by BBCi Cult
As I told Rebecca when I sent her a final version of the outline (which ran to about 8000 words in all) on 10 March 1995:
The villain, Rassul, now survives the whole book (well, almost). Also, Atkins goes with the Doctor and Tegan on their trans-temporal travels. The outline does not reflect their character development much, but I see Rassul as being a suave religious fanatic. He is rather like a 19th century version of a crooked US evangelist preacher, with more concern for his own style of life than for the after-life. Atkins I think will start off as Anthony Hopkins' character from The Remains of the Day. He is sexually and emotionally repressed and entirely devoted to his role in society to the exclusion of his style of life (spot the contrast with Rassul). He will develop during his travels, as his mind is broadened by exposure to futuristic science, alien menace, death, and - especially - Tegan) into a more balanced individual - to the point where he may even end up proposing to the otherwise dramatically-redundant housekeeper in the final paragraphs...
Instalment Two
Author's Notes: Instalment Two
Have set up a 'teaser' with the discovery that Nyssa has somehow been mummified millennia ago, this section of the book is to do with capitalising on the confusion of the readers and the characters. As the Doctor tries to work out what is going on, so the readers are on the same narrative journey.
That's not to say there isn't room for character work too. This confusion, and the situation, allowed me to explore Tegan's feelings. Without Nyssa and with the Doctor distracted she is very much alone - and Tegan is someone who I thought always puts on an act for whoever she is with. In this section she is in a daze, her world falling apart - in a later chapter she articulates that. It was a useful device later to be able to have Tegan alone with Nyssa's sleeping body in the tomb, thinking about who she really is and what's happening.
This is also a time when I could set up things for later pay-offs. We learn a bit about Rassul's background for example - both explicitly in the sequence where he is told of the grave robbing, and implicitly in his telling Nyssa that 'a father should not outlive his children.' This will be a key pointer to Rassul's motivation, a hook that helps us sympathise with the villain and realise that he, like everyone else, is being used by Nephthys...
It also mirrors the overall theme of time's circularity - Rassul tells Nyssa: 'I have heard it said that a father should not outlive his children.' He does not tell her that it was Nyssa herself who said it to him when he met her for the first time (in his timeline) in ancient Egypt. Nyssa recalls the phrase, and after she is sent back to ancient Egypt she says it back to him (watch out for that in the next exciting instalment). Rassul's reaction is instructive, as is the fact that he still remembers her words thousands of years later...
One other thing to watch for - names. It's very difficult to think of names. I spend longer trying to come up with names for characters than anything else, it often seems. When I write an outline, just throwing down ideas and elements, I don't even bother now - it slows me down so much. So my initial outlines are full of people called Fred, George, Bert, Liz, Mary and Jane... Sometimes the name sticks (like George Wilkinson in Time Zero). Trying to find an 'academic' name for a translator I decided to reuse one I'd come up with for Theatre of War - Tobias St. John. I guess he gets about a bit. He's also taken from the first two names of my youngest brother...
Instalment Three
Author's Notes: Instalment Three
Because the reader cannot actually see what is happening, unlike television or film, the author can play tricks with how they describe things. It can be difficult to sustain, and authors mustn't lead the readers on too far or they lose their trust. The most sustained trick I've played, I think, was disguising the gender of the secret villain in Dragons' Wrath - misleading the readers into not even considering one suspect (I hope!).
Here it's just for a few pages, and since the sequence at the end of the last instalment was written from Rassul's point of view, it is legitimate that he thinks of where the Doctor, Tegan and Atkins are incarcerated as being a casket. If we could see it, we would know the truth. But it is only when we see things from another point of view that we learn what really happened, and now we have to reinterpret the scene of the casket being carried from the museum and dumped into the Thames...
That sort of thing is great fun for the writer.
Other things are necessary rather than 'fun.' For the story to work and be credible I have to establish - and keep remind the readers - that past events cannot be changed... There are precedents aplenty for this in Doctor Who - from The Aztecs to Day of the Daleks, where we learn about the Blinovitch Limitation Effect. But whatever pseudo-temporal science we might like to invent to gloss over the necessities of the narrative, the Doctor is basically right when he tells Atkins that events can't be changed because otherwise things would be too easy.
Having added Atkins into the ancient Egyptian trip, I found him very easy and entertaining to write for. His character developed naturally, and his relationship with Tegan was every bit what I had hoped for. Most of all, I enjoyed writing his dialogue - like his comment about temporal prestidigitation...
It was also good to find that an idea which I pursued seemed to fit so well - the short sequence at the end of this instalment in 1975 examining the mummy. A few times I struggled to come up with an interlude between chapters that was interesting and relevant rather than gratuitous or boring. Or both. I also wanted a thread of Egyptian iconography to run through all of these - to remind us, even subconsciously, of what book we are reading. So when I looked into how the mummy could be examined without being unwrapped, I was delighted and amused to discover that the best way would be with a CAT scanner...
Instalment Four
Author's Notes: Instalment Four
With the Doctor now meeting Kenilworth for - or so Kenilworth thinks - the first time, we are coming full circle and now we can see how it was that Kenilworth knew the Doctor when they first met from the Doctor's point of view. It also explains other apparent inconsistencies like whether Atkins ever accompanied his master to Egypt...
We are into real Mummy territory now. The expedition to find the tomb is typical Universal Films material. I hope a lot of the atmosphere and the setup evokes memories of those films.
Certainly, this section shows an expedition being carried out more thoroughly than was often the truth. Later (in the next instalment in fact), with discussions of Napoleon, Champollion, etc. we'll start to examine how it really was, and address the question of when archaeology and research becomes grave robbing and desecration.
But for now it's all good, clean non-moralising fun. We have an expedition - the members of whom were determined really by their roles in the story. In particular the relationship between Evans, his daughter Margaret, and Simons was deliberately forged the way it is so as to provide for both drama and pathos (as well as some horror of course) later on down the line... It also helps of course to have some tension and misunderstanding between the characters.
The pyramid/tomb itself - once they get inside it - was obviously based on the one in Pyramid of Mars - at least in terms of the traps and puzzles it presents. But rather than slavishly follow the television story, I wanted to expand on that. Use its foundations to build with the thematic and narrative devices of my own story. In particular this was a chance to introduce in earnest the notion that the ancient Egyptians were trying to mirror the heavens when they built their monuments - the pyramids echoing the major stars along the side of the Milky Way as represented by the Nile. That is now pretty much established theory, though it was still emerging as a popular notion when I wrote The Sands of Time. It's a rich idea and has a lot of potential - the idea that the very geography of things is important and that topography is somehow powerful. It appealed to me then, and it still appeals to me now, it is such a beautifully elegant theory on which to build a story.
Which is why I've again used it as the basis of a novel - in thi
s case The Invisible Detective's foray into the world of ancient Egyptian mythology and walking mummies... For those of you who are interested, Web of Anubis is out in August 2004.
Instalment Five
Author's Notes: Instalment Five
There's a line in Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. Actually, there are lots of lines, and a good many of them - not surprisingly - are about death and the preoccupation of death and our own intimations of mortality. Given that the play is about two people who must - given both the events of Hamlet and the title of the play they are in - die.
But at one point, about half way through, Rosencrantz asks Guildenstern: 'Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with a lid on it?' This sparks off some of his longest speeches in the play, and he decides: 'Eternity is a terrible thought. I mean, where's it going to end?' Writers are constantly trying to emulate other writing that they admire or which struck a chord with them.
Whether it be the Kenneth Brannagh film Dead Again (of which more in a later instalment), or Stoppard. I don't think it was conscious, but I echoed R and G again at the end of the Big Finish audio Whispers of Terror - Guildenstern's final words as he disappears from reality are: 'Now you see me, now you - ' Which in itself echoes the notion, discussed throughout the play, that death is an absence of being. It is passive, it is a non-existence. It is the failure of someone to appear rather than an active presence.
Which, in case you were wondering where this was leading, is the point of the sequence where Tegan talks to Nyssa as she sleeps in her coffin. Rosencrantz is unable to conceive of being dead in the box with the lid on. He says that he can only think of it being like sleep - as if someone will come and bang on the lid at any moment and try to wake you up. Which is what Tegan is doing. She needs a friend now more than ever. The death of Simons - and Margaret Evans' reaction to it - has brought this home to her. The disappearance of Simons' body again echoes the notion that death is the fact of someone leaving forever. Never coming back.
And this is something that Tegan has to be able to relate to - hence her reminiscences about her father. 'It's not that we've lost him,' she says, perhaps less eloquently than Rosencrantz, 'it's worse. He's gone, and he's never coming back. Not ever.' Rosencrantz wonders what happened to the moment in childhood when one first realizes that one doesn't go on forever - that one day you are going to die.
It must have been shattering, yet he cannot remember it, so he deduces that we are born with an intimation of mortality. This moment, for Tegan was shattering. She does remember it. And it has affected her so deeply she cannot even discuss it with herself - she can only speak about it to someone else, and someone to whom she is very close. Someone who is unable to hear what she is saying.
The irony is that Simons, as we shall see, does come back. Just as Marcus Scarman did. But, like the dead husband in The Monkey's Paw, that is hardly a comfort. The reality is not sleep like Rosencrantz hopes for but rather the bleached, rotted, worm-eaten skull that Hamlet must confront. But we're getting rather morbid here. The Sands of Time is, amongst other things, a book about family relationships - in particular about fathers and daughters. This is a relationship that is relevant to Rassul, to the Evanses, and later to Prior and Vanessa. Nyssa is almost a daughter to the Doctor and her predicament elicits a father's response.
Tegan too must be drawn into this thematic loop is she is going to be fully part of the story - and so she reacts in certain ways to both the Doctor and to Atkins, and so she must herself have had a father and a relationship with that father that we know about and which - like all the others in the book - was tinged and defined by tragedy...
Instalment Six
Author's Notes: Instalment Six
Again it is time to remind the readers that history cannot be changed. There are a couple of reasons for this - for the reminder, that is. First, going back and changing history is an obvious 'get out' and if it were possible it would enable the Doctor to put things right at a stroke. And second, given the changes of time and location, and the way that the Doctor's actions now seem to impact things that have already happened, we need to be clear that those events are immutable. What the Doctor now does is an essential prerequisite for things that have already happened having happened.
There are a couple of ways of demonstrating this immutability. One is the sequence of Tegan trying to break the chain of events by changing her food order. The other is the Doctor's explanation of how snowflakes have an individual life of their own, yet interact with each other and follow an overall and inter-dependent pattern. This is an interesting theme - one which can be applied to things other than just snowflakes, of course. The beauty of using snow is that each flake, each crystal, is unique and individual within the crowd. We can make the same point about people - as with the ebb and flow of crowds along a New York street in Sometime Never... and how a simple change in that rhythm (initiated by a creature which is outside the usual laws of Time and can therefore make that change) can alter the flow not just of humanity but of history itself.
I use a similar, but perhaps less 'deep' example in The Burning, with the Doctor and Stobbold commenting on the interaction of the sparks from the fire. Here, again, we are talking about predestination (albeit with the Christian overtones that Stobbold brings to the conversation) but also about the nature of fire.
Predestination, in a sense, is the fate of Margaret Evans in this section. As an author I created her simply to have someone to kill off tragically. Of course it isn't quite that simple or callous - there are emotions I wanted to invoke, a sense of unease to play upon, and I needed someone I could use as an echo of the very moving death of Lawrence Scarman in Pyramids of Mars. Partly this was to contrast the Fourth and Fifth Doctors' attitudes to death and partly it is because that is such a 'signature' moment of the story that a sequel that does not pay homage to it, that does not acknowledge its power and emotional depth would not to my mind be doing its job.
The relationship here is rather different than in Pyramids - a simple, easily communicated relationship between two brothers who (we are carefully reminded) used to play happily together is exactly what is needed in the shorthand-world of television. But within a novel a more complex relationship is needed to produce the same emotional depth and sense of tragic loss and waste. Hence the frustrated and awkward relationship between Margaret and Simons.
Looking back, perhaps I got it wrong. Perhaps it would have worked better is Margaret had been possessed, and finally given the power to get whatever she wants, she is forced by that power to destroy her one real passion - Simons. But instead I went for the more pathetic (in the real sense of the word) and perhaps easier option of having the repressed woman as the victim - a final tragedy in an unfulfilled and misunderstood life.
Or perhaps that is exactly the right way to do it - after all, not everything in this world is as beautiful and symmetrical as a snowflake.
Instalment Seven
Author's Notes: Instalment Seven
There is a problem with monsters and creatures that are large and impressive and frightening and silent on screen. They don't necessarily transfer well to print. When I started thinking about a sequel to Pyramids of Mars, I imagined that the Mummies would have a lot more to do in the book than eventually turned out to be the case. The reason for this is quite simply that on the page, they are boring.
Actually, boring isn't quite fair. They are more inconsequential. When the Mummies are not actually doing anything, then they disappear into the background of the narrative. On screen their very presence is powerful and impressive when they simply stand and watch events. But in a novel, if they aren't doing anything it is all too easy for the reader to forget they are there. And all too difficult for the writer to remind the reader of their presence without it seeming forced and intrusive.
When the Mummies are doing something, there is another problem. They don't speak, they have no way of expressing themselves other than by lumbe
ring massively and inexorably onwards. And there are only so many ways you can describe the enormous creature moving heavily towards the Doctor. Or whoever. I imagine the same problems arise with many of the monsters who were so impressive on the small screen - the Yeti in particular spring to mind as a creature that has never really come across so well in books...
So in the end, the Mummies are subservient to Rassul and to Simons. Simons himself is a necessary villain for several reasons. One is simply to give Rassul someone to talk to - to help with plot exposition and motivation in traditional side-kick manner. Another reason for Simons is that since he is totally possessed and unswerving in his allegiance, it allows us to see Rassul's doubt and uncertainty - it helps us realise that he is not beyond redemption. That he has a story of his own, his own reasons and motive for helping Nephthys, and his own doubts about what he is doing...
While Rassul may be unnaturally old, he has to maintain a semblance of humanity. He has to be able to pass unnoticed (or almost) through London centuries - millennia even - after his own time. Marcus Scarman was obviously a dead man walking in Pyramids. That was something I wanted to expand on - what if he had been kept animated for longer? How long before he started to decay and waste away? How would he have smelled - especially in the heat of Egypt?
Finally, whereas we only see the real Scarman for a few moments before he is killed, I wanted Simons to be a real character before his death and reanimation. I wanted to show the contrast between the effete, slightly nervous, and very human person and the cold, unfeeling instrument of Nephthys. The reader's reaction, in many ways, I hope would mirror that of Margaret when confronted with such a changed, yet still recognisable, man. In this section of the book, everything changes. We switch time zones yet again, and in effect we acquire a new cast of characters. Only Tegan, the Doctor and Atkins persist. But we have met Prior right at the beginning of the book (albeit in his younger days), and the villain - Rassul - is still on hand to remind us that we are in the same narrative, that the problem and the mystery remain the same.