Strictly Writing

Let's actually write something today

2012-01-30T06:00:00.000Z

This won't take long to read.

Here's a little exercise I did with a friend the other day and it worked out just lufferly. Phone a writing buddy and agree what you are going to do today. All of your main activities for the day. Not too many, mind. The important thing is to commit to each of them and then agree that you will speak again at the end of the day. For example, I will: 1. Clean the fridge 2. Go and buy Daniel's birthday present 3. Write a first draft of that short story 4. Go to gym

When I did this exercise recently I achieved all of the agreed tasks before lunch. I think the important thing is to set some realistic tasks and encourage your buddy to do the same.

Okay, this is for real. Monday 30 January 2012. I will: 1. Check in with my business partner after my holiday. 2. Make arrangements or book time to do amendments on the marketing project. 3. Go through my poems and choose a batch to submit to mags. 4. Go to gym.

Have to go now . . .

Friday's watching round-up

2012-01-27T07:57:00.005Z

Okay so we've talked about what we're reading and writing. Here's what the Strictlies are watching on telly.

Do let us know what you're hooked on right now...

Susie

All I'm watchingthese days is terrible reality shows and Location Location, because I'm lookingfor a place to buy. Comfort telly.

Gillian
I'm Watching masterchef and Too Fat For Fifteen on Watch HD.

Helen
Well I've been watching Sherlock which was as close to sublime as anything I can think of. Also Masterchef. The PHD atomic physisist rocks!!!

Debs

Watching? Mainly a blankcomputer screen, but Birdsong and Snog, Marry, Avoid recently (shameful) Put me down for Sherlock please aswell, I'm asking for him in a boxed set for my birthday - I am SHERLOCKED!
Caroline

Still feeling bereaved at The Killing II ending and also The Slap, which was an Australian drama based on the best selling book by Christopher Tsiolkas. One of the best bits of television I've seen in years. So now I'm mainly glued to Masterchef! Does anyone else ever get a bit emotional at Masterchef?

Seeing our writing as others see it

2012-01-25T06:00:00.003Z

O wad some power the giftie us

To see oursels as ithers see us
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion

I feel a bit sorry for the woman in Robert Burns's poem 'To a Louse.' There she is, minding her own business in church, and not only does she have a headlouse viewing her as nothing more than his next meal, but there happens to be a poetic genius around to immortalise her decision to wear a nice hat. Still, I suppose nits and poets can happen to anyone. They like clean hair, apparently.

Wouldn't it be useful to be able to see our writing as others see it? Such an ability would have saved me a lot of angst over the years. I could check at a glance whether my work made sense; whether it was cringeworthy; whether a naff simile was actually original to fresh eyes; whether I used semi-colons when commas would do. The clarity would enable me not only to avoid the blunders, but perhaps to stop mucking about with the good bits too.

Heaven forbid that this ability should be innate, however. It would have to have kicked in when I was at least 25 and had been round the writer's block a few times, because if I had possessed such a talent during my teens, I would probably never have written another word. Awareness of our own failings might be an admirable state, but I reserve the right for my teenage self to churn out as much woeful adjective-filled tut as possible, and to be pleased with herself for having done so. If you can't have a few foolish notions when you're 16, when can you?

When I wonder what it would be like to view my writing from another reader's point of view, my first instinct is to want to spot any technical failings. On a practical level I do try to make my writing look as unlike my own as possible, by changing the typeface or converting the file to PDF. (Turning things into PDFs immediately makes them look better for some reason – maybe I should try this for my face!)

Technical details, however, are not what I'd really like to know about how other people view my fiction. I don't ask readers what they think of my book because I firmly believe it's none of my business. They have every right to like it or not like it – and if they reckon it's lousy, there's not much I can do about it anyway. But out of pure nosiness, the thing I'd find fascinating is to know exactly how people picture my characters and settings. It would be amazing to see photographic images of someone else's perception – how different would the characters be from the way I see them? Would they be clear or indistinct? Would they look like people the reader knows, or would they be purely imaginary? Would they change the images I hold in my own mind and make me see my work in a new light?

If you could see your writing as others see it – what's the first thing you'd want to know?

A Re-Kindled Spirit

2012-01-24T06:00:00.000Z

Crikey. Who'd have thought. Not me that's for sure.

My daughter summed up my biggest fear when I told her I'd spent the best part of three days and four nights on both the Picnik and Kindle Direct sites designing the cover and formatting and re-formatting and loading and deleting and uploading and re-uploading and ... well, you get the drift... she said I was scared of the 'Pity Purchases'. And I was. So, so scared of them. Because I've done it myself. I have writer friends who've published books - proper paper books with print on them and everything.. I know! ... and because they're friends and I've known them years (some for over a decade) when they announce they have a new book out, what's the first thing I do?
Okay, second then... the first is always to check my green-levels, lay a metaphorical damp flannel on my seething, jealousy-consumed parts and calm down. Secondly I fly a reply straight back telling them the news is 'fantastic' (which it is, of course it IS) and that I shall be purchasing said new publication as quick as you like.
Which for me, defeats the point. Because I almost never read them. In fact sometimes I don't even get round to buying them. *shameface* And it's not because I don't like said writer friend, it's just that what they write just isn't my kind of 'read'. And if I bought every book written by every 'virtual friend then my shelves would be full to bursting with guilt-edged paperbacks.
So it was with great trepidation that I finally decided I'd self-publish my first teenage book.
My decision was 'helped along by a number of things, namely:

a particularly big Birthday looming
the encouragement and unfailing support of my beloved daughter, to whom the book is dedicated (although she hasn't read it... I rest my case...)
the fact that the characters in this book deserve to be met. They spent nearly two years with two separate agents, underwent three re-writes (at one agent's suggestions) and three different endings only to be shown the nice but still painful door marked 'Rejection'.
I loved designing the cover so much I wanted the world to see it.
a particularly Big Birthday .. wait, have I already said that?
The pressure of precisely Zero. - i.e. no Agent or Publisher to impress, no sales figures to worry about, no shonky marketing to panic over, no angsting over ranking and certainly no deadline over when/what book #2 will be because I've got that covered.

And actually it makes me sad to think that these 39 chapters would just be languishing idle in a dead file somewhere on the home pc and in the folder which sits beside me in my little room if I didn't set it 'free'.

When I finally pressed 'publish' on the Amazon site, I had a cup of tea and caught up with Sherlock. The only people I 'announced' it to was my daughter, my husband and a writerly friend. One texted me back with a 'whoop! one passed me a biscuit and Fi accidentally sent me her credit card details when she bought a copy* (thanks, our new TV is smashing!)
So, I give you 'Dead Good' (originally born 'Double History' and recently renamed) Also meet D A Cooper. She was me, once. She is still only half me. I'm actually a D.J. but a writer friend said the initials suggested more music than words.

It's here but UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES is this to be 'pity-purchased' - I will be justifiably insulted if this happens and I WILL hunt you down (I'm sure I'd work out how and who and where.... so don't even TRY it :). I want this book to travel the good old-fashioned route to it's 'target' readership which is teenage/young adult based with a handsome ghost bias.
So, phew. Does this mean I don't get to die unpublished? Does it count? I'm still not entirely sure but I am very glad it has the chance of being read by whoever stumbles across it and I'm even looking forward to it getting some wobbly reviews. Any kind of feedback other than 'not for us, thanks' is going to be much better received, I guarantee.

By llama deciding

2012-01-23T06:00:00.000Z

I find anagrams quite fascinating – there are so many possibilities with each word. It's a time wasting exercise and I wonder about the intellectual capabilities of these websites which can jiggle letters so efficiently. They are so much quicker and smarter than the best contestants on Countdown. But rather than spend hours using my own brain, I decided to visit an anagram generator site to see what goods it would bring forth. Just for fun, of course. But it can get addictive! I typed my name first – I was ‘llama deciding’ then I moved on to a few of my favourite books. ‘The Secret History’ became ‘The Erotic Shyster’ and ‘Darkmans’ became ‘Mad Ranks’. I keyed in ‘The Dissident’ and the generator came up with ‘This Destined’. I then tried ‘Let The Great World Spin’ and it spat out ‘Shrewd Tolerant Piglet.’
Some are random and amusing, raising a giggle or two. I tried my own book – ‘Damning Ants’ it stated. Even if your book title is short, it guarantees a response as the generator will deal with seven to thirty characters. Poor William Shakespeare states ‘I Am A Weakish Speller’ while Julian Barnes is ‘Banal Injures’ and JM Coetzee is ‘Jeez Comet.’

Here is a fun list -

Great Expectations – ‘Castigate On Expert’

Wuthering Heights – ‘Win Thuggish Three’

The Satanic Verses – ‘Scares The Natives’

Cecilia Ahern – ‘A Chancier Lie’

The Sisters Brothers – ‘Birth Or The Stresses’

Pigeon English – ‘In Sleeping Hog’

The Sense Of An Ending – ‘An Eighteen Fondness’

Hunter S Thompson – ‘Shorten On Thumps’

AS Byatt – ‘Batty As’

Margaret Atwood – ‘Dear Warm To Goat’

Are there any books or authors the generator can’t handle? We could have hours of fun with this – try inputting your agent or publisher. See what comes up…..

Work, work, busy, busy...

2012-01-20T06:00:00.001Z

So last Friday you told us what you were reading and very interesting that was too. A bit like peeking into someone's bedroom. Only not as pervy.

Well we're still on a nosy kick and wondered, since we're all writers here, what you're currently working on.
Again, in a spirit of touchy feely sharing and wot-not, here's what the Strctly gang currently have on their desk.

Helen is on the first draft of her sixth novel which she has tentatively called Dark Spaces. And no it's not sci-fi.

Suzie is going through the copy-edit of The Making of Her and gasping at the number of hyphens she uses.

Gillian is writing a letter of complaint to a well known car dealer along the lines of 'Dear Sir, I'm really pissed off with your car...'

Fi is beginning a total re-write of her first novel. Gulp.

Caroline G is writing her third book for Picadilly Press. She's still on the first draft and finding her way in despite having a plan!

Caroline R is writing a 5,000 word essay on Ignaz Semmelweis for her MA. It is due in on Monday and frankly, she will be glad to see the back of it.

So come on guys. Tell us about your WIP.

The Birds and the Bees

2012-01-17T06:00:00.003Z

So it recently hit me that my novel will be published on (don’t snigger) April 1st and that the file labelled Marketing, which has hitherto sat on a shelf above my desk in a floaty, non-threatening, futuristic kind of way, has begun to jump up and down and beckon me – or whatever a marketing file without hands or feet does to signal Urgency.

It’s time, it seems, to enter the publicity machine. Or rather, the animal kingdom. I must imitate the bee and Create A Buzz around my book. I must emulate the bird and learn to Twitter and Tweet (even, it seems, to Re-Tweet - which for some disgusting reason brings to mind Refried Beans). I must copy the spider and spin a website to entice unwary media flies to my lair (mwa-ha-ha).

Now all this doesn’t come easily to me. One of my reasons for leaving the BBC, back in 1996, was because of the emphasis on what they called Your Profile In The Department. In other words, it wasn’t enough to make programmes: you had to be seen to be making them. Whereas all I wanted was to hide away in my tatty corner of the horribly open-plan office and just get on with it. Or so I told myself. So what’s different this time around?

Maybe, like any pushy parent, I want to do the best for my book. I want it to be top of the class, invited to all the right parties, chosen for the first team and elected Head Prefect (jolly hockeysticks and shades of Mallory Towers).

Or maybe my Media Tart is coming out of the closet.

O Media Tart – you of the black lace padded bra, the pillar-box lipstick, the tottering sparkly heels, the perpetually astonished Botoxed brows and the sooty false eyelashes, all the better to flutter at unwary victims –

Erm, sorry. I digress. Get back in that closet, will you, and shut the door.

So I’ve made a start on the seven pages of what-seemed-like-brilliant-ideas-at-the-time. I’ve contacted well-known media figures to ask if they might read and possibly review The Making of Her. So far, the tally is: three no’s (one of them absolutely delightful – thanks, Bel Mooney), one yes, perhaps and six waiting. I’ve crouched over Benn’s Media in the library, sandwiched between whispering students, and copied out 50 contacts, from glossy magazines to cosmetic surgery trade magazines. After that, I will turn to newspapers, literary festivals, bookgroups and local publications. My new Publicity Profile will be peppered with postcards and press releases. I will Face Up to Facebook, Brazen it at Bookstores, Bare All to Bloggers and generally learn to Be Nice.

The other day I had an email from my publisher, wondering whether a new book was in the pipeline. My inner writer attempted to reply, but was prevented by the Media Tart who had decided it was prudent to sit on her.

Will any of these activities make an iota of difference to sales? Ask me in six months time, when the inner writer will hopefully be back in her dark corner, plying her trade.

Meanwhile, let the Media Tart have her wicked, wanton way. Let her make predatory eyes at the press. Let her toss away her black bra and frolic with the birds and the bees.

And wish her luck, will you? I think she may need it

Same story, just different...

2012-01-16T06:00:00.001Z

Last Thursday I went to the cinema with three girlfriends.

To be honest, I rarely do this because Mr Black doesn't get home from work 'til 8.30pm at the earliest, and I worry the children will burn down the house, kill one another or eat the dog, if I head out of the house before he heads in. I recall a stern telephone conversation from Green Park tube station where I was telling my daughter that no, she should not boil an egg. When I say stern , you understand that that is middle class bullshit for shouting right? Commuters all around frowned at me while I screamed into my mobile, 'do not ruin my one night out a year by getting third degree burns! Do you hear me lady?'

Anway, I threw caution to the wind and left 'em to it on Thursday because we had tickets for We Need To Talk About Kevin.

I don't know if you've read the book. If you haven't, do so immediately. It is a work of - and I use this word advisedly - genius. It is the sort of book that, as a writer, you shake your head in awe at the intricacy on display. It's all there; voice, unreliable narrator, structure, tension, twist in the tale. The author, Lionel Shriver plays a blinder.

So I was really excited to see the film. I wasn't sure what to expect. I mean, we've all seen adaptations of books we love and hated them right? Personally, I don't know if I'll ever get over Fight Club. God knows I could look at Brad Pitt all freaking day but that film was a travesty I tell ya, a travesty.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those nay sayers who think all adaptations are rubbish. That the silver screen can never match the glory of the written word. I don't think that at all. Probably my fave book of all time is Trainspotting, or at leats it would come in my top five. And I bloody love that film too. Danny Boyle takes all the elements that make the novel seminal (the rock n roll cool factor, the complete lack of judgmentalism about drugs, the voices) and incorporates them into his film. What he doesn't do is try to follow the plot, such as it is, too closely or worry about the things that a book can do and a film can't. He leaves them be and runs with what a film can do that a book can't - a soundtrack for one.

Lynne Ramsay's We Need To Talk About Kevin follows the same path in that the director leaves many of the central themes that she cannot replicate in cinema well alone, instead concentrating on breathtaking cinematography and symbolism that any shrink would be proud of. It is a feast for the eyes. The actors are all fabulous.
As a film it is both dazzlingly beautiful and unremittingly bleak.

But here's the thing. The book isn't either of those things. Where Danny Boyle ran with the original's coolth factor, just giving it to us differently, Lynne Ramsay skips what to my mind is the totem pole of the book, it's spine if you like. The thing that makes We Need To Talk About Kevin a page turner, and it is, despite knowing early on in proceedings what happens, was the reader's inability to guess where the truth lay. Was Kevin evil from birth? Or did his Mother simply hate him from birth? It is the central question which rages on every page...without it there is no We Need To Talk About Kevin. There is just a (undeniably beautiful) depiction of the aftermath of a horrible crime.

And speaking of which, I discovered when I got home that the kids hadn't eaten the dog but nor had they taken her out for an evening poo...

Friday's Reading Round up...

2012-01-12T11:36:00.003Z

When you see someone on the tube or the bus do you check out what they're reading?

Do you wonder what books other people have on their bedside table?

Don't know about you lot but for we Strictlies it's guilty as charged. So please indulge our nosiness and tell us what you're reading at present. We won't judge. And just to show our good faith, here's the list of what we've got on the go...

Helen is reading Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow by Peter Hoeg.
Fi has her head in The Help by Kathryn Stockett.
For Debs, it's Me Before You by Jo Jo Moyes.
Susie's half way through Three Men On a Plane by Mavis cheeks.
Gillian is juggling two: Cold Light by Jenn Ashworth and The Sisters Brothers by Patrick de Witt.
Caroline G is reading Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher.
And Rod is into Antoinette Quinn's biography of Patrick Kavanagh.

But this must surely win a prize?
Our Caroline R has this one keeping her up at night: The Worm in the Bud: The World of Victorian Sexuality by Ronald Pearsall.

So come one. Fess up. Tell us what you're reading.

Grate cookbooks giving you a pizza their mind!

2012-01-11T06:00:00.000Z

Normally at Christmas we get stuck into the turkey (or the Quorn roast, if, like me you are a vegetarian), the mince pies and the puddings, but this year I wasn’t just as keen to go all traditional. Just before Christmas I Sky Plus-ed a programme called Jerusalem On A Plate which was a journey by chef Yotam Ottolenghi back to his native city, a place of strong food traditions. I love to sample dishes from other cultures and while watching the programme, my mouth watered as I saw the vast array of spices being added to vibrant dishes which are so much part of Arabic and Jewish culture. I suddenly forgot about the mediocre brussel sprouts, roast potatoes, carrots, parsnips and creamy mash that I’d consumed and began reading more about these wonderful ingredients used in Middle Eastern cuisine. Chick peas, z’hatar, turmeric, olive oil, coriander, bulgar wheat, pomegranate and tahini. I wanted to explore more of the food of the Middle East and of course the politics that come with it so I did some reading.

As my appetite is now back in action following the hyperemesis episode, I’ve decided to amass a collection of Middle Eastern cookbooks. Yotam Ottolenghi’s new book Jerusalem is out this year, so I’m already looking forward to trying to recreate some of the recipes. I say ‘trying’ because I collect cookbooks merely to look at the pictures and dream about what I’d love to cook. Heck, Nigella Lawson is still sitting on my dining room sofa brandishing her whisk. Unfortunately I don’t have the ‘skillet takes’ (ha ha), the time, nor the patience to cook these often complex dishes, then clear up the mess. The mess is definitely the worst because no matter how hard I try, there are trails of breadcrumbs and dribbles of sauce everywhere. I did try making tabbouleh a few years ago but it ended up swimming in olive oil as I put in double what I should have.

One of the reasons why I love Israeli, Lebanese and Palestinian cuisine is the vast array of vegetarian dishes which would be just as appetising to carnivores. I’ve always loved the flavours but never had the opportunity to explore it in depth. And chefs like Yotam Ottolenghi actually care about non-meat eaters, celebrating the wonders of exotic vegetables and spices. As I write this, I’m trying to cobble together another tabbouleh. I highly recommend watching Jerusalem On A Plate and also urge you to read up on this delectable cuisine which is bursting with flavour –

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b017znj9/hd/Jerusalem_on_a_Plate/

What’s your favourite cookbook and why? Can you recommend any to add to my collection as I may have missed some?

Pic: my attempt at tabbouleh

Back to school?

2012-01-09T06:00:00.000Z

I love agood writing course. I’ve been on quite a few in the last few yearsincluding two run by Spread the Word and taken by the brilliant Maggie Gee, twoCornerstones residential ones with the brilliant Lee Weatherly, and a bunch ofothers here and there, not always with such brilliant tuition.

Thetrouble is that after a while, I started to realise that the same topics werecoming round again and again; plot and characterisation, dialogue, endings,and, almost always, how to pitch to agents and publishers.

It started to feelas though I was covering ground that I was already familiar with, and althoughI was no expert in any of it, I didn't need to hear the same advice all overagain.

So I stopped looking out for them.

But I'm starting to wish there was something out there for me. A course for when you have a certain level of experience, are maybe even already published,just to help brush up on skills and keep your writing as sharp as it can be.

In manyprofessions, career development courses are a job requirement. My husband is acriminal lawyer and must undertake twelve hours of training every year in orderto be allowed to continue doing his job. Doctors, nurses, teachers,librarians....they and many many others all have to take training courses tohelp them stay on top of the professional world they move in. I wish there wassomething similar for writers, too.

I don'twant to do asomething as intensive as an MA or a PhD. An Arvon course isn't something I could do until my children are a bit older.

I’d just like to take the occasional course that wastailored to my own level of experience.

What do you think, Strictly readers? Dosuch courses already exist?

Apply Within

2012-01-04T06:00:00.000Z

Position: Writer

Hours: 24 per day, 7 days perweek, 52 weeks per year... you get the idea. Yes, even whilst you sleep and shower and… other bathroom/ bedroomrelated activities.

Salary: Let’snot get ahead of ourselves now.

Duties: Mainlywriting. (And predominately writing stuff that people are going to WANT to read– pay good money to read and love so much that they will tell their friends andtheir family and in return make money for the publishers of your book, youragent, and, somewhere along the line, maybe even you [see *salary above]).

Oh, you’ll also have to keep on the paidwork. The one that allows you to pick upscintillating tidbits of gossip from colleagues and turn them into workableplots and believable characters. Becauseotherwise how will you pay for the fuel that keeps the keyboard and screenworking? And eat. Hmm?

Qualities: Over-activeimagination from birth. Tendency to reada lot, write a lot and make a lot of stuff up – whilst not necessarily allowingimaginary stuff to escape mouth (unless cruel boys/thuggish girls deserve it, andactually, maybe not even then, unless you want to get a severe telling-off fromthe Head for being melodramatic) (in front of said bullies) (making it worse)(somebody stop me, I’m whittering).

Abilityto construct sentences; to spell words correctly (or use of spellchecker) andsome grasp of grammar. Humour,intelligence, desire to connect with invisible audience and above all, *capacityto remain unruffled in the face of limitless rejections from agents (initially)(rejections will become ‘bad reviews’ if/when published).

Okay then, *thick skin will do.

Experience: A smatteringof the following would be helpful:

Betrayal
First Love
Childbirth
Bullying
Divorce
Marriage
Death
Good times
Better times
Bad times
Worse times
Rejection
Invisible friends

Makes you wonder what sort of eejit would even THINK about applying for a job like this, doesn't it?!

The Elevator Pitch

2012-01-03T06:00:00.003Z

"Once upon a time, in a far away land, where the streets were paved with gold, there lived a lady writer called Amelia. Her cat, Puss in Boots had made friends with the local Emperor, who liked to walk naked through the town. Her best friend Rapunzel had been imprisoned in a nearby tower and lived her life waiting for a faithful prince to come and rescue her. In the garden of Amelia's house, the house she had bought from Jack's mother, a cutting of a beanstalk leading towards the sky often echoed with the sound of overhead giants.

Sometimes, Amelia felt like she was living in a strange fairytale..."

It's a given that fairy tales have a happy ending. It's more or less understood in chick lit that the girl will get her man and in a tale of good versus evil that good will win out. So spinning a yarn on paper, should be simple. Easy peasy.

The reality is that we writers have many moments of being in the horrors. Days, weeks, spent wondering what the hell we are doing.Times when we doubt ourselves, tell ourselves to stop this madness and move on - do something else with our time. If I had a pound for every time I felt those feelings, it would provide (at least) a part time income. If I had a pound for everyone who looked blankly at me saying 'You're a writer, have I heard of something you've written?' only to follow it up (before I've had a chance to reply) with 'I've thought about writing a book, they say everyone's got one in them, don't they?'

Yes. 'They' frigging do.

So it must be a cinch really, this writing lark. After all, everyone's got a book in them.

Well I've had three actually. All of them pretty steep learning curves in this apprenticeship. But if I'm honest, I can now see their faults clearly and before/if I embark on another novel, I'm determined to try one extra thing I haven't previously done - What’s that? Answer in one to three lines what the story is about... I now believe every novel should have a succinct elevator pitch - saying exactly what the story core is. A pared back pitch from which everything else hangs, the bones without the meat - you get the picture. What is the book REALLY about?

For example, in the case of my opening paragraph:

Rapunzel – A beautiful young woman is trapped, then, realises she already holds the means of her escape in her hands.

The Emperors New Clothes - A vain powerful man is conned by people who know his weakness.

It's easier to do with fairy-tales and of course it can always be done after you've read a novel you love. It is however not easy to do before you write one, or even during the structured writing process. It's different to ‘theme.’ You have to pare the layers away to get to the story core. I could write a book about love, identity and healing friendship - all wonderful themes, but if asked to elevator pitch it to Steven Spielberg in one line, I'd probably say 'It's about a friendly alien who lands on earth and needs to find a way home'.

So what's your current WIP really about? Be it a short story, a poem, a novel, could you have that short succinct reply ready if you met Le Spielberg in an elevator and he asked you that question. Or, despite what I now think, does it even matter?

For the journey...

2012-01-02T06:00:00.003Z

We writers need all the support we can get on what can be a lonely journey. No wonder we join writing communities and writing groups, sign up for writing classes and follow writer’s blogs. It helps to know that others like ourselves are out there, rooting for us, encouraging us, teaching us and supporting us. The tribe of writers is a vast one, spanning the globe and almost every age-group and circumstance.

So as we embark on this new year, I thought I’d write about the resources which have been most helpful on my own writer’s journey. Perhaps you’d like to add your own.

FOR EARLY INSPIRATION

The Artist’s Way – Julia Cameron
This is the most brilliant resource to really help you focus on your creativity. Especially good if you like a structure. Its combination of a 12-week plan, daily Morning Pages and walking and a weekly Artist’s Date are excellent for restoring your own confidence in yourself as a creative person.

Becoming A Writer – Dorothea Brande
Written many decades ago, this is still seen as a definitive guide to becoming a writer.

The Way We Write – Barbara Baker
A collection of fascinating essays by writers in many different genres about their writing practices.

WHILST WRITING

I love The Complete Book of Novel Writing (everything you need to know about creating and selling your work) - Writers Digest – a vast tome which is made up of essays by writers, each focussing on a different angle of the novel-writing process. Really good on the craft of writing.

Stein on Writing - Sol Stein is fabulous. Stein is both an editor and a successful novelist and he Talks Sense. His other book on growing a novel is also great.

EDITING

This one’s a bit controversial. Self-Editing For Fiction Writers - Browne and King is the Marmite of the editing guides. I found it helpful. Judge for yourself.

FOR THE LOWS: REJECTION, EXHAUSTION ETC.

The Resilient Writer (tales of rejection and triumph from 23 writers) – Catherine Wald
This cheered me up during the hard times.

The Writer’s Book of Hope – Ralph Keyes
Ditto

The Sound of Paper and The Right to Write – Julia Cameron
In these, Cameron is very open about her own writerly rocky patches and how she copes with the hard times.

SUBMITTING

From Pitch to Publication – Carole Blake
Written by the founder of literary agents Blake Friedmann. Gives a good overview of the process of submitting from an agent’s point of view. Not sure about her advice about long synopses, but if you’re subbing to her, you know what you need to do!

MARKETING AND PUBLICITY

Marketing Your Book – Alison Baverstock
Wanna Be A Writer We’ve Heard Of? – Jane Wenham-Jones

ONLINE COMMUNITY

WriteWords Writing Community
A great online resource where writers can get together, let off steam, learn, be critiqued and where several well-published authors are experts and are extremely generous with their time and advice. Free for a month’s trial, then £20/35 per year.
http://writewords.org.uk/

EDITORIAL REPORTS

The Hilary Johnson Author’s Advisory Service
I sent off my first three chapters, synopsis and cover letter and received a very helpful and encouraging report.
http://www.hilaryjohnson.demon.co.uk/

Cornerstones
Have heard good things about them. They also occasionally have competitions which are well worth entering.
http://www.cornerstones.co.uk/

The Writer’s Workshop
Again, heard good things. And they will look at your cover letter by email for free, or at least they used to.
http://www.writersworkshop.co.uk/literary-agents.html

COURSES AND OPPORTUNITIES

NAWE (National Association of Writers in Education, aka The Writers Compass)
Used to be called Literature Training. An excellent, free guide to opportunities for writers – courses, classes, jobs etc. You only need to sign up with them and they’ll email you updates every couple of weeks.
http://www.nawe.co.uk/the-writers-compass/about-the-writers-compass.html

Arvon Foundation
I’ve never been on an Arvon course myself, but pretty much everyone I know who has has returned singing their praises. Expensive, yes, but they have the very best tutors and also offer bursaries.
http://www.arvonfoundation.org/p1.html

AND FINALLY...

A friend was kind enough to post me the Guardian Masterclass supplement on How To Write Fiction – a really, really excellent publication which is now available as an e-book for less than £3: definitely worth it.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/info/2011/oct/14/how-to-write-fiction-ebook

So that’s my personal list of resources. Would love to hear yours.

And wishing you all a creative, productive and successful writing year from all of us at Strictly.

Happy New Year Everyone!

2012-01-01T12:27:00.003Z

May the next 365 days bring happiness, health, and writing success to us all.

New Beginnings?

2011-12-23T06:00:00.004Z

The Winter Solstice has just passed. The darkness of winter is slowly and almost imperceptibly giving way to the light. This is the true New Year.

No, I’m not going to bang on about writerly resolutions. Instead, I’m thinking about new beginnings. And when they’re necessary, writing-wise.

My first novel was a bit of a miracle. I’d turned up for a week’s How To Write A Novel course, run by the redoubtable romantic novelist, Jane Pollard. I arrived clutching my WIP like a lifebelt – not much of it, but a beginning nonetheless – all bright-eyed and ready to Learn. Imagine my horror when Jane told us to abandon any novel we’d already begun and to start, this week, from scratch. What the hell would I write about? But I reluctantly let the novel go.

That night, something extraordinary happened. After a long day on the course, the germ of an idea appeared. I sat at my kitchen table and began to write. By next morning I had a story. Something I’d never thought of writing. I knew who the characters were to be. I knew roughly what happened and how. I knew how it ended. Indeed, when Jane had us write a sex scene during the week’s course, I wrote the final scene. And whilst much of the novel has changed over the course of the following five years, that scene has remained almost untouched.

So I’ve been struggling to write my second novel for ages. I got as far as a third of the way through, and stopped. Then I embarked on a frenzy of editing – bad idea - and stopped again. I ran it past various writerly friends and colleagues – and stopped yet again.

Of course it’s different second time around. I’ve been busy editing and preparing the first novel for publication. I have a marketing plan to sort out. I’ve also moved house twice in a year and had countless stressful things to deal with. Is this the reason why I haven’t written anything new for over a year? Could be. Or is it fear? Quite possibly. Or the dreaded Second Novel Syndrome? Wouldn’t be surprised.

Or do I need to let this novel go and see whether there’s a sliver of a new idea waiting to be born?

It’s a knotty question. It may be that I haven’t fully committed to the novel. It may be that I haven’t yet fallen in love with the characters or the plot. These things may happen in time. Or they may not.

It’s a bit like being in a relationship which has weathered the early, heady days but got stagnant. Do you persevere with it in the hope that it will deepen and revive or let it go and trust that something more resembling a soulmate will appear?

Part of me longs to set the current novel aside and start again, from scratch. To sign up for a course in novel-writing and begin again at the beginning. To somehow wipe away the years of rejection and angst and find again that bright-eyed innocence, that trust in the process and a successful outcome. But as William Blake wrote, once you’ve been through the process of Experience you will never have that innocence again. All you can do is bring your newfound experience to bear on the next thing, and try to learn to trust.

So my toast, this Winter Solstice, is to new beginnings. Whether this means a new commitment to an old love, or the search for a new, unknown one. Perhaps all that’s required is an empty heart. I wish you all joy for your writerly festivities and all creativity and joy for the year to come. Oh, and here are three quotes, as companions on the journey:

Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.
F.Scott Fitzgerald

Standing on the starting line, we are all cowards.
Alberto Salazar

You don’t need endless time and perfect conditions. Do it now. Do it today. Do it for twenty minutes and watch your heart start beating.
Barbara Sher

Not a Partridge Nor a Pear Tree In Sight...

2011-12-22T06:00:00.003Z

I had this post drafted when there were twelve days to Christmas and had it all nicely tied in the with festive song. However, without boring you with the details, I’m posting a later version of it now. And it’s really got nothing to do with the song, not a sign of milking maids or partridges... It hasn’t even got anything to do with Christmas... However, it is my little gift to you procrastinators out there who like to browse websites/articles with writer-ly stuff. One for each day left in 2011 – enjoy!

1. www.unbound.co.uk

Interesting concept where readers pledge unpublished authors support in getting their book published

2. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/moslive/article-2040044/Kindle-How-make-million-writing-e-book.html

Article on e-publishing with Kindle. Could YOU make a million?

3. http://emergingwriter.blogspot.com/2010/08/how-to-write-synopsis.html

Do you, like me, dread the word ‘synopsis’?

4. http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/art/snowflake.php

How to write a novel using the ‘snowflake method’.

5. http://www.creative-writing-now.com/short-story-ideas.html

A link for those writers who are interested in the world of short stories, but the site offers so much more as well.

6. http://inkygirl.com/a-writers-guide-to-twitter

Do you tweet? If not, should you?

7. http://writewords.org.uk/

Brilliant writer’s forum website and the first place where I met some fab writer friends!

8. http://www.be-a-better-writer.com/character-name-generator.html

Stuck on a name for that guy inside your head? Name your characters in a simple click!

9. http://www.writersstore.com/character-driven-or-action-driven

An interesting read on character versus plot. Which do you write naturally?

10. http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/dec/07/writers-pen-names

Pen names – why and how?

"Fifty Things I've Learned About The Literary Life"

2011-12-20T06:00:00.000Z

Apologies for the cop-outedness in the compilation of this post, but when I read this I immediately wanted to share it with you all...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/dec/18/fifty-literary-life-robert-mccrum

And A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS to everybody!

Important announcement

2011-12-19T09:30:00.000Z

YOU SHOULD NOT BE READING THIS.

GO AND DO SOME WRITING -

STOP PROCRASTINATING.

Happy Christmas from Roderic.

(Hope to see you back here tomorrow for our next post)

A Recipe for Success: Guest post by Sam Tonge

2011-12-16T06:00:00.000Z

This week, after 6 years of subbing to agents, I finally signed a contract.Whilst I know this alone is no guarantee of a publishing deal – let alone Hollywood film rights, dinner at The Ivy or worldwidestardom – it’s an important step for me, up onto the first rung of an author’scareer ladder.

So, how have Iaccomplished this? What is my particular recipe for success?

100g of Maths

Hemingway said youneeded to write 1,000,000 words before you were publishable. Okay. I’ve written5 books. That’s 500,000 words. Plus short stories this last year. Call that30,000 with all the rewrites. Blogging for a year, four years at universityyears ago if I can count that… All in all I’ve probably raked up 700,000 words.I’d say once you hit the half million mark, you are seriously on your way.

Someone else said ittook 10,000 hours of practise to become the top of your field – an outstandingsportsman or great concert pianist. Okay. For the last 6 years I’ve probablywritten a minimum of 15 hours a week, minus 2 weeks hols. 50 weeks x 15 = 750,750 x 6 years = 4500 hours. Plus all the extra stuff – uni etc – I’ve probablyracked up around 6000-7000 hours. So, again, whilst there’s still great roomfor improvement, I’d say rack up around 5000 hours of writing practise and thatfirst rung of the ladder should be in sight.

50g of Networking

Networking in itselfwill get you nowhere if the writing is not good enough. But it will open doorsinto getting your work read, hearing about new agents setting up and lookingfor clients, making friends with other writers who will introduce you to theiragents. Over the years, through contacts, I have had large chunks of my novelread by certain agents. They’ve never offered me a deal, clearly I wasn’t readyyet – but their feedback was always invaluable. Join an online forum and get toknow other writers on Facebook. Blog. Attend literary events. Get yourself outthere.

50g of Feedback

Join an onlineworkshop. Upload your work to get critique and, just as importantly, critiqueother writers’ work – it will teach you a lot. Over the years I’ve also hadseveral editorial reports done, from which I’ve probably learnt the most.

I medium-sized eyefor the market

Don’t write in avacuum. Keep an eye on what is selling in your genre.

A pinch of madness

Only a fool would putthemselves through years of rejection, right? Treat with large quantities ofchocolate and Chardonnay.

To Decorate

Ice with a huge dollopof determination and sprinkle with sweat and tears.

For some the recipe ismore straightforward and may contain nothing more than an appearance on acelebrity reality show and a ghostwriter. But for most of us, the combinationof ingredients is more complex. Whatever your own personal recipe turns out tobe, I wish you the best of luck. Don’t give up. The final taste is worth it.

Gimme more...

2011-12-15T06:00:00.001Z

As most of you know, I'm a fairly prolific writer. Not for me endless hours waiting for the muse to strike. But when I read the blog post below, I felt like the biggest fattest amateur out there.

http://thisblogisaploy.blogspot.com/2011/06/how-i-went-from-writing-2000-words-day.html

I must admit that much of what the author said made massive sense to me.

Her first revelation that plotting saves time came as no surprise to me. Indeed, I am already a heavy plotter, knowing pretty much what a scene will look like before I come to my PC. Often I will have already played it out in my head and know who says what to who and where.

I'll have also asked myself the question...where does this scene take me? And I will have satisfied myself that it is integral, nay essential for the story. All before I begin to type.

I know that there are as many methods of writing as there are writers. And I know that the things this author highlights will seem counter intuitive to many. But I would urge anyone who needs to increase their output to at least consider these methods. I'd also give 'em a shot if I were 'stuck'.

Anyway, have another peep at the link and tell me what you think.

I'm A Writer, Get Me Out Of Here!

2011-12-13T06:00:00.003Z

I’m sure you didn’t watch this year’s I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here! Did you? I'm sorry to say that I wasted many hours watching various ‘celebs’ Facing Up To Their Fears.

The fascination lies in the way each individual has a completely different comfort zone when it comes to phobias. The Incredible Hunk (Mark Wright) was reduced to a whimpering bundle of terror when faced with a night in bed with a bunch of rats. Antony Cotton from Corrie had a panic attack at the thought of jumping out of a plane. Fatima Whitbread, on the other hand, battled her way through every trial in a gladiator-like manner, even when a cockroach got stuck up her nose. I’m full of admiration for them all, since I’m the Sinitta of the phobia world – petrified of everything.

Which leads me to wonder: what are your writing/marketing phobias? Where does your comfort zone end?

For months now I’ve been compiling a vast file of ideas for publicising my novel, ranging from having postcards printed (to press upon any poor soul who shows an interest) to randomly approaching well-known people for reviews. I’ve even done a public speaking course (which was actually excellent and enjoyable and which helped on many different levels).

So now I’m asking myself how far I’d be prepared to step out of my own comfort zone in order to let people know about my book? Would I walk into one of the large booksellers and ask them to stock my book? Would I learn how to write a magazine article and trawl it around likely publications? Would I dress up in a silly animal costume and give out leaflets? I realised I’d be prepared to do quite a few of these, if they seemed promising (fortunately the animal costume wouldn't be relevant, unless it was a book worm).

But there’s one experience which really terrifies me and feels waaaaay outside my comfort zone. The Radio Interview. Especially live. I fear that I’d find myself a) unable to talk any sense or, worse, b) unable to speak at all. After all, that's why I write - because I can express myself better on the page than at the microphone.

But a writing friend – whose comfort zone boundaries easily encompass radio interviews – suggested that I prepare myself for the (unlikely) eventuality of an interview by thinking about the kinds of questions I might be asked. Rather as an arachnaphobe might be persuaded to open a book about spiders before facing up to touching the real thing. And she suggested that I ask you, dear readers, for your help.

So here goes.

If you were listening to me being interviewed on the radio, what kind of questions would you want me to answer? And what kind of questions would you expect the interviewer to ask me? (My novel, The Making of Her, is contemporary women’s fiction and is about television, cosmetic surgery, middle age and transformation).

Any thoughts would be hugely appreciated!

And please be gentle, or I might scream...

Ya Gotta Have Faith...

2011-12-12T06:00:00.003Z

This post is directed at writers who have faced rejection. Yes, I know that means all of you, each and every one of you. Anyone who writes - published or unpublished, agented or un-agented has to put themselves out there in the line of fire and if and when rejection knocks on the door, there’s a decision to be made. The guarantee is that it will hurt. How much is dependent on you, the writer. Is it going to be a bruising body blow? A crushing kick in the solar plexus? Or a fatal beating from which you/your writing will never recover?

I had one this week. If rejections can be good, it was a good one complementing my ‘distinctive narrative voice’ and ‘my intriguing characters’. There was, however, a ‘but’ which I could sense looming through the good stuff. My downfall was apparently my plot. Whilst it wasn't missing, it wasn't convincing either.

I immediately started my survival process. The first step was denial, where I stuck my fingers in my ears and chanted, while closing down the email and pretending that it never arrived. The second step was that I told no-one, but talked to myself in my head about it for days. I call this my ‘licking my wounds’ phase. Stage three happened in bed this morning at five a.m. (Saturday), the time that I decided was the right moment to discuss the week’s events with my long suffering hubster.

He may not be as glad as I am for the early morning chat. But I needed it. Through my inevitable tears, he told me kindly but bluntly that I had two choices. Give up or carry on. He told me that I was too good to give up and that I may still have a lot to learn but to give myself credit for what I have learned. He suggested that I invent an alter ego – my writing self, who does all the work but deals with the down side too. He suggested I call her Faith.

It’s now 7:15 on Saturday morning. The tears have stopped. I’m back at the laptop counting my blessings. Faith is administering arnica to her bruises and beginning to think about her plot problems. The hubster is deservedly asleep and no, he’s not available for hire. Those short sharp motivational interventions are just for me – and Faith.

Okay, okay... You lot can share them too.

Back in the subbing game - guest post by Jo Carlowe

2011-12-09T06:00:00.000Z

Wrestling with elastic bands, the disappointing thud on thedoormat of a returned manuscript and that: ‘From Pitch to Publication’ plug shamelesslyinserted into agent Carole Blake’s rejection letters.

For me all the above sum up the self-flagellatory processthat typifies the book submissions’ process.

It’s been a while since I’ve done this – in fact it’s beennearly eight years. I recall the routine the first time round. It was gruellingand exhausting. It did eventually involve me being signed up to an agency and ridingthat rollercoaster of false hope. It ended without a book deal and therealisation that if I wanted to pay my mortgage and raise a family then I’dbetter put aside such a foolish dream.

Nonetheless, I made a promise to myself – once the kids wereold enough and I had a little more time, I would write fiction again. It’s apledge that I’ve kept and it’s been every bit as enjoyable and fulfilling asthe first time I set pen to paper.

Last week, I decided I was finally ready to seek out anagent. So I bought a copy of the Writers and Artists’ Yearbook and read theadvice section convinced that in this digital age, there would be differencesof which I should be cognisant.

But to my shock, nothing had changed. I assumed that in theyears that had passed, agents would not only accept emailed submissions butwould insist upon this (it’s environmentally the right thing to do). I waswrong. When it comes to adult fiction, agents still, for the most part, requestpostal submissions.

Even the guidance was the same: lots of stuff about properelastic band usage, correctly spelling the agent’s name and not playing fastand loose with font selection (Wingdings being an obvious no-no).

It is as though time has stood still. Everything is as itever was. My only hope this time, is that the outcome, at the very least, willbe different.

Jo Carlowe is afreelance journalist writing features on health, psychology and lifestyle. Sheis working on her novel: ‘Fly-By’ – a contemporary adventure love-story.www.jocarlowe.com

Merry Christmas, Mr Agent

2011-12-08T06:00:00.002Z

Dear Mr Agent

I’ve wanted to write to you since receiving my Dear John letter and finally I’ve got the time to pick up my pen and tell you how I feel. Some time ago I sent you my book and you wrote back and said you didn’t like it. Well, you said it was a fantastic story worthy of being told, held your attention, blah blah blah, the characters were believable, but you just didn’t love it enough to take it further. So, I’m writing back to tell you I LOVE the book and so do all my friends. In fact, a publisher loves it so much, he’s gonna print it and make me rich. As filthy rich as JK Rowling and Dan Brown combined. He said I’m gonna make millions from this book and he’s gonna turn it into a big Hollywood Blockbuster.

So have yourself a merry Christmas. When you’re chomping on your mince pie, and sipping on the brandy on December 25th, you can think back and wonder how it could have been. You could be rich now. You could be pulling out your wallet, flashing the cash, ordering a Ferrari and holidaying with Richard Branson. You could have bought a nice bottle of Bollinger and some fancy nibbles with your cut of my earnings. I bet you’re sitting there right now, watching the Queen’s speech with your paper crown on your head, thinking: ‘Crikey, if only I’d signed Mrs Writer.’ Well, this is your annus horribilis and you deserve every minute of it. I hope you choke on a brussel sprout.

I should also point out that, if I am invited to the Booker awards this year, I may just ask you to come as my partner, because quite frankly, I really want to see your expression as you sit in your seat while I collect my award. I may even thank you for not signing me, as I’ll get to keep the extra 12 per cent. With that, I’ll buy myself an Aston Martin. You’re not allowed in it.

All that’s left for me to say is Merry Christmas and a happy new year. I’m off to stuff my vegetarian roast and put on my expensive crown, not the ones you buy in supermarkets. I buy the really expensive ones which have gifts such as Mont Blanc pens and Breitling watches inside. And I’m actually pulling one of the crackers as I write this. I’m putting on my watch, and putting the finishing touches to my submission with my Mont Blanc. Are you jealous? I bet you are!

Yours sincerely

A Writer

10 Ways to Stay Unpublished

2011-12-07T06:00:00.000Z

1. Don't write anything.

2. Don't write anything anybody else likes.

3. Don't send anything you (might) write to an agent and/or publisher. Only other people get signed up anyway.

4. Don't enter writing competitions. Somebody else always wins.

5. Sign up for every writing magazine going - they'll be handy to make kindling from in the winter.

6. Make sure 98 percent of your Facebook 'friends' are proper published authors. Read of their success. Sigh. Repeat.

7. Read books that suck. Beat yourself up that you didn't have the nerve to send off a sucky book to anybody (because you followed rules 1-3 above. Either that or you're a Double D-list celebrity who's cashing on on Christmas. But let's not get bitter. You could just be a crap writer).

8. Write crap.

9. Watch repetitively mind-numbingly destimulating reality TV shows and debate the meaning of life from behind a cushion of shame.

10. Sign up to do NaNoWriMo, add some buddies, read the messages on the forum, wonder if you might like to join your local writing group who meet up in Starbucks every Sunday morning, read some excerpts and watch their wordcounts soar. Decide you're better off staying in bed, beating yourself up and reading crap until 1st December.

Reading a Kindle in the bath

2011-12-06T06:00:00.001Z

Last month I had a birthday. The occasion leaves me well and truly within the realms of 'middle aged' – but I was fortunate enough to receive one of them new-fangled things that all the cool kids are calling a 'Kindle'.

Before then, I was very pro-ebook but reluctant to commit to a device that didn't do anything else. I'd been reading on my iPod Touch for the past couple of years, but was wary of forking out for something that only displayed ebooks, especially as the iPod Touch served the purpose very well, in addition to getting on the internet, playing music and providing handy apps.

I was, however, grateful to receive the Kindle, and its usefulness quickly became apparent. I can email academic papers to it rather than having to print them off and have loads of bits of A4 floating around the house at the mercy of a 4-year-old boy and a Staffordshire bull terrier. So far, I've used the Kindle as a PDF-reader rather than a book reader, and for that purpose it's brilliant. I can highlight bits and add comments, and the Kindle lets me view all these highlights in one go, which makes it a great way of summarising a document.

There are some things I'm not so keen on – I find it hard to adjust to the lack of backlighting, and haven't yet found a contrast setting that's as clear as a paper book in ordinary light. It all just seems very grey. Although the Kindle is supposed to be ideal for reading in direct sunshine, well... I live in England, so that's not really an issue. The experimental web browser is well... experimental, (assuming 'experimental' is a synonym for 'crap'). And using arrow keys to tap out a search in the Kindle store is so tedious that I haven't actually bought anything. But overall, I like not having to take print-outs on the train, and another advantage is that my young son doesn't try to commandeer it – he gets bored with the fact that the touch-screen inexplicably doesn't work.

I still haven't read an actual book on it, but I was getting along well with the Kindle until the other day, when I discovered I had been committing a terrible offence that probably dates back to the time of King Alfred or someone. I have been reading my Kindle in the bath.

I had no idea this was a Bad Thing. But when idly looking online for other people's opinions I found out that the phrase 'and you can't read it in the bath!' (presumably accompanied by a hoik of the bosom and a catsbum expression) is the last word in arguments against e-readers.

Why the heck can't you read a Kindle in the bath? If you're worried about dropping it – well, don't bloody drop it then! It's not as if we all went around chucking printed books willy-nilly into baths before Kindles came along. I'm not really bothered about steam getting into it, but for those who are, I'm sure clear plastic bags aren't that difficult to find these days. It's still easier than reading a weighty hardback.

Now that I've said this, there is of course the chance that irony will rise to the challenge and make me drop the Kindle into the water. Luckily I'm one step ahead of that possibility – to cheer myself up in the event of it happening, I've already started saving for an iPad.

And for my next excuse . . .

2011-12-05T06:00:00.002Z

Isn't it wonderful the way life contrives to stand in the way of writing? If you are anything like me then half the time you can't write for reasons of paralysis. I've had long periods when my confidence has been so low I can't even look the laptop in the eye. Apart, that is, from the usual displacement activities of checking emails, facebook, writing sites, etc. At those times I have an almost visceral revulsion at the thought of sitting down to write, and I would welcome any excuse not to do so. This is accompanied by pounding sensations of guilt. Strange, isn't it, that an activity that we don't have to do, and that hardly anyone cares if we do, causes such oppressive guilt when we don't. Usually those periods of gloom have followed a series of rejections in my case. But that isn't how I feel today.

I've had a reasonable share of encouragement recently, with pieces published or doing okay in competitions. Enough scraps of endorsement to keep me going. My confidence is in the greenish amber zone at the moment, maybe even in the green much of the time. So I'm chucking out the words? Racing to the writing desk? Filled with inspiration? Well, not really. Just when you get your fragile mental state together life comes along. Recently it has been family disasters. Illnesses and other problems that I won't go into here but which stopped me in my writing tracks. It seems that there is always something to climb over to reach the writing desk. As well as the personal stuff, work has picked up. It's nice to be earning some cash, but working twelve hour days in Frankfurt with virtually no breaks doesn't leave you full of energy to dash out a short story or a sonnet at bedtime. And now that things are finally settling down again on the family front, and I have the prospect of a couple of weeks away from real work, there's Christmas. Bah humbug!

What The? Seriously!

2011-12-01T06:00:00.000Z

I loathe books which contain glaringly obvious errors, not that there are many out there, but every now and then, one just has to escape through the net. My pet hate with this book started around a year ago when I purchased it from a garden centre. Granted, it wasn’t Waterstone’s or Barnes and Noble, but I did feel the retailer had a duty to sell products which are not misrepresented. It was an impulse buy along with a trowel, a funny book about cats and their antics and some Burt’s Bees products.

The book in question, Complete Vegetarian Cookbook, promised lots of mouthwatering recipes to keep me and my tastebuds entertained. It was heavily discounted – the sticker stated: GREAT VALUE - publisher’s price £12.99, our price £3.99 - but that doesn’t excuse the fact that there were some serious errors in it.

Firstly, it was a ‘vegetarian’ cookbook not a ‘vegetable’ cookbook which would let it off the hook (note to veggies – never order the ‘vegetable’ dish whilst dining out without checking first if it is vegetarian friendly). It contains some of my favourite recipes including Israeli avocado cream, tahini, hummous, stuffed peppers and garlic mushrooms. Upon opening the book, I looked at a photograph and though ‘gosh, they look unusual, I’ve never tasted those exotic vegetables.’ Upon closer inspection I realised the photograph was…shock, horror….prawns!

I leafed onward…..flick, flick, flick, then stopped at a recipe as I noticed the odd man out – gelatine. ‘Crikey, I thought. The writer must be referring to the vegetarian friendly gelatine you sometimes see at Tesco.’ I read some more, pondered making a garlic soup to scare away the vampires, then noticed another suspect recipe. I felt the urge to vomit – ‘Crudites with anchovy dip’. No thanks. Many vegetarians wouldn’t even touch an anchovy, let alone insert it into their mouths. Pescatarians, like Gok Wan would though. Then came another recipe, this time for anchovy dressing. Maybe the author lives near a stream and her husband likes fishing? Maybe someone dumped a load of anchovies on her doorstep (remember PETA dumped a load of horse manure at Gordon Ramsay’s Claridges? Snigger) and she needs rid of them? I then gave Mrs Author the benefit of the doubt and attributed it to a typo. ‘Perhaps she means alfalfa instead of anchovies?’ I muttered.

There is a long lengthy foreword about how modern food production methods have made meat much cheaper than before and adds how the slaughter of animals has caused many to switch on to a vegetarian lifestyle. I looked at another recipe for a yoghurt and tahini dip which, wait for it, would be, and I quote from the book, ideal to ‘serve as an accompaniment to vegetables, salads and also meat or fish dishes.’

How does the publisher get away with a serious error like this? It’s like buying ‘Harry Potter And The Philosopher’s Stone’ and finding ‘The Da Vinci Code’ inside. This leaves me with a dilemma – do I close the book and put it away, give it to a second hand bookshop for another vegetarian to be surprised, or do I write to the publisher? I’m inclined to go for the third (veggie) option.

2011-11-30T06:00:00.000Z

Papering over the cracks

Ireceived a proof copy of my second YA novel for PiccadillyPress the other day. It’s called Cracks and comes out in May 2012.

Istarted to write this one well before my first book, Dark Ride , was accepted, and I wanted to tell you a bit about how it all came about.

Itwas Christmas 2009 and I had just been through a bruising round of submissionand rejection with Dark Ride. Iwas seriously starting to wonder if I would ever get published. Looking back atmy diary from that time, I wrote this:

Have nothing to say on creativestuff…just a big tumbleweedy, miserable feeling about it all.

SoI wallowed for a bit. Then I wallowed a bit more. Then I got heartily sick of wallowing. After a while, a desire to get stuck in to another story started to take over.

I’m absolutely desperate to writesomething now. I’m so fed up with not having a writing project on the go. I’vegot to stop obsessing about writing something the market wants and just writeSOMETHING…..

Andthen just like that, there was some sort of mental shift. By that same eveningI said..

I find myself thinking more andmore about an idea for something called Cracks. I’m imagining a boy who keepsseeing huge cracks and chasms appearing in the world that no one else can see.

Justlike that, I was off and writing again. It’s true what people say. Gettingstuck into a new book was instant pain relief for that bruised-all-overfeeling.

I gotthe book deal for Dark Ride about five months later, by which time I’d writtena fair chunk of Cracks and was able to show it to my new editor. Very happilyfor me, this was accepted too.

WritingCracks was no easy ride though and I ended up tearing my hair out in severaldrafts, trying to make the story work. My poor editor can testify that therewere many days when I wailed, ‘I can;t do it!’ But somehow, between us, we gotthere in the end and I’m very proud of the final result.

Themoral of this tale? When those rejections keep pinging into your Inbox or landingwith a horrible thud on the doorstep, there really is only one way to ease theagony. Start something else.

[Oh andif anyone ever tries to say that publishing a second book doesn’t have the sameexcitement and thrill as the first? They’re lying.]

Reading in public - an update.

2011-11-29T06:00:00.001Z

A few weeks ago I posted here about my fears of reading in public. With some of my poems shortlisted for competitions or appearing in literary magazines I have been finding myself in front of a microphone more often and I wasn’t enjoying it. I hated it. The first time I did a poetry slam it was a traumatic experience and I actually worried that I might not be able to make the journey up to the stage.

Well, here’s an update. A friend of mine, David Pullen, who works with executives on communication skills read that post and contacted me. David said he thought he might be able to help reduce my fear and generously offered to travel up from Sussex to visit me.

A week later we were sitting in the summer house where I do my writing. First David interviewed me about three examples of reading my work when I had experienced extreme fear. He also asked about a place where I felt deeply relaxed. I described the path through the tramontana-swept pines behind the beach in Catalonia, near where we have a holiday apartment.

Next David took me through a sort of hypnotic journey. After helping me to relax and counting backwards slowly he asked me to walk in my mind along the path through those pines until I happened upon a television. David had me watch videos of my previous terrifying experiences of reading my work in public. I had to watch the videos both forwards and backwards and I remember finding it faintly odd, but I tried to give myself up to the suggestions he was making. It helped that David has an open, trustworthy manner and as a former actor he also has a soothingly pleasant voice. When he brought me out of the trance I was surprised to find that there was nothing else to be done. His hope was that this would reduce my fear in the future.

Since then I have done several readings. I was eager to test whether this strange hypnotic journey would make any difference so I signed up for the open mic session “Poetry Unplugged” run by the wonderful Niall O’Sullivan at The Poetry Café in Betterton Street. They get a good crowd there and I had to wait for about twenty poets to read before I got my chance at the microphone. Amazingly, I was much less nervous than I would previously have been. In fact I spent most of the time trying to calculate how nervous I was – in an interested sort of way. In the last few weeks I have also taken part in the open mic session at Aldeburgh Poetry Festival, with minimal nerves and have recited one of my poems at a friend’s fiftieth birthday concert. In the last case I was the only poet to read a poem, and that would have been the most terrifying of all. Thanks to David’s treatment I actually felt confident enough to recite the poem from memory. Previously the prospect of reading my work in that type of gathering would have ruined my whole evening and I would have looked for opportunities to cry off. As it was, I felt honoured and enjoyed the chance to gain an audience for the poem and to discuss it with people during the birthday dinner.

A massive thank you to David Pullen.

And the winner is...

2011-11-28T06:00:00.003Z

The lucky winner of a signed copy of Cally Taylor's Home for Christmas is....

Bernadette

Congratulations, Bernadette! Drop us a line at strictlywriting@btinternet.com with your address, and we'll get your prize in the post to you.

Let's get serious - guest post by author Claire Allan

2011-11-25T06:00:00.000Z

Do all writers have to grow up? I don't mean physically, of course. I have learned that despite the best Clarins has to offer there is little I can do to stop the ravages of time taking a toll on my skin. As for my hair colour? Dying these days is not so much a case of "Because I'm worth it" as "Because I have to."

That aside and back to the basics of writing - is there a time when every writer worth her word count has to sit back, take stock and put away childish things?

I ask this question with a semi heavy heart. Only last year I fervently and adamantly fought the corner of the Chick Lit title on this very site. I have said that I embraced the term - loved it - felt inspired by it.

Have I changed my mind with the passage of just 12 months? Sadly, and with my big fat slice of humble pie eaten, I have to say yes. In the last 12 months, you see, this particular chick has grown up. And while I still feel there is good chick lit out there - and in no way feel that the very name of the genre denigrates women - I just don't feel I fit the mould any more.

I now consider myself very much a contemporary women's author. That sounds grand doesn't it? Even saying it makes me react in a different way to those times when I told people I wrote "chick lit". I feel, although I'm loathe to admit it, as if I should be taken a little more seriously.

There's nothing wrong with chick lit, of course. If what you are writing fits that exact model. Chick lit to me is - and I'm aware I'm contradicting my previous viewpoint - the lighter side of women's writing. It is cool glasses of wine, designer clothes, rugged men, falling in and out of love, getting a cool job in a trendy magazine of similar. I love books like that - books which offer complete unadulterated escapism.

But are they relevant to my life these days? I'm afraid not. And I've come to think that dismissing tales of depression, domestic violence, miscarriage, adoption and more as "chick lit" has been doing those topics a disservice. We should not dismiss serious topics as fluffy - we should not say it is okay to write them only as long as they have pretty covers.

Chick Lit is still alive, for sure and for certain but it's not a one size fits all label for women's fiction either. I'm proud of what I've written, and of what I'm writing. And I proud to have served my time at the coal face of the chick lit industry, but I'm moving on.
Claire Allan is an author and journalist based in Derry in Northern Ireland. She has been a reporter with the Derry Journal since 1999 and has written for a number of newspapers including the Belfast Telegraph, the Irish News and The Mirror. She has an Honours degree in the Humanities and a MA in Newspaper Journalism. She writes a weekly column on topical issues, with a focus on women's issues and parenting. Claire is a regular contributer to BBC Radio Foyle and Culture NI Magazine. Her bestselling novels have all been published by Poolbeg Press in Ireland. Her fifth 'If Only You Knew' is now available.

Inspiration

2011-11-23T06:00:00.000Z

I'm often asked, especially by myself, how I keep up my work rate.

I've now written five books in just over six years, I think, and yes, at times it's been hard. Not least because the publishing industry is so fickle, so open to highs and lows.

I've had a lot of 'success' compared to many writers, and for that I am grateful, yet I've also had my share of rejection, editorial sharp elbows, poor reviews etc. I'm also as vulnerable as anyone to what may happen in the future. I cannot be certain that after book six I will ever have anything published again. Ever...

Despite the obvious downsides of this biz, I remain though, pretty happy. I wouldn't do it if I wasn't.

Indeed I'll never understand those writers for who the whole process is one long sick-making episode of torture. Why put yourself through that? There are places you can go and pay to have yourself whipped and wotnot if that's your deal.

But even those of us who take things in our stride, would be lying if we said we were never affected. On a grey autumn day, looking down the barrel of a deadline, even I, Queen Pollyanna, am tempted to stick my foot through my PC at the sight of an email from a loyal reader telling me she 'can't get hold of a copy of my latest...'

So what do I do to stave off, if not despair, despondency? How do I keep up the momentum?

1. I remind myself that no-one is making me do this. I can go back to the day job any old time.
2. I focus on my successes and not on my failures (I know this sounds easy when I've got real life books I can touch, but encouragement of any form will work just as well).
3. I turn to Elizabeth Gilbert, in particular the video of a speech she gave not long after EPL became a world wide success. If you haven't seen it before I promise you it will became one of your fave motivators, if you have, can I urge you to watch it again, you won't be sorry. Then save it for any time you need a pep talk.

So pour yourself a cuppa and enjoy...[[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86x-u-tz0MA]]

Changing Tastes

2011-11-21T06:00:00.000Z

Time was when I could safely pick up a screamingly 'Girly' book in whichever shop I was in at the time (C&A excluded, of course) and instinctively know I'd like it. And even if I didn't properly love it, I'd maybe become it's second best friend, twice removed or something. I was just safe in the knowldege that I wouldn't NOT like it; that's my point.

I could skirt over the irritatingly obscure names of the MC's (Ebonie, Sherlaine, Twinkzie, Jezzabelle - that sort of nonsense) and during my formative years I didn't even mind very much that I learned a lot more about horses than was absolutely necessary. Jilly Cooper was the dog's doodaghs to this impressionable tweenager and I still have a lot of love for the cheerful gappy-toothed author. She got me through many a rainy day, even though for years I was convinced an orgasm was probably something only seen on display at the organic farmers market every Wednesday and as my mother clearly didn't know how to prepare one, THAT was why I'd never had one.

And I didn't mind too much that these stories of Ella-the-downtrodden-but-feisty-button-nosed-brunette-who-secretly(but to we readers)-enjoyed-fantasies-of-fairytale-love-and-yawn-yawn-finally-got-it-on-the-last-but-one-page.... much. But then, like my predeliction for roasted sweet peppers, although I knew I was going to have a perfectly nice time whilst they were in front of me, once I'd digested them, they'd start to upset my insides a bit.

There isn't a Rennie in the world that can take away the distended feeling inside that this really isn't quite your cup of tea anymore, actually, and you need to find something a bit more... well, agreeable; something that you can rely on won't leave a bad taste in your mouth and have you retching over the literary toilet pan unless you hurl this particular forray of female fiction in aforehand.

I've kind of shifted sideways in my reading fodder. No more do I chuckle and gurn at Ella's silly girly trips over the path to predictable true love. No longer do I have the tolerance for MC's who insist on bringing their monosyllabic, snotty kids into the frame and NO WAY am I putting up with a wizard and/or vampires and werewolves.

So, after having stood at my personal book-buffet for the past 2 years or so, I think I now know which particular tome I can reach out and open without needing an accompanying paper bag.
Give me an edgy, unsympathetic main character who doesn't even own a Louis Vittuon handbag let alone crave ("crave", I ask you) a matching pair of heels. And please don't let her have just been dumped or be best friends with the guy who turns out to be the love of her life If Only She'd Known.

Equally I don't want an Aga, a cute dog (unless they belong to any of Jenny Crusie's MC's because she does them SO well) and a well-meaning mother/best friend who steals the spotlight and gets my lionsshare of love, meaning I couldn't care less where MC ends up.
I don't mind a bit of gore; sadness; deviation. I can put up with paranormal possibilities and as long as sex isn't graphic I can get through those bits too. Too many detectives with too many weird surnames starts to confuse me and I don't want too many secondary characters with their own stories so that I end up losing my thread. And I like a twist but not a tangle.

My taste has certainly changed. I'm not sure what it says or what it means but I'm very aware of reaching out for the darker, grittier looking covers on the shelves these days, knowing that I'll get a lot more satisfaction out of something a bit less fanciful and lightweight than I used to. I wonder what I'll be devouring in another 10-20 years' time - a bit of gentle James Herriott perhaps or even *shudder* autobiographies of TV stars who've brightened up my living room over the decades. Maybe I'll even return to Jolly Jilly again.

Have YOUR reading tastes evolved with you or are you a once-a-fan-always-a-fan?

Equally I also can't say Donny Osmond does the same thing to me now as he did when he sang Puppy Love in that field in the 70's but then he probably wouldn't look at me twice these days either.

Revenge of the Rejected

2011-11-18T06:00:00.007Z

Mea Culpa. It was my turn to post on Strictly today and I've somehow managed to miss this fact. However, my colleagues have suggested posting this video on the subject of rejection - which is actually very funny and a little bit empowering.

Oh, and on this subject, it reminded me of someone I 'know' online who has been writing novels for years and who has womanfully continued to write in the face of rejections for all five of them, determined to keep learning her craft and tenacious enough to keep going no matter what. This week, and for her sixth novel, she's got an agent. And I, for one, am thrilled and inspired and actually in awe of her. So I guess the message for the weekend is -

Don't Give Up. It Can Happen. It Has.
Have a good one.

A Kindle kinda love?

2011-11-15T06:00:00.000Z

Do youown a Kindle?

I’ve had one for a few weeks. Am I a convert?

Kinda. And kinda not, too.

I mainlybought it because I’ve been reading manuscripts as a sideline job. Beingable to download them straight onto the Kindle seemed a good enoughreason to invest in one, plus, the idea of taking unlimited books on holidayhas always appealed.

So farI’m pretty happy with it and although I wouldn’t want it to completely replacepaper books, I do feel it’s been a good investment.

I’venoticed something, though, about the reading experience that has taken me a whileto pick up on.

If I’mabsolutely LOVING a story, and rattling through it at a very fast pace, Ireally notice no difference at all with the experience of reading a regular book.The fact that the screen isn’t backlit is a great bonus for me; after a dayspent staring at various screens, the last thing I want to look at it in bed isanother glowing rectangle. I missed having real covers to look at, it’s true,but it was surprising how quickly I got used to that.

But whenI’m reading something that needs much more of a slow investment, and is takingme some time to get into, then I miss having the physical heft of a book in myhand. I miss being able to pause, look at the cover and the blurb again; mayberead the author’s biog at the start. These all feel like small signposts thathelp light my way when the path into a story feels murkier and more opaque.

So it’smixed feelings from me so far.

Whatabout you?

Churning out the words

2011-11-14T06:00:00.002Z

I never take part in NaNoWriMo, partly because I’m always working and to rack up a word count of six for November would be uninspiring for others and embarrassing for me. I find time to write when time finds me. It could be first thing in the morning, in the middle of the night, or just before bed time. I certainly don’t say to myself: “Right, let’s do one thousand words before 9am.” I work at my own pace; I always have and I never feel pressurised to look at the word count in the bottom left hand corner of the laptop.

For that reason I’m not a fan of NaNoWriMo and I never will be. I prefer to write a few chapters and revise them fully before moving on. I’m not a fan of churning out word after word just for the sake of word count. It may look great on paper if you have managed ten thousand words before November 8, but if you’re constantly shifting POV and have made many grammatical and spelling errors, then what you’ve just written is a waste of time. There are so many people who publicise their writing goals online, some really ambitious. I found one guy who pledged to write twelve thousand words per day – is he writing War And Peace Part Two?

On the other hand if it gives people inspiration to sit down and seriously put a book together for the first time in their lives, then I’m all for it.

I carried out a little experiment - thanks to Rod, we’ve had a plethora of posts about poetry recently, and it has inspired me to write an ode (well, not strictly) to Strictly. Not being a poet, nor having the talent of Shakespeare or Keats, nevertheless, I’ve decided to tackle this art form in a matter of five minutes, reaching my word count of around one hundred. So here we go (it’s all fun of course):

Strictly Writing is by far the best blog.
It’s read by every woman, man, cat and dog.
We serve the needs of the writing people
Across the nation, past the tallest church steeple.
We’re here to help and entertain with our wise words
Accompanied by pictures of pens, desks and birds.
Our readers are novelists and poets too
They write in coffee shops and even at the zoo.
They say the pen is mightier than the sword
So turn to the written word and you’ll not be bored.
Thank you to our readers who comment all day
Hip, hip, hooray to Strictly - is what I say!

(Incidentally, November/Movember is also moustache growing month aimed at raising money for charity. If you haven't the patience to write a novel, then grow a tache. Go check it out!)

Birthing a Book - Guest Post by Cally Taylor...PLUS PRIZE DRAW

2011-11-13T06:00:00.007Z

Back in August when I was eight months pregnant and starting to think about a blog tour to promote my second novel, Home for Christmas, I approached Strictly Writing and asked if I could guest blog on their site. When the Strictly ladies said yes, my first thought was that I'd write about the similarities between having a child and writing a book. After all lots of authors compare writing a book with pregnancy and publication day with giving birth (and worrying that, while you think your progeny is beautiful, the rest of the world thinks it's ugly as sin).

So why have I decided AGAINST making similar comparisons?

I've given birth now!

Okay so it was by Caesarean (my baby was breech) so it could be argued that I got it 'easy' compared to a natural birth, though if you'd said that to me when I tried to get out of bed the day the next day and felt like I was being stabbed in the stomach I would have punched you in the head - right before I fainted! Anyway, in this author's opinion writing a book and setting it free on publication day is nowhere near as difficult as gestating, birthing and bringing up a child. To think I was going to draw a comparison between the characters in your head and your baby keeping you awake - ha!

That's not to say I had an easy time writing Home for Christmas - far from it. Second Novel Syndrome was alive, well and squatting in my brain. My first novel, Heaven Can Wait had an easy 'birth'. I wrote the first draft in under four months and edited it in six. Once I'd found an agent and publisher there were a few more tweaks to be made (I laugh to think I called them 'edits' at the time) and then the book was ready to be published.

Home for Christmas, however, was an entirely different story. Its first incarnation, 'The PDA', was scrapped at 20,000 words when I realised I couldn't stand my main character and didn't care what happened to her (a slight issue if you want your readers to care!) Instead of trying to make her likeable I started a brand new novel instead. I called it 'Happiness Ever After' and, while I loved the main characters, it wasn't long before I realised the supporting cast weren't working and needed rewriting. So I did...for several months...until I realised that the characters weren't the problem - their subplot was. Cue the deletion of the subplot and another rewrite. Finally, over two years after putting fingers to laptop, I had a novel that my agent, my publisher and I were all pleased with. I don't mind admitting that by the end of the process I was EXHAUSTED, my confidence was dented and the thought of writing another novel made me nervous.

Not the most inspiring story is it? Or is it? Because you know what? The second I held a sparkling, beautiful copy of Home for Christmas in my hands for the first time I fell in love with it, forgot how arduous a process it had been to bring it to life, and started fantasising about writing a new novel.

Oh hang on...turns out there is a similarity with having a child after all...

Cally Taylor's second novel Home for Christmas was published by Orion paperback on 10 November. Cally blogs at Writing About Writing

We have a signed copy of Home for Christmas to give away! All you have to do to enter the prize draw is leave a comment below. We'll draw a name from an adorable baby bonnet and announce the winner next weekend.

Guest Post by Anna Stothard

2011-11-11T06:00:00.001Z

I woke up in a panic last night thinking that I’d forgotten to return the telephone call of a friend, then realised (with a sense of impending insanity) I’d been dreaming about a character in the novel I’m writing. I didn’t need to call her back, I owned her, but I still couldn’t fall back asleep.

From Lewis Carroll’s Alice to Dostoevsky’s Raskolnikov to my own meagre efforts, the army of fictional creatures populating my bookshelves have had a more profound affect on my world than 90% of the real people I’ve met. Is that a terrible thing to admit? Maybe. Honestly though, I’d rather have known the fiction of Holly Golightly than the reality of most acquaintances, the memory of Jay Gatsby over the memory of quite a few ex-boyfriends.

Done right it’s a baffling power, to design a character, but how is it done? Dickens was inundated with letters begging him to save Little Nell when The Old Curiosity Shop was coming to an end. Some of my most intense memories of the last family holiday I went on revolve around the thoughts of Yossarian from Catch 22 (many apologies to my family about that, I know it’s rude to read at the lunch table).

Like most writers I’d love to know the magic animating ingredient that makes a hybrid of observation, imagination and autobiography come alive on the page and last in the minds of readers. We’ve all probably conjured characters in our heads only for them to fall flat on their faces the moment they hit the page, missing some indefinable something so they just drag their feet and don’t do what their told until we’re forced to brutally dispatch them back into nothing. And then sometimes, bliss, we hit on a character that we feel like we could push out into the world and she’d exist without us. Even then we (by which I mean “I”, others are probably much less anxious) lie awake at night obsessing over whether the figments of our imaginations are too nuanced or too predictable, too unlikely or too obviously based on feral uncle Malcom or that colleague at work we hate. Or, much worse, that our carefully crafted and seemingly inventive protagonists in fact reveal a lot about ourselves that, in other circumstances, we’d rather people didn’t know.

One of the most surreal problems I’ve stumbled on as a young female writer sending young female protagonists out into the world is that people insist that my characters are thinly veiled versions of myself. “You must really hate your mother,” a woman informed me sagely at a wedding reception recently, having read my latest novel, The Pink Hotel, about a young English girl travelling Los Angeles returning love letters and photographs to the men who knew her errant and recently deceased mother. I smiled sweetly at the wedding guest and let her believe that I would be capable of half the seduction and deduction that my character achieves in the course of her journey, but of course she did raise and interesting point.

Nabakov is not Humbert Humbert, Charlotte Bronte is not Jane Eyre, Thomas Harris is not Hannibal Lector, but elements of the writer necessarily exist amongst reams of observation and imagination in the making of a character. That must be part of what makes characters come alive. My character is not based on me, Mrs Know-it-all Wedding Guest, but I can begrudgingly admit there is some crossover. I’d love to know if anyone else has had this problem, being accused of the neurosis or flaws that your character has?

When Breakfast at Tiffany’s was first published, Truman Capote described a “Holly Golightly Sweepstakes” of women guessed to be the “real” Holly when of course there was no such thing. Capote later insisted that Holly was an amalgamation, a “symbol of all these girls who come to New York and spin in the sun for a moment like May flies and then disappear”. Biographers have added the author’s mother to Holly’s inspiration-mix (a rural Southern belle, Capote’s mother was originally named Lillie Mae while Holly’s birth name is Lula Mae) plus the author himself of course (who suffered from the “mean reds” as Holly does). Occupying some perfect place between a symbol and an ideal party guest, a thousand observed arched eyebrows, childhood memories, flirty smiles, little black dresses, martini-nights and witty conversations must have bubbled into the making of Holly.

Thank God for Yossarian and Little Nell, Lolita and Holly and all the rest, I hope I write a character as great as that one day. In the mean time one of the perks of being a writer, penning stories for ourselves or the local newspaper or the web or a publisher, is surely that we never have to choose whether to be a management consultant or a lawyer, an Olympic swimmer or a mother. We can be everything we want, including other people. What other profession can say that? Our alter egos are not “us”, but we can try a thousand lives on for size.

Anna Stothard is the author of The Pink Hotel published by Alma Books

NaNoWriMo - Nine Days In

2011-11-10T06:00:00.009Z

I’m ‘nano-ing’ this year, or supposed to be. So far, and despite many hours of plotting and planning, I’ve written an unimpressive 4000 words and have come up with new and inspiring ways to procrastinate. I should forget novels and write a book on new avoidance tactics. Here’s an example of Monday’s frivolous antics:

“I wander lonely in a shroud
Floating high, my shroud has frills
When all at once I hear a sound
Bang bang they go, the daffodils
Beside the lake beneath the trees
I fluff my frills in the cold breeze”

I know. By Tuesday I was thinking of admitting myself somewhere, especially after I’d compiled the second verse. You ready?

“Continuous as the stars that shine
My billowing shroud wants its say
It stretches towards an alpine pine
While all the time the daffs they pray
Their sound it puts me in a trance
I join their chant and start to dance”

What can I say, except maybe apologise to Mr Wordsworth, whose work I revered until this week. As well as poetry desecration, I found myself putting on unnecessary clothes washes, trying to come up with new Christmas recipes, shopping online, facebook-ing, emailing, and yes, I could even be found loitering with intent on Twitter...

This is all because I’m forcing myself to write a story that I’m not sure I want to write. Has anyone else had this problem? I keep telling myself to keep calm and carry on, that it’s only one month and it might actually take a turn somewhere in the process that could lead to an interesting lead at least. I’ve done ‘Nano’ before and I’m a HUGE fan but right now, I fear for the poets. I really do.

On a serious note, all the faffing around has actually helped me clarify that I should be brave and try another idea for another novel. It’s only the 9th today and since this one just isn’t coming out the way I want it to, I actually feel that the rest of November would be wasted if I continue. I simply can't keep writing just for writing's sake. I have to want to tell the story. The characters have to be demanding to be heard, and they're not. They're giving me time off to write rubbish poetry. (Rod, your crown is safe...)

Rest easy poets of the world... I have a new plan and not having had time to plot, well let the pantsing begin.

Gotta Wear Shades

2011-11-09T06:00:00.001Z

Last week I received my royalty statements for the period January to June 2011.

Yeah, I know it's November, but you remember the publishing industry works on glacial time right?

Anyway, late or not, the statements brought a smile to my face.

Not immediately, you understand. For anyone who has never seen a royalty statement they are possibly the most complicated documents known to man. And I say that as a lawyer in my previous life. So obviously it took me half an hour of knitted eyebrow gymnastics to work out even the basics of what is going on with my books, before the smile broke out.

And no, before Mr Black starts packing for Rio, it wasn't because I'd just sold my millionth copy.

The reason was that for the first time my ebook sales outweighed my paperback sales.

For some time now we've all been told that the digital revolution was on its way. That the ebook reader was about to take its place alongside the ipod. And like many a writer I've been somewhat sceptical. Would the general public really want to read novels from a screen?

The answer seems to be a decided yes...which in turn has made me consider a number of other convictions I've held.

I've always said, and there's no point denying it, that distribution was the key to selling books in any numbers. I've ranted here for example, about authors who have been dropped by their publishers for poor sales when their books never made it into the shops.

My view has always been that the main way to sell books is to have them out there. That the public need to see them. Sure, the punters will go to Amazon et al for a bargain, but what they are buying online are the books that are visible in the shops.

Well hang on a moment. My royalty statement tells me that my very first book, Damaged Goods, has been flying off the eshelves. This, a novel, that was published five years ago and, as far as I can tell, isn't in any shops at the moment.

So what is it that is making people buy them? I'd like to say I'm a household name, but I'm not that delusional. So what is making people who have probably never heard of me buy my oldest book?

The answer seems to be a clever viral campaign by my publishers, very low pricing (readers will take a chance on things they haven't shelled out too much for) and high ranking on Amazon. The latter of course is a self fullfilling prophesy; the more you sell the higher you rank, the higher you rank, the more you sell.

When readers have emailed saying they liked DG, I've asked them how they came to buy it and quite a number have confirmed that they saw it in the top ten female detective list on Amazon and given it was selling for a couple of quid, they thought what the hell.

Now sales at low prices aint ever going to make me rich, I'll grant you. A percentage of fuck all is...well you get the picture. But if a section of this new audience likes what I do and goes on to buy my other stuff, then it's absolutely worth it to me.

All this has also made me reconsider whether self published authors can make a success of it. In the past, I'd have said no. That without the sales and marketing team of a publishing house behind them, an author can't get the necessary distribution. But does that still hold true? If a self published author produced an ebook, marketed it aggressively online and sold it for a song could they sell in numbers? Thre answer in truth is I don't know.

The times they are a-changing. And I think I like it.

Book report

2011-11-08T06:00:00.000Z

I try to read as many newly released books as I can, mainly those in the so-called literary genre, but as you know, it’s like taking on the role of a goalkeeper when a thousand balls are heading toward you. As much as I desperately want to read every book as soon as it's released, I fully appreciate that even the keenest (and fastest) of readers will only select from those newly released books that most interest them. I’ve only read a handful of books this year – the first half of the year was obliterated thanks to having severe hyperemesis. I’ve missed so many good books in recent months but I always try to add them to my Amazon wish list so they don’t slip through the net altogether.

I’ve just ordered this year’s entire Booker shortlist as a Christmas present for myself (!), not only because it looks like a fine combo, but also to see if I agree with the judges’ decision. I have a feeling I won’t though. I’m especially looking forward to reading The Sisters Brothers (shouldn’t there be an apostrophe there?) Then there’s Half Blood Blues by Esi Edugyan published by the highly respected Serpent’s Tail. My first inkling when I saw the cover was that this particular book had been written by a man. Just goes to show you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

Talking about having missed many fine reads over the last year, I dug around Amazon and added quite a few ‘must have’ books to my list, not all of them literary though. I really want to read The Pink Hotel by Ana Stothard, but I may just keep it as my summer sunbathing read. I also added Submission by Amy Waldman, a September 11 novel, The Lazarus Project by Aleksandar Hemon, The Hare With Amber Eyes by Edmund de Waal, Saraswati Park by Anjali Joseph, The Pleasure Seekers by Tishani Doshi (I love the cover), The Tiger's Wife by Tea Obreht, and The Privileges by Jonathan Dee. I could go on and on and tell you about the 319 books I have on the list. I hope I live long enough to get through the list which isn’t yet complete, and which grows each week, thanks to the Sunday Times Culture section among other supplements.

It’s nice to cosy up with a good book on a cold winter’s night, listening to the gentle patter of snow on the window pane. That, I suppose, is the only good thing about winter. And I'm looking forward to getting through this long list I have. Sadly though, even if I spent every minute of every day of every year for the next fifty years, would I be able to be goalkeeper to all these wonderful books?

Guest post by Heather Peace

2011-11-04T06:00:00.005Z

Thanks for this opportunity. I’m new to blogging and new to being a published novelist, but I’ve been involved with creative writing many years, one way and another. I enjoyed Helen’s recent post and thought I would join the debate. I share your scepticism about this ‘creative writing industry’ that’s suddenly appeared in the last 10 to 20 years.

I started out in theatre in the early 1980s, and was a television script editor through the 90s, and never heard of it then. Creative writing was something you just did – it was called writing. Some wrote novels, some wrote scripts… then I think it started appearing in the school curriculum and a few universities started offering degrees in it. I do remember that the UEA MA course sounded very desirable, as it was taught by Malcolm Bradbury and Ian McEwan shot to fame immediately after finishing it.

Since then the number of different degree courses, workshops, residential courses, mentor schemes etc has exploded; even publishers like Faber are now running courses and putting their top authors in as guest teachers. Mind you, you need to be wealthy to sign up for those. It’s bound to make you wonder whether it’s good value for money.

I’ve even wound up teaching creative writing myself; these days I’m a part-time tutor for the Open University on the Advanced Creative Writing module. I have to say that it’s a brilliantly well-written course, enabling any student whether a beginner or an experienced writer to improve their skills radically in whichever direction they choose. It’s not about telling them how to write, it looks at different approaches and encourages students to help one another achieve whatever they want, by developing their own voice and improving the effectiveness of their writing. I’d recommend anyone to take it, although I can’t vouch for every tutor being equally helpful. Each year a few of my students have a wonderful experience and find that the subject has opened up to them in ways they couldn’t have anticipated; they’re usually people who left school with next to no qualifications and work in relatively dull jobs. This makes it really rewarding to teach.

I’m quite sure there are a lot of charlatans out there, I’ve attended quite a few events myself over the years which I’ve felt annoyed about. I suppose the important thing is to approach with caution, to work out what you want to develop in yourself, and to go looking for it in a discriminating way. There are no rules which can’t be broken, and anyone who tells you how to write is asking to be ignored. The odd thing for me is that I haven’t had the benefit of a mentor of any kind, but my experience of being an editor enabled me to act as my own fiction editor, and the process of teaching creative writing helps in the same way that practising scales is good for musicians.

My novel All To Play For is out courtesy of Legend Press. Its subject is making television drama, and its characters struggle with changes at the BBC in the 1990s, when creativity lost out to re-organisation and commercial pressures, and the consequences are on our TV screens today.
Heather is a former theatre director and BBC script editor who now writes fiction and teaches creative writing for the Open University. Her novel All to Play for, which draws on her television career, is published by Legend Press.

Teenage Kicks

2011-11-02T06:00:00.000Z

Writing for teenagers is a liberating experience. In my personal experience anyway – which isalso debateable since I don’t have anything published – yet. See that spark of positivity? Ah, never mind,it’s gone again now.

I found that being in a *particularlystroppy, irritated, angst-ridden state of mind helped me write my first teenagebook, ‘Double History’, never appearing in any good book stores near youanytime soon or - ever. My protagonist, Maddie was a victim of Gordon Brown’srecession and had to cope with not only her father losing his job in the bankbut the family having to downsize and move house, and then she started seeingthe ghosts of the family who’d died in the house prior to their moving in andgetting stroppy with them too - I know. You’d think it’d have been snapped up by agents and publishers before I’deven typed ‘the end’, right?

Well, no because what I didn’t realise was that agents havereaders who go through plots with a fine-toothed comb and pick apart theteensiest bits that I didn’t realise would even seriously matter.

Like Matter, actually, for instance. I didn’t honestly believe anyone reading thiswould scratch their teenage chin and think ‘hang on a minute, ghosts can’t besaved during a ghostly reconstruction by a living person because they’re already dead…’ (Ending No.1 scuppered). And then, a rewrite and a new ending, let’scall it Ending No.2 also scuppered because it made the ‘hero’ (a very fit butvery dead Leo) too malevolent (okay, so he tried to kill Maddie’s littlebrother, her best friend then her dad to get a body back into the living world –I know! I thought that was a pretty good trick too). So Ending No.3 was triedout which I thought was totally inspired, I sent Leo gently over to the OtherSide whilst still allowing Maddie some romantic closure and ended the wholething on a sunny ray of humorous hope but….. the ‘overall feel didn’t quite work’ - as Prince Charles says - whateverthat means.

Was I sad? Was Iabashed? Was I discombobulated? Yeah, abit. But I cut my teeth withMaddie. She ‘enabled’ me. Shegave me another voice I didn’t realise I had and like I said at the start,writing for a teenage audience is SSsoooooo liberating. You can even put in words like “SSssoooooo”. It’s like that.

The first line in DH was "This sucks." - which for me not only wraps up the teenage mind in dynamic glow-in-the-dark paper, but ties a neon swirl of ribbon around it too. If you had that as a first line in an adult book you could be forgiven for assuming the MC might turn out to be a bit of a primadonna with an attitude problem. But this is almost a given for a young adult audience. They're allowed to speak their mind - their boundaries are still being tested after all.

And teenage issues are so nice and straightforwardly selfish. They don’t have the worries of the world on theirshoulders. They have far lesshistorical, genetic baggage to bother themselves about; their prime concern isMe. What colour their hair could be this week, how many friends on Facebookthey’ve got right now and whether they’ve paid enough attention to the teacherto answer questions in a test or not. Their level of popularity is important (as it always have been forteens, I remember) and the state of the country is simply something that the grown upshave got to sort out because they’re still too young to vote.

Their imaginations are not stifled by worries of mortgagerepayments, energy supplier bills and threats of redundancy. They don’t even have to work out whichmotorway will take them from A to B because they haven’t even started drivinglessons yet. And if they see a strange apparition moving from one side of theroom to the other, they WILL talk to it like it’s a new and interesting lifeform and not be dragged into the ruminations of whether things like should thisexist or not. Teenage writing can be asoff-the-wall as you like because a teen’s life is still pretty much unwritten anyway.

And the innocence is also so life-affirming. You know a child from divorced parents isgoing to love them both no matter what either of them did or didn’t do. You know that a teen is going to be hauntedby the death or abandonment of a parent or a sibling or a close friend. Even apet. Because it’s all about the Self;how it makes them feel. Right now. Andit’s this immediacy that I love so much about growing up that makes writing forteens such a pure, uncomplicated joy.

* aka: PMS

The Hare and the Tortoise do NaNo*

2011-11-01T06:00:00.032Z

Once upon a time there was a Tortoise. Her name was Ms Plotter (Beatrix, if you were on first name terms with her, but that took a loooong while) and she lived in a carefully constructed box at the bottom of the garden. Ms Plotter had many fine qualities: she was steady as a rock, methodical and tenacious. Somewhat shy and retiring, but hey, who's perfect? Ms Plotter minded her own business, which happened to be the Writing of a Novel entitled Slow. Every few years she would add another chapter to her oeuvre. This chapter perfectly echoed the stepsheet made of colour-co-ordinated index cards that she had created before writing a single word. She would then spend several months refining and editing said chapter until it was perfect. All this made her very happy.

Autumn came. On the first morning of November, Ms Plotter opened one eye and pondered: should she begin another sentence or hunker down and prepare for a long winter sleep? She was just turning these possibilities over in her mind when her noisy neighbour, who happened to be a Hare called Ms Panter, squealed to a halt beside her and yelled:
'NaNoooo! sweetie! NaNoooo! NaNoooo!'
- nearly deafening Ms Plotter, who retreated into her shell with all the speed she could muster (not much) in case there'd been an accident.
Ms Panter breathed heavily, but didn't go away.
'Quick, dahling! Quick!' she gasped. 'We have just 30 days to do it.'
'Do what?' said Ms Plotter, wishing the hare would go away and do it, whatever it was.
'Finish a novel, dahling -' and with that, Ms Panter was off, laptop bouncing, on another circuit of the lawn.
'Bloody norah,' Ms Plotter muttered. 'It's That Time Of Year again.' It was bad enough in March, when the Hare and her mates went berserk and dunked dormice in teapots. But this was worse. Much worse.
'It's a race to the finish!' Ms Panter was back again. Panting.
'Finish?' Ms Plotter muttered. 'Who does she think she's kidding?'
'Only sixty-thousand words, sweetie - it'll be a piece of p**s -' and off went the Hare, whispering 'what ifs' and 'and thens' and oohing and ahing like nobody's business.

After that, things went ominously quiet for a while. Ms Plotter kept her eyes open just in case, and, over the course of the next week completed another 78 words of her oeuvre. Then removed 43 of them.

On November 7th, the Hare cast herself, gasping for breath, at Ms Plotter's feet.
'Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God dahling -' she panted, like something from When Harry Met Sally, only considerably less seductively.
'Something the matter?' Ms Plotter resented the interruption. She was just getting into her stride. 'Did you get lost?'
'Lost?!' Ms Panter said. 'How can I get lost when I don't know where I'm going? No. It's just that I can't - well, I can't get them down fast enough...'
Ms Plotter cautiously checked the Hare's nether regions. Everything seemed intact. 'Get what down fast enough?'
'The words of course!' the Hare foamed at the mouth. 'The ideas, dahling. The inspiration, the muse, the whole, whole - damned - thing. You know?' And off she raced again. The Tortoise licked her pencil and very slowly crossed a 't'.

On November 14th, on one of her perambulations of the lawn, Ms Plotter discovered Ms Panter stretched out on her back, her face to the sun.
'Given up, have you?' said Ms Plotter.
'Hardly, dahling! I've pretty much finished, in fact. Thirty days? Pah! That's for wimps.'
'What's the title?'
'Around The World in Eighty Minutes.'
'Ah.'

By November 21st, the Tortoise had completed a whole paragraph. Although it still needed a good edit.
She plodded up to the Hare, who was crouched on the grass, tongue out and forehead furrowed, still writing.
'Thought you'd finished?'
The Hare looked up. 'I have, sweetie, I have. Just the query letter to send off, and I'm done. I should have an agent by the day after tomorrow and a nice juicy deal with a top publisher by the end of the month.'
The Tortoise sighed. 'Aren't you going to revise it? At least read it through?'
'You can't improve on perfection,' smiled Ms Panter.
'Ah.'

Winter came. On the last day of November, Ms Plotter settled into her box of straw, her index cards arranged neatly in a file, the crisply printed page of her manuscript baside it, ready for Spring. Her eyes were half-closing when there was a sharp rap at her shell.

'Sweetie! Wake up!'
'Whaa-aaat?'
Ms Panter was leaping around, trembling with excitement. She thrust a brown envelope under Ms Plotter's reluctant nose. 'It's arrived. From the agent. Just as I said it would.'
The Tortoise opened one eye. 'Open it, then.'
The Hare tore the letter open and read the contents, her ears quivering.
'Dear Ms Panter...read with interest...today's competitive market...with regret...bog off.'
'I'm mortified. Mortified, dahling.' Through streaming eyes, she saw the Tortoise withdrawing her head into her shell. 'But hey...there's always next year. We could do it together. You and me, eh, sweetie? What do you say - yes or no?'

Just for a moment the Tortoise stretched her head out from the safe confines of her shell and blinked very slowly.

'NaNo,' she said, so quietly that the Hare could barely make out the word. 'Nah. No.'

*NaNoWriMo = National Novel Writing Month

Exactly twelve hours to go

2011-10-31T12:00:00.003Z

Today is the deadline for the National Poetry Competition. So dust off your quill and scratch out a sonnet. Have any of you entered? I sent eight poems, which is an expensive way of getting nothing, but if you don't enter . . .

They get about 11,000 entries, I believe, making it the biggest one about, and it's open to all, and judged anonymously. What fun! Six pounds a poem is good value for the dream of winning this. All the details are at The Poetry Society

Good luck to any Strictly Poets.

The long cold wait

2011-10-31T06:00:00.002Z

An agent has had the full manuscript of my second novel for six months now. They read the first three chapters in an anthology put together by the teacher of one of the courses I attended. I sent them the full manuscript and then sat back to wait. Many reading this will know what that's like - the obsessive checking of emails, the runs to the letterbox every time someone puts an advert for a restaurant onto the doormat, the constant checking that you have a good signal on the mobile phone. Actually, I've done none of the above. As far as I'm concerned it will be best if they never contact me. As things stand I can say, "My novel is with a leading London literary agency" and these are words I like to drop into any conversation I have with writerly types. Once they contact me the dream will be over and I will forget that novel for good. Meanwhile it's back to the poems. At least with poetry you can win some minor victories: a poem in a magazine here, a shortlisting for a competition there, an opportunity to read. With novels it's so all or nothing - unless your novel is permanently with an agent who is considering it. Did I mention that my novel is currently in the hands of a top London agency? And no, I won't be sending out any reminders.

Let it snow

2011-10-28T06:00:00.000+01:00

‘Right,’said my editor, ‘This time round, how about planning a fairly detailed skeletonof the book before you start writing?That way,’ she added sweetly, ‘we can avoid any complications or snags with theplot right at the start.’

She madeit sound so reasonable. ‘Okay,’ I replied in a strangled voice,‘I’ll certainly give it a go.’ And then I rhythmically banged my head onthe wall for several minutes, keening a little at the same time.

Thething is, I’m not really a ‘panter’. Orto use another expression I’ve heard, a ‘discovery writer’. But then I’m notreally a classic plotter either. I usually have a rough idea of the overallshape of the book in my mind but with plenty of room for finding new ideaswhile I’m writing. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to write myself intoimpossible corners and then spend a great deal of time going backwards andforwards, a bit like when Austin Powers was in that car trying to get out of a minisculeparking space [funniest thing in the whole movie in my view, but I digress]

So whatshe wants me to do is start with a once sentence pitch. Then, I need to expandit to ten lines. And so on until I have a one page summary. Easy right? Right?

Er...

A writerfriend helpfully pointed out that this was also known as The Snowflake Method,which you can check out here.

I’vegiven it a go and you know what? It has actually helped. A bit. I haven’t gonethe whole hog yet. I haven’t actually done anything as insane as getting beyondthe third step if I’m really honest. But it has prompted some quite decentideas that I didn’t have before. I’ve actually started writing before finishingall the steps [shh, don’t tell my editor] but I do feel as though I willl beable to plan the story out more closely now.

Ifyou’re a panter and it works for you, that’s great [she says a bit enviously].You have no need to try this at all. But if you’re a bit of a panter who eyesthose sensible plotter types with their lovely crisp notecards, highlighterpens and nerdy spreadsheets, secretly wishing that a little of their sensibleways would rub off on you, it’s definitely worth a try.

Stop! Thief!

2011-10-27T06:00:00.002+01:00

Number one on today’s ‘To Do’ list is to ‘write SW post’. Actually it says WRITE SW POST! It is capitalised, unlike numbers 2-11 on my list and it has an explanation mark after it, which seems to imply its creation is either funny or of vital importance.

What is important, is that I get something off my chest. In doing so, I might manage a little ‘funny’ but somehow I doubt it, because at the moment I’m a mite pissed off, which always sours my creative juices. I blame Tesco. Well, not Tesco exactly, but the trip I took to Tesco; the browse I had through Tesco’s books; the fact that I picked up an attractive looking one and read the blurb; the fact that someone else had written my book. Bloody cheek ... It’s like this woman (who shall be nameless, but is a best-selling author) tapped into my mind and wrote my story. This particular story has been rattling around in my head for about two years, so you see it IS possible. Two years ago, the vixen must have latched onto my brainwaves, stole my story and wrote it first. Which of course makes it her story now... Brainwave skulduggery is difficult to prove.

I wouldn’t really mind except this is not the first time I have had my brainwaves stolen. It happens quite often. There I am, thinking that I’m directly wired to the Zeitgeist only to find I am the eternal white rabbit – late to the party, idea already published.

I do understand that there are only so many plots etc and that any story can be handled diversely in different hands. However, I am talking whole books here! You know, similar characters, almost identical plot. I tell you, it’s sabotage. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d have a view. Okay, I have a view – it’s a conspiracy. There’s a certain group of female writers who have all got together, formed a coven and when they join hands, they nick my novels. They must decide amongst themselves who gets what pickings. There’s strength in numbers you know... It’s the only explanation I can come up with.

That or my school reports were right. I spent too much time looking out the window and often lagged behind. The comment, ‘Fionnuala likes to dream,’ was commonplace. I like to think that it was practise. All writers need to be able to imagine other worlds, however, I do accept that all writers need discipline too. Like right now – ‘Come Dine With Me’ is on in the background and I can’t help being drawn to the fact (despite the sound being muted) that someone is making a right *&$£?* of rolling out pre rolled puff pastry. I am thinking ‘how hard can to be to roll out a piece of pre rolled pastry’ when I should be concentrating on writing this post.

Moral of the story is that I now have to come up with a new idea for the novel that I was going to write for NaNoWriMo, because the one I had has been written by someone else. And when I do, I have to WRITE it rather than THINK ABOUT WRITING IT. (Note capitals to imply importance)

Meantime, I know who you are. There are four of you. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. And you can bloody well stop joining hands and using whatever thieving ways you use. Leave my ideas alone, or I shall be forced to make effigies of you all and stick pins in them. In fact, there you go. That’s what my next novel will be about. A deranged unpublished writer who sticks pins in dolls of mind controlling published writers. I dare you. See what you can do with that!!

PS OOPS - EXCLAMATION MARK!!

Guest Author Elizabeth Haynes gets all serious about National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)

2011-10-26T06:00:00.000+01:00

We are delighted to shine the Strictly Writing spotlight on author Elizabeth Haynes. Another NaNoWriMo is nearly upon us and Elizabeth is one of the many success stories associated with this annual challenge. Here she divulges her very own winning formula and gives us one of those inspirational leg-ups we all need from time to time. Take it away, Elizabeth...

"I feel a bit of a fraud, writing about NaNoWriMo as if Iknow what I’m talking about. I’ve being doing it for fun since 2005, like a lotof other people, and I never thought for one minute that it might lead topublication. But to my ongoing surprise, it did – and so, dear reader, for yourdelectation and amusement, here is a precis of my NaNoWriMo journey to date.

My first attempt (2005) resulted in a laughable serialkiller-thriller that I lost in early December to a hard drive failure. Lessonslearned in 2005:

- don’t use the same name for more than one character(too complicated)

- don’t base your serial killer character on your boss(potentially awkward)

- back up, back up, back up!! Do it now!

In 2006 I wrote 50,000 words of a vast, complicated policeprocedural – loved it, couldn’t think of an ending so just carried on with themiddle hoping the ending would show up eventually. It didn’t. Lessons learnedin 2006:

- keep a spreadsheet or database of characters if you’regoing to have lots of them

- have a vague idea of who the killer might be when youstart writing

In 2007 I lived the life of a Nano rebel and continued withmy 2006 plot, ending up with a 130,000 word total for both parts and still nosign of an ending, or any idea who the killer might be. Lessons learned in2007:

- it’s much more fun to start a fresh new plot eachNovember

- having a week off work made a BIG difference to mytotal wordcount

outside the NaNo HQ

In 2008 I finally got the balance right: a brand new plot, anidea of the ending (even though it changed in the editing process), and… thebiggest achievement of all – I finished the blessed thing. I had a go atediting the result, but I ended up working on the first third of it over andover again, not having a clue what I was doing, and each time giving upthinking it was all pointless. In the end I showed the manuscript to two closefriends, who both loved it - which gave me some hope. What made the differencewas a conversation with my cousin, who uttered the fateful words, “Why not justsend it off? What have you got to lose?” Oh, so simple!

The rest of the story has more to do with luck thanjudgement, but I did end up with a publishing contract for my 2008 book – Intothe Darkest Corner, which was released in February 2011. As everyone’s publishing story is going to bedifferent, the lessons I learned earlier on are possibly more useful:

- you can’t do anything with a story unless it has anending, and

- you won’t get published unless you actually show it tosomeone.

As always I’m in danger of being Mistress of the Bleedin’Obvious here, so forgive me the platitudes, but let me console you with this:if I can do this, there is nothing stopping you doing it too. If you’re on thatlong conveyor belt between starting your first novel and a sparkling booklaunch, be proud that you’re on the conveyor at all, because there are a lot ofpeople who are afraid to give it a go. You might fall off. You might get pushedoff it by that annoying thing called Real Life. But if the only thing standingin your way is a big pile of excuses, I would urge you to be brave and go forit.

So here we are, standing on the edge of a beautiful newNovember, full of potential and dark, grey, cold days, just made for cuddlingup with a computer or a notebook. This might be your year; the year you writesomething with a beginning, a middle and an ending that’s actually quite good…This might be the year that you end up with something you can actually showsomeone. And if not that, then it might be the year that you have the best fun,meet the nicest Wrimos online, go to some hilarious write-ins and emerge on 1^stDecember feeling thoroughly pleased with yourself (and wishing you’d thought todo your Christmas shopping in October).

This year I’m starting with another germ of a story, a vagueidea of an ending, a few good-ish characters who are waiting to tell me theirstories, and a real cracker of a title! Please feel free to come and say helloon the NaNoWriMo site via nanomail – I’d love to hear from you. I’m Cosmic TheCat on there. And good luck with yours… I’ll see you on the other side."

Elizabeth can also be found on Twitter (@Elizjhaynes) or via Into the Darkest Corner’s Facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Into-the-Darkest-Corner/129457203777662

Into the Darkest Corner is a powerful novel of obsession in it's many forms and is currently nominated for the People’s Book Prize, the winner of which is selected purely by reader votes. Voting continues until the end of November, and can be found here:http://www.peoplesbookprize.com/section.php?id=6

A Quiet Room

2011-10-25T06:00:00.000+01:00

The writing room always has to be a quiet room. I don’t want music on in the background, neither do I want to hear voices, least of all ones which interrupt the master at work…’Gillian, what do you think?’ or ‘Gillian, I really don’t want to disturb you but….’

Our teachers always used to say the exam room was a quiet room. And, surprise, surprise, they were right! Apart from the odd cough or sneeze though. Whilst studying as a GCSE and A Level student, I was always distracted by the presence of music in the background. Even the radio was a major source of disruption. The radio only served as a brief 15 minute break from studying. I would switch on Radio One as a reward and listen to Steve Wright In The Afternoon (oh the memories), have a Kitkat and get back to work.

Times haven’t changed, except for the fact I now have to tolerate background noise while writing. It’s not really a choice any more. After all I’m not the only person living at number 15. I have to battle against constant renditions of Three Blind Mice and background MTV (which is a great tool to get Baby to sleep!) football on Five Live and re-runs of Two and A Half Men.

And the writing room is not a cafeteria either. We usually ask our Strictly guest posters what their favourite writing snack is and they will say ‘a packet of cheese and onion crisps’ or ‘a Twix.’ I’m at the other end of the spectrum in that many times I’ve forgotten to eat! Lunch would just disappear and before I know it, it’s 5pm and dinner time.

I think it’s all about discipline and whatever way you were taught to study, you’ll carry that on in your writing life. Am I right?

Books to Film; discuss

2011-10-24T06:00:00.000+01:00

Excuse the un-padded-out-ness of this post; but didn't somebody once say that brevity is the most compelling form of depth?*

HIGH FIDELITY

Saw the film. Loved it. Saw it again. Loved it even morealthough Jack Black character annoyed me. Saw Jack Black in another film. Realised he’s just annoying and watched High Fidelity again. Realised I was in love with John Cusack. And Joan. Saw it again. Insisted friendswatched. Bought it for friends. Realised there was a book. Didn’t want to read it. Set in London. Couldn’t poss do film justice. Realised I was wrong. Film was brilliant. Book was better (cos book was British?) andwas delighted to read scenes in book not in film. Read book again. And again. And again. Stop me if I’m boringyou.

Tried to read some other Nick Hornby but didn’t quite hitthe mark.

HARRY POTTER(s)
Great idea. Great first book. Great first film. There's a saying about stopping while you're ahead, isn't there?

THE TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE

Loved the book. Lent bookto daughter. Loved. Book lent to others. Loved. Couldn’t quite believe how film would work. Went to watch it. Didn’t work. Biggest flaw was Henry the drippy, chinless wonder. He had a chin in MY book. And a spine.

Didn’t stop me reading Audrey Niffenegger’s ‘Her FearfulSymmetry’ and delighting in that too. Will still see the film when it’s out. I’m like that.

TWILIGHT
Oh please, just don't even get me started. The book was fine back when Vampires were new an' all. The movie was just mayhem (in the auditorium) with screaming and gasps and lots of tweens taking unauthorised photographs NEXT to the screen before being politely asked to move away. Just silly.

CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC

(or something, were the first 2 books combined in themovie?)

Liked book. Was bright, breezy and easy to read. But BeckyBloomwood started to annoy me during 2^nd in series (are there 12now? is she a grandmother yet?) sostopped at 2. Had fond memories of ditsy airhead MC so watched film. 90 mins of my life I won’t get back. Wasdire.

SOMETHING BORROWED

Loved book. Lovedbook so much bought all books by Emily Giffin and became HUGE fan. She can’t write fast enough for me. However, thought film shallow and schmoozy althoughdid love Ethan character, which came to life in the film. Even bigger shame isthat sequel; SOMETHING BLUE is being filmed right now. Shall be giving that amiss.

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN

Just finished reading this in the week it’s released inUK. Am assuming movie will be cross betweenThe Omen and the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Can see it being a hit. At leastwith the film, there won’t be unnecessary wordage getting in the way andslowing down the pace.

THE HELP

This book took my breath away. If the film is half as good (which it couldn’tpossibly be) then it’ll run away with awards.

The thing with books-to-film is that you don’t get theinternal dialogue. Hence I always feel a bit cheated. I wonder ‘but where was that scene where…’ or‘yeah but, give him/her a break… THIS STUFF is going on in her head’. You haveto rely on the actor’s skilful use of eyebrows to convey inner turmoil.

*No, they didn't. I made that up. What? it's called fiction!

Friday Film: Printing a book in 1947

2011-10-21T06:00:00.003+01:00

If the video player doesn't display, you can watch at the Internet Archive

Those Who Can Do

2011-10-20T06:00:00.002+01:00

I've talked in the past about my discomfort around the great beast that is The Creative Writing Industry.

My feelings over this are no doubt bound up in the fact that I have never attended a CW course, been mentored or paid for a book report. And it hasn't exactly held me back.

I'm also cynical that much of this stuff is simply an exercise designed to part the would-be writer from his hard earned dosh, with vague promises of publication.

It seems to me that every writer I know has a different method of working, so how can any of us really teach anyone what the best way is?

On Saturday, at the Bedford Readers Day, a young author called Anna Stothard explained to the audience that she hardly plots at all. She lets her characters surprise her. Now this could not be more different to the way I work, yet who can say which one of us is right or wrong?

These are then the main reasons why I've always declined offers of teaching, mentoring etc. Plus of course I'm always on such bleddy tight deadlines that I hardly want more work do I?

So why then am I, for the first time, giving serious consideration to such an offer?

First, it can be no coincidence that at the same festival, another author who I greatly admire, Sophie Hannah, commented on how helpful she thought literary agencies were. How she wished they'd been around when she started out.

Second, I've just finished the copy edits on book five, Twenty Twelve, and although I should dive into book six, I'm desperate for a break. Or not so much a break as a change of scene and pace.

Third, as much as I love writing, there's no getting away from the fact that it's a fairly self indulgent way of spending my time. I make stuff up. I write it down. No lives are saved. And while I don't kid myself that mentoring is like vaccinating children in Africa it does seem like a helpful thing to do. Not selfless of course, but less selfish than writing.

I know of course that there are plenty of writers doing this for the cash and not the love, but I know quite a few who say they find this type of work both interesting and satisfying. Helping other writers get to where they want to be makes a tangible difference to their lives.

I dunno. The jury's still out. But I just wondered what any readers thought about it.

Have you guys been helped by someone in this way? Conversely,have you ever felt ripped off?

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

The Second Novel Conundrum - guest post by Damian McNicholl

2011-10-18T06:00:00.001+01:00

Panic and terror. That's how I felt after the roller coaster ride of getting my first novel, A Son Called Gabriel, published came to an end. During the weeks following publication, I couldn’t think about writing or editing as my mind was too preoccupied, too obsessed, with doing everything within my power to help my publisher ensure the first novel reached its audience. When the excitement ebbed, the inevitable questions all newly published novelists must face commenced: What’s your next book about? Is it written? Can I see a draft? When will it be in the bookstores?

I’d already completed a second manuscript prior to Gabriel’s publication. But the story was so very different. Where Gabriel is a gentle coming-out, coming-of age, the new manuscript was dark and comic, more of an urban tale with offbeat characters and a thriller element. It reflected another but no less vital side of my personality. However, people in the United States were advising that my second novel (called a ‘sophomore novel’ here) should be similar to ASCG because that’s what readers and critics expected.

For months, I stuck the finished manuscript into a desk drawer and tried to come up with another literary type story that this unknown audience would like. I researched genetic engineering but couldn’t get enthused. I started plotting a story from a dog’s point of view. I abandoned that and moved on to Mormonism, but the deeper I got into writing the story’s outline, the more I knew the protagonist’s core conflict would not support a novel. But always, from within the reaches of the shut desk drawer, the strong characters in my manuscript would enter my consciousness, insisting it was their turn, insisting that their story needed to be told just as much as Gabriel’s. There was Danny, the young Northern Irish man who fled his controlling father and fiancée for London; Piper, a twenty-two year old American woman studying at the LSE who likes her boyfriend but not the sex; Julia, the plummy-voiced immigration officer who’s a law unto herself; and meddling Agnes Hartley, Julia’s neighbour, who despises her and writes over-familiar letters to the Queen Mother. But my fears persisted that the novel was just far too different from A Son Called Gabriel’s simple story with its one subplot.

In the end, because I’ve always liked to do things my way, I decided to defy the so-called ‘conventional wisdom’ that a novelist’s second novel should be similar in voice or style to the first. I decided the finished manuscript would be my second novel and gave it the title Twisted Agendas. I spent last winter editing and re-editing, paring the story but maintaining the rich multi-layered structure and keeping the chapters fairly short because that’s something I like in a novel’s structure.

It was published recently by London’s independent publisher Legend Press and given a superb cover that conveys the work is commercial and literary rather than just purely literary fiction. Time will tell if I made the right decision but I’m feeling pretty good about it right now because I’ve had interest from a large US publisher. And the irony is that I’ve just now completed my third manuscript that’s a combination of both my A Son Called Gabriel and Twisted Agendas writing styles and voices.

Damian McNicholl is from Northern Ireland and lives now in Pennsylvania, USA where he's at work on his third novel. His debut novel, A Son Called Gabriel, was an American Booksellers Association Booksense Pick, Foreword Magazine and Lambda Literary Award finalist and is now optioned for film. His second novel, Twisted Agendas, is recently published by Legend Press and is available in bookstores throughout the UK and Ireland. He maintains a blog here and is on Twitter @DamianMcN

We Can Re-Build Her...

2011-10-14T06:00:00.000+01:00

After my latest Teenage book was rejected by every last one of those nice Literary Agent type people from the Writer's and Artists Yearbook, I did what I don't generally do and retreated quietly into my cave with what felt like huge, gaping wounds around about my tail area.
I have spent so long licking these open sores (yes, I'm being metaphorical here although I am beginning to gross myself out now) and have so little fur protecting my rear parts that I need to stop henceforth, regroup, settle down and allow my pelt to grow back at a gentle pace.
God, I LOVE a good analogy!
And I thought I was going to do with this book what I've done with the others (4, but who's counting?) which is hide it away in a folder on the pc....
BUT one comment from my Rejectors has been swirling about in my brain for so long now that it's finally sparked enough neurons to have formed it's own community in my lateral cortex, preventing the book from flatlining completely.

And that comment was that the MC didn't have any compulsion to 'get better'.
Oky, so the story started off at the right 'place' - with a nice juicy hook and worm and... enough analogies now... began with a good grip anyway; BUT the main character just didn't warrant enough reader-sympathy to propel the story forward.
MC was a fairly likeable girl. A little flawed, but then show me a teen who isn't. She had a bit of an attitude and came from a decent working-class family with the usual standard dysfunctions. So far, so fine.
But 'fine' isn't enough these days. Is it?
Even though the story was interesting (yeah right, SO interesting, agents were drawing daggers at dawn for a piece of it) Miss MC just didn't have enough 'changeability' about her to warrant a journey of self-discovery.

Imagine, if you will, Dorothy. Or Cinderella. Or the Ugly Duckling.
Nice characters. Pleasant surroundings, a few not so nice secondary characters who offer conflict for their own wildly differing reasons, but they NEED a change to happen in their literary lives, don't they? And these all DO.
Mine didn't. Not so much as you'd noticed, anyway.
Okay, so she went on a journey, she found out some stuff, had a few frights, laughs, moments of sadness and the book ended on a cheeky note of hopeful-ever-after; but she didn't scream "aaaargghhhhh! see what I NEED?" from page one, which readers like to see; want to feel.
A reader needs to have this. A reader deserves this. Otherwise where's the point in a story?

Cinderella HAD to go to the ball to find her Happy Ending.
The Ugly Duckling had to shed his puppy fur to find his snowy white feathers.
and Dorothy needed to be blown to Nethercome to realise there's no place like Home.

My MC requires a healthy injection of Need; she's not ready to pass over into archive-heaven just yet. All I have to do is breathe a bit more into her and I think she'll be good to go.

So, excuse me while I scrub up, pull on my green wellies and tie on my surgical mask - this could get bloody brilliant! (although I may need an analogy-bypass to get ME through this operation...).

Downsizing

2011-10-13T06:00:00.005+01:00

After living in the wilderness (well, Cornwall) for seven years, I’ve moved back to the city. A huge change of pace which also requires a big attitudinal change. In Cornwall I had a 4-storey cottage with direct views over the river from every floor. In the city, for the same price, I can barely afford a two-bedroom flat with views over various air-filtering devices on the roof next door - or a one-bedroom flat. In Cornwall I had a painting studio with a Belfast sink and a balcony. Now I have to consider whether I can paint at all.
This is not a nightmare but a challenge: an interesting opportunity to look at my life and how I now hope to live it. And, strangely, my writing process seems to be going hand in hand with my moving process. In Cornwall I wrote my novel – all 100,000 words of it. Lots of words, lots of space. As I prepared to move, I began editing – both my possessions (I gave away or sold much of what I owned) and my novel. And now, in the city, I’ve reached the ultimate in downsizing: the one-bedroom flat, and the blurb.
Blurb.
The word says it all. Blurb is the sound you make when you’re trying to think one up. And it’s no coincidence that blurb is very similar to blub (a consequence of attempting to write one) blur (what happens to your eyes after doing so) and blue (how you feel once you’ve written it).
Not immediately, of course. The first reaction on completing a blurb is a kind of religious vapour. I did it! I wrote a blurb! - rapidly followed by the falling-to-earth realisation that your blurb is actually a crock of s**t. As some wise soul said, if you can do it in 200 words, why bother writing the novel?
Because, it seems, the perfect blurb is a super-clever selling device to seduce potential readers inside the covers.
I have blurbs coming out of my ears. If only one of them worked. Mine is a novel which hovers on the literary/commercial borders, so blurbing is a tricky balancing act between making my book sound like a chick-lit novel and making it sound incredibly lit’ry, dahling. And, like a one-bed flat, a blurb has to work hard for its diminutive size. It has to succinctly sum up the novel. It has to hook the reader. And it has to give a sense of the style and tone of the writing.
Do I begin with a quote from the book? Should I focus on the nuts-and-bolts of the narrative or on the underlying themes? Do I tailor it to work with the cover image?What stays? What goes? Should I keep it short and succinct or expand it to include the three parallel narratives? Should it end with a question, or is that old hat?
In my new one-bedroom flat (when I find it) I hope to live, write and paint. May my blurb, too, prove the cliche that small is beautiful and that downsizing is the Next Big Thing.

Reading in public

2011-10-12T06:00:00.008+01:00

On Saturday I did my first proper poetry reading. It was down in Winchester at the prize-giving for the Virginia Warbey prize. I didn't win, but two of my poems were longlisted. Before that I had entered a poetry slam at a festival and taken part in a few readings at the end of courses. I also had to read after one of my short stories was shortlisted for another competition.

I have to say that I find this terrifying. I'm not really sure why; if you have any ideas to help me cope I would be deeply grateful. It's embarrassing too; I'm a professional psychologist and the words of Jesus, "Physician, heal thyself" come back to mock me.

I think it's a legacy from school, where the prospect of reading aloud to the class was even scarier than Clifton Hughes, who gobbed all the way down my arm at the bus stop. At work I have to run leadership programmes for senior managers from high profile organisations, and I do that without blinking. When it comes to reading my own work I shrivel. Just writing about it now I can feel my heart spreading till it no longer fits in my chest.

This is something I would like to get over. I rehearse a lot before readings, know most of my work by heart, and think I'm actually quite good at it. When I listen to others, they sometimes mumble out the words in a monotonous, inaudible voice, whereas I try to put some energy into it, and look at the audience.

I just hate it.

A few days ago I found out I've been shortlisted for the Live Canon poetry prize. That's a thrill as it is judged by the fantastic Glyn Maxwell. And the relief is that the awards ceremony will feature actors reading our poems: we won't have to do it. Perhaps I should only enter ones like that.

Please leave a comment if you share this phobia, or if you have any tips for how to handle it.

Photo: Jo Barker (08/11/2011)

The drama of dinosaurs

2011-10-10T09:53:00.000+01:00

When I started school, there weren't many dinosaurs around. We sang 'Listen to the chorus of the brontosaurus' at hymn practice, and knew all the classic names such as tyrannosaurus rex and iguanadon, but we lacked the plethora of amazing reptiles available to today's small children. The hundreds of dinosaur species discovered in the past two decades were still hidden below layers of rock, just waiting to be brought into the light. Well, obviously not waiting, as they'd been dead for millions of years and couldn't give a shit whether anyone ever found them, but you know what I mean.

One of my favourite films, however, was The Valley of Gwangi – the product of someone in the 1960s having the inspired idea of adding prehistoric beasts to the western genre. When I was a bit older, I read Jurassic Park and became obsessed with it, eagerly awaiting the movie. I enjoyed the BBC's Walking With Dinosaurs in the late 1990s and am now a huge fan of Planet Dinosaur. So, in short, I love dinosaurs – but have to admit that my limited knowledge of them mainly comes from entertainment.

If I were a paleontologist, I might grumble about Planet Dinosaur. I might feel annoyed that ~~it wasn't me who got paid as a consultant~~ it was dumbing down science for an audience that doesn't get excited unless there are shaky camera angles and an unrelenting kill-or-be-killed dramatic tension.

As a non-scientist, however, I can watch Planet Dinosaur for the simple fact that dinosaurs are awesome. I might briefly wonder how anyone knows that one had spots and another had stripes, or what evidence there is for herbivorous reptiles going moo and carnivores going RAARRRRRR, but I don't really mind if these are educated guesses as long as I keep getting to see MORE DINOSAURS.

Beyond that, with my writerly hat on, I also appreciate it for the way it uses imagination to impart scientific concepts to a general audience. Planet Dinosaur's attraction might at first glance lie in its CGI and the novelty of the latest scientific discoveries – but for me the appeal is in its use of the fossil record as the inspiration for stories.

A fossil of a damaged spinosaurus vertebra might look, to many people, like a random bit of rock. To the scientists working on it, the possibility that the damage was caused by the bite of a carcharodontosaurus must be incredibly exciting. The two points of view are a long way apart, and in Planet Dinosaur, it takes the power of a story to connect them.

In the first episode, a carcharodontosaurus has expended energy on killing a hapless oranosaurus. The suspense and gore of the kill is played out in all its glory. At last, carcharodontosaurus can tuck into its meal.

Then a spinosaurus – the largest land predator yet discovered – ominously appears at the edge of the forest clearing. Spinosaurus wants the kill. Carcharodontosaurus wants it too. In the eyes of the modern viewer, carcharodontosaurus has the moral advantage of having done all the work. Yet this is Cretaceous Africa. There are no morals. The essential element of any story – conflict – is in place.

Planet Dinosaur can never accurately recreate the moment at which the now-fossilised spinosaurus incurred the damage to its elongated neural spine. We can't know the exact circumstances of the bite, or witness every blow of an encounter that took place millions of years ago. A fictional scene, however, enables the general viewer to appreciate the excitement of scientific discovery and engage with the research that is continuing apace.

Fiction might seem incongruous with the rationality of science, but stories are still what people respond to. They are how we learn; they are how we make sense of concepts outside our own experience; they can inspire us to further our knowledge – and they are what makes Planet Dinosaur such compelling viewing.

Guest post by Scott Pack

2011-10-07T06:00:00.000+01:00

Here’s a picture of a dodo.

More of a silhouette really, isn’t it?There are loads of these in my book.

You see, every entry in 21st Century Dodos is given a dodo rating of between one and five dodos. One being ‘not very rare’ and five for ‘extinct’.Although, thinking about it, I don’t think there are actually any One Dodo items in the book.

There are some Two Dodo entries though. C&A warrants just a pair, despite the fact that there hasn’t been a branch of their shop anywhere in the UK since 2001, as they are still going strong in Europe. Beyonce even has a clothing range there.

Telephone boxes are clearly still dotted around the landscape, so also get rated a 2, even though hundreds of them go unused every year (451 in Scotland neither received nor made a single call last year).Sadly, there are loads of Five Dodo entries ranging from Betamax to World of Sport, interludes to Texan bars.But what on earth am I going on about?

Well, my book is a collection of eulogies, tributes and fond farewells to the many inanimate objects that many of us grew up with but are now on the verge of extinction – a collection of 21st Century Dodos.
Things such as audio cassettes, the Ford Cortina, rotary dial telephones and Concorde.See?If you are in the mood for a bit of a nostalgia-fest then perhaps you’d like to check it out. All my royalties will go towards buying cake.

Tomorrow I'll be posting here as part of my blog tour.Visit Amazon to buy the book or if you'd like to purchase the ebook click here.

Bedfordhsire Readers Day

2011-10-06T06:00:00.001+01:00

When I was a kid we never went to the library. I suppose this should have struck me as strange because my Dad was an avid reader and we were very skint. He always said though, that libraries weren't for people like us.

I was never 100% certain what he meant by this, but assumed that the big concrete building in the middle of Pontefract must be filled to the rafters with posh folk. No doubt they would be thumbing through the complete works of Thomas Hardy while drinking tea from dainty china cups.

Not that I'd ever seen any posh folk in Pontefract, but maybe that was because they were all hanging out in the library, or The Conservative Club.

It was not until I went to uni and was prevailed upon to join that I finally stood in line and became a library member. The first thing I noted was how bloody easy it was and the second were the huge signs everywhere saying no food or drink was to be consumed on the library premises. Not even tiny cups of Earl Grey tea.

I was like the kid given the keys to the sweet shop and took out the maximum number on my first day, staggering under the weight of twenty hardbacks as I made my way back to halls.

I remember the sweet pleasure of putting up my DMs and reading everything from Kafka to Jackie Collins. To be fair I probably should have been spending more time reading law books, given that that was what I was there for, but we won't dwell on that.

Back at home that Christmas, I tackled my Dad on how wrong he'd been. 'Libraries are for everyone,' I told him. 'Take that working class chip off your shoulder and join.'
He was mumbling something about the proletariat and the means of production when my Mum took another swig of her snowball and told me to ignore him. My Dad it turns
out, had been a member of Pontefract library, but he'd forgotten to take back the books he'd borrowed and had consequently been barred. He was also barred from The Hope and Anchor, but that was about something else entirely.

Anyway, since then, I've been a massive fan and user of libraries. In fact I have written huge swathes of my books in libraries. One thing that never ceases to amaze me is how many services they offer. And one of my faves is the plethora of reading groups. A group of very different people from completely different backgrounds, coming together to discuss books - how cool is that. And they don't even have to buy the books!

For this reason, I always try to accept any invitations from libraries to come and speak to reading groups. Put an author together with readers and well...you can't have any more fun outside of a hotel room. So it's with great pleasure that I get to plug a readers day for my local library service; Bedforshire. They do a sterling job and I am delighted to have been asked to take part on 15th October 2011 from 10-4pm. The cost is £8 but it is a whole day of book filled fun and the price includes refreshments and lunch.

There will be many more authors there besides me...Anna Stothard, Morag Joss, Trilby Kent, Simon Brett and Sophie Hannah.
I really really can't wait.

SAME AGAIN, PLEASE?

2011-10-04T06:00:00.009+01:00

Last week the papers seized on a story about certain best-selling novelists whose sales have fallen dramatically in the past year. Jodi Picoult and Marian Keyes are among them. Here’s The Independent’s take on it:

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/features/have-we-fallen-out-of-love-with-chick-lit-2361445.html

I don’t want to re-hash what the journalists are writing. But I find several things interesting about this story.

First, that women fiction writers are so often lumped together under the banner of chick-lit, whilst no mention was made at all of ‘lad-lit’ (does it still exist?) or, indeed, of the sales of any male writers.

Second, and leading on from this: what exactly is ‘chick-lit’? The universal (and often supercilious) answer appears to be novels with pastel covers adorned with stilettos, martini glasses, hearts and flowers – in which case, what are Jodi Picoult and Marian Keyes doing on the list?

Third, and leading on again: there seems to have been a recent trend among publishers who insist on creating ‘chick-lit’ style covers for a wide range of women’s fiction, regardless of content. A women’s fiction author recently made the headlines by leaving her publisher because of the way her novels were being portrayed by their covers.

A pattern begins to emerge. A sense of blanketing, of homogenisation. Of ‘more of the same.’

Publishers are running scared. It’s understandable. What with the economic climate, the rapidly changing environment of book-buying and reading and the rising costs of actually publishing books, let alone marketing them effectively, little wonder that publishers are becoming risk-averse. If you know that a celebrity autobiography is going to sell in shed-loads, then that’s what you’ll publish. If there’s a call for chick-lit (whatever that may be) then when you publish it you’ll make sure that it's easily identifiable across a crowded supermarket. Chick-lit (so called) has been ruling the roost, publishing-wise, for a decade or more, and publishers obviously want their best-selling authors to keep writing within a narrowly restricted range and to present that writing in a narrowly-restricted set of images.

Inevitably comes a backlash. I think it’s known as entropy. Eventually, trends will begin to turn, usually in the opposite direction. The focus on materialism which began in the 80s and resulted, perhaps, in the chick-lit trend, is losing ground. Already, as the article above mentions, there’s a turn away from materialism towards magic, spirituality and the fantastic. Is this a good thing? Yes, in the sense that it may break new ground. No, in the sense that the same thing is likely to happen all over again.

But wouldn't it be wonderful if books could be celebrated for their originality, their freshness and their difference? Wouldn't it be fabulous if genre and gender came second to sheer, brilliant story-telling? A dangerous notion.

Would love to hear your thoughts...

Fact and fiction - telling the story

2011-10-03T06:00:00.001+01:00

Working in journalism, I am surrounded by stories daily. Except these stories are real. From murders to political scandals to simple human interest pieces which warm your heart, I tend to use these as fodder for my books. Throw my own personal experiences of every day issues into the mix and voila – here we have…a novel. I have to confess that I base the majority of my novels on high profile incidents, except I twist the stories and make them into my own pieces of fiction. Very often the inspiration can arise from one simple incident buried within a news story – one family’s struggle to come to terms with the death of a loved one for example.

Even if you don’t work in journalism, it’s easy enough to pluck an item from the newspaper or even a piece of gossip from OK magazine, or that hellish place, Netmums (where you’ll find a rant about Little Johnny’s dad) and make it your own. If you’re stuck for inspiration and need to get into first gear, open the newspaper, turn on the television or look out the window and work with what you see in front of you. Heck, even now that it’s X-factor season, listen to what some of the most inspirational and quirky contestants have to say about their lives and develop your characters from there. You’d be surprised at what you come up with. Better still, eavesdrop on a chat in a coffee shop – after all, aren’t most ping-pong conversations about other people, especially those generated by groups of women?

A lot of the novels I love have been inspired by real life events, for example Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann (9/11) and Burnt Shadows by Kamila Shamsie (the bombing of Nagasaki). Those books that use an historical event as a backdrop, I find, are more engaging. I feel I can identify with the characters, as if I had lived through the tragedies myself. But that’s just a personal preference. Wasn’t there a whole flurry of novels following the events of September 11, 2001, many of which were based on single incidents within this whole tragedy? Falling Man by Don Delilo springs to mind. And they still keep on coming, years after the events have occurred. I’m keen to read The Submission by Amy Waldman, which deals with the tenth anniversary of 9/11. The book follows a jury as they select a fitting memorial to the victims, the architect being an American Muslim.

One could argue that most books are based on real life events not covered by the media, even pink-covered commercial women’s fiction. It’s just that we don’t hear about these events as they are personal to the writer. What events have inspired your book? Are they personal and private, or have you been affected by something you’ve read in the newspaper? Do tell!

JK Rowling And Me

2011-09-30T06:00:00.000+01:00

It’s a touchy subject in our house. It always has been. You see I kept my name when I got married. There wasn’t a hope in hell of me shedding my identity, especially as I work in journalism and have a bit of a reputation. Not like that! But people know me. Not to the same extent they know Victoria Beckham or Cheryl Cole though. Having built up a reputation in journalism or indeed any profession, I imagine it’d be suicidal to become Mrs Smith or Mrs Jones. But what if you’ve written a rubbish book which bombed with the critics and you suddenly want to lose the name ‘Betty Blooper’ and become ‘Camille Harrod-Windsor.’ The name change would work for you.

JK Rowling kept her name, just like me. After all, Joanne Murray doesn’t sound that flashy on the cover of a book (apologies to all Joanne Murrays out there, authors or otherwise!) I'm sure you'll agree that the moniker JK Rowling has a bit more magic to it. And from the publisher’s point of view it was probably fundamental to the success of the book. It’s my understanding that young boys would be reluctant to read sci-fi or fantasy written by women novelists. I could be wrong though – do they even look at who wrote the book?

A reputation is something which our predecessors didn't have the freedom to enjoy. In the 18th century many female writers wrote under male or gender neutral pseudonyms to ensure they’d be taken seriously. George Eliot is perhaps the most famous example and is the creator of ‘Silly Novels by Lady Novelists.’ Then there’s S.E. Hinton (The Outsiders and Rumble Fish) and P.D. James. I recall reading The Outsiders after seeing the movie and thinking S.E. Hinton was a young man. I was wrong.

I think we ought to thank these women for standing up for literature and letting the outside world know that our books, several generations on, are just as engaging as those written by men. I often wonder why Lily Allen changed her name to Mrs Cooper. Such a talented songsmith has an international following and she gave that up following her marriage. Thank goodness it’s 2011 and times have changed, is all I can say, otherwise this post would have been written by a certain Jullian McDade.

Time For a Cuppa?

2011-09-28T06:00:00.000+01:00

I'm sure you know, but here's a gentle reminder anyway, that today is the Macmillan Coffee Morning.

Basically, the Macmillan charity is trying to raise as much as possible by getting we Brits to do what we do best...have a natter over a cuppa.

My daughter's school is hosting a coffee morning and her year has been asked to provide cakes and wotnots, so on Sunday Pip and I spent a lovely few hours making and decorating cookies.

Actually, if I'm being brutally honest, I did not want to bake cookies. I mean, I know it's a GREAT cause but it was sunny and the papers were spread out across the table so enticingly. And frankly, I am forever feeding the naffing troops...

But nothing elbows you in the guilty ribs like a child mumbling about the place does it? So sure enough I was soon up to my grumpy wrists in flour and after a bit of huffing and puffing I got into it. Again, if I'm being brutally honest, my competitive streak kicked in and Pip and I were racing to the death to see who could knock out the most complicated shapes and designs. I think on reflection her musical notes were pretty darn fine, but my striped hearts had the edge.

I trust they will raise some funds today and perhaps a few smiles too.

Anway, if anyone is hosting a coffee morning near you, or selling cakes in your office, do stick your hand in your pocket and bung em a quid if you can spare it. The Macmillan nurses do a bloody marvelous job and we need to support them.

GIVE ME A BREAK!

2011-09-27T06:00:00.000+01:00

Apologies in advance of the ranting which may issue forthfrom this missive, dear reader. For as Iwrite I am still suffering the bubbling aftermath (like those espressocoffee-maker machines if you want to get a proper AUDITORY feel of the emotion)and as my counsellor has said a couple of times recently (YES I see a Counsellor,what - do you have a PROBLEM with that?!) I need to release my anger a bitmore.

So I stand – okay then, sit – before you today a beleaguered,frustrated, anxious, ANGRY BASTARD and the stupid little passive creaturesitting on one of my shoulders (and right now I don’t CARE which bloodyshoulder it is – whichever one I say would have some kind of hidden ‘meaning’and I’m so NOT ABOUT hidden meanings at the moment; let them stay hid is what Isay to them) is not getting a look-in. IAM CROSS.

(n.b. there’s also no significance in my use of the word ‘cross’– this is not a piece of work which I intend to be wheedled through norpsychoanalysed for extraneous undercurrents. This is simply a RANT of the highest order. First draft. Un-cut. End of.)

The string quartet’s already been dealt with and I’veslapped a “Do not Resuscitate” Post-it Note on each of their heads – so there’sno point in even IMAGINING you can hear plaintive strains of Beethoven’s ViolinConcerto in F-Minor (even if he didn’t blummin’ well write one. I don’t CARE – didn’t I mention?) soaring sorrowfullyover the following words…

I’ve never asked for much in life. Nothing on a grander scale than, say, warmth,love, health, happiness, all those things that Dale Winton (does he still dothe Lottery thing?) can’t hold over me in his sweaty orange fist and try totempt me to ‘win’ by answering questions about Mesopotamian Geography and/or AlanBennett plays. A simple soul. That’s me. And as long as there’s always been a safe distance between me andsomewhere that sells chocolate then I’ve generally been content enough.

And you all already know about the creepy bosses and theridiculous places of work I’ve had to endure over my time. Well, there’ve also been creepIER boyfriends and worst-case-scenariofamily-type situations and marriages of the disastrous order and struggles tokeep three jobs going whilst being a single-parent…. And if I’m not being deserted then people aredying on me (no, seriously). But – NO - Idon’t want sympathy - a hug will only make me bawl and THAT would ruin mymascara; no - I just want a FUR-LIPPIN’GODDAMNED BREAK, WOULD YOU MIND?!

Like Kate Bush, I’ve done ‘deals with God’; in my youth anyway. I used to trade things like being Nice andGood for eternity in return for not being bullied tomorrow and/or a place onthe school bus which wouldn’t entice aforementioned Bullying. And I wasn’t listened to. Either that or, as I convinced myself - Iwasn’t worthy of being listened to –there were starving people in third world countries far more deserving of God’sattention that me. And in fact I wasbullied BECAUSE of my trade-off attempts with God. This made me A Bad, Bad person.

I should’ve had a counsellor back then. I’d be flippin Simon Cowell by now.

Speaking of which there was always, at the back of my mind,the chance I might be ‘discovered’. Likeall the Audrey Hepburn/Doris Day fill-ums I’d ever been mesmerised andentranced with, my redeeming dream was that there was always the possibilitythat my Knight, my Hero, my Saviour was simply waiting for my lowest,point-of-no-return- moment before he would (*ahem* HE? - mental note to deal with this later) appear, strong andmasterful on his thunderous steed and sweep me away from ‘all of this’. A cloudof dust would follow and my happy ending would begin.

He never appeared. Mymind gave him reasonable excuses like the new bypass around the town which hadn’tshown up on his medieval A-Z… Just call me Miss Benefit O.T. Doubt.

I read my horoscope diligently. I did whatever Justin Toper/Russell*/MysticMeg suggested would be safe for a watery woman on any given day and waited withhope alive in my chest. I was kind toanimals/old people/plants/siblings and knew that I couldn’t be faulted forbeing a Bad Person. My day would come.Hadn’t I deserved it, after all?

And here is the silent positivity which I have alwayscarried around with me. I’ve never shownit to anybody before, and I’ve always laughed and agreed with people who’vecalled me a Pessimist in the past because of my ‘ah, no, it’ll NEVER happen tome’ attitude, because inside I’m always thinking “oooh, how much sweeter willthis taste WHEN it does?!” Some call it Pessimism. I prefer to call it …well, nowI call it my ‘Mad-Sweet Delusion’.

And the straw that broke this Camel’s back?

Alan Titchmarsh.

I’m not blaming him personallyyou understand; rather the readers and judges of this year’s ‘People’sAuthor Competition’ which dead-lined on July 1^st and I have justthis morning found out that the 16 finalists have already been contacted.

You don’t need me to tell you that I wasn’t one of thesetalented, lucky people.

(cut to scene wherePrince Charming sits scratching his head atop his monstrous but weary steedwhilst STILL trying to work out if the A421 goes straight throughNether-Hampton or if he should just jack it all in and head for Clapthorpe andthe nearest Little Chef).

And right now I’m beginning to feel like one of those sad wannabeson the X-Factor. I just don’t GotIt. But what I HAVE got is about ahundred trillion *”NO’s” filed awayin the ‘Rejections’ folder. Maybe it’sabout time I started believing what they say and STOP with this incessantdeluded belief that I can write. I clearly can’t. And everyone can see it barme.

*I bet Louis Walsh would keep me in for entertainmentvalue, though. Just call me the Jedwardof the writing world…

AAARRRRGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Hof

2011-09-25T17:57:00.008+01:00

There wasn't much wind over the last two weeks in Kos. That's the frustrating part of my obsession with skimming across oceans on a board. So I found myself having a deep holiday romance instead . . . with Michael Hofmann. I had read his poetry before, but having acres of time spread out before me I took the opportunity to immerse myself in his work. Or at least as much of his four collections as are replayed in the Selected Poems. And this was the first time, for a long time, that poetry worked on me the way a novel does: transporting you into another world.

The poetry renders Hofmann's experience of the world, often from within a shabby hotel room, with a world-weary writerly ennui that I find extremely appealing. It brought about the same mood in me as some Paul Auster novels, especially Leviathan. The Hof's second collection Acrimony is the one I enjoyed most. It builds as a story of a young man's search to know his novelist father. A father who isn't available for knowing. Most of the poems are written in a relaxed blank verse, which does lend itself to building up a narrative. I love them for the wryly observed details of mundanity. For example the way his mother staggered about like a nude / in her sun-hat, high heels and bathing-costume on family holidays. Or how in one of the many hotels Our beds are at a hospital distance and in another, The television swings into the room on a hinged extension / like a box camera or a boxing glove / or something at the dentist. That last hotel is experienced on An hour's sleep on the back of eight hours of drink, which is more or less how I am writing this post now. Perhaps that's another reason I relate to The Hof. I love the way his self-obsessed self shines out of the poems.

After the intensely personal journey of Acrimony (1986) came Corona Corona (1993) where the poems are more political and geographical. We meet The Hof on his travels, especially in Mexico where Every shoe is a spurred boot, every hat is a stetson, / and every car is a Dodge pickup. For a while his father is forgotton, but he comes back to centre stage after his death in Approximately Nowhere (1999) with many moving elegies. The title of that collection comes from a poem about directions to the cemetary which is approximately nowhere / ten stops by underground then bus / zigzagging through the suburbs.

As a writer there's lots to be learnt from Michael Hofmann. His use of symbolism is beautiful. And he is a ultimate master of "show don't tell". He always resists the temptation to comment on what he sees. The endings of his poems are some of the strongest lines and often sum things up with a skillfully chosen detail. The last line of the poem Nights in the Iron Hotel where Hofmann is watching tv is A gymnast swings like a hooked fish.

Down-time to Downton

2011-09-23T06:00:00.005+01:00

I’ve been in the wilderness for a while. Unable to write, because my powers of concentration were reduced to that which would fill a thimble. I have also been unable to read for the same reasons. So, for the last two months, I have been introduced to and reduced to, the empty and barren world of daytime television. And sitting still... No exercise at all, since a walk upstairs rendered me breathless and panting. An acute bout of pneumonia will do that to a girl.

So, if you need any advice on Homes Under The Hammer, The Matthew Wright show, The Jeremy Kyle show (bless me Father for I have sinned...) Judge Judy, The Real Housewives of various USA Counties, To Build Or Not To Build - call me. Having a dodgy lung has reduced me to a panting vegetable. The hubster, trying to inject a little humour into my very un-funny situation suggested I set up a sex phone line. Panting could earn some money, he said. The fact that I thought about it, albeit briefly, shows how bad things had become.

Two months on, I’m still clock watching to take the next pain relief, however, I do feel better. I feel my brain is once again demanding more; I can walk up the stairs without sounding like an audition for a porn movie; I can read a newspaper without falling asleep (although...) When I close my eyes and imagine my brain, I now see it as a functioning, pulsing organ with lobes and a stem, rather than an empty, threaded bit of floating tumble weed. Once again, I’m reading a book without wanting to put it down after two pages and here I am, at last, writing.

Everything happens for a reason and in between all the crap television programmes, there was an odd gem - tightly written or suspenseful, or plain old brilliantly crafted characters in a drama like Downton Abbey. I watched the whole of series one on DVD just in time to see series two start last Sunday. It made me want to write a screen play, something I’ve never thought of doing before. How different can it be to writing a lot of dialogue? It’s a lot of dialogue with stage order thingys isn’t it? Or is it? Something tells me my recovering brain may be oversimplifying this somewhat. I’m no Julian Fellowes, but I still think I want to give the scriptwriting thing a go.

Has anyone out there done any courses? Any books (now that I can read again) to recommend? Advice on the different crafts of script writing versus novel writing? I need to get my teeth into something new and challenging, remind myself that my brain like the rest of my muscles that have been semi retired for the last two months, now need flexing and exercising. Wish me luck...

Vanity Publishing for Kids

2011-09-21T06:00:00.002+01:00

The other day, my mum phoned with great excitement to announce that my 7-year-old nephew is going to be a published poet! She's pre-ordered a copy of the anthology – it might be £15.99, but that's a small price to pay for seeing his name in print!

As 'the writer' in the family, I was probably supposed to give some words of encouragement and inspiration for our budding John Milton. Unfortunately, I'm also the bitter and twisted old scepti-hag of the family, so I'm afraid I couldn't muster up much enthusiasm for the ancient money-making trick for which he's become fodder.

I suspect most readers here are well aware of rat-scented poetry contests. You enter a free competition and receive a letter saying you've been selected out of 7 billion entries to BE PUBLISHED. The book will get into the British Library – whoop-de-rollerblading-hoo! You can even order copies at a bargain price for all your chums.

But when the tome arrives, you discover that your carefully crafted verse is buried under an avalanche of emo outpourings from a thousand other suckers. You won't get any royalties and you won't see the book in any shops. You feel like a bit of an idiot but you think 'c'est la vie' and move on.

At least, you do if you're an adult.

There are, however, 'imprints' that don't aim their services at grown-up writers. They pitch their marketing materials to schools and give teachers a few resources to encourage the class to submit their work.

The average 7-year-old doesn't frequent the many informative blogs and forums about getting published. If you're 7 and your teacher says you've won a contest, you're well within your rights to be pretty chuffed. You don't know you're just a pawn in a money-making scheme that relies on your Aged-Ps and grandma forking out for an upmarket photocopy. If your family then refuses to buy 'your' book, well – how could they do that to you? Lifelong psychological torment awaits.

At the most basic economic level, of course, there is nothing wrong with a company providing a product and people choosing to buy it. All businesses are intended to be 'money-making schemes' (though judging by the websites of some small publishers, I do wonder!) What is distasteful in this case, however, is that the profit is the result of manipulating the emotions of small children and their parents.

It's easy for us slush-pile vermin to feel that everyone in the world is trying to be a writer, but most people have quite sensibly never thought about committing pen to paper. The teachers and parents are not stupid or gullible – they just have no reason to have spent months investigating how to get published.

Yet even when parents become suspicious about the scheme, how are they supposed to look at their child's excited little face and explain that, actually, the whole class's dross got accepted for this wonkily-printed paperback? No one wants to be the parent who says:

No, Jonny, the biggest achievement of your life is NOT worth £16 to me – hell, kid, that's like three days-worth of Jack Daniel's or something.

On the surface, these schemes might appear harmless fun, but if an individual child has been having a tough time, news of such a supposedly wonderful opportunity could have the whole family in tears of joy – it must be crushing when the truth becomes apparent in the playground the next day.

So, how do the people who run these companies justify getting kids to vanity publish? Well, they say they're encouraging creative writing, and that publication boosts children's confidence, motivating them to continue with poetry. How admirable – but an anthology printed on Lulu.com by the PTA would have the same effect and would also raise funds for the school (which gets no profit from these schemes other than the remote possibility of a cash prize). Parents and children could look back on such a publication with fondness and pride – rather than an uneasy sense that someone was laughing all the way to the bank.

I Don't Like Mondays...

2011-09-19T06:00:00.002+01:00

How are you this Monday? Did your alarm go off and you couldn't quite believe the night had disappeared? Did you open your curtains and think, shit, that's the Summer gone then, as a murky September scene greeted you?

If that's the case, then grab a coffee and read on. Maybe I'll be able to inspire you into starting your week with the vigour of of an X Factor contestant getting through to boot camp...or at least convince you not to top yourself with a tea spoon.

Why are you so bloody perky I hear you cry. Aren't you meant to be weeping over your cornflakes over the state of the publishing industry?

To be honest, I probably should be but I'm in full on Pollyanna mode because last week my editor finally signed off on book five. I cannot tell you how great this made me feel. I mean, it's always fab when you get to the end of the editing process and the work is done. But this time the usual sense of release is coupled by an enormous sense of relief.

This dear readers has not been an easy book. I'd heard all about the difficult second albumn syndrome but hadn't been affected. Who could have guessed I'd come so unstuck on book five!!!!! Surely by now I could do this malarky with my eyes shut?

Well let me tell you my eyes were wide open when I had to do a flippin' great re-write. Yes re-write. It would be disingenuous to call it an edit. This was big. Major heart surgery. And it had to be done to a tight deadline. You see the book is called Twenty Twelve and is set during the London Olympics, so not suprisingly, the sales and marketing dudes want it in the shops by next April/May. That'll teach me to come up with the old high concept book. I thought I was being clever but it turns out I was just making a rod for my own back.

Actually, the whole thing made me realise that there are many myths out there doing the rounds that I can dispell in one fell swoop.

1. Editors no longer edit. Wrong, wrong, wrong diddly wrong wrong.

2. Publishers don't care about the quality of high concept, highly commercial work. Sorry, but that's a bunch of crap.

3. Commercial writers stick to a formula and can do it in their sleep. Nice try but no cigar.

Anyhow, I dug deep and got the re-write done. And my ed is....drum roll please...very happy with it.

Now I have a clear path ahead of me. I can do exactly what I want. I can start book six which is due to be subbed in July 2012, or I can tackle on of the other projects that have been calling me. Or I could do bugger all for a couple of weeks. Life don't get much sweeter than this.

So I'm going to raise a cuppa to you all out there and hope that some of this great feeling is contagious. Happy Monday.

Contractions and a contract

2011-09-16T06:00:00.000+01:00

This has been a summer of contractions and a contract.

On August 1 at 6:16am hubby and I gave birth to Amelie (7lbs 11oz) and a few days later I signed a contract for Novel Two (Novel One is currently on the backburner). If truth be told, the novel was far more painful and laborious, despite mum having hyperemesis from hell (extreme sickness) for nine months. The book took around two years from start to finish, whereas my labour (as a first timer!) was four hours and up until the last eighty minutes or so, relatively painless which I attribute to my chiropractic treatment.

Conception is just the beginning. From conceiving those ideas in a flash of inspiration and getting them down on a piece of paper, to the foetus developing into a perfectly formed baby, often I look back on both and wonder how it all started. And every parent I'm sure has gone gaga over early scans, aka the rough draft, wondering whether or not everything will turn out right and if all the bits and pieces will be in the right places.

When we found out Baby was healthy and doing well, we began to look forward to the end result, bound in flawless skin, like a fine leather book engraved in intricate detail.

With a birth and a book comes the plans. The birth plan went reasonably well - from waters breaking naturally to a fast birth and minimal pain relief, I was happy. Admittedly it did go a bit pear-shaped at the very end thanks to my soaring blood pressure, and the recovery has been hellish. However, I’m dealing with the aftermath by pulling my anger away from the forceps and trying to focus on Book Two - which had a plan. It was a lovely detailed plan and I stuck rigidly to it. Now and then I wandered off course, but that's part of giving birth to a book. We can't have it all our way.

The urge to push is very strange. It’s like (TMI alert) expelling a cannonball and for me, similar to the desperate urge to push on with a work in progress and meet those self-set deadlines. Once you have that initial idea for the book, you need to expand on it before the inspiration disintegrates into the hectic blur of daily life. Likewise, every parent nurtures a growing child, feeding, taking care of him or her and guiding the offspring in the right direction.

My book will no doubt be the subject of a future blog post, and like a parent rejoices over the safe delivery of a baby, I’ll also rejoice over the appearance of it.

It could've Been Me

2011-09-14T06:00:00.000+01:00

This is one difficult woman to pin down. Not only is she the supremely capable motherof five ridiculously beautiful and intelligent children (Gabe 12, Elle 9, Sasha5 and 3-year old twins Reuben and Jack) she’s also just finished writing hertwelfth novel, ‘Meet Me in John Lewis’.

Add these fiercely time-consuming activities to an alreadyexhausting schedule of PTA meetings, being the wife of the former President ofthe whole of Tellyland, throw in some pretty nifty baking on behalf of thelocal Primary Schools and WI; her tireless charity work and you start to wonderwhere this amazing woman gets her stamina from.

‘Three Omega-3 fish oil capsules a day,’ she winks at methrough lashes that would delight a woman half her age. ‘And, of course, never say no to anything.’ Another wink.

From such humble beginnings - her father was a Butcher, hermother a Post-lady. (Nobody is certainas to what role her brother played and his presence in her life is somethingthat her PR people have asked me not to touch upon) Debs Riccio is a force tobe reckoned with and she doesn’t suffer fools gladly. She readily admits she’d also sell her owngrandmother for another slice of fame (if her grandmother was still alive, ofcourse).

She waves away a tray of celery and carrot with elegantlymanicured hands and swears under her breath about the staff. This ‘staff’ it turns out, is actually hermother, who later assures me she enjoys being employed by her famous daughter. ‘Iget to see the grandkids and, of course, it keeps my new hips moving’, shebeams over a batch of freshly baked cinnamon muffins.

It certainly seems like the stuff of which dreams aremade. At the age of 18, Debs’ undoubtedwriting ability was spotted by the, then Editor of Woman magazine, Richard Fitzwarren,when she sent in a short story entitled ‘Sidney’. This story was to change the course of herlife.

‘It sounds like a terrible cliché,’ Debs says, stretchingout long, lithe legs. She is wearing a diaphanousblouse, cream linen trousers and a pair of butter-cream leather open-toed mules. Every inch of her skin gleams with health andvitality. ‘And although I’m grateful for the chance Dickie gave me, I’m certainit would’ve happened anyway. I sent thesame story to Give Me a Break and Bingo-Bongo. They’d have been blind not to have realised its potential.’

My china cup is re-filled with Lady Grey tea and I nod mythanks to Debs’ mother who curtseys almost apologetically before backing out ofthe room.

When pressed on the subject of her husband’s infidelity,Debs is naturally cautious. ‘He’s anarse,’ she says blithely. ‘Why wouldanyone sire five children and then start shagging the paid help?’

I assume she doesn’t mean her mother and decide to changethe subject.

‘Back in those days it wasn’t very clever or fashionable towant to have a career,’ she tells me when I ask her about her aspirations as ateenager. ‘And lord knows my parents tried to warn me off of wanting to go tocollege or university. I mean…’ sheleans in conspiratorially at this point and whispers over at me, ‘…it didn’t dothem any harm did it?’ she jerks athumb in the direction of the kitchen and suppresses a snort. ‘So I knew theonly way I was going to make anything of my life was if I had enoughdetermination and confidence to make a success of it myself.’

My eyes fall on the array of framed book-covers which decoratethe wall beside me in the sumptuously decorated drawing room-cum-library. There is a discernable gap.

‘That’s my way of celebrating motherhood,’ Debs smiles beatifically. ‘There’d have been at least five other bookcovers up there if I hadn’t been quite so fertile. Of course I had my tubesclipped after the twins.’

Across the hallway I can see the children coming in fromschool through the heavy oak front door and hugging their grandmother as theypass her books, bags and lunchboxes. Shestarts to struggle with the double-buggy and when Debs follows my gaze, she leansover and toes the door shut in one elegant move.

She is clearly a focused woman I tell her, and I ask whatshe’s working on at the moment; where she finds the time and the inspirationwith everything she’s involved with and she throws back her swan-like neck,runs a hand through thick, glossy caramel waves and laughs.

‘Oh, I’m alwaysinspired,’ she levels her emerald green eyes at mine. ‘After all Life itself is such inspiration,isn’t it! The trees, the birds, the sun….I could be, what, shaking the Queen Mother’s hand, or sitting on the loo and POW!inspiration smacks me right round the head….’

‘… it’s times likethese,’ Debs continues, ‘that I thank the good Lord baby Jesus for giving mesuch a tremendous talent and such a terrific ability with which to channel mytalents. Obviously if it wasn’t for thewonderful support of my readers and publishers then I wouldn’t be half thewoman I am today…. but…in fact that’s what my latest book is all about…. wait…wait…. the hardships of growing up in the seventies; the cruel way childrenwere forced to climb chimneys to make a living for their abusive parents; the excommunicationof the Head of the Church of England and drugs pedalling on the urban subwaysof Hampstead Heath. I think my fans willbe thrilled. It has all the hallmarks of a classic Riccio read.’

As I tread the gravelled driveway away from the sideentrance of this magnificent stately home, I feel I have borne witness tosomething very precious indeed.

'And there's vampires too!' I hear a voice shout behind me.

A Gift for Writing

2011-09-13T06:00:00.003+01:00

There’s a wonderful book called 29 Gifts. Have you come across it? It’s written by a young American woman called Cami Walker who was diagnosed with MS a month after her wedding. In pain and despair, and barely able to leave her flat, she was given the following ‘recipe’ by an African medicine woman: Give 29 gifts in 29 days. And if you miss a day, go back to the beginning. The gifts included a tissue for a friend in tears; giving away a bouquet of flowers she’d bought for herself, stem by stem, to strangers; giving a shell she’d found on the beach to a little girl. The point of all this was that in giving a gift each day, her energy turned from focusing on pain and difficulty towards the power to make a difference.

What is this to do with writing, I hear you ask?

Writing works energetically from the inside out. It’s expressive, outpouring, giving. Maybe it’s time to give your inner writer a gift. Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, suggests Artist’s Dates each week to fill the well of inspiration. But the smallest gift will be appreciated by our hard-working inner writer. Here are some suggestions:

• The gift of half an hour a day to write in
• A comfortable, back-supporting chair
• Some healthy writerly snacks
• Membership of a writing group or online community
• Time each day to walk and imagine and ponder
• A really good book to read.
• The choice to write differently – a haiku or a short story or a novel
• A trip to the bookshop, or the zoo, or the seaside.

What gift would your writer most appreciate this week?

It's A Dog's Life

2011-09-12T06:00:00.000+01:00

I wouldn't call myself a dog lover.

I mean, I would go out of my way to kick them or anything, it's just that I'm none too fussed on all that barking and crotch sniffing.

And, as regular readers of this blog know, I have a penchant for white linen trousers, which don't exactly play well with mucky paws.

So all in all it has been pretty convenient that my son is allergic to them. It's been a cast iron excuse to all those requests from the kids. Even the heart felt letter to Santa begging for a puppy I was able to elbow aside safe in the knowledge that I was looking after my son's welfare.

You can imagine then my consternation when it transpired there was one breed Joe wasn't allergic to.

You couldn't make it up could you? Bloody millions of dogs out there all bringing on red eyes and asthma attacks, only for my son's best mate to choose the very type that doesn't cause any problems.

Of course I could have stood firm and remained focussed on my white trousers, but I'm a working mother and guilt is my default setting...

Which is why I now find myself the owner of a three month old Border Terrier called Peanut. Named such in a classic twist of Black humour referencing another familial allergy.

And in a classic example of life in Casa Black never going according to plan, Peanut managed to injure herself in the first week with us.

See I disovered by chance that my nearest neighbour is a dog sitter and was almost breathless with anticipation of pulling on those troos and heading out for lunch with my mates. Unfortunately, Peanut became similarly excited and jumped under the dog sitter's feet.

Cue much yelping (the pup), much weeping (the dog sitter) and much bill issuing (the vet).

Anyways Peanut has broken all the toes on her front right paw. All of 'em. She's in a full leg pup plaster and is housebound for the next three weeks. I've put away my glad rags.

On the plus side however, I've done loads of writing. Being stuck at home, it sort of seemed rude not to. In fact I've almost finished the latest round of edits on book five. I'll be able to sub them early!!! And I've virtually filled a notebook with ideas for new projects.

So not all bad then.

Friday Film

2011-09-09T06:00:00.005+01:00

It's Friday. By this stage of the week my only professional ambitions are to drink coffee and refrain from killing anyone. So I'm low on motivational writing advice and observational humour. Instead, I thought it would be ~~easier~~ fun to link to a video.

Here's Mrs Whitaker - who wrote, typeset and printed four newspapers while looking after two small children in 1942. Writing is soon skimmed over as a minor and untelegenic part of the process, and Mrs Whitaker enjoys no fame or fortune today, but she's an inspiration to those of us feeling overwhelmed by the pressures of work and family life.

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(If video doesn't display, click here.)

Film courtesy of British Path é. Follow them on Twitter and Facebook

Looking for inspiration?

2011-09-07T06:00:00.002+01:00

On my way home I stopped and sat on a bench.

It was just passed where they are pulling down the council offices. The building had half its face ripped off, as if it had been the victim of a bomb blast.

Strands of iron hung down in the gaps between the floors with concrete fragments like decorations. The whole eight storey block was missing one side of wall with all the other walls intact and the edges of floor protruding like snapped bones or the ripped edge of a cardboard box.

On the bench I looked at West London to see if it contained one last shred of beauty. Today, in this war-torn, commercialised, celebrity-worshipping, whore of a city, was there one scrap of nature left to comfort me? To inspire me.

I stopped because my bag was heavy too. Already tired from swimming I’d bought two reams of paper, to be used for purposes I won’t go into here.

There was another broken wall alongside the path where I sat on the bench. It had uneven stones along the top. Not exactly beauty, but at least a reminder of age. Ancientness creates its own value. I can forgive the historical city with its brutal employer practices, death-penalties, denial of suffrage for women, because all that is long ago and time has healed while it has eaten away at that wall.

Above the wall there were claret clouds scudding westward on the early evening breeze. Nature at last and undeniably beautiful, if only because the clouds were elevated so far away from humankind.

I watched a man walk by with a haunted face. He probably saw in me a threat, another man, a stranger, sitting on the bench for no purpose. What purpose could there be to sit outside in London with no cigarette? He probably didn’t notice the nascent flowers below the bench, and anyway, nascent is a word best reserved for breasts.

Then a sound. A single voice of opera. A tenor, either recorded or practicing, I couldn’t tell which because he was so deeply embedded in the house alongside the path. That got me off the bench. I went and leaned in close to the wall and listened. But the singing voice was still far off and faint, drifting away with the claret clouds. So I gave up and finished my walk home. But all the way up Castlebar Hill I could still hear opera. It was slightly scary. It seemed to emanate from the echoes of cars that laboured up the hill past me. It came from slightly behind and it sang that beauty existed everywhere and inspiration can be found anywhere. Even in Ealing.

Inspiration is like sex, always available if I really want it.

Onboard the Fiction Express - Guest Post by Luisa Plaja

2011-09-05T06:00:00.000+01:00

Ever wished that readers could give you feedback on your novel-in-progress, telling you where they’d like the plot to go? Luisa Plaja, author of several teen novels, talks about writing for Fiction Express…
***

Fiction Express publishes online novels in weekly instalments - with a twist. At the end of each chapter, readers get to vote on what they’d like to see happen next. The writer then works on the subsequent part of the story according to the majority vote, and the whole process goes on for a total of eleven weeks.

I visited Strictly Writing back in May to talk about jumping on the Fiction Express. I’m now pleased to report that my novel, Diary of a Mall Girl, is complete.

And what an experience it was! Every Monday morning, I eagerly awaited the email giving me the vote result so that I could rush off to write. Except… it didn’t quite work that way. I’d spend the rest of the day thinking and planning, ending with a large amount of panicking about not having written anything. This was usually followed by at least one all-night writing and/or editing session, racing to meet the Thursday editorial deadline. (Of course, I’m sure the other authors weren’t like me. I imagine they all got their chapters in bright and early each week. Ahem.) I can’t pretend that writing this way was easy, but it was definitely a fun challenge. And somehow the story came together, with characters developing and plot twists revealing themselves in ways I hadn’t foreseen.

I write teen romance, and at the start of Diary of a Mall Girl, I wasn’t even sure who the love interest for my main character would be. Some interesting voting soon made it obvious which character the readers wanted Molly to be with… though not without complications and a few wicked vote results on the way.

You can read more about my experience of Fiction Express in an interview at Serendipity Reviews, together with a review of Diary of a Mall Girl. You can also read all the completed e-books at Fiction Express. The latest novel there is a steampunk adventure called Remy Brunel and the Ocean of Light by Sharon Gosling, and as it’s in progress, there are still many chances to influence the course of its plot.

Think you’d like to try writing this way yourself? A Fiction Express editor writes:
“Fiction Express is always looking for enthusiastic authors, so if you're interested in being part of the project, please email authors@fictionexpress.co.uk . Although our current e-books are targeted at teens, we are looking to launch some titles for younger children later in the year, too.”

First chapters of all novels are free to read, with subsequent chapters costing one credit each (from 59p). The Fiction Express team is kindly offering ten free credits to readers of Strictly Writing. To claim this special offer today, register (for free) at http://www.fictionexpress.co.uk, click on “add credits” and enter the following code: STRICTLY10

Happy reading and writing!

Something old, something new...

2011-09-02T06:00:00.001+01:00

‘Where do you get your ideas from?’

It’s probably the question writers get asked the most and it usually prompts a bit of an internal sigh. It’s not at all a stupid question though. It’s just one that’s very, very difficult to answer.

So where do they come from? Anywhere and nowhere, I guess, is the short answer.

Ideas can come from: a picture in your mind, an overheard conversation, a news story, a song, a poem; from another book, a movie or TV programme; a gorgeous/ugly/ moving bit of scenery, from a memory, from personal experience...

Okay, I’ll stop there because there are probably a million more ‘sources’ and I bet if you’re reading this you’re thinking I haven’t even mentioned whatever seems the most obvious one to you.

The reason I’ve been mulling on this though, is that I’m in the process of thinking about my third book. My second was already half finished when I got my book deal and originally it was to have a sequel. But as I was writing it, I realised in my heart of hearts that a sequel felt completely wrong. I said nothing but luckily, my very perceptive editor said, ‘You know, I feel you’re holding back in this story. How about putting everything into one book, ditching the sequel idea, and book three can be decided later?’
Phew.

That book is slowly getting there now and my editor wants to have a chat at some point soon about ideas for the next one.

And that’s a bit scary.

Some writers have a constant stream of good ideas. I’m pleased for them, truly I am [smug gits]. But for me, I’m more likely to have one on the boil at a time. So I suddenly felt a bit, shall we say, terrified that I had to produce a very solid idea out of a magician’s hat? So I started wondering in more detail about where MY stories come from. What if I couldn’t think of anything at all?

It didn't help that this summer has been very intense, with a house move in the offing and all sorts of other tricky life issues going on. Thankfully, I was able to go holiday and when I asked myself that question in a relaxed and happy state, I realised that atmospheric settings are very important to me. And looking at some of the incredible places we visited in Northumberland, I started to get the tiniest of tiny story ideas.

It’s so delicate as yet, I daren’t even talk about it out loud in case it’s rubbish. [I’m actually a bit wobbly about even mentioning it here in such veiled terms]
It may be nothing. It may be something. But it has reminded me that this part is one of the best bits of writing.

Fingers crossed it’s a keeper....

We're All Going On A Summer Holiday

2011-08-29T06:01:00.003+01:00

I recently read an article by Caitlin Moran where she said she didn't really like travelling. Indeed, she had spent the vast majority of her life returning to the same three places on holiday, all of which were in the UK.

I've got to admit that I'm a bit gobsmacked by that. I mean I love Cate's column and read How To Be A Woman in one sitting, alternating unbridled laughter with vigorous head nodding at her sharp insights into modern feminism. But holidays in Gower? Every year? Why? Surely that's tantemount to self harm?

I'm the absolute opposite. I bloody love going to new places and plan our holidays with an energy and rigour that I fail in almost all other aspects of my life. I suspect my children wish I spent as much time and effort poring over their school timetables as I do travel books, which might result in them not having missed the first day of term two years running.

Though I have never written a shopping list in my life and the fridge often houses a haphazard collection of items from goats cheese to maple syrup, but rarely milk or eggs I do regularly write a list of places I'm desperate to see as soon as possible. And it never gets any shorter. I just seem to keep adding whenever I'm inspired by a book, an article or a film.

A couple of years ago I watched The Shipping News with Kevin Spacey and was so taken with the wild landscapes and the idea of eating seal flipper pie (c'mon tell me you're not curious) that Newfoundland made its way onto my list. A quick reccy at accommodation however told me that this was not a goer, not with two kids in the mix, so instead we ended up in Quebec. It was magnificent. The national park is the size of Wales.

And this summer, inspired by the Quebec trip, we ended up at the other side of Canada, spending a few days in Vancouver (where we went whale watching and saw three pods of Killer whales) before heading to the Rockies. They are dizzingly stunning, stretching endlessly to the horizon, snowcapped even in August, punctuated by lakes so blue they make you laugh out loud at the sheer absurdity.

Each morning we'd grab our Starbucks and then head out into the wilderness with last night's waitresses' tales of bear spottings and couples airlifted to safety from wolves. Heady stuff. And a world away from what was going on at home.

To be honest, despite having a lap top, an iPad and three mobiles with us, we had spectaculaly failed to notice that the UK had all but descended into anarchy.

The first mention of riots came from a text from a radio station I often contribute to, asking me whether I had any views I could share given my special interest. In my defence there is a massive time difference and it mashed my brain. Plus the beautiful surroundings can make a girl giddy, but I couldn't for the life of me think what my 'special interest' might be. I'd written my dissertation on the Brixton riots epochs ago, but couldn't imagine how anyone knew owt about that.

Not one to let folk down (and a complete meeja whore into the bargain) I put my alarm on and hauled my sorry ass out of bed at three in the morning. I blathered a bit about Lord Denning with the presenter sounding even more confused than me. Fortunately I was too knackered to be embarrassed.

Then she mentioned Blood Rush, my latest book, and it dawned on me...it's about gangs and how young people can get dragged into doing despicable things. I did have a special interest. I did have something to say. But sadly, we were out of time. I think we could safely call it a missed opportunity.

I couldn't get back to sleep of course, and I didn't want to wake up the tribe, so I went outside onto the deck and watched the sun rise. Then I pulled out my list...Naples, Japan, Miami, South Africa...decisions, decisions.

Quickfire questions with Naomi Alderman

2011-08-26T06:00:00.006+01:00

Naomi Alderman’s first novel, Disobedience, was published in ten languages; it was read on BBC radio's Book at Bedtime and won the Orange Award for New Writers. Penguin published her second novel, The Lessons in April 2010. In 2007, she was named Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year, and one of Waterstones' 25 Writers for the Future. She has published prize-winning short fiction in Prospect, Woman and Home, the Sunday Express and a number of anthologies and in 2009 was shortlisted for the BBC National Short Story Award. From 2004 to 2007 Naomi was lead writer on the BAFTA-shortlisted alternate reality game Perplex City. In 2008 she wrote the Alice in Storyland game for Penguin's online We Tell Stories project, and her most recent online work is 'The Winter House'. She broadcasts regularly, and writes a weekly games column for the Guardian

Which 3 writers, living or dead, would you invite to dinner?

Definitely Douglas Adams, whom I'm gutted never to have had the chance to meet. So I think if I get to bring him back for an evening I might plan the evening around him and people I think he liked and have Richard Dawkins and Steve Meretzky.

What's your favourite writing snack?

Very dark chocolate, I'm up to 90% proof.

Longhand or computer?

Computer. But I sort of wish I was one of those longhand people.

Win Booker prize or land Hollywood film deal?

Ooooh. Does one mean "definitely can't ever do the other"? I'd rather write something that would still be read in 100 years than either of the two, and can't choose. Sorry.

Tabloid or broadsheet?

Broadsheet. Obvs.

Independent bookshop or Amazon?

Sigh. I have taken my credit cards off Amazon to stop myself 1-clicking. But while I do go to independent bookshops, I love the range of stock you can get online. I plead the fifth. I hope both can co-exist.

Hacker or adder? (in terms of editing)

I am rubbish at these questions! I do both. Probably more of a hacker, but I tend to hack, then add to fill in the missing bit.

Plotter or panter?

Panter. Otherwise I bore myself.

Leave on a cliffhanger or tell all?

Cliffhanger.

You really must read: The Shaking Woman by Siri Hustvedt

I get most excited by: my imagination.

If I wasn't a writer I would be: dreaming of being a writer. Or a chef. Who wanted to be a writer.

An author should always write what they believe.

Naomi's website is here