Today’s post was made possible by orange Lucozade and Sky Player.
Tone’s a difficult quality to define when talking about fiction. It’s not voice – that’s how a writer says things; it’s more about what you do and don’t say. What you’re prepared to show. Whether you go all-out, or tone it down. As it were.
The tone of Make a Move evolved as I wrote, but there were rules from the start, and they shaped the feel of the situations in the book. They set expectations. Before I started writing, I had to decide what age group I was going to pitch the book at, and what I could and couldn’t get away with based on that decision. It seems naive now, but at the time it seemed reasonable to ensure that my story of killers and strippers would be suitable for young adults to access the largest readership. I hadn’t considered the artistic implications of that decision, but it made commercial sense.
The decision to avoid any sexual expletives started off as a challenge: was it even possible writing in this genre? Turns out it is, kind of. Most people swear when they’re under stress or immediate threat of conflict – it’s a way of venting the pressure – but by avoiding that behaviour I found my characters talking in a way that was confident, casual and humorous when faced with impending violence. It wasn’t being glib, it was just a lack of fear. I liked how that style of dialogue flowed, so I stuck with it. Later in the book, as Freddy struggles to deal with his new life, a theme emerged -whether it’s possible to live in a debased situation without yourself becoming debased. I realised that my goal of avoiding sexual swearing (let’s call it “the big four”) mirrored the theme of philosophical conflict in the story. Now I had to stick with it, and I did for the most part, only resorting to potty mouth on two occasions, and learning that there’s no replacement term for “shitty”.
But language isn’t the only way to cause offence; some situations or realities are fundamentally damaging to young minds, and most parents won’t want their children exposed to those concepts until they’re old enough to understand the complexities themselves. Hell – I don’t understand the complexities of the sex industry – and how people find themselves with so few choices that prostitution looks like a valid career choice – myself, and I have a kid of my own. Wait – maybe it’s wrong to say I don’t understand it, but I’m definitely not qualified to write about it with any authority. Yet here I was, setting my story in a world of prostitutes, strippers and dirty pimps…
I could be accused of ignoring the harsh realities of the lives of some of my supporting characters, of not taking their plight seriously, but Make a Move is a positive book, and my artistic choices reflected what I wanted to write about, rather than what I didn’t. Take the character of Corentin, for example – the little boy with a prostitute mother, both of whom Jay befriends in Episode Two. His situation is less than appealing to most readers, but at his age what his mother does for a living isn’t important, not when compared to seeing his first Disney film, or being treated to ice cream, or making a new friend. And that’s where my focus, as the narrator, lies.
How a character feels is so much more important to me than the facts of the plot, and not just in Corentin’s case. It doesn’t matter how complex the world I create, or how sordid the environment, those core relationships are my primary focus, no matter how freaky things get. And that’s the basis for Make a Move’s tone – that’s what makes it different. Because it’s a thriller, with nothing too thrilling happening. Because it’s set in a world of sex for sale, but it’s not lascivious. Because when people die, the emotional implications are more important than how far the blood spatters.
Because even though all hell is kicking off, it just comes down to three friends, trying to build a life and have some fun.
And that’s why it works.
Hey – I just started six sentences in a row with a conjunction. Told you I was ill.