Tag Archives: #amwriting

My Amazing Research Trip: Day One

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In May, my husband Will and I travelled to Karlovy Vary, Czechia, to research my novel-in-progress, which is set in that spa city on the brink of World War One. A few months before the trip, I emailed the Karlovy Vary Municipal Library and the Karlovy Vary Museum, explained my project, and asked their advice on how to prepare for my four-day visit.    Librarian Kateřina Krieglsteinová recommended that I search the library’s online catalogue and send her a list of books that interested me so she could have them ready when I arrived. My first morning in Karlovy Vary, she presented me with a stack of twenty-one books, none of which are available to me in North America. 


Will and I poured through the books and quickly dealt with a half dozen either because we could grab the pertinent information easily or we decided the text was too dense to explore during our limited time. Most of the books were written in Czech. While my maternal grandparents immigrated to Canada from (then) Czechoslovakia after WWI, I don’t speak the language. 


Translation apps are a godsend and old photographs speak thousands of words.   

Kateřina let me take the remaining books to my hotel. Somehow, in the midst of my other research and touring, I managed to peruse them all during my next three days — who needs sleep? I took over 250 photographs of text and historical pictures that portray the city during the era of my story.  


After lunch that first day, Will and I met with historians David Čech, Jan Nedvěd, Lukáš Svoboda, and Lukáš’ dog in their office in an apartment building separate from the Karlovy Vary Museum. We spent almost two hours talking about life in Karlovy Vary (aka Karlsbad in German) during the Golden Age of the Great Spa Towns of Europe. Eleven of those towns including Karlovy Vary are now a transnational UNESCO World Heritage Site. 

 
At the end of our productive talk, I thanked the historians for giving me their time. They said it was part of their job to assist anyone interested in the town’s history. I further imposed on their generosity by leaving them a bunch of additional questions. Since my return home, David has sent me detailed replies that will make my story more authentic. 


Next, we checked into our spa hotel and scurried back to the library in pouring rain for my 5:00 pm informal talk with library readers. Kateřina had arranged for a translator and created posters in Czech and English to promote the event. 

We agreed on a question-and-answer format. Kateřina posed questions, the translator restated them in English, I replied, and the translator repeated my answers in Czech for Kateřina and the audience. I’m afraid I made the translator’s job difficult by rambling on rather than pausing in the middle of my answers. Being translated is an acquired skill.    

 
To my surprise, Kateřina had purchased two of my novels online for the library. I donated a third book, and now my novels live overseas in the Karlovy Vary Library. One attendee had already read my latest novel, A Killer Whisky, and had purchased one of my earlier books, which she asked me to sign. 


I was also surprised to learn that the Karlovy Vary library is administered by the city’s Tourism Information Centre. Kateřina told the tourism director about my project, and he invited me to his office for coffee. He explained that their main markets for long-term spa visits are Czechs, Germans, and Russians living in Germany. When my novel is published, he would like to arrange for a Czech translation to encourage interest in longer stays. Would I be open to this? 


Wow! I’d assumed I was writing this book for my usual English-speaking-largely-Canadian readers.  Translation would extend its reach. I said I’d do my best to make this happen.  

You can read the Karlovy Vary Library’s write-up about my event in English thanks to their translation pop-up feature. https://mestskaknihovnakv.cz/cs/aktuality/v-pujcovne-pro-dospele-jsme-se-setkali-s-kanadskou-spisovatelkou-susan-calder

First Draft vs. Revision: which do you prefer?

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After my first novel was published, I participated in several group readings. At one event, an audience member asked each author which we preferred: writing first drafts or revision? I answered, “First drafts because I love the exploration.” If I were asked this question today, I would say, “Revision.”

What changed during the past fifteen years?

Novel writers tend to divide themselves into plotters, who outline stories before they start to write, and pantsers, who write by the seat of their pants. I’m a pantser. When I start a novel, I typically know some basics about my main characters, the book’s genre, the setting, and the inciting incident but not much more than that. I develop the characters and story in the process of writing and discover such matters as “whodunnit” along with my protagonist. Like all exploration, this is a tad unsettling — I never know if the story will hang together until I near the end of the first draft.     

With my first novel, I let the story go wherever it wanted. Each day, I continued writing from where I’d left off the previous time without a backward glance. Not surprisingly, my characters and plot went all over the place and became mired in extraneous details, but the work went quickly with this free approach. During my second draft revision, I cut large chunks of writing and made major changes, like adding and then deleting a significant character.   

While I was struggling with the third draft, I attended a speaker session on three-act novel structure, which is based on the screenwriting principle that certain types of happenings must occur at specific points in the story to make it a satisfying tale. During the first quarter, the protagonist dithers on whether or not to accept the challenge posed at the start until she finally commits to the quest, however the story defines this. Midway, there’s a reversal that changes the story’s direction. Then the action nosedives to the black moment at the 3/4 point. In movies, the protagonist typically wallows through moody music until she summons the strength to push to the story’s climax. Even classic novels, written long before movies, follow this structure. The speaker opened her copy of Pride and Prejudice to reveal the reversal in the middle of the book. Jane Austen had an instinct for story that is hardwired into the human brain.  

This talk was a lightbulb moment for me. I instantly saw how and why three-act structure works and where I had naturally applied it to my messy draft and where I’d fallen terribly short. The opening quarter was way too long. My story had a reversal but skipped too quickly to the black moment. This led me to cut tons of stuff from the first quarter, add a completely new chapter after the black moment, and make numerous other changes. This third draft took longer to write than the first one, but it was better than it would have been had I not discovered three-act structure.  

I started my second novel with structure in mind. Since I knew the book would be roughly 100,000 words, I created a structure outline that divided it into quarters of 25,000 words each. I still didn’t know what would happen in the story, but I wrote to the three major turning points – commitment, reversal, black moment. If I felt events were moving too quickly toward a turning point, I added another development to enrich the story. If events moved slowly, I eliminated something unimportant that I’d planned. For instance, I initially wanted a wedding to take place in the first quarter. When there was no space for it, I postponed the wedding to the second quarter, and then the third, and finally never. This saved me the work of extricating the wedding and its offshoots during revision. 

My first draft of this second novel was less messy than the first, and I continued the process with subsequent books. Along the way, I added new things I’d learned to create a more detailed structure outline. I still didn’t know what would happen in the story or how everything would resolve, but my first drafts required increasingly less revision. For my latest novel, A Killer Whisky, each draft became quicker and more enjoyable to write than the previous one as I developed and polished the existing material.

Last month, I finished the first draft of my current novel-in-progress—yay! I realized that I’ve become far more attentive to the writing than I was for my earlier novels. Whenever scenes fell flat or veered off in a wrong direction, I went back and rewrote them before moving on. This increased my time spent on the draft, and yet I still didn’t know if the story would work or how it would end until the last few chapters. So, my first drafts now combine the worst of both parts of the process—the uncertainty of pantsing a first draft and the attention to writing that I used to reserve for revision. It’s exhausting. But the toughest job is done (I hope), and I look forward to my new favourite part of writing novels—revision.  

Artificial Intelligence: the Good, Bad, & Ugly

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Every day I receive an email from a stranger wanting to feature one of my novels in their book club or promote the book in another way. I almost fell for the first email. It was well-written, contained specific details about my story, and analyzed it better than I could have done myself. I was sure the sender had read the book until later that day a similar email arrived from another stranger. Two new fans who loved my novel and wanted to help it get the recognition it deserved? This seemed too good to be true.   

Within days, I saw a Facebook post by an author who had received one of these effusive emails. This convinced me they were scams created by Artificial Intelligence. Not that I understood AI, but the emails were something beyond my previous experience. I deleted them both. 

From then on, I pressed “delete” without reading these kinds of emails. Quick deletion was possible because the first line of messages appears in my inbox and clues me in to the rest. So, this daily process wasn’t too time consuming. Then variants appeared. Authors I didn’t know wanted to connect with me as a fellow writer. A few were famous, like “Margret Atwood.” Fortunately, I knew the real Atwood spells her first name “Margaret.” 

The most recent variant came from “Kaela” who said she’d tried to post a review of my novel A Killer Whisky on Amazon but her review was rejected, so she asked for my Goodreads link to post a review there. Her story was plausible as I know many people who’ve been unable to post Amazon reviews, but why would she need my Goodreads link? While I was suspicious, I wrote back advising her to search for me on Goodreads. Meanwhile, a second person (I’ll call him Jake) emailed me with the same review issues.  

“Kaela” replied with an attachment of the Goodreads review she’d posted. I went directly to the Goodreads site and her review was there! Was this really legitimate? I sent “Jake” my same reply, suggesting he search for me on Goodreads. I also thanked “Kaela” for her review. Then — big mistake — I decided to copy her rave review for my records and clicked on her attachment. Seconds later, alarms shrilled on my computer. A voice blared “Your IP address is stolen!” My computer mouse didn’t work. I think the voice told me NOT to shut down my computer, but this is exactly what you should do in that situation. It worked. When I turned my computer back on, all was normal with no apparent damage done.   

“Jake” had now replied. I was curious to see what he’d said and assumed my computer would be safe if I didn’t open any attachments or click on links. I opened his email and the alarm instantly blared because he had embedded his review in the email message. Curse you “Jake” for fooling me a second time. 

“Kaela” replied to my thank-you note with a message that began, “Susan, you’re very welcome! It truly was my pleasure to read and review …” I was too afraid to open her email for fear of crashing my computer, but I pinned the email to the top of my inbox in case I had the nerve (or foolishness) to see what she had said.  

Writers who’ve responded to these scam emails say that, once they rope you in, they ask for money to fund the project they’ll set up for your awesome book. Some direct you to websites that look legit but turn out to be phony. The individual amounts requested aren’t enormous, but if a percentage of the targeted authors sends money, presumably the accumulated amount is worth the scammer’s effort. 

Like all scams, they appeal to the target’s weakness. In this case, it’s every writers’ longing for their hard-earned work to reach and be appreciated by readers.         

Sadder still, these scam emails have made me suspicious of every unexpected email related to my writing. In the past, I’ve enjoyed engaging with readers this way, and some were strangers with genuine interest. I can’t even fully trust emails of this type from people I know because email addresses can be stolen. Along the way, I’ll probably delete an opportunity that is actually real. 

So far, this post has been all about the Bad & Ugly of Artificial Intelligence, but the Good exists. For the past 13 years, I’ve exchanged letters with a relative in the Czech Republic. Neither of us speaks the other’s language. I compose my letters in English, plug them into Google Translate, and send her the Czech translation. I’ve suggested she do the same, but she continues to handwrite me letters in Czech. I tried typing them on Google translate, but it doesn’t work because every second Czech word has an accent. Over the years, I’ve scrambled to find people to translate her letters, but now, thanks to AI, I photographed her last letter, uploaded it to ChatGPT, and got a good translation. 

I’m sure Artificial Intelligence has hundreds of other useful applications, and I can see a great potential for medical diagnoses and treatment programs. Every innovation comes with the good, bad, & ugly.

Today, in the name of research for this blog post, I opened “Kaela’s” latest email on my old computer. No alarms went off. My computer didn’t freeze. “Kaela’s” friendly message continued with an offer to introduce me to Book Cafe to promote my novel that touched her deeply. She signed off with a casual, “Would you like more details?”

I deleted her but almost feel we had a relationship. Creepy, but maybe in the future we’ll all have AI friends. Is this a huge leap from Facebook and other online friendships?  

I also checked my novel’s reviews on the Goodreads site. “Kaela’s” rave review is gone. Drat!

 

       

 

 

 

Muddling Through a First Draft

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Last summer, I started a new novel. I got half way through the first draft by Christmas and set the manuscript aside for the holidays. My New Year’s Resolution is to finish the first draft this spring.

The novel’s story begins in Czechia aka Czech Republic three months before the start of World War One. I chose this time period to make use of the research I’d done for my last novel, A Killer Whisky, which was set during the final days of WWI. This era also ties the new book to my maternal grandparents, the inspirations for my new story. They emigrated from Czechia (then part of the Austria-Hungary empire) shortly after The Great War and settled in Canada. 

Matous and Emilie Slovacek

Unlike A Killer Whisky, this novel-in-progress isn’t a whodunit mystery. A murder will take place – I think – but it won’t happen until later in the story. My original plan was to kill off the victim at the book’s one quarter mark, prompting my protagonist and her friends to escape to North America to avoid the police and imminent war. But as my writing of the story progressed, I didn’t want to rush the killing and stumbled upon a different first quarter turning point. My characters remained in Czechia and hatched a criminal plan, but it still didn’t lead to murder half way through. Their prospective victim is also becoming fun, in an evil way, and I’d like to keep him in the story.  

Before my Christmas break, I outlined enough future action to take place in Czechia that I’m pretty sure my characters won’t cross the Atlantic Ocean before the end of the book. There are advantages to keeping them in one location. Sending them elsewhere would mean creating a new supporting cast and researching another historical setting. Instead, I can develop my existing support characters more deeply and give them larger roles in the story.

My Czechia setting of Karlovy Vary will also need to carry the whole book. A positive will be the opportunity more richly describe Karlovy Vary (Karlsbad in German), a beautiful spa city known for its hot springs and healing mineral waters. Goethe, Beethoven, Chopin, and Peter the Great were frequent visitors. A negative is that I don’t live there. I visited Karlovy Vary thirteen years ago but feel a need to return to check out the locations in my story and learn more about the spa city’s history. 

So, this spring, I’ll be adding a week or so in Czechia to a holiday in southern Germany. In Karlovy Vary, I’ll soak in some spa baths, drink the (extremely salty) mineral water from a sippy cup, visit a history museum, trace my characters’ footsteps on forested hill walks, stroll the river promenade, dine in the luxury hotel murder site, and absorb the city’s baroque architecture that hasn’t changed since the era of my story.  Not a bad incentive to finish a first draft of a book.

Sippy Cups for sale
Drinking from a sippy cup

Historical fiction: how accurate do you need to be?

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At this year’s When Words Collide Festival for Readers and Writers, https://www.whenwordscollide.org/ I participated in a panel titled Historical Fact and Fiction: what can and can’t be changed. Moderator Lori Hahnel began by asking how and where to find accurate historical facts. My fellow panelists, John Corry and Donna D. Conrad, talked of the challenges of historical research for novels set centuries ago. John’s novel about British author Geoffrey Chaucer takes place in the 1300s; Donna’s retelling of the story of Mary Magdalene in the first century. 

Donna said she used sources from different countries and religious perspectives to get the most accurate spin on Mary Magdalene. John noted that he had to be careful about dates in his research, since most countries changed from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar after his novel’s time period. 

My historical novel, A Killer Whisky, set in 1918 during World War One, felt modern in comparison, and I had more research tools available. While I found that reading historical fiction and non-fiction was useful, I learned the most from material published at the time of my novel. I signed up for a one-week free subscription to Newspapers.com and devoured the headlines of the day as well as ads for groceries, houses, jobs, and more. Online, I combed through the 1,000+ page 1918 Sears catalogue for images and descriptions of fashion and other consumer goods. Novels and memoirs published in the early twentieth century provided details of daily life, attitudes of the times, and words and expressions used. To avoid language anachronism, I suggested that the panel audience check out Google Ngram Viewer https://books.google.com/ngrams/. You plug in a word or phrase and a graph tracks its usage in books from 1800 to 2022. For instance, the word “groovy” barely registered before 1960, when it peaked. Then it dropped and hit a higher peak this century, perhaps from people writing about the swinging sixties. My WWI characters would never say “groovy.” 

Unless I try my hand at writing alternate history. 

Lori asked what we thought of television shows like Bridgerton, a Netflix series based on Julia Quinn’s novels set in early 19th century London. Main characters include wealthy and aristocratic people of colour who are totally accepted in high society. 

I said I liked Bridgerton. Everyone watching knows the world wasn’t like that then or even now, but Bridgerton makes you think, what if this alternate world were true? Donna said she enjoys these kinds of shows but cringes at the historical inaccuracy. 

Lori brought up her second concern about historical fiction: the abundance of WWII novels. Is the market saturated? Will people ever get tired of reading about that war?

John and Donna thought the trend would continue because writers are constantly finding new angles about the war. I suggested that WWII endures because it is arguably the last heroic war and it is still close to many of us whose parents or grandparents fought in or lived through the war. Perhaps, interest will wane for the next generations, until writers rediscover and reinterpret that momentous time.    

As to the panel topic question: what can and can’t be changed? We all agreed you can’t change major known facts. I wouldn’t change key dates about WWI, even though it would probably work better for my novel-in-progress if the war had started a month earlier. John and Donna said they wouldn’t change dates that Chaucer or Mary Magdalene were known to be in particular locations. 

I pointed out that Chaucer and Mary were their novels’ main characters, but it might be okay for me to write a novel set in 14th century York and have Chaucer make a cameo appearance despite no evidence that he’d ever gone there. Small changes like that wouldn’t significantly impact history or my main characters and themes, although I think it’s more interesting to readers if the historical figure really was present. We all like to pick up factual trivia from our reading and history is ripe with interesting tidbits. 

My historical novel-in-progress begins in Karlovy Vary (aka Karlsbad), a spa town in Czechia (aka Czech Republic). Somewhere I read that Sigmund Freud, founder of psychoanalysis was in Karlovy Vary at the outbreak of World War One, when my novel takes place. Unfortunately, I’ve lost the reference. (Advice to historical fiction writers: keep your references). The Psychiatric Times confirms that Freud visited Karlsbad more than once for health reasons and I’ll do my best to find my missing reference. But if I can’t, would it be wrong to make him a character in my novel? Freud’s interactions with my fictional characters would be interesting and relevant to the story. 

My Wild Welcome to Portugal

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During our trip to Europe last month, my husband Will and I flew from Naples to Portugal. At Lisbon airport, we got a taxi. Naively, we didn’t think to ask in advance what the fare would be or question the absence of a meter in the cab. Friends who have been to Portugal a few times had told us taxis in Lisbon were inexpensive. 

Our taxi driver drove quickly to downtown, which isn’t far from Lisbon airport, and arrived at our Airbnb apartment. He told us the fare was 35 Euro (about $57 CAD). This wasn’t cheap, perhaps a little more than we’d pay for a similar ride in Calgary, where I live. We gave him cash, since he didn’t take credit cards, and didn’t add a tip to his inflated price. The taxi took off and we found the phone number for Pedro, who was supposed to meet us at the apartment to let us in.  

Before we could phone, a police car drove up and parked. The officer strode toward us. 

“How much did you pay for that taxi?” he asked.   

“Thirty-five euro.”

“It should only be fifteen euro from the airport,” he said. “I want to take the driver to court. Can you show me your passport?”

We looked down the street and noticed the taxi and another police car were stopped. Presumably, the first police car had followed us from the airport and notified the second car to block the taxi from leaving the narrow street.

Pedro heard the commotion from our balcony and came down to see what was going on. He and the police officer spoke for a while in Portuguese. We guessed the officer was explaining the situation. With Pedro there, I felt assured the officer’s request to see our passports was legitimate. 

The officer photographed Will’s passport and told us that we wouldn’t have to go to court, but he needed the information for the case. He asked for our phone number and Canadian address. 

“Did you pay cash?” he asked. “What bills did you give him?”

“A fifty-euro bill.”

 “Did you get change?”

“Yes.”

“What denominations?

“Five and ten-euro bills.”

Details make the story convincing for a court case. 

Still holding onto Will’s passport, the officer jogged to the taxi and other police car. He returned and handed Will his passport along with a twenty-euro bill for our overpayment.

After the officer and all the vehicles left, Pedro led us into the apartment building and said, “I hope this is only bad thing that happens to you in Portugal.”  

“Oh no,” I said. “It was interesting.”

Evidently, Portugal appreciates the economic value of tourism and wants visitors to feel welcome in the country. Authorities are using police and legal resources to discourage locals from taking advantage of foreigners. Certain matters, like taxi fares, are less regulated than they are in some other countries and tourists should be alert to this. 

At the same time, locals need to earn a living. Was fifteen euro too cheap for that airport taxi ride, given the cost of gasoline and car maintenance? If our driver had charged us a fair rate, I hope we’d have tipped him generously.        

Looking down to the spot where the police car cut the taxi off at the pass