George R.R. Martin, author of the fantasy series Game of Thrones to be more precise. I’ve never really been into fantasy books. My mother devours them. I’ve read a few. But I started reading this series a couple of summers ago on my Kindle, and I was catapulted head first, and whole heartedly, into the world Martin created. So much so that I now have the actual books, as well as the less satisfying electronic version.
I’ve written nearly 75,000 words for Fifteen Postcards to date, and I figure I’ll end up with a book which is about 90,000ish words. Martin’s word count is extraordinary:
A Game of Thrones: 284,000
A Clash of kings: 326,000
A Storm of Swords: 404,000
A Feast for Crows: 300,000
But is it his word count or his words that make the books nigh on impossible to put down? As I’m rereading his massive tomes, I am struck by Martin’s ability to provide a visual feast through his words. He needs that word count to make it real. Even describing a soldiers tunic creates such a vivid picture for you as the reader that you can see Arya driving her sword into the stitching of the leather tunic, you can smell the blood seeping out once she withdraws her sword. And you feel joy on her behalf. Odd I know!
What does this mean for me? For Fifteen Postcards? I know that my newfound appreciation of the perfect descriptive verse will probably translate into extra words for the story I am creating, and I hope that in time you’ll feel that you can almost reach out and stroke the gleaming grains of the Georgian rosewood table.
28 April 2014