The Fisherman and the Koi Fish Woman - by Daniel Grant Newton

Helloooo friend of mine, and friend of creativity and FUN!

Today I'd like to share with you a new drawing I have completed, and the story that inspired it.  

Warning! I have not had any time to edit or refine the story, but I wanted to share it with you anyway, so it might be a little "raw".

First the Story I had leaping from my head...

Once there was a Koi Fish who wanted more than anything to know and explore the world beyond the ripples.  In her youth she had been the pet of a little emperor, living in the palace pond, and the faces that looked down upon her fascinated her.

After a wild storm she had been swept out to sea far from the palace walls, but this fascination with the world of the land dwellers had only grown.

One day this fish swam to a distant coral reef where wishes were said to be granted to those worthy.

There she met a giant jellyfish that shone like a star, so much so that the little fish could not look directly at it.  

The jellyfish saw the dream in the Koi Fish's heart, and said:

"Answer me this question and I will grant you your great desire: which is the greater adventure, the known or the unknown?"

The Koi Fish somersaulted with excitement, and answered, "the unknown of course."

"Koi Fish," said the Jellyfish, "I will give you one cycle of the moon to explore the world above the ripples, and then you will return."

The Koi Fish fell into a restful slumber unlike any fish usually experiences, and woke up to the water lapping against her, lying on the beach.  She was surprised to find she was no longer a fish but in the form of a human woman. 

However, this caused her trouble.  Having never had arms or legs before, she could not move, and even breathing was a strange feeling.

Luckily a fisherman came upon her and brought her to his grandmother's home.  Each day he would visit the beautiful woman that was once a fish, feeding and caring for her, teaching her to walk and move, and even to talk and read.

Together they would explore the land and he would do his best to answer her many questions.  

The fisherman thought the young lady must've fallen overboard and hit her head, because whenever he asked about her past, she told him she could not remember any of it.  And in the end she really did forget her past, and even pondered the validity of the story the fisherman made up to explain her memory loss.

The two grew to love one another, and many cycles of the moon later, the fisherman and the lady confessed this love for each other, and decided to wed.  However, leading up to their wedding, the woman's memory slowly returned until she remembered every last detail of her life before she was human.

The jellyfish's words echoed in her mind all day, and each full moon her skin became more and more scaly.  It was as if with her fish memories her fish body was coming back too.  That is until the sun rose and she could return to her human appearance.  For at this time, the fishy effects were still temporary.

To hide her scales from her fiancé, she would venture out into the woods each new moon.  And each time she did, she would become more and more like a fish woman.

Soon there were sightings of a scaly monster from the deep blue haunting the fisherman's village, and stories were invented to describe how horrid this monster was.  Of course none of these stories were true.  People are afraid of the unknown and fearful people make up terrible stories that become embellished with each retelling.

One example of such a story came from a local trader who said the monster had set a village over the mountains alight, and dragged the bodies into its underwater lair to devour.  That was why, he declared, the wares he had were more valuable, because it was that village that was the main supplier of the items he traded.  This story came from his fear that he would not be able to make ends meet and fulfil his potential as a tradesman.

This fabricated story grew and grew thanks to fearful people until many were saying that there was an army of these fish-like monsters marching across the land and devouring every man, woman and child in sight.  And furthermore, so the stories went, these creatures now had the ability to manipulate the elements: fire, water, earth and air.

Another tall story came from a farmer's wife swore that she heard the monster scratching at their door and moaning it wanted to be let in.  Some skeptical villagers pointed out however that this was likely the farmer who had gone out drinking that very night.

This story however mutated into a story about how the creature had been able to walk through the door as if it were not there, before eating the woman and her children.  And people who never heard the original story were now saying that under this home the creature had made a nest full of one hundred eggs.

The fisherman was not sure what was true and what was not, but he grew afraid for his fiancé's safety, who was known by all to take night walks by the water.  After one night where he could not sleep because the fear had possessed him, he decided to kill the monster.  At the breakfast table the next morning he revealed his plan to his partner.

His fiancé, fearful he may find her in her monstrous form or that she may turn into a fish once and for all, decided in that moment that the next new moon she would attempt to swim to the magical coral reef to see the jellyfish and ask to be made human permanently.

The night finally arrived and she crept through the village and into the water.  Her scales began tightening around her body as they had done before, but as if her body sensed the water, she grew gills and could no longer breath the thick air.

Gasping for breath, she turned to find her fiancé standing behind her, sword poised to strike.  In front of him he saw the scaly monster, but looking into her eyes he saw something he recognised.  He saw his love's eyes, more scared of what he might think than the sword he held.

He lowered his sword and turned his back, confused but coming to realisation.

And with that moment of recognition, she transformed back into a Koi Fish and dove down into the deep ocean, not wanting to look back as she was ashamed of the secret she had kept from him.

To know the ending to this fairytale I conjured in the theatre of my mind, continue to read on, but first...

How that little story landed onto the page...

First I sketched the scene depicting the ultimate dramatic moment of realisation and decision.  The moment the fisherman finds the monster, and realises it is his wife-to-be.

- Then I coloured it in with pencils to highlight what I wanted the eyes to be drawn to and to convey additional meaning through the colour;
- As well as coffee stained the paper to give it an aged look and add to the murky concoction of emotions being stirred in both our protagonists;
- And added in (with photoshop) Japanese characters to give it a storybook/ancient scroll feel.

See below for the before and after shots.

BEFORE
Pre-Coffee and Colour Image of Fisherman and
Koi Fish Woman by Daniel Grant Newton.

AFTER
Post-Coffee and Colour Image of Fisherman and
Koi Fish Woman by Daniel Grant Newton.

So what happened?

Caption: This is a little bit of photoshop I did after for fun.
It gives a very different feel and darker feel to it.
Something that perhaps reflects where this story is
leading us through.

The fisherman returned to the water's edge every night for five years, hoping to find the fish that got away, but each morning he would return disappointed.  

He then travelled the land for two years, searching far and wide for mystics who could tell him something about his fiancée's whereabouts, or bring her back. 

But these efforts were fruitless.

This left him distraught, and he slowly became the village crazy man, no longer eating or washing himself.  Just sitting on the rocks by the water all day looking out at the ocean.

This made him now the source of rumours and tall tales... tales almost as tall as the fish monster woman and this very one you are reading right now.

Meanwhile, the instant his woman turned back into a koi fish, her memories drifted away in the current.  

Although she was typically happy in the following years, on the times when she yearned to explore the unknown as she had once yearned for before, she would feel empty.  It was as if the fish's heart still kept the memory of her lover and other life while her brain did not.

One day the fisherman looked into the water as it and he sat still.  Instead of searching the deep blue for a little koi fish, this time he saw the water reflecting back at him what he had become: a matted beard that tumbled down a hollow chest.

This picture haunted him, and so he staggered down the rocks and to his little boat - a boat that had not seen use for some time.  He launched the boat off the shore and jumped in.

Some days later the boat ran aground into a coral reef, and due to exhaustion, dehydration and starvation, the fisherman fell into the water and sunk to the bottom.

When he woke up he thought he was dead.  It was very dark on the ocean floor, but above him he could see a bright light approaching him.

The light spoke: "Answer me this question and I will grant you your great desire: which is the greater adventure, the known or the unknown?"

The man could not speak.  And in fact, without air to breath, he should have been dead.  But he wasn't, and his mind could only think of one thing: "My love, the known."

Lights like little fireflies descended upon him, seemingly coming from the light above him.  He shut his eyes, finally feeling a peace that he had not felt since his fiancée had swum away.

When he awoke he was a koi fish, and those eyes he had last seen on that fateful day gazed back.  He was home. 

***If you would like to read more stories like this, or see more art like this, put your email in the subscription bar at the top of this blog, and enjoy!  Hope to see you next article :-) 

'A Fisherman's Tail' pt.3 by Daniel Grant Newton ... You won't believe what happens next!

If you've missed them due to recovering from seasickness, here are parts one and two.

And now for the unbelievable finale to 'A Fisherman's Tail' ...

With a pained gasp, the struggling fish was landed with a heavy thud on the unforgiving dry boards of the jetty.

Grandpa drew out a wickedly gleaming knife from his tackle box.

‘Well Samuel, I think it’s about time we take this fish home to your little mother,’ Grandpa said to his grandson.

Samuel shook his head with a shocked expression and grabbed his grandpa’s shaking hand as it held the knife poised for the killing slice. ‘What are you doing to the fish? What happened to Ethan?’

‘Well, Ethan was turned into a fish, and a willing fish was turned into Ethan. The soldier crabs carried Ethan down the beach and threw him into the sea from this very jetty.’

‘And then what happened?’

‘The fish that became Ethan began enjoying his life as a human, so he vowed to catch Ethan and spent most of his life looking for the fish that was Ethan. If he caught Ethan, then he would never have to return to the sea as a fish.’

Without warning, Samuel grabbed the silver fish in his small determined hands and threw it back into the water.

He smiled triumphantly.

‘Now Ethan can be a human once more,’ said Samuel.

Grandpa swallowed a gasp as he gazed wistfully at the widening ripples. He ran a scaly hand through his silver hair. ‘We have to go,’ he whispered.  ‘Let’s get home before your mother gets worried.’

'A Fisherman's Tail' pt.2 by Daniel Grant Newton

Click here for part 1...

Ethan settled back against the slimy rock wall waiting patiently for the Admiral’s return. The floor towards the back of the cave seemed to pulse, although in the oppressing darkness he thought perhaps his imagination had conjured up a nightmarish fantasy.

His heart rate rose and his palms leaked as he was hit by a wave of anxiety. Maybe squadrons of soldier crabs paraded there he decided pragmatically.

Ethan’s mind and adrenalin raced as what seemed to be hours passed, the complete absence of light disorientating him to time and direction.

Suddenly, Ethan heard the Admiral’s multi-jointed legs clicking back towards him.

The crab solemnly inspected Ethan before announcing, ‘By order of the high judge, you will be tried on one count of attempted murder.’

‘I don’t understand. You have me mixed up with someone else,’ said Ethan as he stumbled backwards.

‘There is no mistake. There is a definite violation of the 45th Amendment section C. You must proceed to the defendant’s stand to plead your lost cause of a case, you littering…’ The Admiral couldn’t think of a noun insulting enough to express his disgust with the boy.

Ethan hesitated before creeping after the scratching march. He had been deprived of choice, the pit of darkness cloaking any hope of exit. As they crawled deeper into the cave Ethan could hear echoing scritching and creaking, muffled voices, and sharp drifting.

Finally Ethan emerged into a courtroom lit by phosphorescent plankton in swinging baskets hung from the low ceiling. These baskets cast a dim sickly-green glow over the cave walls and revealed prying crustaceans, molluscs, amphibians and reptiles crammed into makeshift stands. These creatures whispered viciously with narrowed eyes gleaming at Ethan as he cautiously inched into the courtroom. Perched on a large stone adjacent to Ethan was a slimy slug with seaweed dumped on its head. Ethan pivoted around wildly seeking a glimpse of the sky, his promise of escape, but around and above him he only saw carpets of moss caressing the limestone.

The Admiral kowtowed three times to the poised slug before scuttling into the crowded stands. All sense of Ethan’s safety vanished with him. A crinkly turtle arrogantly pushed through the audience and hobbled towards the centre stage.

The court opened the case. ‘Ethan versus The Ocean,’ droned the slug on his limestone throne. ‘Counsel, would you enter your appearances starting with counsel for the plaintiffs.’

‘Yes, good morning, Your Honour. Pascal Turtle, Atlantic Ocean, for the plaintiffs,’ said the turtle.

The courtroom fell silent and all eyes peered at the strange two-legged being clasping the sandy UFO.

‘Will you please state your name for the court?’ the judge ordered.

‘Ethan Thomas.’

‘Good morning to both of you. Pascal, are you ready to open?’

‘I am ready, Your Honour.’

‘Proceed.’

‘Good morning, Your Honour. I represent The Ocean and all who reside in or by The Ocean,’ said the turtle as he swaggered belligerently towards Ethan. ‘Ethan Thomas attempted to murder a brother or sister of The Ocean.’

The crowd gasped, enjoying the spectacle.

‘That’s not true. The turtle is lying,’ Ethan protested. ‘I would never do that.’

‘Ethan Thomas, what happened before you were arrested by the sea’s finest admiral?’

‘Well, I was gazing out at the ocean and eating…’ Ethan stopped short. His words caught in his throat.

‘What were you eating?’ smirked the turtle. ‘Was it plankton? Was it seaweed? Were you munching on seaweed Ethan?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No, Mister Turtle. I was eating fish and chips,’ mumbled Ethan.

‘Fish and chips by the ocean ladies and gentlemen,’ repeated the turtle in such a loud voice that no creature was uncertain of what was said. ‘This animal ate fish in front of other fish. You gobbled someone’s daughter or son, mother or father, friend or sibling – flaunting your behaviour to the victim’s family. What kind of sadistic ghoul would do that ladies and gentlemen?’

Pascal Turtle was a conductor of an emotive orchestra, as he waved his flippers about and hyped the crowd into a hysterical crescendo. The amphibians and lizards kicked sand and snarled. The old turtles in the crowd shook their heads whilst the little ones hid in their shells. Angry crabs and lobsters snapped their claws in the air. And a sea cucumber even spat at Ethan.

‘He can’t say that,’ Ethan objected.

‘On what basis?’ asked the Judge, attempting fairness.

‘The fish were already dead – that isn’t attempted murder.’

‘Objection sustained. Eating dead fish makes you a forager not a felon. Please get to your point Pascal.’

‘I’m sorry, Your Honour.’ Pascal grinned a toothless smile at Ethan. ‘You were eating the fish Ethan, then what happened?’

‘Well, the wind came and blew the plastic bag down the beach. So I ran to catch it.’

‘I rest my case Your Honour. Releasing a UFO into the ocean, or littering as the human species call it, is one of the major killers of us sea creatures.’

‘I didn’t know,’ protested Ethan desperately.

‘Ignorance is no excuse for breaking the law.’

The judge shrewdly stared at Ethan. ‘Taking the boy’s age and apparent ignorance into account, I only see fit to give him the minimum sentence.’ The amphibian puffed out his chest. ‘I hereby sentence you, by order of The Ocean, to sixty years as a fish. After that time period has elapsed, provided you are still alive, you will be granted your human body once more.’

Catch the final twist of this curious short story by clicking here!

Short Story - "A Fisherman's Tail" pt.1

Here is a kid's story I once wrote and thought I'd share with those that are kids at heart.

I wrote it for a creative writing subject at university ten years ago. I clearly was the innocent one in class as many of my classmates were writing about prostitutes, drugs and explicit mindless sex. Meanwhile I was writing about talking sea creatures.

Daniel 

A Fisherman’s Tail

By Daniel Grant Newton

Samuel reckons that his grandpa must know every fish in the ocean – even the ugly toadfish.

Most afternoons when Samuel gets home from school, he and Grandpa go fishing at the creaky wooden jetty. Each time grandpa brings up a fish he animatedly tells Samuel a fantastic story about that very fish before releasing it back into the sea.

One day, grandpa and Samuel were sitting at the end of the jetty with their legs dangling over the side. Grandpa had only just dropped his line into the grey-blue water when a fish bit his line. It was big!

The old man’s scaly hands worked nimbly as he furiously tried to reel the fish in. The fish thrashed around in the water and put up quite a fight.

‘Wow, that’s a big fish,’ Samuel exclaimed.

Grandpa beamed with delight. ‘Yes it is a big fish Samuel, and also a very special fish.’

‘Is it a magic fish? Was it friends with the Loch Ness Monster?’ Samuel’s face lit up.

Grandpa laughed, ‘No, not this fish. This fish was part of a much more intriguing story.’ Samuel’s eyes widened and he fell silent. Grandpa ruffled the small boy’s hair.

‘Your mother told me I can’t keep telling you these stories and fill your head with my rubbish. You’re going to be a big Grade Fourer soon.’

‘Please tell me, Grandpa,’ Samuel whined.

Grandpa smiled and leant over to Samuel. ‘Okay Sammy, but you can’t tell your mum I told you this story.’ Samuel nodded his head eagerly and Grandpa kept battling with the fish as he told the story.

#

This story doesn’t start with a fish, but with a boy about your age named Ethan.

One day, Ethan sat on the sandy bank just over there and watched the afternoon sun caress the violet sea before him. He felt around for the plastic bag by his side, not diverting his attention from the peace he found in the waves. He dragged his dinner out of the bag and his sandy fingers worked abstractedly to pull free the battered fish and soggy chips inside. Ethan screwed up his face as he felt the grease coat his fingers.

A strong gust of wind belted across the beach, stinging his arms with a hail of sand and broken shells. Ethan turned and watched the trees waving their branches like mothers crammed in a train station watching their sons being taken off to war.

Suddenly the plastic bag beside Ethan was snatched by the wind and cartwheeled down the beach. Ethan instantly dropped his fish and chips onto the newspaper, and leapt up to chase the bag.

Each time the bag was at his fingertips, however, the wind stole it again, and the bag would dive and wheel another direction, until finally Ethan stomped on the runaway.

As Ethan did so, a soldier crab boldly sidled out from a hole near Ethan’s foot. The crab stared with polished beady eyes. His vibrant blue armor and long spidery legs were beautiful to Ethan’s eyes.

Ethan dropped to a squat. ‘Hello there.’

The soldier crab seemed to inspect Ethan before marching over to the plastic bag.

‘What is this?’ barked a thin, reedy voice.

Ethan whirled about in surprise.

‘You, the big oaf there, what is this?’ came the voice again.

‘What is what?’ questioned Ethan as his forehead creased. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Are you blind? I’m talking to you,’ the rude voice blasted from bellow. ‘I am a soldier crab. Certainly no grunt. See all the purple stripes on my legs – I’m a well-decorated officer. I am an admiral to be precise, as was my father, his father and his father before him. Of course the father before that never made it to admiral – he was eaten by a seagull before he ever reached admiral, but I’m sure he would’ve made a great leader from what I’ve been told.’ The crab awkwardly gestured at Ethan. ‘So, from now on, I would adjure you to address me as Sir, Admiral, Sir.’

‘Oh, I – I’m sorry,’ Ethan stuttered, ‘I mean, I’m sorry, Sir, Admiral, Sir.’ Ethan paused to re-gather his wits. ‘I’m Ethan.’

‘Don’t bother me with pleasantries, or with whatever else you had in mind to say,’ the Admiral ordered. ‘It is my duty to inform you we have a situation 45-C here, and you are the sole suspect, defendant and guilty party.’

‘A situation what?’

‘Section 45-C of the Underwater Code of Conduct defines this evidence as an Unidentified Floating Object – a UFO.’

‘The plastic bag? It’s a plastic bag, not a UFO.’

‘Tell that to the judge, you lowly land-lover.’ The crab trust a claw at Ethan authoritatively. ‘Follow me.’

Ethan curiously followed the crab as it scuttled up over the sand dunes. The regal crustacean crawled up onto the weathered rocks and into a narrow crevice. Ethan was small for his age, and with some twisting and turning, managed to squeeze into the space too.

‘Wait here while I inform the court,’ the Admiral demanded. Ethan settled himself on the wet floor of the cave, left alone in the darkening shadows.

Click here to continue reading, and to discover whether Ethan is found innocent or... oh, I shan't dare think of the alternative...

"HOLD THE PHONE RANDOM MANGA CHARACTER, DANIEL GRANT NEWTON HAS A NEW STORY FOR HIS AWESOME READERS!"

Chpt. 1 - Don't Shoot the Messenger

England. 1100 A.D.

Jude Stone wiped the black camouflage painted down his square jaw and forehead, before crawling to the edge of the forest thicket. He flashed a smirk.

Before him, peeking through the early morning mist at the top of the grassy incline, was a castle surrounded by high stone walls.

The static from his two-way radio interrupted his admiration.

“Go ahead, Spider, over,” said Jude, his accent Australian.

“We've secured the North-West and North-East towers. And the detonations have been placed. Over,” replied the voice on the other end of the radio, a husky Lancashire voice.

“Roger. Coming now. Over and out.”

Jude Stone slinked through the fog towards the North West tower of the castle, cradling his M40 sniper rifle. His black boots sunk through the sludge, softening the sound of his approach.

As he came to the castle wall a climbing wire was lowered. He clipped it to his belt and scaled to the top.

There Jude was met by a slim man in a black jumpsuit, identical to the one he wore, and a gas mask. The soldier took the mask off.

“Team B are ready and waiting,” the man said, tracing his finger over an electronic tablet, “and team A have now positioned themselves around the perimeter.” The man looked up from the tablet. “There are only a few life signs in the room with the king at this point in time. Should we move in?”

Jude signaled to the soldier to get low as they heard the clinking footsteps of someone approaching.

Coming out of the doorway of a turret mere metres away was a knight dressed in a green tunic and chain mail, with a broadsword by his side.

The man searched the curling fog.

Jude crept towards the knight on his haunches, taking advantage of the blanketing fog that masked his approach.

The knight put a hand to the hilt of his sword. His eyes flicked back and forth, and he muttered a string of words Jude couldn't understand, perhaps Latin or Old English. Not French.

Jude threw a hand across the knight’s mouth and nose and snapped the swordman’s head around, leaving no time to struggle or call out.

“Green 'A', green 'B', over and out,” ordered Jude into his radio transmitter as he dragged the heavily-armoured man into a dark corner.

Stone's eyes scanned the site once more, positioning himself at the edge of the wall overlooking the castle.

Jude squinted through the sight of the rifle, poised to fire through a particular window in the castle’s keep.

Soldiers dressed in black jumpsuits and black ski-masks abseiled down the castle to another window ledge, before lobbing a stun grenade into the room. They turned away as a violent flash erupted from the room, before then bursting in with their sub machine guns aimed in front.

Through the sight of his rifle Jude saw a red-faced man in purple robes clambering down the stairs blindly and holding a bleeding wound in the abdomen. Without hesitation Jude pulled the trigger, and with a muffled bang, the man's head flew backwards. The figure tumbled down the stairs leaving only a spatter of blood on the wall behind.

Spider's voice came over the radio attached to Jude's belt, “Good shot, mate. King William II is down. Sweet brutal justice for a brutal blood thirsty king. Over.”

“Time to clean up, Spider,” chuckled Jude as he raised the radio to his crooked grin, “Let's grab the bodies and disappear. No witnesses. No more casualties. Over.”

“Affirmative. The diversion explosion has been set for the South towers with a sixty-second counter. Over,” came Spider once more.

“All teams meet back at the designated spot. We'll work on the details then. Over and out,” ordered Jude.

Click here for Chapter 2 of Don't Shoot the Messenger by Daniel Grant Newton

Novel Writing Hacks from Author Daniel Grant Newton

 

Have you got a novel in you that you've always wanted to write?  Perhaps you haven't had the time?  Or you get started, but can never finish it?

Well, as someone who spent most of his life trying to get one of my ideas into a finalised manuscript, and now being someone who has done it, I've found a few secrets of the trade to make inspiration easier, improve your story, and importantly, get it done.  This isn't an exhaustive list, but very powerful all the same - I may write a follow up article later with more tips.

1.) Write about what you love.

Writing a book takes a long time (although perhaps shorter with the tips below :P), so you need to be passionate about the subject to keep going: researching, idea generating, editing, etc.  This might be the most obvious of these tips, but it is one of the most important, and overlooked, pieces of advice since the people of Troy were told that curiosity kills the cat.

 

2.) If you're bored or aren't inspired with a section, scrap it and get more creative.

If you're bored with your story, so will your readers be.  You may have planned for 'A' to happen, but if it is a task writing it, think about other possible outcomes - and go wild.  If any bit of your book didn't fully engage every cell of your body, it needs to go!

 

3.) Daydream about your characters and story for the pleasure of it.

This is when you get your best ideas.  It also allows you to get better acquainted with your characters.  It gives you out-of-the-box ideas.  It gets you in the flow.  I don't know how - but it does - so try it.

 

4.) Jot every idea down.

Good, bad or ugly, write them down, or you'll forget them.  I wrote enough alternate story directions for The Last King of Shambhala to complete at least ten completely different books, allowing me to choose the best and build on them.  Sometimes an idea will seemingly be useless, but it will later spark a better idea, or will fit perfectly somewhere else later on.

 

5.) Create impossible problems for your characters, plan them out, and then look for creative ways to solve them.

The bigger the problem, the more tension and excitement.  These can be physical disasters, or emotional tangles ... But a combination is even more powerful.

 

Further to this, in those "will he make it or won't he", there is nothing like (even if it is a BIG cliche) a character seemingly dead, but then to emerge out of the smoke alive to the relief of their companions.

 

6.) Want to write quicker, plan out every chapter.

I wrote The Last King of Shambhala in five or more years.  There were a few reasons it took half a ten year old's life, but one big one was I planned it out as I went.  

 

This meant it was more creative than it may have otherwise been, but if you have a more simple storyline, and want to write it quicker, plan it out chapter by chapter.  It doesn't need to fit the chapters, you can be open to new directions, but it will save so much time.

I wrote the novella Don't Shoot the Messenger in three weeks.  Why?  I planned out every chapter (and it was about 35,000 words rather than over 100,000, I guess).

 

7.) Show not tell.  Adam is NOT "angry".

 

 

Everybody makes assumptions of others by how they perceive them, therefore readers will get to know your characters better when you 'show' not 'tell'.  

For example, don't say "Adam isn't happy and wanted his boyfriend James to know, no matter how childish he seemed", instead say "Adam crossed his arms and glared out the window, periodically glancing back at James and huffing until his lover diverted his eyes from the Playstation and onto him."

 

Yes, I made that example on the run, so it isn't Dickens.  Or even Meyer.  But you get the point.

 

8.) Research - the key to opening creative doors

Research, research, research.  If you have followed step one, this will be fun. If not, read step one again.

 

Knowing more about the subject allows for accuracy, but more importantly, it expands your mind, dude, and allows for more creative direction and solution.

 

9.) Quick 'cheat' way to bulk up the persona of your characters - write in another's voice

 

 

A quick way to create better characters is to play about with the voice or mannerisms or persona or beliefs of a famous movie or book character, or famous person, or of someone you know.  

Your character shouldn't be a rehash of some other character however, by doing this, you might be able to develop your character in another direction by mixing elements and mannerisms of this character with your current character.  

I'd suggest even mixing multiple characters with your original character, but still keeping the essence of him or her.

Extra tip: Try using a character that is completely out of place.  Like Fran Fine as the voice of an evil warlock, or the Terminator as a flight attendant, or Goofy as a werewolf.

 

10.) If uninspired, watch inspiring videos on YouTube before getting into writing

Some times you just aren't in the zone.  If you have a chapter about a romantic date, go onto YouTube and watch a montage of BBC adaptions of Jane Austin movies for five minutes.  If it is a boxing scene, watch a Muhammad Ali fight montage.  This isn't for copying, it just gets the juices flowing.

If you'd like to see the result of putting these tips into practice, you can now buy The Last King of Shambhala at any good online book store.

Beep. You Got Voicemail.

 

You have one new message. Message one.

Beep.

Hi. I don’t know how to put this.

My name is Oliver Cowan. I need to talk to you.

You don’t know me, but I know you. Umm…

Don’t press delete. Don’t delete the message. Whatever you do, listen to this message right through.

I’m not a weirdo. And no, before you say anything, I’m not stalker either.

I’m from the future.

Message deleted. There are no more messages.

You have two new messages. Message one.

Beep.

Judy, are you there? It’s Tammy.

I popped around your house today and you weren’t there. Don’t worry about calling back. Just wanted a chat about drama class on Thursday.

Guess I’ll see you then.

Message two.

Beep.

Um… Hello? Judy?

This is your mother.

Call back.

Your father has been watching the news and we are doing a drive for World Vision.

And we came by your house and the cat looks as though it hasn’t been fed for a few days.

Bye.

And your second cousin Rachel is in town and would like to catch up. She’s got some exciting news… she’s pregnant. I’m not suppose to tell you that.

End of messages. To delete all messages, press delete.

Messages deleted.

You have four new messages. Message one.

Beep.

Judy, if you are there pick up the phone.

It’s Oliver Cowan again. I need to talk to you.

I called you the other day and left a message on your voice mail thingy.

And then I came to your place today.

I found it. It was hard to find, but I found it.

And I left my number and a message about your future on a notepad near your phone.

I had to let myself in, this is serious.

Look, I can’t say too much because I think someone might be listening to your messages… but I need to talk to you…

I’ve got to go.

I can’t tell you my number on the phone, but I’ll leave it in the same place if you don’t call back.

Message two.

Beep.

Judy, you bitch. Why weren’t you at drama class?

And don’t say you were doing yoga because I know you are still smoking and eating takeout, so yoga isn’t an excuse anymore.

I don’t believe your new health façade.

You’re not that good an actor.

So call me next time if you’re not coming, okay?

Oh, by the way, I met a friend of yours at the grocery today. Oliver? I think that was his name.

Pretty cute fella, but a little high strung. He’s been having trouble contacting you too. He said he even went to your place a few times.

Well, I have some exciting news, but I want to tell you in person. So call back as soon as possible.

Oh, it’s Tammy by the way. Your friend Tammy if you’ve forgotten me already.

Message three.

Beep.

Judy, it’s your mother again.

I called your work to see where you were. I spoke to that strange, plump man you said was interested in you but was married. Derek, is it?

He said you left a note for Terry to say you were leaving. I thought you loved that job.

Anyway, if you want to talk about things, you know who to call.

Cheerio.

Oh, and your father says hi.

Message four.

Derek speaking.

You avoiding me or something. Cause like you weren’t at drama class, and you quit work, and your mobile’s switched off.

I thought we were okay.

Your ma called. That’s what got me thinking about you.

I think your ma likes me.

End of messages. To delete all messages, press delete.

Messages deleted.

You have two new messages. Message one.

Beep.

This is Oliver. Time is running out.

You aren’t at your flat, and from what I can see you haven’t been there for a while.

Your bonsai tree is practically dead. And your cat has found the biscuits and got into them, but looks like she has been living off those biscuits for at least a week.

Look if you get this message, call me. It’s urgent. It’s about your future.

Message two.

Beep.

Okay, I’m getting really worried.

I know what’s happening in the future. I can only hope you got my note and the course of events have been altered.

You haven’t come home, your work doesn’t know where you went, and neither does your friend Tammy. I met her at the grocery.

Where are you?

I hope they haven’t…

I got to go. Call me on the number I left by your phone.

End of messages. To delete all messages, press delete.

Messages deleted.

You have two new messages. Message one.

Beep.

Hello this is Constable Steinberg of the Queensland State Police Department. I’m leaving a message for a Judy Southend.

There is no easy way to put this, Judy, but we have found the body of a man floating in the Thomas Creek.

Umm…

We believe his name was Oliver Cowen, although we are yet to find any records of an Oliver Cowen fitting this description.

I’ve come to your house a number of times, and… well, I haven’t been able to get a hold of you.

Umm… You see...

We found your name and phone number in his jacket pocket. If you could give me a call back on 3356 3244 that would be much appreciated. Do you know this man?

End of messages. To delete all messages, press delete.

Messages deleted.

You have three new messages. Message one.

Beep.

Where the bloody hell are you, babe? I ran into your friend Oliver again at the Post Office.

He gave me this disc and told me to give it to you if I see you. I had a look at the disc and it is really creepy. I think you should have a look at it.

It has a list of names on it, and yours is one of them. You haven’t joined anything over the Internet or anything have you?

Oh, and your mum and dad have been calling me like every day. I haven’t told them about the list, but your mum has like a sixth sense or something. She knows something is wrong just from talking to me.

She was like, “Tammy, what’s going on? I can hear something in your voice.”

Talk about read between the freakin’ lines.

Anyway, call me back, girl. I haven’t slept. I’m worried sick.

Message two.

Beep.

Judy, it’s your mother. Call me back when you get this message.

Message three.

Beep.

Judy, call my mobile. Your dad and I are going out to look for you.

End of messages. To delete all messages, press delete.

Messages deleted.

You have one new message. Message one.

Beep.

Judy, I took the CD to a friend of mine who is good with computers and got them to decode some of the hidden tech stuff that didn’t come up.

You’ve got to get the hell out of here. Disappear. Change your name and address, and disappear.

Look, I have to be brief, but there are some seriously evil… people… after you.

I’ve got to disappear too now. And so does… my friend.

This is no joke, Judy. Disappear or they’ll take you.

Can’t explain…

And… the less you know the better.

My ride’s here.

I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye properly. I love you babe.

End of messages. To delete all messages, press delete.

Messages deleted.

You have one new message. Message one.

Beep.

Huh?

No, it said Judy on the…

Hello… Fiona?

I think I might have the wrong number…

Umm… this is the number I have written down for a Fiona Peterson.

This is Steven McCoy from Livingston Real Estate.

The money you transferred through didn’t come in. Could you give me a call back?

Umm…

Click.

Hello, Steven? It’s Fiona.


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