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I’ve done it! After what feels like far too long, I now have a finished first draft.
It feels good to reach this point but this is only the start. Editing is vital to writing, and this draft needs a great deal of editing. This book and series are more ambitious than anything I’ve previously written, with multiple points of view spread over multiple story arcs that all need to weave together seamlessly for the series to work.
I’ve been reticent about sharing too many details about the story itself (because so much can change), but I’ll give you a brief overview of the story strands in this first book. One involves a generation ship, a craft the size of a city travelling between the stars and seeding new colonies. On this ship is a kind-of detective who starts investigating what seems to be a straightforward case, but it soon develops into something that threatens the whole ship, and might involve strange signals the ship is picking up.
Another strand follows a rag-tag crew of a courier, running less-than-legal jobs across the various star systems. Their current job throws them into tensions in a particular system, where they’re forced to choose sides if they’re to remain at liberty.
The final strand involves a new member of Unity (a sort of galactic government), someone with lots of promise but who’s still naive about the way things work. She’s fighting for recognition against the backdrop of potentially alien signals emerging across the galaxy.
These strands will interact as the series progresses (and more strands will be added), but for the first book to work there has to be some kind of cohesion between them. But at the moment they feel too much like separate stories.
There’s also the matter of this first draft’s length. I normally aim for my novels to be no more than 100,000 words, with first drafts normally clocking in at around 125,000 (I tend to waffle as I find my way into the story). But this draft is a ridiculous 230,000. Each strand could easily be a book on its own.
This is something I considered — and then rejected. I doubt I could pull that off. The overall story would feel far too fragmented.
So I have a great deal of work ahead in wrangling this draft into something that resembles a coherent book (and that’s before I deal with the words themselves). It’s a huge task. And it’s not one I feel up to at the moment.
I won’t dwell on possible reasons for this (tired, busy day job, holiday season approaching?). Instead, I need to come up with a solution.
And I think I’ve found one.
Back when I wrote my first series, Dominions, I’d have multiple stories on the go at the same time. I’d finish a first draft of one novel, then jump to editing a previously drafted novel. Then I might plan and draft a short story or novella. And when I reached the mid-point of the series I took a short break in order to plan and write what became the first book in my Shadows trilogy.
And I felt very productive. If one particular project (novel, short story or whatever) was becoming too much I could jump to something else. I’d get energised by working on something different, and the problems in the original project would be churning around in my subconscious, running through all kinds of potential solutions.
This stopped when I reached the end of both Shadows and Dominions. I wrote my next series, ShadowTech, one book after the other, with very little in the way of ‘filler’ projects (a few short stories but not much else). And now, since the summer, I’ve been immersed in this new space-opera series.
So I need to have a secondary project. I need to have something else I can work on when the primary project starts dragging.
And I have just the thing.
I believe I mentioned in a previous post that, as I’ve been planning this series, I’ve had all kinds of adjacent ideas. Things have cropped up that fit in with the story-world (story-galaxy?) but won’t work directly in the main story arc. And I’ve had thoughts of different side-stories, even whole side-series.
So I’m going to work on one of them for a bit. I’m taking the captain of the courier ship, Kane, and exploring his back-story. In the main series he has a strong connection to his ship, Seraph. But how did he come to be Seraph’s captain? And how did he pull together his crew of misfits?
This will be a far more linear tale. In writing Kane’s back-story I’m following one character, one strand. The story itself won’t be galaxy-spanning (although there’s plenty of scope for travel to other worlds and other stars). Rather than being a complex story told over a complete series and following multiple point-of-view characters, Kane’s tale will be primarily a series of individual adventures.
I’ve started work on this, and I’m enjoying it. I have a rough outline, but I’m letting the story develop a lot as I go. I’m having fun exploring Kane’s character, and that means I understand him more. When I return to editing that original novel I’ll have a far better grasp on his character, which will enable me to ensure he’s acting as he should and not doing things that are wildly out of character. Also, as I explore the galaxy through Kane’s adventures, I’m developing my understanding of the setting and the technology, as well as how the people in this galaxy function.
Just as this side-story (and others that I’m sure I’ll write in the future) provide more information on the story-world for those who want it, they also help me create a more lived-in and realistic story-world.
So I’m not really taking a break. This is research. This is development.
It’s all part of that spiral of writing, circling around and around but always building. Is it easy? No. But nobody ever said writing a decent book, let alone a decent series, was easy.
If it was easy, there’d be no fun in it. If writing was simple, there would be no challenge.
This post first appeared on my Substack. If you’d like to receive these ongoing updates on my new series as they’re posted, please consider subscribing to my Substack for free by clicking here.
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Smashwords is running a massive End Of Year sale, with books anywhere from 25% off to totally free. There are hundreds of titles to browse, across every genre you can imagine. And if you want any of my books, they’re all 75% off (which means the novellas and shorts are effectively free). Check them out here.
The sale runs until 1st Jan.
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Science fiction. What does that term actually mean?
Let’s take the last part first. Fiction. That means it’s made up, a story that never happened (or hasn’t happened yet). In theory, no options are off the table. The writer has total freedom, can make up whatever they want.
But good fiction needs to feel real. The characters have to behave in ways that, even if not predictable, are human. When things happen, there has to be some kind of logical reason. When characters use objects, those objects have to behave in reasonable ways.
So what about the ‘science’ part of the name? Science fiction is (usually) centred on some kind of science or technology, or exists in a world where science and technology are important. And that science, no matter how outlandish, needs to make some kind of sense. If it doesn’t, we’re in the realm of magic.
There’s a thin line, though. Take the force in Star Wars. There might have been some attempts to explain this with science, but it acts very much like a magic system. Then consider one of Arthur C Clarke’s ‘laws’ — that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Current Internet technology would seem like magic to someone from a few hundred years ago. So if I’m writing a space opera series set hundreds or thousands of years in the future, there will most likely be technologies that seem like magic, as well as technologies I can’t even begin to imagine.
But I’m writing fiction, and I want readers to enjoy and engage with it. So these technologies need to feel plausible. If the technologies don’t yet exist, I need to write about them in a way that makes them at least seem possible.
This limits that freedom I mentioned earlier. But when it comes to writing, limits can be (are?) important. Have too much freedom, and there are too many possibilities. Setting limits helps focus the mind.
One thing I need to consider in my new series is space travel. I have humanity spreading across the galaxy. That means people need to travel vast distances. Our current understanding says that nothing can travel faster than light, so travel to even the nearest stars would take years, even lifetimes.
There are various ways to deal with this. One is to have passengers on space-going vessels hibernation, with the ship waking them when they near their destination. Another alternative is to have some kind of way of ‘skipping’ through space — hyperspace travel, wormholes, and so on.
I’m going to use the second alternative. I don’t want hyper-drives that can throw craft around the galaxy as easily as they can travel from a moon to its parent planet. That almost feels like cheating. Instead, I’m going to have ‘gates’ in various locations, with the ability (the technology and the science) for anything entering one gate to emerge at another almost instantly, even though the gates are light years apart.
But how did these gates get there? If these gates are some kind of hyper-space doorways, who set the doors in place?
My solution is to have vast generation ships travelling to distant stars. These city-sized ships take lifetimes to make their journeys, and there’s no hibernation. Those who board the ship when it sets off will never see the destination, dying out long before the ship arrives.
As these generation ships cross the void between stars they create and drop off gates, enabling those in their wake to skip across the vast distances.
But what about those who live on these ships? For them, the journey is their life. For them, the ship isn’t a means to an end but a home.
The more I considered this, the more involved the whole thing grew.
If conditions on these generations ships were perfect, then the passengers (or those who call the ship home) wouldn’t want for anything. But is that a good thing? If the purpose of these ships is to seed distant planets, and these planets are going to need work (terraforming) before they can independently sustain human life, then those who colonise these new worlds will need to be tough. They’ll need to be adaptable and strong — physically, mentally and emotionally. People who have existed in an environment that provides all they need would most likely be weak. They’d expect things to work out. They wouldn’t be used to struggle.
So in my series, life on these generation ships will be tough. Some will have it easy, but others will struggle. While the ships won’t want to kill off their passengers (the ‘seeds’ for the new worlds), they won’t make things easy. There will be crime, and pain, and death. The ships will contain environments that force the occupants to push themselves, to adapt and grow.
Which leads to more thoughts. Imagine a generation ship travelling for thousands of years. Now think of how much has changed on Earth in the last millennia. There have been wars and unrest, along with periods of peace. There has been turmoil. How much of this would (could) these generation ships endure?
So it makes sense to have an overseer. But who? Is this a group of people — and if so, would they have the same problems the rest of the passengers have? Or is the controlling force some kind of machine sentience?
And what about the gates? Who controls them? If a gate fails, what happens? Every possible solution to these questions leads to more alternatives.
But I have to think about these things. If I have this gate technology in my series, and if I have these generation ships, then I have to make sure they seem real. I have to consider how their existence would effect people, as individuals and as societies.
And isn’t that one of the fascinating things about science fiction? It enables us to play with possibilities. It enables us to posit these questions, even if we can’t settle on any firm answers.
This is science fiction. It isn’t about fact, but about asking ‘what if…?’ It’s about extrapolating what we currently know and seeing where it might end up.
If you’d like to receive these updates as I work on my new series, please consider subscribing to my Substack. You’ll get these posts early, delivered straight to your in-box.
If you’re after some free sci-fi or fantasy reads, check out this promotion. With over a hundred titles you’re sure to find something tempting.
Stephen King famously said that if you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Especially in fiction, reading is a prerequisite to writing. How can you learn good writing and good story-telling if you don’t consume stories? How can you understand how words work if you don’t read?
There are different ways to read, and there are different genres. If I’m writing science fiction, specifically space opera, it helps to know what other writers are doing in this area. So I’ve built up a collection of space opera on my Kindle. Some are classics, like Asimov’s Foundation series. Some are more contemporary, such as James SA Corey’s Expanse series. I have older books I haven’t yet read (I’ve only got through a few of EE Doc Smith’s Lensmen books so far), and others I’ve read multiple times (including most of Iain M Banks’ Culture novels). I have long-running series and I have stand-alones.
Through reading these books, I’ve learnt not only what is considered standard for the genre but also what I enjoy — and what I don’t. Reading The Expanse showed me that while I like action, too much wears me down, and that I enjoy storylines with political intrigue. I’ve learnt that a big set-up needs a big pay-off, and that I can’t rush the ending. Where action is concerned, I prefer a few well-placed set pieces rather than a constant rush of adrenaline.
I’ve also come to realise that I like my sci-fi to have some kind of basis in real science, but not so much that I feel like I’m reading a text-book. It’s why I prefer space opera to hard sci-fi (although both subgenres have classics worth reading as well as books that, quite frankly, read more like first drafts).
But science fiction is predominantly a setting. I aim to write character-driven stories, and they exist in every genre. So I read widely. Thrillers are great for learning pacing, mysteries show me how to reveal facts and present clues. Dramas and romance stories focus on human interactions, and there is so much I can draw from them.
One of the story arcs in my new series will (hopefully) have a detective noir vibe, so I’ve been devouring books in this genre. I still have a few Raymond Chandler novels left to read, but those I’ve got through so far have been very instructive. I admire how the dialogue drives not only the plot but also the in-scene action. While the slang is dated, the way Chandler uses it is something I can adapt to my own writing.
The use of dialogue is an interesting point here. My main character in my story arc is introspective, something of a loner. But I didn’t want pages of internal thinking. My solution? The character now has an advanced (because this is far-future) AI assistant, in effect an internal character, and he talks through his problems with her.
My series deals with situations that affect many planets, so I have a kind of galaxy-wide government. Obviously, there’s going to be intrigue here, with different characters coming into conflict through differing objectives and motivations. I’m drawn to ideas of where power is held — not in the figurehead at the top, but in those below the surface, the schemers and the manipulators. Michael Dobbs’ House Of Cards books have been an inspiration here.
So far I’ve focused on story and plot, but what about the writing itself? I enjoy (some) literary fiction — although that’s a very broad label/genre, and there is excellent literary writing in every genre. When I read a well-written book now, I find myself picking up on things the author’s done with language, how they describe things, how they use words for different effects.
I also read books that are — how can I put this diplomatically? — in need of more work. These aren’t necessarily ‘bad’ books, because different readers seek different things from their stories. It’s possible to overlook clunky writing if the story or characters are engaging.
Books like these also serve as encouragement, especially when I’m struggling with my own writing. There always comes a point (sometimes multiple points) when I feel that my writing isn’t going anywhere. The story veers away from the plot. I don’t feel I have the characters right. It becomes a chore to get words on the page.
At times like this, I have to trust that things will improve — see my last post on ‘trusting the spiral’ for more on this. I have to remind myself that this is the vomit draft — get the words out, knowing that they’ll stink. It can all be improved in the edit.
And read books I don’t consider well-written. This helps give me a boost of confidence. Also, as I read, the writer part of my brain starts ‘solving’ the book’s problems. I might read a line of dialogue and imagine how I’d change it to be more forceful or to feel more realistic. If I read a bland description (rather than skimming over it — always a temptation when the book isn’t holding my attention) I’ll look for ways to make it relevant to the character or the situation, ways to engage all the senses, or ways to tighten the prose.
This feeds back into my own writing. It gives me confidence.
It can also remind me that good writing isn’t everything. As I said earlier, these books aren’t ‘bad’. Others enjoy them, despite the less-than-stellar writing. Books like these remind me that story and character are vital.
Writing involves so many strands, and so it’s important that I read widely, and with intention.
There’s another area of reading, one I haven’t mentioned yet. That’s reading for information — what’s often referred to as ‘research’. But that’s a topic for next time.
This is part of a series of posts documenting the writing of a new space opera series. They originally appear on my Substack, which is free to sign up to. So if you want to read each installment when it comes out (a few days earlier than they appear on this website), and delivered to your in-box, click here.
I used to think that the process of writing was easy, even if the writing itself was hard. Start with an idea. This becomes a plan. Then, write the story according to that plan. There might be some errors, so do a quick check (called ‘editing’). And that was it. A straight line, from idea to completed story.
Oh, how naive I was.
The basic premise — plan, write, edit — is sound, but the practice is far more complicated. I now see that the process of writing isn’t linear but is more of a spiral.
I like the idea of having a plan before I pull up a blank page and start writing. I need to know where I’m going. But with experience I’ve learnt that no plan remains intact once I start typing. Characters say and do things I didn’t expect. I spot things in my planning that make no sense. I’ll thrown in a bit of world-building, or a throwaway phrase, and it’ll spark ideas that could improve the story.
I usually push through with the first draft. If I back-tracked for every new idea I’d never reach the end. But when I have that first draft I do my first major edit, focusing on the story.
And this is where I pick up more problems. I work through them, improving the overall story. I take a step back and return to my planning, checking these alterations work, making sure character arcs are intact and so on. And then I return to writing.
Some scenes only need tweaking. Others have to be put aside (not deleted, because I might be able to use them later). Still more have to be written from scratch.
And after all that, with this new draft, it’s back into editing. And repeat, however many times is necessary. Not a circle, but a spiral, each time drawing closer to that elusive goal of a perfect story.
How many times do I need to repeat this process? That depends on the story. Shorter works usually require less work. Sometimes the original plan only needs tweaking. For other stories the final product is totally different to that plan.
Take ShadowSiege, the second book in my Shadows trilogy. I thought that book was coming along well, and I’d reached what I imagined would be my final edit. But in re-reading the story I felt uneasy. It wasn’t working. There were major problems with it.
To correct these problems I had to practically re-write the whole book. Frustrating, but if I hadn’t done the work the book would’ve been so much weaker, leaving me struggling even more when it acme to the final book in the trilogy.
But I’m supposed to be documenting my work on this new space opera series. Why am I mentioning editing when I’m only in the planning stage?
The answer? Because knowing the process is a spiral and not a straight line gives me freedom.
Planning can be tricky. There might be moments when ideas flow, but there’s a great deal of hard slog. I’ve realised that I eventually reach a point where I’m barely tweaking anything, where I seem to hit a wall. Usually, I have a lot of scenes planned in detail (the major ones), but I have a lot of scenes where I know what needs to happen but I don’t know how.
Once this happens, I remind myself of that spiral. The plan will change, so it doesn’t have to be ‘perfect’. As long as I have an outline, I’m good to go.
I’ve reached that point with the first book in this new series. So I’ve fired up Scrivener, opened my planning in one window and a blank page in the other, and started writing.
In an earlier post I mentioned the plotter/pantser dichotomy — writers either plan before writing, or write to discover the plan — and how most writers sit somewhere between these extremes. In my process I have some form of a plan when I start writing, and this helps me get going. But I don’t know everything. Especially when I’m working in a new story-universe, with new characters and cultures and technology, I can’t know everything ahead of time. I have to write to sink into this universe, to learn what makes my characters tic, how their societies function, how they interact with technology. And the plot (the story) can only develop once I have a better understanding of these things.
I have the formality and structure of a plan, but I also have the freedom to discover as I go. It’s a journey.
And already things are changing. I think one of my characters’ arcs is going to totally change. There are minor characters who, as I’ve been writing, seem to be taking on more importance.
I’m also uncovering themes. I’ll return to this in the future (theme is an important area, and it’s something that I’m constantly learning about).
And if the story becomes a mess? It doesn’t matter, because there’s always editing. Then amending planning, then re-writing. I could start worrying that everything’s going wrong, but I prefer to trust the spiral.
