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January Guest Posts: The First Draft/Bill Kirton

by Richard Sutton on January 6, 2012

My next guest is novelist, playwright, actor and director Bill Kirton. Bill has published six novels, a children’s mystery and five non-fiction, “How-to” books. His wide ranging careers outside of his literary writing have provided him with a great deal of material which helps him, no doubt, in creating memorable, honest characters in accessible, yet sometimes outrageous circumstances.

He’s at present working on a sequel to his historical mystery/romance, The Figurehead. It’s set on Aberdeen’s waterfront in 1840 as sail and steam clash for control of lucrative shipping. His newest release is Shadow Selves, set in a Scottish University hospital as a puzzled Detective Chief Inspector uncovers the convergence of academia and politics while searching for clues to an un-natural post-operative death. Bill’s novels are published by Pfoxmoor and available from booksellers and online.

To gain an understanding of his approach to a first draft, we asked him for his own reflections…

Author Bill Kirton

 

For me, first drafts are voyages of discovery. When I’ve done all the obvious research, I have a general idea of the destination and know the main events I’ll need to include as I go along. But it’s always possible that, on the way, an alternative route will present itself (or force itself upon me) and I’ll find myself going in an unexpected direction. So I hardly ever sketch out a detailed itinerary. The only time I did work out a meticulous plot, with set characters and motives, was for a radio play which was broadcast by the BBC. One of its reviews began “This is a tiresome play about tiresome people”. And I agreed completely with the sentiment. The “people” were mouthpieces for me rather than real independent characters interacting freely with one another.

A writer at a panel I chaired at the Edinburgh Book Festival expressed it beautifully when she said “You have to give your characters room to dance”. For me, the important thing is to let the characters bubble away and develop until they’re ready to start interacting. Once I know vaguely who the main characters will be, I start thinking about them and ask the obvious questions. What would she/he do in specific situations? What if I put them into such and such a context? How would they behave? In other words, I get to know them better before I let them loose in the situations which will produce the necessary drama, suspense, atmosphere, laughs or whatever I’m looking to trigger in the reader. And once they start making their entrances, I give them the space they need to be themselves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know it sounds slapdash, haphazard, but if nothing happens, I know they aren’t real. They invariably surprise me and take me to places I’d never have conceived without the driving factor of their personalities. That doesn’t mean I don’t intervene and nudge them in particular directions – obviously I do, but it’s how they respond to my nudges that’s important. I’ve no idea how it happens, but I just find them deciding to do something or other which has consequences and makes the other characters react, and so it goes on.

It’s a technique I use in workshops. The class starts with no idea of what we plan to write, so I encourage them to put together things that don’t belong. I might, for example, suggest a “typical” scene – let’s say an old lady in an “ordinary” living room, lace curtains, slightly shabby furniture, no electronic equipment except an aging TV set, porcelain ornaments of animals, etc. She pulls back the edge of the curtains and sees … what?

I let the class suggest the sort of things she might see and almost every suggestion leads to possible plots, each of which you can change in turn by adding a detail:

  • They say she sees the postman coming up the path. I add that he’s not wearing his usual uniform, but a very smart suit, with tie, shiny shoes, etc. Why?
  • They say she sees a group of kids fooling around. I add that one of them isn’t fooling around, but just sitting on her garden wall, his back turned to the others, looking straight at the house. Why? Who is he?
  • They say she sees her cat ambling up the garden path. I add that it’s leaving a trail of something on the ground behind it. What? Why?
  • Or else I suggest she sees soldiers, or zebras, or a strange darkness even though it’s midday.

And so it goes on. It’s all about answering questions, especially the one that never fails to produce drama or conflict – “Why?”

But that first draft is, of course, just that – a beginning. When I have it, I can move to the editing phase and start focusing on structural aspects, moving scenes around, optimizing effects, ironing out inconsistencies, eliminating side alleys, polishing the prose or sharpening dialogues to make the most of where I’ve been taken. Frequently, when I return to a book I wrote a while ago, I have no idea how it came to have the shape it does. So I accept that, as writers, we’re in control of our material, but how it all works is a beautiful mystery.

2 Comments
  1. Thanks, Linda. I like your notion of us shining spotlights on aspects of writing. When I got a post as a writing fellow in a Scottish university, I was suddenly faced with the need to talk about writing rather than just do it and I actually had – for the first time – to ask myself how I set about the various writing disciplines. Until Richard so kindly invited me to contribute on this theme, I had no idea how I wrote my first drafts, so I think it’s a good exercise for all of us to stop now and then and think about how we do something rather than just do it.
    You also make the excellent point (which I omitted) that trusting your characters equates to trusting yourself.

  2. Bill,

    The quote you shared about allowing the characters the room to dance resonates with me. The longer I write, the less meaty my outlines become and the more I trust myself (and the characters) to choreograph themselves … and the plot. It all boils down to motivation and the way you explain it: with your lady looking out the window and asking the class what the lady sees, and how we can put a twist on it or see what the “average” person doesn’t see–is a graphic illustration of what we must do to add depth to our characters and our plots.

    Once again, you have shined a spotlight in a dark corner.

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