Toing and Froing Again, Part 3

This is the final post in this Toing and Froing arc. The genesis of this arc came from my fouling up The Alibi chapter 3 (my current work in progress.

Toing and Froing occurs when the writer/author has their characters move around or do things for no real story purpose; there’s no character development, no character revelation, the atmosphere doesn’t change, no plot elements are furthered or revealed, the movement is irrelevant to any established or impending plot points, the movement is unnecessary to the dialogue, et cetera.

I ended Toing and Froing Again, Part 2 talking about writing and reading rhythms (and I’ll return to those at some point). This post talks about recognizing the problem and coming up with a solution.

The Problem and a Solution
Here’s what I wrote:

The Boston Incident Center’s operations operator routed the call to every city service in a twenty block radius of AirCon’s building. Every mobile in the station went off simultaneously.
Marete came out of his office. “Who’s in the field?”
Senior Ops put a feed on the office’s main. “Looks like some kid’s streaming from his drone.”
Cranston plopped into his seat. “Yeah, I guess this is me.”
Marete pointed to the door. “Take Rhinehold with you.”
Rhinehold, seated next to Cranston’s desk to finish setting up the atricial, spun his chair to face Marete. “What did I do?”
Cranston gathered his notebook and pen. “You wanted fun. You got fun.”
Rhinehold frowned “You don’t use a tablet?”
Cranston paid no attention.
Rhinehold lifted his backpack over his shoulder. “No worries. I have mine.”

What follows would be my comments if the above material came to me in a critique group:

  • The Boston Incident Center’s operations operator routed the call to every city service in a twenty block radius of AirCon’s building. – acceptable but wordy. “operations operator” doesn’t need to be in that sentence. Unless there’s a need for this character to appear in the story again, it doesn’t even count as stage direction and you can get rid of it.
  • Every mobile in the station went off simultaneously. – again acceptable and weak. The chapter opening deals with a police station’s response to a bomb blast. You want the reader caught in the action and moving forward. The characters are pumping adrenaline so the reader should be, too. This sentence has no real action hence no forward momentum as written.
  • Marete came out of his office. – obvious Toing and Froing and necessary as it tells the reader who’s doing what, as in attribution via action. And yet with all that going for it, it’s static. It doesn’t move the reader forward.
  • “Who’s in the field?” – Nice, short dialogue and fitting with the action of the scene, and ditto.
  • Senior Ops put a feed on the office’s main. – Way over the top Toing and Froing. What’s the purpose of this sentence? What does it provide the reader? All it does it take the reader off the main and primary characters by introducing an irrelevant stage direction character. Get rid of it.
  • “Looks like some kid’s streaming from his drone.” – Expected and doesn’t move the reader forward.
  • Cranston plopped into his seat. – You can almost feel the oars moving in their locks as the boat to’s and fro’s, can’t you?
  • “Yeah, I guess this is me.” – ditto.
  • Marete pointed to the door. – ditto and, at this point, who friggen cares?
  • “Take Rhinehold with you.” – static and di-di-di-ditto.
  • Rhinehold, seated next to Cranston’s desk to finish setting up the atricial, spun his chair to face Marete. – does nothing except (literally) place him in the scene.
  • “What did I do?” – I think I was so bored writing at this point I attempted humor.
    I failed.
    PS) Another personal clue to me I’m Toing and Froing is when I attempt to put humor into an otherwise humorless scene or have it come out of the mouths of previously humorless characters.
  • Cranston gathered his notebook and pen. – Pure toing and froing because he gathers them. So what?
  • “You wanted fun. You got fun.” – more botched humor.
  • Rhinehold frowned. – Exactly what I talked about in the Attribution via Action post.
  • “You don’t use a tablet?” – Basically okay as exposition and character development via dialogue, and there’s no real need to bash the reader over the head with it.
  • Cranston paid no attention. – the reader’s not paying attention, why should Cranston?
  • Rhinehold lifted his backpack over his shoulder. – As with Cranston gathering his notebook and pen, so what?
  • “No worries. I have mine.” – Wasted unless it points to something coming later in the story (as in foreshadowing).

At this point remember that criticism without solution is worthless. Anybody can spot problems, not everybody can come up with workable solutions.

Here’s what I came up with as an alternative followed by the reasons this rewrite removes Toing and Froing, strengthens the story, and keeps the reader moving forward (and note, I offer this is better, not brilliant):

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Final thoughts
This kind of critique is what a good critique group will give you. If your critique group isn’t constantly working to improve your writing, find another. Does it need to be this thorough?

I’ll say yes, it does, and also appreciate not a lot of critique groups will go to this level. I also appreciate not everyone wants this level of analysis, and recognize this level of analysis can be devastating if not offered well. I wouldn’t offer this to a newbie unless it’s obvious they can separate themselves from their work and recognize I’m commenting on their work, not them (watch my interview for more on this).

Should you need it or want it, I do offer this level of critique and also writer/author mentoring.

The Alibi – Backstory and Chapter 1

I finished editing The Book of the Wounded Healers in early July (2022). After taking a few days off, I went through my files to find my next project. One short story, The Brick and originally written in Jan 2020, was close enough to finished I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t already sent it out. More than that, I completely forgot I wrote it. Ever have the joy of discovery when you find a new author? Compound that with discovering you’re the author you found.

A few first readers and an editor later and off it went.

The next item I hit was The Alibi (originally written on 25 Sept 1994). I couldn’t get past the first few paragraphs. It was okay. I’ve seen lots worse get published these days.

I’m being gracious.

It sucked.

I must have written it as part of a class assignment or by following instructions in some book. Reading through the first few paragraphs I could imagine myself ticking off a checklist:
main character described ✔
main setting described ✔
secondary character described ✔
situation described ✔
conflict identified ✔

Oy, it was painful to read.

But the core idea?

That I liked. So I decided to rewrite the core idea.

That’s when things went…different.

The Alibi wanted to be a novel. I wanted to write a short story. No, The Alibi wanted to be a novel. Or at least something recognizably longer than a short story (a short story being something one can read in less than an hour).

So again, a completely new work-in-progress, unedited (exciting, isn’t it?). Let me know what you think.


The Alibi – Chapter 1

 
Cranston entered the precinct offices and saw a small crowd hovering around his desk. Captain Marete called out, “There he is, Man of the Hour.” Everybody laughed and went back to work. He smiled and nodded until he saw what was so interesting. His workstation had been replaced by a throbbing, humming, blue, oversized shitake mushroomy thing. A too thin, early thirties man with poorly trimmed dark black beard and thick brown hair tied in a ponytail half way down his back sat at Cranston’s desk wearing dVids.

Or something like dVids. They looked like the things his daughter, Leddy, kept asking him for.

A green folder rested square on his desk with a slightly larger than normal, light blue business card stapled to it. The card showed a wizard sitting on a tree trunk, crescent moon over one shoulder, dragon at his feet, and a computer on a tree trunk in front of them. Opposite the wizard, in script, was RBFH, Inc., with some titles underneath.

Cranston reached for it and The Kid’s – Cranston didn’t know who he was and “The Kid” seemed to fit – hand snaked out and caught Cranston wrist. “Please don’t. Not yet. A few more minutes tuning.”

Cranston pulled his hand back and The Kid let go.

A moment later the dVids came off and The Kid blinked the bluest eyes Cranston had ever seen. He kept looking around, blinking and squinting, blinking and squinting. “Can I help you?”

“You’re sitting at my desk.”

The Kid kept looking around, blinking, squinting, and not focusing on anything.

“You alright?”

The Kid nodded. “Takes a minute for the eyes to adjust.” A few more blinks and he stood.

Definitely too thin.

His improperly knotted tie had a picture of a cat on it, his clothes off-the-rack office regular. He focused on Cranston and offered his hand. “Howdy. I’m John Rhinehold. Are you Detective William Cranston?”

“Bill. Yes. What’s all this about?”

“Umm…”

Marete’s voice came up behind them. “This is about you getting the latest crime solving tech.”

“When was this decided?”

“You volunteered.”

“I don’t remember volunteering.”

“And you still volunteered. Get this to work for you, everybody’ll get one.”

“Why did I volunteer again?”

“Because you don’t even open your emails or check the schedule unless they’re printed out and handed to you.”

“I’m being punished for being a luddite?”

Rhinehold perked up and spit out words like a bright-eyed machine gun. “You’re a luddite? Wow. You’re the first one I’ve met. And you admit it, too. Amazing. This’ll be fun.”

Cranston and Marete kept their eyes on each other. Both said, “Shut up.”


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Toing and Froing Again, Part 1

Writing chapter 3 of The Alibi (my current work in progress which I’ll start posting in August 2022) challenged me and some good learning came from it.

Usually I sit down to write and have at it. A few hours later I realize I need a bio break of one kind or another and toddle off for a bit.

This time, it was like squeezing electrons out of a vacuum (and Hoover wasn’t happy, I can tell you!). It took an hour to get two paragraphs.

I wrote something, immediately realized it was deeply flawed, erased and rewrote, ditto.

What was going on? I could sensate what was happening in the story, how come it wasn’t getting down on paper (or the screen, in this case)?

Recognizing Toing and Froing Continue reading “Toing and Froing Again, Part 1”

Tag – Part IV The Circus – Chapter 20

And so we begin a new section of Tag. Exciting, isn’t it? (God, I hope so!)

Continuing with Tag – Part IV The Circus – Chapter 20.

Previous chapters here


Tag – Part IV The Circus – Chapter 20

Haasel stilled her wheel to better hear the tinkling of harness bells moving down the street. The bells kept time to the steady clomp clomp clomp of horses’ hooves. Wagon wheels creaked. Another wagon followed with a smaller horse and a single bell, rougly palm size and bronze-cast from the sound. It jingled quietly until the wagon wheels clapped through a rut or over a rill in the road. Three more followed. Haasel picked up the mingled scents of bear and pony. “Not quite the lion and the lamb, and close.”

She grabbed her cane and opened her door. Bright sunlight warmed her face and arms. The jingling and tinkling stopped. The draft horse’s foreleg stomped a definitive clomp and shook itself of flies. Its rein and haress bells sounded came from quite high off the ground as if held in the hands of a musical giant. The second wagon’s bells sounded as its horses stopped but the sound was from someone deliberately plucking it, not from a movement of the wagon or horse.

“Hello, Good Lady!” A deep, bellowing voice called to her from the first wagon’s driver’s seat. It carried a slight echo from the cabin mounted on the wagon’s frame. The door between the cabin and the driver’s seat opened and Haasel heard a woman’s voice, old, harsh, gibbering as if in a delerium. The driver closed the door with a thud and the woman’s voice was gone.

The driver continued. “A circus, Good Lady! Acrobats! Jugglers! Strange tasties from distant lands made while you watch. The poetry of Homer read by none other than myself! And other plays of the ancient Greeks and Persians! Storytellers sharing our ancestors’ lore!”

Someone shifted on the third wagon’s driver’s seat but made no other noise. A servant, perhaps a slave.

“And news of the Mongol.” The voice tightened slightly, the words slightly rushed, the speaker’s tone betraying a hidden excitement. “They do brutal things to beautiful women.”


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Tag – Part III The Body – Chapter 19

Continuing with Tag – Part III The Body – Chapter 19.

Previous chapters here


Tag – Part III The Body – Chapter 19

Galos poked two opposing holes in his pile and watched thick, grey smoke rise. Two more holes, also opposite each other, and the smoke thinned and turned blue.

Galos nodded and smiled. He reached into a leather pouch on a woodpile, pulled out a thin strip of dried venison, and gnawed on until it softened enough to tear a piece off. Its juice glistened down his chin.

A bark came through the wood. The mice and chipmunks, their cheeping and squeaking serving as soprano accompaniment to his deep tenor as he worked, grew silent and burrowed deep in his wood stacks for protection. Galos reached for a solid piece of oak. It didn’t sound like a wolf but game had become as scarce as harvest and he didn’t want to be caught unawares.

A moment later Verduan’s dog, Buco, trotted up and sat beside him. Galos rubbed the big dog’s head. “Buco, does your master know where you are?”

He heard Verduan call from down the road. “Buco! Leave Galos be. He has no food for you.”

Galos winked. Half the venison remained in his hand. He took his axe and chopped off a thumb-wide piece.

The dog kept his eyes on the venison while Galos worked.

“Buco!”

The dog whined. Galos tossed the venison. Buco caught it in midair and took it behind the woodpile.

Verduan walked up with Patreo by his side. “Galos, have you seen my dog?”

Galos stared at Patreo and frowned for a moment. He looked down and shook his head before smiling at his friend. “Verduan, a dog? When did you get a dog?”

Patreo looked to the ground and walked behind the woodpile. He leaned over, momentarily hidden, and returned with Buco trotting beside him. The dog’s flues globbed mucousy saliva as he walked.

Galos put a hand over his chest and pulled back, eyes wide with alarm. “By all the saints! A dog! I’ll bet he’s a good dog, isn’t he?”

Buco snuffled Galos’ hand holding the venison.

Verduan put his fists on his hips and glowered at Galos. “Is that your smoked venison? Did you give him your smoked venison? Do you know the smells that dog makes when he eats your smoked venison? He sleeps in the barn and we’re not safe in the house. Even the goats and cows leave their stalls when you give him your smoked venison.”

“Who’s your friend?”


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