Putting good words together well

We all want to write well, don’t we?  And by write I mean, of course, make up stories that are readable.  And by readable, not only do I mean ‘make sense’ I mean entertaining, thought-provoking, interesting.  You know the thing.  That’s why you’re here.  Why we’re all here.

That’s what I presume anybody who has their name on any book has done; wanted to do and has proven to the world that they have the capability to do.  They have a book in print.  On shelves.  In my home, in my hand (and destined for the Charity Bin should I see fit). They can write. And if they have a book published I assume they can write well.

The penultimate book I read, I positively ‘devoured’. In fact if I’d been passed the pre-proof copy and asked to pen a suitable one-liner to go on said book, I’d have said something like “bloody brilliant”.  Because it was.  It wasn’t perfect - there isn’t a book I’d ever call perfect - but it was pretty damn near.  And here’s a line that made me want to squeeze it to death in a readerly-writerly hug:

“….. I stand holding recyclable bin bags in the middle of Age UK.  The woman at the counter has grey hair in a bun and glasses round her neck on a string, like a wonderful granny from a Roald Dahl story who’d adopt you if your parents were wiped out in the first chapter in  some blackly comic manner.’

…..

I can’t tell you how delighted I felt when I read this.  And how many times I had to re-read it because of how tickly-with-joy it made me.  I mean, it just evokes such a spontaneous image and reading as a writer, it made me doff a cap and a half to the author. (Mhairi Mcfarlane: ‘You Had Me At Hello’ – bloody brilliant, I might have mentioned).

This book made me want to write and write and write… and that hasn’t happened to me since I read Marion Keyes’ ‘Watermelon’ debut decades ago.

Accessibility and personality leap from every page.  That’s both books.

And so to my next read.  And to a book which has just about as many  thousands of 5 star ratings as the above and I couldn’t wait to get my teeth into it.

But, dear writer, please, read this:

‘To go back to Gail, I must talk to her in person.  A letter just won’t do.  Oh look it started raining.  I hope Eilidh is not out on her bike.  She used to love cycling, we’d been everywhere on our bikes when she lived here.

I just burnt my hand.’

I’ve re-read this just as many times as I re-read the wonderful first example I gave you.  And it still makes me want to scream, tear something up and stamp on it (probably the book because it doesn’t get any better, let me tell you).

‘Oh look it started raining’? *ahem* tense?  Yep, just a tad.

So stunned by its awfulness, I showed people.  To make sure I hadn’t mis-read or misunderstood.  One person handed it back and said “It’s like something I’d have written in year 8 and been embarrassed to admit to.”

Well quite.

And this book (I read right to the bitter BITTER end just to make sure it was as bad as it started out. Guess what?) made me want to write and write and write as well, but for wildly different reasons.  I just couldn’t believe that this sort of thing got past a reader/editor/agent/whatever order they  come in and got published and was still getting SO MANY 5* reviews.   I mean wtf?

It gave me hope.

And it won't be going in the charity bin because whenever I feel like I can’t go on and everything I write is truly awful, I know that all I have to do is pick up this book, turn to ANY page… yes ANY… and it will make me feel better again.

Here, have another piece:

‘When I told Jamie, he didn’t say anything.  He said he had to go, he was meeting his friend John, they were going fishing. He avoided me for the next two weeks.’

Yep, I know.   Set in the land where, when people don’t say anything,  then proceed to SAY SOMETHING. (And even Word’ has green-squiggled the ‘they’ in this sentence.  Argh!).

The self-published

Why should we celebrate the self-published? What have they really done? Submitted a flawed, error ridden manuscript for a company to print out and bind together? Perhaps they've put years of work into the novel but haven't been able to secure a publisher or agent, so they've headed down the self-pub route. Should we talk about them in the same sentence as Marcel Proust or Fyodor Dostoyevsky?

Self-publishing really only used to be for those who wanted to write about themselves, bind memories into book form, or create a collection of short stories for a niche market or for their children to enjoy, but now, or so it seems, everyone's at it. It's really bucking the trend as the New York Times recently highlighted. The newspaper recently reported that four self-published authors had taken up seven slots on the New York Times e-book bestseller list. Furthermore, the article suggests that this trend will continue in the years to come. The authors include Colleen Hoover - Slammed and Point of Retreat, R.L. Mathewson with Playing For Keeps, Lyla Sinclair with Training Tessa and Bella Andre with If You Were Mine, Can't Help Falling In Love and I Only Have Eyes For You.

Are they any good?

Take our wannabee author, Arthur Reid for example - his book has been rejected by every agent and publisher this side of Texas, so he wants to proclaim to the world that he is 'an author.' So he self-publishes. He contacts the local newspaper, The Bugle, and he tells them he's a published author. The editor, not knowing the difference between mainstream and self-publishing, runs the story. Arthur enjoys a few Amazon sales and word gets around that 'Fifty Shapes of Stetson Hats' is actually really, really good. The cowboys all rush out and buy it.

Then there's 18-year-old Ann Books who secured a six figure sum via Riches and Tops Literary Agency, and ended up in all the papers. 'Bright young literary thing,' was the headline, except the hype died a slow death and she made a handful of sales. She put her tail in her pocket and became a recluse, penning Book Two. But...but...but...she has an agent and has been published by the big men.

Who's the author here? Arthur or Ann? Or both?

Are readers more intent in seeking out a good story, regardless of where it has been published? Do they gloss over the mistakes - there, they're, their etc - and shout about how wonderful the boy meets girl story is? Now that Arthur has self-published, becoming an overnight sensation, will he change his name, nationality and undergo plastic surgery to remove his moustache and re-invent himself as an author proper?

So many questions.

Discuss.

Authors earn how much??!! (And I ordered a Maserati)

I took delivery of my Maserati on Saturday – well, almost. I didn’t like the pink car that Charles Fotheringham-Whitstable-Maryweather (in his bespoke suit) had on display in his showroom so I asked nicely if I could order it in black.

With the prospect of becoming a first-time author (Standing Man, History Press Ireland – subliminal message – pre-order now) I’m confident I’ll be mega rich, so with that in mind, I popped into the bank before heading to the showroom and asked if I could have a loan to cover the cost of the car.

‘Until I get my royalties,’ I said.

‘Certainly, ma’am, the money’s in your account already. I know you’ll be the next JK Rowling,’ said Mr Jones. ‘Isn’t it true that authors earn megabucks these days? You’ll be a millionaire before next week.’

‘I know,’ I replied assuredly.

With that I revved up the engine and headed off, money in the bank.

I left my little convertible behind at home and hired a fancier model just for the visit to Maserati. I didn’t want Mr Fotheringham-Whitstable-Maryweather to see the Little Black Thing in the car park and think I’d just won the lottery. I didn’t want him to think I was one of these fake rich people. No, I’m an author. Like Tom Clancy and Stephen King.

‘I want your latest model with all the extras,’ I added.

And he duly made note with his Mont Blanc pen.

‘Take a seat and I’ll go and fetch your car,’ said Mr Fotheringham-Whitstable-Maryweather. ‘Camilla will bring you a hot chocolate with edible gold leaves.’

His Gucci suit was immaculate, his Breitling watch sparkling and his Testoni shoes resplendent in the subdued lighting.

While waiting for my car I lifted a copy of The Telegraph. On the front page was a photograph of William Shakespeare.

‘You never had the opportunity to reap the rewards of your writing by driving a Maserati, did you?’ I whisper.

I glance at the accompanying article and the screaming headline: ‘Authors earn less than £5000.’
I read on: the annual average income for professional writers aged 25 to 34 from writing alone is only £5,000. Approximately 60 per cent of all writers have a second job.

Oh dear. My heart stops. I sip the hot chocolate, delivered on a silver tray by Camilla. Surely this is wrong. I mean, this time next year I’ll be a millionaire. Suddenly I see Mr Fotheringham-Whitstable-Maryweather pulling up in my Maserati. I meet him at the door and explain it all to him.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘There’s been a mistake. I’m definitely an author. It’s just. I thought that car was a Bentley. Can you cancel the order?’

I walk off hurriedly and jump into the car.

By llama deciding

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…..