Something Wicked ...

I'm expanding upon the idea of a metaphysical pov that I developed a few months back.
The idea came from a theme in my novel: We judge based on limited knowledge (from a point somewhere along a continuum of time); what can we know?
This concept itself is at the heart of The Maggot Farm: We might believe something to be so at this moment, but by the time we go to bed our beliefs might have been shattered or radically turned about. Moreover, the concepts of change and of reversal are staples of a good novel structure.
So, consider the opening to this sentence:
What I do not know about Buster and, indeed, what I will never discover ...
Peculiar isn't it!
The narrative is written first-person present tense. The future is unknown (to both protag and reader).
The idea that the protag could describe something that he doesn't know is odd enough (and is a good means of spotting rookie authors who have yet to grasp povs), but when coupled with an arcane foresight, the sentence is infused with a sort of omniscience that can only originate in a disturbed mind.

Rather like the musical numbers, I had intended to use this metaphysical pov once only, but it has a special power; foresight is a wonderful component of suspense.
Expectation/anticipation as a driving force becomes more powerful still when a countdown is introduced. The greater the expected effects of the future event, and the shorter the countdown, the more heightened the suspense. (NB. We can further increase tension by shortening the countdown some time after it has begun [moving goalposts].)

There are many ways to create expectation.
The result of the boulder catching up with Indiana Jones is created in our heads by shared preconceptions: Boulders are heavy, therefore boulder on Jones = crushed. Imagine the effect if the boulder were a small rock, or if the boulder were twenty miles away and rolling slowly. Or imagine if the boulder rolled over him and then he climbed to his feet, dusted himself down, and strolled away unscratched.
But maybe it's not a boulder - perhaps it's something alien and we need to create a shared expectation. Here we might use a demonstration. Send your Star Trek red-shirt onto the planet and witness his demise at the hands of an evil beasty. At this point, we judge the evil beasty and any preconceptions are amended accordingly/as necessary.
Premonitions are curious things. What would happen if Kirk, or even the red-shirt, see the red-shirt's demise before it occurs? The Final Destination movies use this premise: Death's coming for you next! How different is this to our preconception of the boulder's death-inducing properties? One is assumed, one is demonstrated, and the other is a possibility (depending on your views on determinism). Maybe? Either way, they all bring the/a future into the present.

The metaphysical pov allows me to allude to Corus' mental state, and also affords me opportunities to open suspense threads - to form something in the future, something that may or may not be inevitable. By layering these suspense threads using a multitude of techniques (more later), all bundled into the time allotted to Corus before his demise (for the fish have sung of his time of death and the clock is already ticking), I can increase my chances of holding the reader at the edge of their seat through to the denouement. Well, that's the theory anyhoo.

Connections

I've finished the second pass of my ss, and performed a first pass edit and am down to 1,560 odd words. Strict word limits are superb for forcing the writer to really understand what is and isn't necessary: What does each sentence add to the whole?

I'm constantly surprised by some of the stuff that my brain comes up with; so many obscure connections are made - wonderful connections - and I'd love to know how much of this is controllable and how much just happens. Is there anything I'm doing that makes these connections occur, or is it down to my make-up? Are writers, as Stephen King asserts, born rather than made?

The short-story competition is based on the post-facto premise 'It seemed like a good idea at the time.' One of my subtexts is about regret - more specifically, curiosity gone wrong. To this end, I began to think about the idea of getting one's fingers burned.
Imagine my kinaesthetic opening - the sun beating on my protag's skin.
Connection!
Now I open with my protag holding her hand up to the sun, watching her fingers 'burning' in its glare. At this point, the finger burning is not literal, and there is tranquility.
By the ending, the tone has changed dramatically, not least kinaesthetically: the wind has picked up and the waves have grown and the sand is coated in coarse grass that scratches protag's bare feet, and there are rocks that are slimy with weeds. Moreover, I make much out of skinning and also feeling uncomfortable in one's own skin. I turn from having the reader relax in the protag's skin, feeling the pleasing warmth of the sunlight and the refreshing coolness of water around their ankles, to making the sensation of being dressed in skin utterly revolting and even painful.
I end with a thought - a happy memory from protag's life, where she and Kov are comforting protag's little sister. Now, the circumstances are unimportant, and I began with a thunderstorm. This idea never really appealed because it is stream of consciousness rubbish - it was the first thing that came to mind, and I rarely use the first idea beyond the first pass - it serves as a springboard.
When I made the finger burning connection, I decided that I would get so much more from having protag's sister tortured such that protag and Kov are comforting her after she has literally had her fingers burned. Cool!
Then, with a final blow, imagine how awesome it would be to have the little sister suck her thumb and press her stuffed toy to her cheek! Now, a perfectly innocent childlike action is transformed - violated - and the moment becomes memorable and powerful.

On the one hand (see - another link! :o) I work from my notebooks - rarely a day passes, and never a whole week, without my adding observations, dreams and random thoughts to my notebooks. My notebooks go everywhere with me, even to bed.
On the other hand, there is so much stuff that grows organically. So, whilst I might be making my life easier with my notebooks - my way of capturing and retaining the muse - and I am laying strong foundations, I am infinitely fascinated by what my overworked little brain does next - how it assembles everything and forms connections that are sometimes so deep or obscure that they might seem like divine inspirations!
O to fathom the mysteries of the brain and to invoke these wonders on a whim!

The Tuneful Tuna

I've been toying with the idea of turning my novel into a literal (a literary musical without music; aren't I funny :o) for ages now. The idea first occurred when I was playing with the revelation scene where God tells Corus the time of his death. How might this happen? thought I; do I want this to be deadly serious or humorous or what?
Given that I deal with an awful lot of disturbing concepts throughout the novel, I figured it'd be fun to have the fish man drive up in his van and Corus looking at the fish in their trays of ice, and then having the fish sing, creating solos (for the lemon sole perhaps) and harmonies and so on in the form of a libretto (which would tie in with Corus' love of opera and with his God-ordained task of transcribing a composition that has been implanted into his head).
I ran this idea by a few of my beta readers, along with the first pass of the song, and the overwhelming response was very positive.
Then it occurred to me that I might be onto something, and have since looked through the ms for moments that I figure could do with a little levity. And now I have lots of songs ready for insertion at appropriate places. Now I'm curious about how these will be interpreted; I'm really only creating little more than poetry, or lyrics - although I can hear the music in my head too, but it tends to change from one day to the next. However, using rhythm - the beat of the words - I can convey some music forms relatively easily, such as a march or a waltz.
This is going to be one of my first tasks once the ss competition closes (end of Feb) and I return to my ms. I need a greater spread of emotions and I need to deformalize Corus' narrative. I feel that I'm about ready to head into the ms again, and that all will be well for a short time longer!

A Tense Moment

Wrote the ending to my ss this morning. It was really a process of elimination: I've removed all the non-essential stuff and focused on the final interaction between Bina and Kov. In its raw state, it's enough to give me goosebumps, so I'm sure I'm on the right lines; will give it a proper once over at the weekend, and then the second draft will be complete and I'll start looking at editing (the ending brings the whole ss to 1700 words! Eek!).
I'm contemplating shifting the tense for the final paragraph. The story is told first-person present tense. I like this because it puts the reader into the moment: they know what the protag knows, and the future is unknown to both. So what happens if I switch over to past tense for the ending? Suddenly, the story has moved on into the afterlife or, at least, to the protag's last few moments of corporeal existence, and the reader plays catch up. Now, the reader no longer knows what Bina knows.
What might be the effects of this?
Well, from the protag's pov, it is a moment of reflection rather than an instant reaction to events as they unfold. I also feel that the protag might have been overwhelmed during those final moments - that they would be too engrossed in events to offer any commentary. In this way, the point from which she commentates is a peaceful point - a moment of resolution.
I can imagine a danger here, where the reader is removed from the action and is now the underdog. And they would also need to adapt to a new tense at a very late part of the story (which could seem unnatural?). But, that said, the ending becomes more poignant because the reader is invited towards a resolution; the reader understands that protag is waiting at the other end, and the moment is given extra significance. This might increase anxiety too: Imagine that you are walking hand-in-hand with somebody you care deeply for - perhaps your child - and then they let go of your hand and hurry off somewhere, out of sight; imagine how tense you would feel, following a trail of breadcrumbs, wondering what has happened to your beloved and what you will discover at the end of the trail.
I think my predominant feeling is that the action is diluted and the personal interaction between Bina and Kov is given priority, and that's where I want the reader to spend their last few moments, with humanity rather than action. Yes, I like that idea. Will have to see how it all reads once I've finished the second pass.