A plot, with a conclusion which
satisfies the reader arises from interlinked actions and reactions that are a result
of the main characters’ situations.
Before I finish a book, I think
about the plot for my next novel while cooking, doing housework and gardening
etc., but not while driving the car
because it would be dangerous.
According to Ronald B. Tobias
there are only twenty plots which he explores in his book Twenty Master Plots
and How to Build Them.
Plot is the framework a novel
depends on in the same way that builders depend on scaffolding when they erect
an office block.
Some novelists plan every detail
of their plot before they write the first word. I choose a plot, approach it from
a new angle. E.g. Suppose Little Red Riding Hood murdered a charming wolf in
sheep’s clothing.
I write historical fiction, so my
plots often arise through reading non-fiction.
Before I write the first word of
a novel, I choose the principal characters’ names, which must be appropriate
for the era in which the book is set. Next, I complete a detailed character
profile for each of the main protagonists. By the time I finish it, they are as
real to me as either a member of my family or a close friend.
To plot or not to plot in detail?
After I choose one I allow my characters to surprise me. I have a rough idea of
the end of their fictional journey will be, but not of the route they take
during which there will be major and minor conflicts, crises and questions
which tempt the reader to turn the pages until the end.
I enjoy writing romantic
historical fact fiction because I enjoy charting a journey through unique eras
in which I create a story that brings past times to life. When I work on
character profiles for major and minor protagonists I ensure they are not 21st century people
dressed in costume. To bring believable fictional men and women to life, I plot
how they look in period clothes, what they think, how they speak and act. To
give authenticity to my novels, among other subjects, I study economics, etiquette,
politics, religious beliefs and social history, all of which play a part in
plotting.
When I finish the first draft of
a novel I read it to make sure the plot is clear and that there are no
inconsistencies.
* * *
Four of my novels set in the
Regency era, Heroines born on Different days of the Week, have been published,
and I am now writing Thursday’s Child.
After I wrote Sunday’s Child, I
decided to write six more novels with titles taken from A children’s poem.
“Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s Child has far to go, Friday’s
Child is loving and giving, Saturday’s Child works hard for a living, And the
child that is born on the Sabbath day, is loving and blithe, good and gay.”
Anonymous.
Books by
Rosemary Morris - Plots
Regency Novels
Sunday’s
Child
Marriage of Convenience Monday’s Child Triangle (Two Beaux)
Tuesday’s Child Suspense and Romance Wednesday’s Child Poor Little Rich Girl
Early 18th Century novels
Tangled
Love Rags to Riches. Far Beyond Rubies
Quest for Justice The Captain and The
Countess
Courtship.
Mediaeval Novel
Yvonne
Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One Forbidden Love
*
* *
The
plots in my romantic historical fact fiction are ones with which modern day
readers can identify with. In Wednesday’s Child, the young heroine comes to
terms with loss, comes to terms with her situation and finds happiness and peace
of mind.
Wednesday’s
Child
Extract
“Amelia, promise not to grieve
when I take my last breath. After so much pain, my old bones will welcome
death,” Mrs Bettismore whispered from her large four-poster bed. The heavy
scarlet silk curtains embroidered with gold thread shadowed her pallid face. “I
look forward to eternal peace with my Maker.”
Amelia squeezed her eyes shut to
prevent tears spilling down her cheeks. She could no more accept her
grandmother’s words than she could accept Doctor Cray’s prognosis. “Grandmamma,
please don’t say that. We will consult another doctor who will cure you.”
“My dear child, please accept
that I am dying,” Mrs Bettismore said speaking with increasing difficulty.
“It’s time for us to be honest. I admit that I’ve failed you.”
“Never! Even when you chastised
me, it was for my own good.” From her chair Amelia reached out to clasp her
grandmother’s thin hand.
“I apologise for being too
strict.” A few tears trickled down her cheeks. “But please believe I’ve loved
you since the day you were born, even when I applied the cane if I considered
it necessary.”
“Grandmamma, I love you too.
Please don’t trouble yourself. There is no need to say more.”
Her grandmother ignored her
interruption. “I overindulged you. I should have insisted you marry a
gentleman, who would protect you.” Her face a contorted mask of pain, Mrs
Bettismore closed her eyes.
“I wish I could do something to
ease your suffering.”
The faded blue eyes opened. “So
much to explain. So little time left to me. Pay attention, child. You’ll
inherit the cotton factory in Lancashire my first husband, Mr Belcher, God rest
his soul, bequeathed to me,” she rambled with pauses between each phrase. “Sell
it,” she murmured. “Better for you to be a landowner. You’re only accepted by
the ton due to my wealth and your paternal grandfather’s rank.”
Even on her death bed Grandmamma
concentrated on her property and ambition. “No need to speak of these matters
now. You need nourishment. Shall I send for your gruel?”
Mrs Bettismore tried to raise her
hand. “No, stop trying to fatten me up like a Christmas goose and listen. After
I die don’t allow any of my husbands’ relatives or your future father-in-law to
hang onto your coat sleeves.”
Amelia thought of Sir
Bartholomew, her maternal grandfather, who bequeathed all his considerable
property to Grandmamma, which Amelia did not want to inherit if it meant death.
Tears down rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away.
“Amelia.” Her grandmother
struggled to breathe, her pale, sunken cheeks suddenly poppy-red but she
managed to whisper. “I loved Mr Bettismore, not my other husbands.”
“Yes, I know. Please be quiet. I
don’t want you to exhaust yourself.” She poured a glass of wine then held it to
her grandmother’s dry lips. “Sip this.”
With an unexpected burst of
strength, Mrs Bettismore pushed the glass aside. The ruby red wine pooled on
the gold silk counterpane.
“I’ll send for a maid to change
the bed covers.”
“No, don’t fuss, child,” her
grandmother said with sudden energy. “There’s more important things than spilt
wine. I’ve safeguarded you in my will, and given instructions to my secretary.
He’s an honest man. You may trust him.” Her head lolled on the pile of
lace-trimmed linen pillows. “There’s something very important I should have
told you-” She broke off. Her breath rattled in her throat.
“Grandmamma, what do you want to
tell me?” Amelia trembled. She stared into the half-open eyes shining with
love. At first, she did not realise they were sightless.
When she understood her
grandmother had left her body, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
* * *
I like the way Mrs
Bettisnore’s strong personality weaved throughout the novel, providing conflict.
Like Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca, even dead, she’s a great character.
Katherine Pym, Author of Erasmus T. Muddiman: A tale
of Publick Disorder; Pillars of Avalon (with Jude Pitman) Canadian Brides Book
5, and other historical novels.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I have opened up comments once again. The comments are moderated so if you are a spammer you are wasting your time and mine. I will not approve you.