A little heresy before bedtime

Maybe you're just a number two.

Another momentous Wimbledon has come and gone - a tale of heroism, endeavour, victory and defeat. Basically it's been like watching a writing tournament, only with tennis racquets. Hang on, I hear you shout, we don't have writing tournaments unless you mean competitions. No, I mean the whole experience of being a writer.

You train (just go with me on this), you perfect your skills and you try not to drop the ball. Some will triumph and some will fall, but sooner or later every writer - and I mean every one - will have a defining moment that gives them clarity about their approach and their ability.

It could be that short story competition where you failed to win a prize by just two judges' points. Perhaps it's that first novel rejection - in every sense - where you either cry into your beer and give up, or cry into your beer and vow to prove them wrong.*

I put it to you that it's our failures that define us. We can't all be Booker winners and from now on none of us will be Orange Fiction Pize winners. I think I can also say, with some confidence, that most of us won't get agents or bank-busting three-book deals.

So why go through the submissions mill? Why aim for the stars?

Think back, those of you who've had your work rejected in the past. If you're still writing, I'd be willing to wager that you learned important things from a good rejection - one where you learned something about your work. I guarantee that by the time you finished your next complete edit you cringed at the very idea you'd submitted the previous version. I know I have - several times!

One of my defining moments was when our writing group used to meet at Susie's. We were bemoaning the carousel of submissions, waiting and disappointment. The subject of revisions came up and Kath said that it was about producing the best work possible. That's when it came to me. I knew that I only wanted to do the minimum number of edits necessary. Not because I'm a lazy sod. Well, not exactly.

I want to enjoy the process of writing and I accept that it's a learning curve. But there comes a point where, after 'x' number of edits (and it varies according to each novel I've written), I would rather stop before I tear the heart out of the piece. I'd rather learn the lessons, set it aside and pour my passion into something new. I'm not entirely sure whether that's a victory or a failure.

What have your writing rejections and failures taught you?

* Let me say for the record that I don't much care for beer or crying. 

Very Superstitious...

Every year, the Great British Public carry out a strange ritual. For two precious, sunny (hah!) weeks in summer, we secrete ourselves in our living-rooms in front of the box to experience, vicariously, the pleasures and pains of Wimbledon. If we’re really keen, we may even buy strawberries and cream, or wear a silly tartan hat with built-in red hair. Under extreme pressure (atmospheric, usually) we may even stoop to sing-a-long-a-Cliff.

On the courts, the players, too, are behaving oddly. They devote almost more time to a frenzy of superstitious and illogical actions than they do to their game: blowing on their palms, adjusting their bra straps or their sweatbands, refusing to let go of the ball that won them the previous point and, in Andy Murray’s case, pumping his fist in a rather lewd manner and pointing vehemently into space in a strange gesture of victory. Djokovic bounces his balls (steady) up to 25 times before serving. Nadal is obsessive about the positioning of his drink bottle, clearing the court lines with his shoe and adjusting the rear of his shorts.

Which brings me to the power of the ritual, and to wonder what exactly the difference is between a ritual and a habit, particularly where it applies to us writers?

I guess the difference, for me, is that a ritual is something which is a) consciously chosen and b) is carried out in order to enhance the spirit of an experience - whilst a habit is something one feels driven to do, is mainly unconscious, and can be detrimental to the project in hand. My worst habits are: reaching for chocolate or crisps when things get tricky – or, indeed, when they’re going well; and surfing the internet between sentences. My best rituals? Applying the seat of my pants to the seat of a chair and writing regularly in the mornings, sandwiched between a stretch routine and a brisk walk.

Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, writes that, under pressure, she returns to using an old-fashioned electric typewriter. She finds the rolling-in of the paper, the return of the carriage, a soothing and affirming ritual. Most of us get obsessive about word-counts. 2,000 words a day, or four hours in front of the computer? Some insist on only using moleskine notebooks, whilst others must write in longhand, (or in cafes). I know writers who prefer to light a candle or play certain music in order to evoke a suitable atmosphere. Some of us even have particular outfits for writing (these may include pyjamas). Our writing times are particularly ritualistic: for some, it’s a matter of getting up before the family and using the quiet, early morning hours. Night-owls prefer, well, night-time, while others choose a scattergun approach, tapping out a few sentences between checking emails, jumping up to answer the phone, making a cup of coffee, or cleaning the kitchen floor.

We writers are sensitive souls. Perhaps we value ritual so much because it provides a safe ‘container’ for our ranging imaginations. And for those of us who don’t have ‘a proper job’ (a whole other blogpost), we need to create some kind of schedule or boundary in our day. Within such limits, our creativity feels nurtured and protected. And however weird or outlandish such rituals may be, they’re as vital to our output as Djokovic’s bouncing, Murray’s pointing and Raffa’s shorts.

Anything else wouldn’t be – well, tennis.

Game, set and match

I love tennis, especially Wimbledon and the atmosphere of this particular sporting event is really hard to beat. The men's Wimbledon final on Sunday wasn't much of a contest. As usual Rafael Nadal made all the right moves and managed to re-claim the tennis trophy by winning in three sets. And the jubilation he demonstrated at the end of the match, including the roly poly manoeuvre, is similar to the personal satisfaction and delight that authors experience upon being told they will finally be published.

Writing and getting that elusive book deal is all about 'game, set and match.' There are the hours of practice, the year-round training, the disappointments and the trophies. Tennis players are in the practice courts when they're not competing, just like us authors, who spend hours creating and perfecting the manuscript before sending it out – a procedure which the reader and customer doesn't see. And the fitter tennis players get, the better their performances will be. Similarly, authors who read, read and read, and write, write and write will develop their craft more than those who don't take the time to learn the techniques.

And of course, no tennis match would be complete without a bitter disappointment. In every match there is a winner but also a loser. The same is true in the agenting or publishing world. For every twenty full manuscripts that an agent requests, he or she may only take on one writer. And for every five the agent passes to a publisher, only one may make it through the selection process. Like any grand slam tournament, for every fifty players who enter, there can only be one winner. The rest, while illustrating that they are undoubtedly top tennis players, suffer disappointment which is often hard to hide. Springing to mind is Andy Murray who, in interviews, clearly showed that post-Nadal depression had set in following his performance.

But the best part of writing has to be trophy time. After endless practice sessions, the tension of an intensive tournament and the nail-biting play from the opponent, the champion tennis player finally sees the end in sight. At 6-2 6-4, the finishing line has been crossed for the ladies and the win goes down in history.

When you get that book deal, you can shout, 'game, set and match (insert your name here!)' Don't forget to celebrate with a punnet of strawberries and cream to emulate the Wimbledon experience.