The concept of a story within a set period of time has always interested me. Readers know how many chapters there are going to be: rather than keeping them guessing on how long before the story is concluded they have a sense of urgency as the events in the story unfold.

Take 24 (the TV series) as an example. The concept is pretty simple to grasp: each episode is 1 hour (of a day), and 24 makes up the entire season. This makes for pretty interesting plotting: you have the end in sight, now what is going to happen within those 24 hours?

Another example of this is Life Of Pi. Early on in the novel Yann Martel tells us he would give us Pi’s amazing story in exactly 100 chapters. As the book went on I found myself wanting the book to last longer, and I used the chapters as a yardstick for how much story there was left.

This has an interesting effect. In 24 the characters are plunged into a crisis, and the writers throw complication after complication at them. In writing, set periods coupled with non-stop hurdles prove for very interesting stories. When your characters are in deep, deep trouble readers are probably wondering how you’re going to get them out again … which is very good if you’re writing with a need of holding the reader’s attention.

Like, for instance, the computer screen.

I wonder how far I can push this concept - really short storytelling in … 25 chapters? Should be interesting, don’t you think?

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Cheryl Hagedorn over at Blooking Central (a marvelous blog charting blook development, by the way) has posted up an article stating the definition of blook she agrees with.

A blook is a book with content that was developed in a significant way from material originally presented on a blog, webcomic or other website. This material includes the website’s characters, themes, ideas or outline that ends up getting published as a printed book. [Note: book in this instance means hardcopy, dead tree variety, three copies of which must be submitted for the Blooker Prize competition.]

As those of you who have been reading Novelr would know such a definition isn’t used in this blog. When I say blooks, I mean this: (taken from Wikipedia)

With the advent of the blog people started to publish books serialized on their blogs. Chapters are published one by one as blog posts, and readers can then subscribe to the blook via an RSS feed, tag it and comment on it.

Cheryl then continues by saying a blook can only be a blook if it is in dead tree form (and inspired from, or with content taken from a blog). She closes on a rather authoritative tone:

Less than a month ago Reuters reported that blook was “among the most annoying words that have been spawned by the Internet.” So include it or not, love it or not, use it correctly. Please.

This view of what is (and isn’t) a blook irks me. Lulu has every right to define a blook to suit its Blooker competition - but by and large the Blooker does not have the influence (yet) into defining what is and isn’t a blook.

So who defines what a blook is? The answer is deceptively simple: us. The way blook authors (and readers) use or regard the usage of the word blook helps shape its meaning. For instance in Novelr I’ve been pretty liberal with the usage of the word blook - to me a blook can be either:

• A book (or work of fiction, such as a novel) that is serialised in blog form
• A book published (in dead tree form) that is inspired by a blog.

That is to say I regard Lifehacker: 88 Tech Tricks to Turbocharge Your Day as a blook, and Lifehacker itself as a blog.

James at Progression also has a post on what is (and isn’t) blog fiction - but blog fiction is a term that is perhaps more suited than blook for what I’m trying to cover in Novelr.

Nevertheless I have used blook (not only because it’s easier to identify with, but also because it’s just so horrid to readers), and it’s going to stick. I may have made some mistakes in calling blog fiction blooks (The City Desk is an example) - but I’ll seek to remedy that.

Blook authors, readers, interested publishers? Onward.

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Writing action has always been my favourite part of working on a manuscript. It’s those scenes in between (before and after the climax, gasp!) that I abhor - and probably would still have to work on.

So let me admit my guilt here: I use my action scenes as a way to tempt me into completing the ‘boring parts’. Ironic, then, that the boring parts are more important - characters come to life there, and if any emotional connection is to be made it’ll have to be made over the course of the first few chapters.

But action is easy. It is direct, fast, fun and hard hitting. I enjoy watching my friends reading action I’d written: their pupils dilate, and their body posture changes perceptively.

Let’s start with a snippet from the climax of Silence Of The Lambs:

Catherine Martin was keening again.

Wait here? Wait forever? Maybe he’s gone. He can’t be sure no backup’s coming. Yes he can. But soon I’ll be missed. Tonight. The stairs are in the direction of the screams. Solve it now.

She moved, quietly, her shoulder barely brushing the wall, brushing it too lightly for sound, one hand extended ahead, the gun at waist level, close to her in the confined hallway. Out into the workroom now. Feel the space opening up. Open room. In the crouch in the open room, arms out, both hands on the gun. You know exactly where the gun is, it’s just below eye level. Stop, listen. Head and body and arms turning together like a turret. Stop, listen.

So what can we take from this?

Thomas Harris makes good use of the short sentence - it captures the heat and confusion of the situation Clarice Starling is in, and it conveys strong panic. It hooks you, keeps you reading; the type of writing that brings you to the edge of your seat.

What else does Harris use? Look at the way he repeats stop, listen. It’s done tastefully, in a way that resembles gasping or panting - very human responses to a high tension environment. He also incorporates Starling’s thoughts into the narrative - the 2nd paragraph is basically a monologue that segues into action, and is far less intrusive then a “Is he still here?” she thought, breathing heavily kind of description.

Blooks cannot afford much dreamy prose - something has to happen to slice the monotony of the narrative. Anything to get the reader’s attention - and action is one of them.

Want emotional connection or character development in your blook? How about wrapping your action around that? So the boring parts won’t be so boring, and the exciting parts are almost everywhere.

And by segueing the two together - gosh, what a ride that’ll be!

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