How To Write Badly Well will continue on Monday 5th July. In the meantime, why not read the excellent language blog Inky Fool?
HISTORICAL FICTION WEEK #5: Change the past
As the helicopter neared Pudding Lane, Edward could better make out the details of it. Slung below the cabin was a large tarpaulin, secured at each corner and hanging low with the weight of its contents.
‘Dear God,’ gasped Hobbington. ‘It’s water! The whole thing’s full of water.’
As the helicopter swooped low over the burning bakery, two corners of the tarpaulin were released and a deluge of Thames river-water came crashing onto the fire. For a moment, all was smoke and steam and chaos, but when Edward had picked himself up and blinked away the ash, he could see that no spark of flame remained in the charred, sodden building.
‘They did it!’ he shouted, tearing away the strip of cloth he had tied over his mouth. ‘The fire’s out.’
‘And not a moment too soon,’ added Hobbington. ‘It was just about to spread to the adjoining buildings, then into the tinder-dry slums and eventually out across the whole city, destroying much of London’s skyline and necessitating a huge program of rebuilding and architectural renewal.’
‘Phew,’ said Edward. ‘That was close.’
HISTORICAL FICTION WEEK #4: Don’t get bogged down in research
With the blaze now rising to the upper stories of the building, Edward leapt into action. First, he kicked off his shoes – the plastic soles would be sure to melt in the heat of the fire. Next, he tore a strip from his pinstriped suit and wrapped it round his face to prevent smoke inhalation. This meant removing his glasses; he cursed that he hadn’t worn his contact lenses today.
‘You’re not... going in, are you?’ Hobbington asked, aghast. Edward nodded grimly.
‘There might be people in there,’ he said through the cloth covering his mouth. He dug into his pocket. ‘Could you hold my keys?’ he asked. Hobbington took the bunch of keys. ‘Oh, and my mobile?’
Just as Edward was about to dash into the heart of the blaze, he heard a noise in the sky above. Spinning around, he looked for the source of the muffled thudding. There, emerging from behind London’s famous Eiffel Tower, was a rescue helicopter.
HISTORICAL FICTION WEEK #3: Cater for cameos
Just as Edward and the Reverend Hobbington were about to make a start on extinguishing the fire, an elderly man approached them.
‘That’s a leviathan of a blaze,’ he observed. ‘Someone should do something about it.’
‘Indeed,’ replied Edward. ‘We were just discussing the best way to go about it.’ The old man nodded sagely.
‘In situations such as this,’ he said, ‘a strong central authority is needed in order to prevent chaos.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Edward, slightly annoyed. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’
‘Tom,’ the old man said. ‘Tom Hobbes. Well, good day, gentlemen.’ With that, he was gone. The two would-be fire-fighters watched him walk away.
‘How strange,’ said the Reverend. ‘Odd little fellow, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes,’ Edward agreed. ‘I didn’t like him. He struck me as nasty, brutish and short.’
HISTORICAL FICTION WEEK #2: Allow your characters to be centuries ahead of their time
‘Fire!’ shouted Edward, pointing at the bakery. ‘Hobbington, old friend, we must do something.’
‘Should I fetch buckets?’ asked the clergyman. Edward shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘The pace at which that fire is spreading would make buckets useless. We ideally need a pressurised system of pipes and tubes to spray water across the building from a distance, possibly carried on some kind of large vehicle.’
‘Such a thing would take many men to operate,’ observed the Reverend Hobbington.
‘Men and women,’ said Edward. ‘There is no reason whatever that women should be considered inferior to men in carrying out physically demanding tasks or taking on other responsibilities. In fact, should we ever have a system of government which functioned purely on the basis of a popular mandate, I think that women should be given an equal say to men.’
‘My goodness,’ laughed Hobbington. ‘You do have some novel ideas, Edward.’
HISTORICAL FICTION WEEK #1: Include passing references to major historical events
‘This is the damnable thing,’ muttered Edward, stepping gingerly over a bubonic-plague-carrying rat. ‘What with the resurgence of hostilities with the Dutch, who knows when the trade routes will be passable again?’
‘Indeed,’ replied his companion, the Reverend Hobbington. ‘I am as keen as you are to see the merchants’ ships sailing again. As a nonconformist minister forbidden to teach in schools as a result of the Five Mile Act of 1665, I am keener than ever to travel abroad.’
‘I know, my friend, I know,’ said Edward. ‘It is as our mutual friend Sir Isaac says – there are forces at work which remain beyond our knowledge. You are just as likely to find passage to the continent as old Isaac is to crack this problem of his, whatever it might be.’
‘Something of great gravity, no doubt,’ said the clergyman, skirting round a plague pit.
‘Yes,’ replied Edward, squinting at a shop across the street. ‘I say, does that bakery look a little smokey to you?’
Generate atmosphere by using dogs
With thanks to Rosecrans Baldwin
I struggled frantically with the oxygen valve, my gloved hands slipping and panic beginning to rise in my belly. I no longer felt like I was floating a mere cord’s length from the shuttle – instead, I had the sensation of falling in every direction at once, the void of space pulling at me. The radio crackled in my ear.
‘I’m bringing you in,’ said Friedman.
‘No,’ I gasped. ‘No time.’ The valve shifted a millimetre or so. ‘Almost...’
‘Taylor, I’m bringing you in.’ I felt a tug as the cord went taut. Then, nothing. I lifted my arms out of the way and looked down. The frayed end of the cord was floating away from me. I grabbed at it, but it was already beyond my reach. I kicked my legs uselessly, as if I could swim towards it. The effort made my lungs burn.
‘Taylor,’ said the voice in my ear. ‘Taylor. What happened?’ I wouldn’t have said anything even if I’d had the breath. I felt a numbness spreading through my body. For what felt like minutes, I just floated there, completely alone in the emptiness of space. Somewhere far off, a dog barked.
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