing such stories is a positive experience, but that definitely doesn’t make it an easy one. Comedy isn’t nearly as easy to write as people assume it to be. I still have days when I’m so frustrated with my story that I need to take a step back from it to de-stress myself.

Remember what your story is

If you do like writing dark stories or want to impress a contest judge or your MFA teacher with a serious story, there’s nothing wrong with that. Just don’t think it’s the only thing which makes you a writer. Stories are intended to be entertaining and entertainment is supposed to be fun, not depressing. Whether it’s a concert, a television show, or a sports game, entertainment is designed to give people a good time. There is no reason why your stories shouldn’t be the same way.

Why is Fantasy Obsessed With Royalty?

22 Friday Feb 2019

Posted by Jessica Wood in author, Blog, Common Criticism, criticism, culture, fairy tale, fantasy, musings, romance, story, writing

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creative writing, culture, fairy tale, fantasy writing, royalty, writing

If you polled fantasy readers on the most overdone tropes in fantasy fiction, chances are that most of them will name something like ‘the rebellious princess’ or ‘the stableboy who becomes king’ or any of the other numerous royalty tropes which frequently appear in fantasy. Yet it doesn’t stop fantasy authors from churning out a constant stream of books about royals, or readers from consuming them. It has reached the point that members of a royal family have almost become the go-to cast for a fantasy novel, and sometimes it can be difficult to find a fantasy book which doesn’t feature a member of the monarchy in some form. If royals are such an overdone fantasy cliché, why are we still so obsessed with them?


Photo by King’s Church International on Unsplash

…And they lived happily ever after

It all goes back to where modern-day fantasy spawned from – fairy tales. The standard fairy tale plot is a princess gets captured or imprisoned, a hero shows up out of nowhere to save her, and he is rewarded with the princess’ hand in marriage and half the kingdom.

They may be old and horribly outdated much of the time, yet they are still the stories we are told as children, whether it is through bedtime stories or Disney movies. This teaches us from a young and impressionable age that being a Princess is something special and desirable and that a Prince is ideal marriage material.


Photo by Susanne Jutzeler from Pexels

The real-life fairy tale

This also explains why society is so obsessed with royalty in real life, despite several dark periods of history making royalty almost entirely obsolete in modern times. We’re well aware that modern monarchs are only figureheads with no real power anymore. Most of us are also aware that they’re living comfortable lives which none of us can ever hope for. Yet that didn’t stop tens of thousands of people from descending on London last year to watch the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle in Windsor Castle, or thousands more from watching it live on television. They have what we’ve been taught to desire, but instead of feeling jealous, we adore them for it.

Escape into fantasy

Time Magazine explains that our obsession with real life royals is a parasocial relationship, similar to our relationships with our favourite fictional characters. We form one-sided relationships and become invested in the drama and stories of their lives without actually interacting with them or having them directly impact our lives in any meaningful way.

Whether they are real life or fictional, royals provide us with a necessary means of escapism. The British people don’t care that the royal family are costing them money at a time when their financial and political future is uncertain. They ignore the fact that high expectations and constant media bombardment probably make the life of a royal more stressful than it appears in pictures. They prefer to think about the dresses and parties and the smiling faces they see in the newspaper.

Carfax2 / WikiCommons

Fantasy is one of the prime forms of escapist fiction, and what could be more escapist than picturing yourself as the beautiful princess living in a fairy tale castle and falling in love with the handsome prince? Even the old fairy tales provided an escapist fantasy for regular people to envision themselves rising above their stations and becoming royalty.

Prawny / Pixabay

In reality, being a public figurehead would be incredibly stressful, a castle would be cold and drafty to live in, and falling in love at first sight with a prince you barely know probably wouldn’t work out in the long term. Yet even knowing all this, it’s still much nicer to just think about the happily ever after.

The media cycle

Media outlets know that royalty is used as a form of escapism and that they can use this obsession to increase their sales. Being fed a constant stream of articles, images, and news pieces about royals keeps them in our collective consciousness and keeps people buying newspapers or clicking on news websites. Disney keeps on making movies about princesses because they are fully aware that they will sell more toys and more trips to Disneyworld. Similarly, publishers keep putting out book after book featuring royals because they know that as overdone as it is, readers will keep buying them, and the publishing cycle will continue.

Updating a tale as old as time

Yet a constant stream of books about royalty doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, or a sign of an unoriginal writer. Our knowledge of royalty also comes from history and folklore. Historically, a king was much more of an ‘everyman’ and representative of the people with a lot more say in the management and safety of his kingdom. This makes royals ideal protagonists for fantasy fiction based upon a historical setting, since they will need to make decisions which affect their entire kingdom. It provides more leverage for everybody’s favourite trope, the forbidden romance, with the royal finding a way to marry for love rather than political reasons. If you look closely enough at history, you’ll find that there are many more obscure royals or little-told-stories which would make for great fantasy books.

There are a multitude of creative ways that modern readers can use royalty to subvert the old tropes and put a fresh spin on them to attract more readers. This is why we are seeing more stories about overweight princesses, transgender princes, or royals from cultures which aren’t quasi-European. The beautiful princess and the handsome prince are still good starting points for writers, but it is up to them what to do with these old favourites.

Recommended fantasy books about royalty:

The Icemark Chronicles by Stuart Hill

The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley

Pegasus by Robin McKinley

Are We Over-Analysing Stories?

08 Wednesday Aug 2018

Posted by Jessica Wood in author, Blog, book review, criticism, culture, film, film review, musings, story, writing

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book criticism, elements of good storytelling, literary theory, story, writing

An analysis on both the shortcomings and successes of capitalism and the disillusionment of a capitalist society and aversion to manual labour, the exploited proletariat, and the realities of Marxist socialism. With references to Ayn Rand, Soviet propaganda, and Bernard Manderville. That’s Wisecrack’s view of Bee Movie, anyway. To me it’s just a so-bad-it’s-good failed Jerry Seinfeld animated children’s film about bees that I watch when I’m drunk.

Also a woman fell in love with a bee

Why analyse stories?

I like most writers gained an interest in the field through English literature classes at school. I was encouraged to analyse and critique books, and later films at university, and never stopped. There’s nothing wrong with this as it’s both enjoyable and an essential part of being a writer. How can you hope to write well if you don’t know the elements of good storytelling?

There’s not even anything wrong with making analysis part of fandom activity. Often the most loyal fans are the most critical since they pay closer attention to the work. And being aware of the flaws in a piece of fiction doesn’t mean you can’t still enjoy it. I could write essays about what is wrong with Tolkien’s books and the film adaptations, but I could also write twice as much on everything great about them.

I have a lot to say about Legolas’ mullet

The critic problem

Being so obsessed with stories has naturally led me to making extra money by writing book reviews, and occasionally posting reviews on this blog. The general structure of a review which was given to me by the editor is supposed to be:

  • The general plot of the novel
  • What works and doesn’t work about it
  • Who would enjoy the book and who should avoid it

In my spare time I enjoy watching reviews and video essays on Youtube. I even enjoy Wisecrack’s series of philosophy and deeper meaning videos, since it puts a lot of my favourite stories in an entirely new context that I never noticed before. Some online critics have even turned critiquing into an artform in itself, by making their videos both informative and funny. Tony Goldmark, who reviews theme parks on his show ‘Some Jerk With a Camera’ is my favourite reviewer since he uses his background in comedy music to make his videos half review and half comedy sketch show.

But even the critics I used to enjoy are deviating away from the formula that I obey strictly, something which was made even clearer during the recent Change the Channel fiasco. I’m not alone in feeling that some professional critics are getting a little too invested in what is supposed to be just entertainment and angry over what they deem as subpar. I understand that they care deeply about maintaining a high standard of quality in the industry. Yet even as a writer and part-time critic myself, sometimes I just want to scream at them ‘it’s only a story! Get over yourself. It’s not worth getting this angry’.

The rise in popularity of Youtube channels such as Cinema Sins has also created the idea that we need to nitpick every tiny detail of a work of fiction and that anything less than perfect is worthless. Yet nobody in history has ever created anything completely perfect (except for my parents when they made me!). Just look at their critique on Ratatouille. Did you even notice half of the ‘sins’ they bring up? Did it ruin your enjoyment of the film? Probably not. You were probably just paying attention to the story, characters, and great comedy, not minor continuity errors that nobody cares about.

Obsessively critical attitudes like this are part of the reason why people seem to be becoming more cynical and judgemental about media today and may even be putting off great artists from creating the things they love. Nitpicking is neither good criticism nor good entertainment. That’s why nobody wants to hang out with the person who teases you for every little thing.

The ‘wrong’ perspective

This can happen in English literature classes too. True most authors do write for their love of the craft, and with the average pay for writers being so low that’s the only real reason people should write. But what they don’t teach you at school is that more often than we’d like to admit, if you ask a writer the real meaning behind their work, they’ll answer ‘because I needed the money’ or ‘that’s the only way I could get the story to work’.

We tend to view Shakespeare’s plays as the height of sophistication which people quote to sound smart (I know I do). Yet we forget that at the time they were written, they were seen as populist entertainment, the same way that soap operas and sitcoms are generally viewed today. If you analyse them deep enough, you will find lots of bawdy humour, black comedy, and words Shakespeare made up just to suit the scene (did you know he invented the word ‘elbow’?). Some even theorise that he had to write his plays a certain way to entertain royals, not because he wanted to bore school children hundreds of years later.

This is happening even to more contemporary authors. Right up to his death, Ray Bradbury had people arguing to his face that his novel Fahrenheit 451 is about censorship, not a commentary on television like he intended.

I suppose having your work mis-interpreted is one of the risks of being an author. Then again, the entire point of literature, in my opinion at least, is that each reader is allowed to interpret it the way that they want. And if thousands of people view Farenheit 451 as a critique on censorship then there’s nothing wrong with that. There is something wrong with telling the guy who wrote the book that his own interpretation is incorrect and that theirs is the only right one.

Analyse at your own will

It is enjoyable to look for the meaning and symbolism in fiction and to write it into your own stories. But I’m against the idea that all stories need to be layered in symbolism or have a deep and important message. Stories can be read and written just for fun, not because we want to play a game of ‘spot the symbolism’. Some stories can just be about an exciting adventure or two people falling in love, not a veiled essay on the Irish potato famine.

Maybe Bee Movie is a genius deconstruction of capitalism. Or maybe it’s a dumb animated movie about bees which is fun to riff on with friends. At the end of the day the only thing that really matter is what you thought of it.

New short story – The Fox and the Illuminator

22 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by Jessica Wood in fairy tale, fantasy, Short story, story, writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

children's fairy tale, fairy tale, fairy tale for children, new writing, short story

I’ve found another old short story which I submitted to a few contest then forgot about. Please enjoy!

The Fox and the Illuminator

The Royal Illuminator was working alone, as always, in the castle scriptorium, squinting against the dim light and coughing occasionally from the layers of dust which gathered on the towering stacks of books. He had been spending the past few months illustrating a book of the kingdom’s history, carefully painting each ornate letter with precision. It was an incredibly important book that the King himself had commissioned from him and was to be the grandest book in the royal library.

As such, the Illuminator put even more care into the manuscript than usual to make it exceptionally magnificent. The illuminations lit up the page, brighter and more beautiful than any book he had ever worked on before. Each picture reflected the glory and lustre of the event it depicted. He loved his work and was gratified by it, but the long hours spent in the silent, empty scriptorium often grew wearisome and lonely.

In the middle of one such day when the sun was high in the sky and the warm sunlight peeked in through the windows, the Illuminator found his hand steadying, his mind drifting, and his eyes drawn towards the garden outside the window. The trees gently swaying in the breeze and the sunlight sparkling on the lake looked particularly inviting that day. If only he could take just one day off from his work, he thought, to enjoy that sunshine, but the manuscript was close to being finished and the King was incredibly strict with deadlines. He noticed a fox wandering around the garden, thinking it strange that a fox should be out at that time of day.

His eyes followed the Fox as it prowled towards the lake where the swans were resting on the bank. With a single quick motion, the fox snapped up one of the swans in its jaws, sending the others flapping and squawking away in a panic. The Illuminator forgot all about his work, jumped to his feet, and ran outside.

“Stop that.” He shouted as he sprinted towards the Fox, who was dragging the dead swan away in her jaws. She looked at him curiously as he approached. “Those swans are the property of the King. It’s illegal to hunt them.”

“But surely that law applies only to people, not to foxes?” The Fox said, dropping the swan to the ground to speak.

“Well…yes.” Admitted the Illuminator, a little stumped to be talking to a fox who spoke his language. “But I still have to stop you. Those swans are protected by the law.”

“Why? Aside from their size, they’re not that different from the other birds in the trees, and there’s no law protecting them.” The Fox said.

“It’s the law. I have to uphold it.” The Illuminator replied.

“Do those trees belong to the King?” The Fox said, pointing her snout towards the forest of tall oak trees.

“Yes. That’s the King’s hunting ground.”

“And yet you would not stop a squirrel from gathering an acorn for its winter store.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t.”

“Most of those trees are there thanks to squirrels gathering acorns and forgetting where they buried them. If not for them, you wouldn’t have the berries that make the inks you use for your books.” The Fox said, noticing the coloured ink stains on the Illuminator’s hands which gave away his profession. “Killing this swan may be against the King’s laws, but if I don’t bring it back to my den then my cubs will starve.”

“I didn’t think of it that way.” The Illuminator said. He’d never realised how important those trees were to the work he treasured. The trees provided the wood for his pencils and the other equipment in his workshop. Without the inks, his pages would be dull and colourless. They provided him with shade in the summer to sit underneath them and read, on the rare occasions when he was free to read. “Go quickly then, before the guards see you.” He said.

“This will not be forgotten.” The Fox said before picking up the swan and carrying it away.

The Illuminator smiled and returned to his work, his mood lifted and his earlier boredom forgotten.

 

Not long after, the Illuminator’s work was suddenly interrupted when two armed guards burst into the scriptorium.

“What’s going on?” He said.

“You’re under arrest.” One of the guards said, grabbing the Illuminator’s arm and jerking him to his feet, leaving a large green smear across the page he had been working on.

“What, why?” The Illuminator asked.

“You were seen. Talking to that fox and letting it off with a swan without trying to stop it.” The second guard said as they dragged him out of the scriptorium.

The Illuminator desperately tried to explain why he hadn’t stopped the Fox, but they wouldn’t listen. They led him through the palace and straight to the King, throwing him down to the ground in front of the entire court, who all gazed down on him scornfully.

“Do you care to explain,” the King bellowed in his loud, imposing voice that made the Illuminator shudder, “why you allowed a fox to steal one of my swans?”

“Please your Majesty, the swan was already dead by the time I got there.” The Illuminator pleaded.

“The swan’s body is still my property, and you let the fox go unpunished.”

The Illuminator tried to explain and repeated what the Fox had said to him, but the King still wasn’t convinced.

“You disregarded my laws and for that you are banished from my castle and my service.” The King said.

“Your Majesty, can you not take comfort that one swan will save an entire litter of fox cubs?” The Illuminator tried one last plea.

“Foxes, horrible mangy things. Now I’ll have even more poaching my swans and raiding the chicken coop. Away with you. Go and live with the foxes if that’s what you want.” The King commanded. Before the Illuminator could say anything more, he was pulled away and forced out the gate into the street.

“Wait, at least let me gather my tools. I need them for my trade.” The Illuminator said, but the guards had already slammed the gates closed.

 

No matter how much be pleaded with the gatekeeper, the Illuminator wasn’t permitted to retrieve his tools, or even the possessions in his chamber. Some of the materials he used for his trade were incredibly rare. He had travelled far and searched wide to find them – gold leaf, dye from Mediterranean Sea molluscs, crushed opals, rich green cobra venom. He was the best illuminator in the kingdom, but without his tools and materials, he couldn’t find any work. Illumination had been all he’d ever known and loved since he was a boy and he didn’t have any other skills. Nobody wanted to hire a vagrant who claimed to be an illuminator.

With no money, no tools, and no job, he had to sleep in abandoned buildings and beg on the streets for pennies. He had to steal food from the King’s orchard, as dangerous as it was to do so, and went to sleep every night alone and miserable.

“If only I still had that manuscript I was working on before all of this happened.” The Illuminator said as he huddled in an old shed with a leaking roof, his stomach aching from hunger pains. “I spent six months working on that book, night and day, and I was so close to finishing it. It was the best work I ever did.”

But it wasn’t really his. It never had been. He’d merely been commissioned to make it. Eventually it would’ve been placed on a library shelf and he would’ve been handed another job.

“If I only had that book to work on and complete then I could at least keep my sanity. I would feel like I had a purpose in life again.”

He saw a dark shape slip underneath the half-rotted door and worried that it was another rat come to bite at his toes. As it came out of the darkness, he saw that it wasn’t a rat. He recognised the speckled red and brown coat. It was the Fox he’d met in the garden all those months ago.

“It’s you. I didn’t think I would see you again.” The Illuminator said. The Fox approached him and he saw that she was awkwardly carrying something large and cumbersome in her mouth, which she placed in his lap. He picked it up and tears filled his eyes as he recognised the illustrations, letters, and gold leafing he had spent hours getting just right. “This is my manuscript. The one I worked so hard on.” He looked up to the Fox, who had sat down next to him. “Why would you do this for me? If the King had caught you sneaking around his palace and stealing from him then you would have been made into a pair of gloves by now.”

“If it wasn’t for your kind act then my cubs would have starved. But now you are the one who is starving.” The Fox said, hanging her head. The Illuminator had never thought he would see a fox feeling guilt, and especially on his behalf.

“I do not blame you for that.” The Illuminator said, reaching a hand towards her head, which she leant into his hand, allowing him to stroke her soft fur. “The King would not listen to reason. He wouldn’t even forgive the death of one swan.”

“Indeed. But I fear this offering cannot fill you belly.” The Fox said.

“No, it can’t do that. But it is more than enough. It may still help me out of my poverty.”

 

“What do you call this?” The King said as the pages of the book in his hand fell apart as he flipped through them. “Not a single thing in this book is right. The colours are all wrong. The pages are out of order. And you didn’t even spell the name of the kingdom correctly!” He bellowed at the nervous apprentice illuminator at his feet, throwing the manuscript at his head. “Get out. Bring me another illuminator. One who can actually do his job.” He said as the apprentice gathered up his pages and fled from the throne room in tears.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty.” The King’s Advisor said at his shoulder. “That was the last illuminator in the kingdom.”

The King rubbed his temples. “Then hire back the illuminator we let go.” He said.

“We…We uh…” The Advisor said, hiding behind his ledger.

“What’s the problem now?”

“We tried to find the Royal Illuminator, your Majesty, but he’s gone too. He’s not anywhere in the kingdom.”

 

“This is the best work I’ve ever seen!” The Queen of the neighbouring kingdom said as she enthusiastically turned the pages of the history manuscript.

“Thank you, your Majesty. I admit it’s not quite finished yet.” The Illuminator said. He felt awkward standing in the opulently decorated throne room in filthy bare feet and clothes which hadn’t been washed in weeks.

“I can see that,” the Queen said as she turned to the page with the ugly green stain, which made the Illuminator blush with embarrassment.

He had long since heard that the Queen of the neighbouring kingdom loved books and had a vast library. Even her throne had a tall stack of books next to it, he noticed. As poor as the Illuminator was, he had taken the risk to travel to her kingdom for just that reason. With his treasured manuscript tucked carefully under his arm and the last of his pennies in his pocket, he had trekked over open fields, drunk rain water from puddles, and survived off berries (although he had kept a few that would make a fine ink). Finally, he had arrived at the Queen’s castle with bare feet and worn clothes but to his luck, it had taken only one glance at the manuscript for her guards to escort him straight to her throne room.

“But for unfinished work, it is still wonderful. The colours are the brightest I’ve ever seen. You must tell me how you do it.”

“I would be happy to, your Majesty.”

“Any king or queen would be honoured to have a book this marvellous in their library. Could you make me a history of my kingdom?” The Queen asked.

“Of course, your Majesty, whatever you ask. But it would take some time and I fear I don’t have the tools or the materials.”

“We’ll provide you with tools and anything else you need. And some new clothes and shoes, of course. I don’t want you to get cold. I’ve long heard of the great skills of my neighbour’s Royal Illuminator. I’m surprised the King fired someone of your talents.”

“There was a…small disagreement involving a swan.” The Illuminator said.

“How silly. Still, no need to worry about that now. I expect you’ll be wanting to see your workshop. And then you must join me for tea and tell me about these illustrations.” The Queen said, rising from her throne and handing the manuscript back to the Illuminator.

“Your Majesty, didn’t you say you wanted this book for your library?” The Illuminator asked.

“Yes, I would love to have this book for my library, but I feel that it belongs to you.” She said, placing it back in his hands. “Besides, you probably want to finish it.”

 

And so, the Illuminator completed his most precious manuscript of all, and many more besides. The Queen of his new kingdom had the most beautiful and well-crafted books in her library that were admired by all who saw them. She and the Illuminator spent many happy hours together discussing books and illustrations. On days when the weather was bright, the Queen demanded that it was too nice a day to spend with work and they spent the day strolling through the gardens and relaxing under trees, talking and laughing together and feeling complete with one another.

As for the Fox, she and her cubs were never again bothered by the King’s guards, and neither they nor the Illuminator ever had to go hungry again.

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