It's true; everyone loves a good book; Amazon says so; every time they email me about their various 'make millions as a self-published author' programs. We'll as you and I both know, the reality is probably that a few people do make a sizeable living writing all kinds of literary masterpieces (and plenty of junk too), but the majority probably don't make the big bucks. Well, as luck would have it, big bucks aren't were we're aiming (hmm, OK, maybe they are, but they don't all have to come from the wondrous scribblings of a fountain pen). What would be nice though, is if we can eek out a few dollars here and there from a little effort to transcribe the inner workings of my brain into something that others would like to read.
As if coincidence was a real thing, I already have a couple of ideas kicking around in the old grey matter. A fictional 'cyber thriller' (ooh, it sounds exciting already) that's been half-basked in my brain for the best part of 10 years, but I've never actually gotten around to putting any of it on paper; and a non-fictional tome about the best way to build, develop;, and support strong technology teams in enterprise environments (yeah, OK, that one sounds a little less interesting when you say it like that).
I've read a fair bit over the years on writing styles and methodologies and always fancied the snowflake approach as a particularly interesting way to build out an entire literary universe that could then grow and flourish into a series of novels that lined the walls in gold and expensive gems. However, it looks like a lot of effort to get somewhere, and I'm both impatient and completely usnure whether the effort will be worth it. For now, we're just going to survive on wits and maybe a mini-snowflake approach to get this thing up and running - snowdrop maybe? Hmm, if it works, we could write a book about the methodology for writing a book... recursive brain melt approaching.
As much as I'd love to be that loquacious - and you've all seen first-hand my
innimitable style of drivel - can't just reel off a fully-formed novel, so in the
interests of putting something together that at least looks like a plan, lets follow
the snowdrop (tm) method and fill in the basics for our fictional cyber-thriller and
see of we can sketch it out before we put real pen-to-paper finger-to-keyboard.
OK, so we have the 'snowdrop base list' (this has definitely got legs, I can tell), how do we get from that to the New York Times best-seller list (is that even a thing anymore?). How about we genuinely do a bit of snowdropping (ooh, it's a verb now, like to Google, only more... me... I can see dollar signs and speaking tours). As I'm making this up as we go, I'd beeter fill you in on what snowdropping (tm) is. Chapter bu chapter, we'll sketch out what's happening - key individuals; locations; plot elements. Nothing too complex, few bullet points per chapter should be enough, then we just dive right in and write it up.
Chapter 1 | Set the scene - London, present day |
First character - main protagonist, tech drop-out, working in borderline legal, industrial cyber espionage. | |
Build the character - Flaws, love-life (or lack of), project, hint at some deep secret in their past. | |
Other characters - somebody close to the main protagonist - family (sister? parents dead/unknown?); mentor?. |
Opens in a coffee shop, ordering a coffee. Some technical wizardy to demostrate expertise to the reader - hacking users on the wifi for fun, maybe? | Chapter 2 |
Expansion on job, make it edgy, some close call, reassessing the options, maybe getting a bit too risky | |
Setup for the core plotline, plant the seed. Involvement in various 'experiments', circumventing some of the safeguards. | |
Develop the 'close character' plotline and make sure there's a 'protective' element to it - will need this to drive some desparate measures later. |
Over the coming days and weeks, I'll post updates on how things are progressing, although don't expect too much additional plot info, don't want to give it away too early). We'll also start talking about all the other bits that go with the self-publishing escapade (who knew that the writing bit was just the start!), but for now, here's my first stab at an opening paragraph to whet your appetite.
Black... achingly black. The kind of black that drains the very light from your
soul and leaves you with a sense of loss seldom felt, even at the most poignant of
funeral services. The early hours of Saturday the 21st in a city that never
sleeps, and yet the landscape stretching out from the penthouse windows seemed strangely
cold and empty. From this vantage point, high above the sprawling metropolis the comings
and goings of London were clearly visible, and yet seemed oddly detached and sterile.
The drunken girls with shoes in one hand and bottle in the other; staggering along the
street; more often in the gutter than on the pavement; looking for the next overcrowded,
overpriced, ultra-chic bar; hoping that within it’s mirrored walls they’d find someone to
call their own; a soulmate, equally lovestruck... equally intoxicated. The black cabs,
swarming along the maze of streets like ants encircling their latest find. Dodging the
blinding flash of the cameras as they speed along with their latest fare. The inevitable
wail of the police sirens, like demented felines imploring their owners for one more
treat. No sooner has their hunger been sated and the sound of their pleadings
fallen from the ears, than some other atrocity is committed. Some poor soul left
for dead in the dark alleys of the capital with his innermost secrets seemingly lost to
the world as the contents of his fragile shell begin to stain the centuries old brick
walkway. Surrounded by a tumultuous crowd, forming to catch a last glimpse of his mangled
body, before the light disappears from his eyes. Or some drunken youth, barely in the
grip of manhood, decides the stash of cocaine sat in the footwell of his ride won’t
endear him to the squad car and it’s occupants that have followed his erratic driving
for the last quarter mile. Punching the accelerator with an odd mix of adrenaline
fuelled excitement and a gnawing sense of impending doom, he streaks away from the
white knight of public order. The noble steed responds; it’s beacons of justice
flickering into life as it gives chase... and the mewing begins afresh.
“Every school-age kid should be taught about compounding as soon as they can understand it”