The second part of my commentaries on Gathering (Chronicles of Empire 1) continues with chapter 1:
PART 1: DANGEROUS PEOPLE
^ The sudden break after the opening chapter, then switch to a new character, should hopefully alert the reader that the opening chapter was actually a prologue.
^ GATHERING is split in 4 parts, and each of the other 3 section titles is named after a section of text within. However, due to a rewrite, the text that gave Part 1 it's name was moved to Part 2.
A Walking Dead Man
Sirath
^ As introduced in the prologue, the POV character is named after the chapter title.
Sirath stumbled along the dirt track — if they caught him, they’d hang him.
^ Again, aiming for a strong opening sentence of [character name] + [action] > [stakes]. I aim to do this at the opening of most chapters.
Sleet lashed him, stung his face, and left his ragged clothes clinging icily to his skin.
^ I made a point of taking the dogs for a walk in horizontal sleet, to see what would stand out most from the experience. However, there's no need to drag out the description past one sentence.
Taking the seven mules had been his drunken revenge, and should have compensated for what he’d been cheated from at cards. But now he realised it’d all been a stupid idea.
^ It was a struggle to frame the words for Sirath's context. As usual, feedback on chrons (I think Harebrain) helped a lot here.
He looked behind for signs of pursuit. Only the wind came at him, howling down the valley to drive the cold through his bones. Grey cloud smothered bleak hills. Thunder rumbled. The storm was growing worse.
^ IMO it's important to get some idea of the setting, especially as we're going to be here for a while. However, the description of the environment connects to Sirath's experience.
His legs cramped and he was becoming dizzy. He'd fled through the night and needed somewhere to stop, hide. Rest a little. At least to recover his breath. But he didn’t know where he was, and he’d seen no sign of shelter since morning broke. He might have to abandon the animals to move faster. Then he’d have risked everything for nothing.
^ We've pretty much infodumped as much as we need to establish Sirath's context in only a few short sentences.
A dark line crossed the foot of a hill ahead. It could be an overhang. Sirath picked up his pace. As he drew nearer his heart rose in hope — that was a split in the rock, and might just be deep enough to bring the animals in.
^ In being the only obvious shelter, other people might also find their way there...
He scrambled up a boggy incline toward it, willing the mules to move faster. The lead animal tossed its head — Sirath slipped from his feet and fell on his back. Fearing to be trampled, he rolled aside. Only the stink of the mule’s coat assaulted him. “Bollocks!” He stood and wiped off black mud that now smeared his clothing. He grabbed the rope. “Come on you stupid bloody animals!”
^ This could be cut without losing anything from the story. But IMO Sirath saying "bollocks" tells us so much more about his character than I could possibly describe - not least that he's low social class, and probably something of a rogue. Although "bollocks" is a Britishism, it's internationally familiar through characters such as John Constantine and anyone in a Guy Ritchie film.
He continued up. His eyes watered from the sleet and frustration. His boots dragged through mud, slid on gravel. Then the ground levelled and he staggered into the cool, still air of a cavern. He blinked and exhaled with relief. Then breathed in the smell of wood smoke.
^ I sometimes apply sentence fragments to help with impact and pace. In this instance, a comma instead of a full stop between the last two sentences would have been long and flowy. By separating the clauses the prose becomes staccato and jolted, which IMO better reflects the tension.
^ I additionally excuse this by the fact that each scene is inflected with character voice, so the more flexible rules of dialogue apply - we will see slang terms and grammatically incorrect phrasing quite a few times from Sirath's viewpoint, to reflect this. Originally, I had wanted to write third person much closer to first person, which would have made these issues more extreme - but the danger was doing so might be too ambitious for a first novel, and also have a jarring effect on readers. So instead, it's subtle for each POV character.
Faint with panic, barely daring to move, he turned.
^ In earlier draughts so many words were wasted on describing the landscape and explaining Sirath's circumstances. IMO it's important to get him to this moment of tension as quickly as possible - and in the paperback, this is the end of page 1.
A bear of a man, clad in black wool and furs, sat ahead by a small fire. A broken bow lay in his lap. A leather sack and a sword sheathed in sheepskin were near his feet.
^ A simple description, without giving away too much detail, other than he's big and armed. The broken bow was part of backstory, now removed, but allows me to keep bringing this character forward later in this scene through his actions with it.
Sirath’s guts sank. He couldn’t stand against someone like this at the best of times, let alone when exhausted.
^ We imply a lot about Sirath's character here - not least that he prefers to avoid confrontation.
But the big, white northerner looked up with friendly eyes, and smiled.
^ This is such a small but important point, and makes it clear that "white" is not the default skin colour in this world. In fact, by Sirath using it, implies that he himself probably isn't. It's subtle enough that white readers might not notice it, but is intended as a clear signal to everyone else not to feel excluded by this world, or its narrative.
There was no turning back now without creating suspicion. Sirath faced him with what felt more like a grimace than a smile. “You don’t mind ... if I shelter in your cave, do you?”
“Aye, share my fire if you will.” The voice was deep, the accent rustic. “I’m Ulric. Blessed be you.”
“Er, blessings, too. I’m Sirath.” He cursed under his breath for giving out his name without thinking. Gutter Jack might not follow this far out from Canalecht, but with the merchant likely somewhere behind, it was a careless mistake. Still, Sirath dared to challenge his fear. This might just be some harmless traveller, happened upon the only cover for miles. With shaking knees, Sirath risked guiding the mules to the back of the cave. He remained with them, pretending to check the rope that tied them together. All the while he stole furtive glances at Ulric, keeping every sense open for the first strike of movement. And readied to run with whatever breath he had left.
^ It's difficult to balance real world reactions with the need for brevity in fiction. Here Sirath casually introduces the beginning of a backstory, without explaining further - we will see a full account through the sum of Sirath's chapters. Better to remain with immediacy and tension than stop to explain too much of anything.
But Ulric didn’t stare or fidget, or glance at his sword. He seemed more concerned about unstringing his broken bow. And his blade was out of easy reach. If Ulric was tracking for a bounty he was either very clever, or very stupid. He was also dry — he couldn’t possibly know about what had happened at the inn.
^ Which makes it clear that Sirath knows he's done wrong
Sirath kept back as long as possible, then tentatively approached. Closer up, Ulric looked younger — perhaps only a couple more years from boyhood than himself. Still much stronger, though.
^ It's difficult to find a way for characters to naturally tell readers their age. Here, Sirath effectively states he's probably in his mid-teens, and that Ulric is nearer 20-years old - by his guestimate, which may not actually be correct.
Sirath had to find a safe way to engage the big man. “This weather’s a sod.”
Ulric nodded. “Just like back home.”
“You’re not local, then?”
“No. Travelling.”
“Why? Hunting someone? No one dangerous around here, I hope?” Even as Sirath tried to joke about it, he could feel his scalp prickle with tension. He might be pushing things too hard, but he had to figure out if Ulric was a danger, and fast.
Ulric burst into hearty laughter. “Hunt someone? No, just game. Rabbits, birds. And boar, when allowed.”
Sirath pretended to share the man’s humour. “You must face some vicious bunnies to need a sword?”
Ulric shrugged. “Auntie got that at market. Was worried about me being attacked by outlaws.”
^ My observation is that two strangers meeting will commonly talk about the weather. However, rather than remain on that topic, it allows me to reveal a little bit about each character through dialogue, without stopping the narrative to explain their backgrounds.
Sirath dared to edge nearer the fire. If Ulric was concerned about robbers, he might welcome company. Better to keep the big man relaxed and talking. “So ... where you going?”
“City of Corianth.”
“Sounds like a long way for you?”
“Just felt I should. Time to seek my place in the world. Walk away to find my fate.”
Sirath could tell there was a story not being told, but wasn’t about to pry. “Don’t get your hopes up. The gutter’s where most people end up when they seek their fortune. That’s where life puts them when they ask for too much. I’ve seen plenty of that. Ask for nothing, expect nothing, and you won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ll remember not to ask for too much, then.” Ulric glanced aside. “You headed there?”
“Suppose I must be. I should sell them animals in the city hay markets. Get more coin than in some village backwater.”
“Weren’t you already going?”
“I might have been thinking about it. I just wandered, see where I ended up. Seeking my fortune, if you like.” Sirath smiled. He realised he’d relaxed a little. Ulric had an honest manner that was disarming. But Sirath still needed to remain on his guard.
^ The danger is that this dialogue could run on too long and end up as chatter, thus cancelling out the earlier tension - so it finishes quickly, while also turning full circle.
They shared an awkward silence. A burst of hailstone rattled outside. Water dripped over the cave mouth.
^ And so we underline that they remain strangers, and the moment of familiarity is gone.
Ulric threw a piece of his broken bow shaft onto the fire. “You see any wood back there?”
“No, but I’ll look again.” Sirath stood, glad for the chance to walk off his nerves. He found scattered ashes from previous fires, but nothing useful. So he wandered about the cavern, getting a measure of it. He looked for nooks and cracks he might sneak into if needed. But the walls were smooth, and there were only a few rocks that could provide any hiding place. He should move on, and soon, with or without Ulric — before someone less welcome appeared. Sirath checked on his mules to make sure they were settled and still tied together, and able to leave quickly.
^ Sirath shows alot about himself through his actions, not least his habit of fleeing danger.
Voices sounded behind.
Sirath spun around as two figures entered the cave. He ducked behind rocks, his throat tightening like he was going to be sick. He should never have taken those animals — they’d slowed him down and now he was a walking dead man.
^ IMO it's important to return to tension. The last sentence is where this chapter title is taken from.
PART 1: DANGEROUS PEOPLE
^ The sudden break after the opening chapter, then switch to a new character, should hopefully alert the reader that the opening chapter was actually a prologue.
^ GATHERING is split in 4 parts, and each of the other 3 section titles is named after a section of text within. However, due to a rewrite, the text that gave Part 1 it's name was moved to Part 2.
A Walking Dead Man
Sirath
^ As introduced in the prologue, the POV character is named after the chapter title.
Sirath stumbled along the dirt track — if they caught him, they’d hang him.
^ Again, aiming for a strong opening sentence of [character name] + [action] > [stakes]. I aim to do this at the opening of most chapters.
Sleet lashed him, stung his face, and left his ragged clothes clinging icily to his skin.
^ I made a point of taking the dogs for a walk in horizontal sleet, to see what would stand out most from the experience. However, there's no need to drag out the description past one sentence.
Taking the seven mules had been his drunken revenge, and should have compensated for what he’d been cheated from at cards. But now he realised it’d all been a stupid idea.
^ It was a struggle to frame the words for Sirath's context. As usual, feedback on chrons (I think Harebrain) helped a lot here.
He looked behind for signs of pursuit. Only the wind came at him, howling down the valley to drive the cold through his bones. Grey cloud smothered bleak hills. Thunder rumbled. The storm was growing worse.
^ IMO it's important to get some idea of the setting, especially as we're going to be here for a while. However, the description of the environment connects to Sirath's experience.
His legs cramped and he was becoming dizzy. He'd fled through the night and needed somewhere to stop, hide. Rest a little. At least to recover his breath. But he didn’t know where he was, and he’d seen no sign of shelter since morning broke. He might have to abandon the animals to move faster. Then he’d have risked everything for nothing.
^ We've pretty much infodumped as much as we need to establish Sirath's context in only a few short sentences.
A dark line crossed the foot of a hill ahead. It could be an overhang. Sirath picked up his pace. As he drew nearer his heart rose in hope — that was a split in the rock, and might just be deep enough to bring the animals in.
^ In being the only obvious shelter, other people might also find their way there...
He scrambled up a boggy incline toward it, willing the mules to move faster. The lead animal tossed its head — Sirath slipped from his feet and fell on his back. Fearing to be trampled, he rolled aside. Only the stink of the mule’s coat assaulted him. “Bollocks!” He stood and wiped off black mud that now smeared his clothing. He grabbed the rope. “Come on you stupid bloody animals!”
^ This could be cut without losing anything from the story. But IMO Sirath saying "bollocks" tells us so much more about his character than I could possibly describe - not least that he's low social class, and probably something of a rogue. Although "bollocks" is a Britishism, it's internationally familiar through characters such as John Constantine and anyone in a Guy Ritchie film.
He continued up. His eyes watered from the sleet and frustration. His boots dragged through mud, slid on gravel. Then the ground levelled and he staggered into the cool, still air of a cavern. He blinked and exhaled with relief. Then breathed in the smell of wood smoke.
^ I sometimes apply sentence fragments to help with impact and pace. In this instance, a comma instead of a full stop between the last two sentences would have been long and flowy. By separating the clauses the prose becomes staccato and jolted, which IMO better reflects the tension.
^ I additionally excuse this by the fact that each scene is inflected with character voice, so the more flexible rules of dialogue apply - we will see slang terms and grammatically incorrect phrasing quite a few times from Sirath's viewpoint, to reflect this. Originally, I had wanted to write third person much closer to first person, which would have made these issues more extreme - but the danger was doing so might be too ambitious for a first novel, and also have a jarring effect on readers. So instead, it's subtle for each POV character.
Faint with panic, barely daring to move, he turned.
^ In earlier draughts so many words were wasted on describing the landscape and explaining Sirath's circumstances. IMO it's important to get him to this moment of tension as quickly as possible - and in the paperback, this is the end of page 1.
A bear of a man, clad in black wool and furs, sat ahead by a small fire. A broken bow lay in his lap. A leather sack and a sword sheathed in sheepskin were near his feet.
^ A simple description, without giving away too much detail, other than he's big and armed. The broken bow was part of backstory, now removed, but allows me to keep bringing this character forward later in this scene through his actions with it.
Sirath’s guts sank. He couldn’t stand against someone like this at the best of times, let alone when exhausted.
^ We imply a lot about Sirath's character here - not least that he prefers to avoid confrontation.
But the big, white northerner looked up with friendly eyes, and smiled.
^ This is such a small but important point, and makes it clear that "white" is not the default skin colour in this world. In fact, by Sirath using it, implies that he himself probably isn't. It's subtle enough that white readers might not notice it, but is intended as a clear signal to everyone else not to feel excluded by this world, or its narrative.
There was no turning back now without creating suspicion. Sirath faced him with what felt more like a grimace than a smile. “You don’t mind ... if I shelter in your cave, do you?”
“Aye, share my fire if you will.” The voice was deep, the accent rustic. “I’m Ulric. Blessed be you.”
“Er, blessings, too. I’m Sirath.” He cursed under his breath for giving out his name without thinking. Gutter Jack might not follow this far out from Canalecht, but with the merchant likely somewhere behind, it was a careless mistake. Still, Sirath dared to challenge his fear. This might just be some harmless traveller, happened upon the only cover for miles. With shaking knees, Sirath risked guiding the mules to the back of the cave. He remained with them, pretending to check the rope that tied them together. All the while he stole furtive glances at Ulric, keeping every sense open for the first strike of movement. And readied to run with whatever breath he had left.
^ It's difficult to balance real world reactions with the need for brevity in fiction. Here Sirath casually introduces the beginning of a backstory, without explaining further - we will see a full account through the sum of Sirath's chapters. Better to remain with immediacy and tension than stop to explain too much of anything.
But Ulric didn’t stare or fidget, or glance at his sword. He seemed more concerned about unstringing his broken bow. And his blade was out of easy reach. If Ulric was tracking for a bounty he was either very clever, or very stupid. He was also dry — he couldn’t possibly know about what had happened at the inn.
^ Which makes it clear that Sirath knows he's done wrong
Sirath kept back as long as possible, then tentatively approached. Closer up, Ulric looked younger — perhaps only a couple more years from boyhood than himself. Still much stronger, though.
^ It's difficult to find a way for characters to naturally tell readers their age. Here, Sirath effectively states he's probably in his mid-teens, and that Ulric is nearer 20-years old - by his guestimate, which may not actually be correct.
Sirath had to find a safe way to engage the big man. “This weather’s a sod.”
Ulric nodded. “Just like back home.”
“You’re not local, then?”
“No. Travelling.”
“Why? Hunting someone? No one dangerous around here, I hope?” Even as Sirath tried to joke about it, he could feel his scalp prickle with tension. He might be pushing things too hard, but he had to figure out if Ulric was a danger, and fast.
Ulric burst into hearty laughter. “Hunt someone? No, just game. Rabbits, birds. And boar, when allowed.”
Sirath pretended to share the man’s humour. “You must face some vicious bunnies to need a sword?”
Ulric shrugged. “Auntie got that at market. Was worried about me being attacked by outlaws.”
^ My observation is that two strangers meeting will commonly talk about the weather. However, rather than remain on that topic, it allows me to reveal a little bit about each character through dialogue, without stopping the narrative to explain their backgrounds.
Sirath dared to edge nearer the fire. If Ulric was concerned about robbers, he might welcome company. Better to keep the big man relaxed and talking. “So ... where you going?”
“City of Corianth.”
“Sounds like a long way for you?”
“Just felt I should. Time to seek my place in the world. Walk away to find my fate.”
Sirath could tell there was a story not being told, but wasn’t about to pry. “Don’t get your hopes up. The gutter’s where most people end up when they seek their fortune. That’s where life puts them when they ask for too much. I’ve seen plenty of that. Ask for nothing, expect nothing, and you won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ll remember not to ask for too much, then.” Ulric glanced aside. “You headed there?”
“Suppose I must be. I should sell them animals in the city hay markets. Get more coin than in some village backwater.”
“Weren’t you already going?”
“I might have been thinking about it. I just wandered, see where I ended up. Seeking my fortune, if you like.” Sirath smiled. He realised he’d relaxed a little. Ulric had an honest manner that was disarming. But Sirath still needed to remain on his guard.
^ The danger is that this dialogue could run on too long and end up as chatter, thus cancelling out the earlier tension - so it finishes quickly, while also turning full circle.
They shared an awkward silence. A burst of hailstone rattled outside. Water dripped over the cave mouth.
^ And so we underline that they remain strangers, and the moment of familiarity is gone.
Ulric threw a piece of his broken bow shaft onto the fire. “You see any wood back there?”
“No, but I’ll look again.” Sirath stood, glad for the chance to walk off his nerves. He found scattered ashes from previous fires, but nothing useful. So he wandered about the cavern, getting a measure of it. He looked for nooks and cracks he might sneak into if needed. But the walls were smooth, and there were only a few rocks that could provide any hiding place. He should move on, and soon, with or without Ulric — before someone less welcome appeared. Sirath checked on his mules to make sure they were settled and still tied together, and able to leave quickly.
^ Sirath shows alot about himself through his actions, not least his habit of fleeing danger.
Voices sounded behind.
Sirath spun around as two figures entered the cave. He ducked behind rocks, his throat tightening like he was going to be sick. He should never have taken those animals — they’d slowed him down and now he was a walking dead man.
^ IMO it's important to return to tension. The last sentence is where this chapter title is taken from.
