Quickfire Questions with... Della Galton

Della Galton sold her first story in 1987. Since then she has sold hundreds of stories and serials here and abroad. She lives with her husband Tony in a 400-year-old cottage and enjoys walking her dogs in the beautiful Dorset countryside.

My first sale was…
A poem to Pony Magazine when I was eight!

My family think my writing is…
All based on them.

The best/worst thing about writing short stories for magazines is…
They’re very short. That’s the best and the worst thing.

Long hand first or computer?
Computer.

On completing a story I feel…
Relieved.

When I run out of ideas I …
Don’t often run out of ideas to be honest.

Ideas come to me when…
I’m driving, chatting, doing housework, walking the dogs, all the time really.

My biggest tip for new women’s mag writers would be…
Read the magazines constantly.

3 authors – dead or alive I’d like to invite to dinner would be…
Teresa Ashby, Nick Hornby and Daphne du Maurier.

Favourite writing outfit?
Soft fleece and comfy trousers, plus hot water bottle. Our house is freezing.

Favourite writing snack?
Chocolate. Favourite any time snack actually!

Daily Mail or Guardian?
Mail – much better for plot lines!

Corrie or Eastenders?
Corrie – brilliantly written.

Best woman’s magazine story I’ve read during the last three months is…
The Leftover Cat by Teresa Ashby



Della has published two novels - "Passing Shadows" (2006), "Helter Skelter" (2007) and "How To Write and Sell Short Stories" (2008) - all with Accent Press,

Why you have to be two-faced to be a writer

A new year. A new start. Or so I told myself.
Last year, I finished my novel. I edited it to within an inch of its life. I scrutinised every page, every line for excess baggage. I ruthlessly strangled, shot or poisoned my ‘darlings’ – those dearly-beloved phrases or paragraphs that Just Won’t Do in the cold light of day, however much one may secretly admire them. I made sure the timescales worked, that there was enough ‘light and shade’ in the writing, that the plot made sense. I wrote, and re-wrote my synopsis, my hook paragraph, my covering letter to agents. I checked my margins, my headers, my page numbering. I began to send my submissions out.
Time, then, to get on with the new one. And when better than in January, with its whispers of new beginnings, fresh starts?
I stalled.
It’s Second Novel Syndrome, I told myself. It’ll pass as soon as you get into the writing.
But still I stalled.
And then I remembered Janus, the god after whom January is named. God of – among other things – beginnings and endings. A god with two faces: one looking forward into the future, the unknown; the other looking backward over what has been. I think that Janus must be the God of Writers. We need to be two-faced.
The two faces of Janus remind me – since I’m into astrology – of the faces of Jupiter and Saturn. Jupiter – the forward-facing one – is expansive, optimistic, the Great Maximiser. The epitome of recklessness and courageousness, he’s an amalgam of Bob The Builder, Elvis and the NIKE advert:

‘Yes, We Can!’ he hollers. ‘More, More, Gimme More! Just Do It!’

Jupiter is the maker of first drafts.
Picture the severe figure sitting with its back to him. Here is Saturn, gazing sternly and pitilessly over What Has Been. Thin as a pin, he takes sips of water from a plain glass, dabbing at his lips with a fastidious handkerchief. He’s a mixture of Wise Man and Grim Reaper. He’s been there, done that, seen it all.

‘Watch Your Words,’ he whispers. ‘Gain Perspective. Be Objective.’

Saturn is the editor, the reviser, or as Belbin would have it, The Completer Finisher.
Jupiter begins things. Saturn completes them. Jupiter fires up the ideas while Saturn shoots the excess down. Jupiter is all energy and imagination and hope. Saturn is the reality check at the end of the game.
And whilst he doesn’t seem like a laugh a minute at first glance, Saturn is just as necessary as Jupiter, if we are to tread the stony road to publication.
‘Yo - this is the Big One, baby! Oh, yeah. It’s gonna be great –‘ croons Jupiter, as we begin our novel. With him, we grow a book. We express ourselves, pour forth a host of ideas, of what-ifs, of and-ands. Words accumulate into phrases, phrases into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into scenes, scenes into chapters. For first-time writers, the completion of this first draft may appear to be the completion of the whole endeavour. High on this achievement, it’s all too tempting to believe that this is, indeed, it: that the book is complete, ready to boldly go out into the world.
It’s not.
It’s time, instead, to turn our face the other way.
Living with Jupiter is like attending a Bacchanalian party. Excess Rules OK. Growth is Good. Quantity is Quality. Then along comes Saturn with his cold, assessing eye, his objective pragmatism. Compared with Jupiter, Saturn seems miserly, nit-picky, a niggardly task-master who ruthlessly insists on getting value for his money. Every turn of the plot, every character, every word must work for its place in the novel, or die. Saturn is the challenger. Faced with a flight of Jupiterian fancy, Saturn takes aim and fires. Only the very strongest survive the glacial Saturnian process.
Yet Saturn has his own attractions. If Jupiter is the lord of celebration, of over-eating and drinking, of expanding waistlines, Saturn is the cool, exhilarating breath of the New Year resolution to cut down, to sharpen and slim, to pare away the excess and reveal the lithe, sleek body beneath the fat.
Saturn and Jupiter. Each has its time in a writer’s life.
The transitions between them, however, can be problematic, as I’m discovering. A fellow writer puts it beautifully: ‘I'm finding it really difficult to put my writer's cap back on. I find myself scrutinising every word as it goes down and changing it back and forth, unable to make a decision and move forward. It's like being bladder-shy - I just can't go when someone's watching!’

Someone, in this case, is Saturn.
And with spring approaching, I need to turn again: to Jupiter, and his delights. But first I must wave a very firm au revoir to Saturn. Even though his bony fingers are scrabbling at the door, it’s no longer his time. New energy is stirring. New ideas are calling – distantly, faintly – and another voice, a hopeful, passionate, expansive voice is whispering:
‘Yo, this is the Big One, baby…’

Going Public

Writing is, by its nature, a lonely business. There may be the odd freak of nature who can tap happily away on their laptop in a crowded cafe with half a dozen strangers peering gormlessly over their shoulder, but for most of us, quiet and solitude is essential. For me, certainly, it's all part of getting inside the heads of my characters; to "become" them, I have to forget that I have a life outside of them, and create a vacuum for myself. It's a strange, internal process, but one which most of us perform without even thinking about it. There's only one problem: if you manage to get published, you have to start sharing your work with the world. But that's what we want, I hear you cry. Of course. I totally agree. Let thousands of people read my novel, if they so desire (and I hope they do) - in the comfort of their own homes, on the Tube, in the bath, wherever takes their fancy... as long as I don't have to read it to them. 

The awful truth dawned on me a few months ago. In order to help try and shift a few copies of my book, I was going to have to stand up, in front of people - REAL people - and read it out loud. Not the whole thing... that would be madness. In a way, though, I would actually prefer that. At least then my audience would be able to judge the book in its entirety. If they didn't like it, fine - well, not fine, obviously, I'd probably lock them in the room and refuse to let them leave until they had written a four-page essay on their reasons why not, but at least I would know they were making an informed decision. But a mere couple of pages? A couple of pages, chosen almost at random by me, taken totally out of context and declaimed to a load of strangers? Not bloody likely. But of course it was likely. It was unavoidable. I had made my bed, and now I had to lie in it.

I did my first set of readings in November, to various assorted sixth formers as part of their A Level English lessons. As I sat there and read, knees knocking with fright beneath the table, trying and failing not to hate the sound of my own voice, it struck me that this was actually a peculiarly effective form of torture. I wouldn't be surprised if it had already been taken up by some of the murkier militant organisations. Forget putting your victim on the rack - if you really want to make them suffer, get them to pen a few couplets and then read them out loud to the guards. As I stumbled through the pages, I must admit that I wasn't too sure how my words were being received, largely because I could hardly look at my audience. Speaking the sentences I had written, they suddenly seemed cringeably juvenile and inane. It was a disaster. I was a failure. I would never write another word.

At least, that's how I felt during the first lesson. By the fourth, it was a different story. No, I hadn't suddenly become the last of the great orators, but somehow, it all started making sense. This was my book. I had written it, and they were damn well going to listen to it. They weren't pelting me with rotten tomatoes; in fact, mostly they looked quite interested. And afterwards, they crowded round and asked me if it was going to be made into a Hollywood film. OK, I had to say that as yet there were no firm plans on that front, but even so... Overall, I found reading my work aloud to be much like the experience of jumping into a freezing cold lake. Difficult to gear up to, a shock to the system at first - but the more you splash around, insisting that the water is lovely, the more you start to believe it.

Guest Blog by Nik Perring - Being Different

I was asked by the lovely folks here at Strictly Writing to write ‘some-thing a bit different’ for them. And as, over the past few months, they’re not the only ones who’ve called my writing (or me!) a bit different I realised I had my topic. So, this is a little piece about me, and about being different.

I’m a writer. I don’t work normal hours, I’m not on a salary, I don’t have a degree, so I reckon that does make me a little different to others. And it’s not an easy ride. I have the grumpiest, and most demanding, boss in the world, I have to work harder and longer than I’d like to and everything I do is down to me. So I’m inventing work every day. Constantly making things up. Other people would get sacked for that; I get paid. If I’m lucky.

And there’s also the question of what I make up, the work I produce: is that different too? Probably. I don’t work to a brief, I’ve no projects clients have given me. I’m creating something that no-one has asked for and I constantly run the risk that it’s something no-one will want.
So why do I do it?

Well that part, mostly, is easy to explain. Forgetting the financial side of things, writing is interesting. It’s exciting. It’s fun. It’s something that I want to do.
I like diversity. I like things to be interesting, I like to be interested. I like having the opportunity to write about whatever subject I like, whatever interests me, and that, by its nature leads to lots of different things: different genres, different forms, different subjects et al. Sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes I get it wrong. No, often I get it wrong. But it’s the trying that’s fun, the challenge, the discovery, the finding things out. And of course the joy when it works takes some beating too.

I’ve been asked, many times, why I don’t stick to a particular genre or length (why I write so many different things), and I think my answer is: because I don’t have to. And that’s with no disrespect to anyone who does. I guess there’s a danger than I’m a jack of all trades, not an expert - but it doesn’t feel as though I’m either. I’m not an expert, I’m still learning, and I hope that continues for many a year; but I’m still a writer, and as a writer, it’s up to me what I write about; it’s my responsibility. That’s not to say that I can be flighty, everything has to have a point, it’s not frivolous (well, no more than writing anything can be) but there are so many stories to tell, and all of them are different.

If I’m interested and, in some small way, interesting, then I’m happy. Even if that makes me a little bit different.

And I’ll bet I’m not the only writer who feels like this.

Nik Perring is a talented short story writer, a poet, and author of the children's book 'I Met a Roman Last Night, What Did You Do?'. Read his journal here. Nik is also currently a nominee for the Six of the Month award - please do vote if you enjoy his entry!

BooBoo Anonymous

BUBU really, but what’s a misspelling between friends? The phonetic version is more fun and laughter is so good for one’s well-being. And, talking of things that are or aren’t good for your health, I like a mean glass of Rosé, adore pizza and Belgian chocolates… Yet I’ve noticed, since writing my first novel four years ago, that in certain literary circles I suffer from only one vice worth talking about: Books Under Bed Unpublished.

It’s the proverbial elephant in the room, with its trunk firmly knotted in case it can’t resist the urge, when you finally get that deal, to trumpet to one at all that it’s a joke, you being called a debut novelist - because, in actual fact, you’ve got two or four or more novels under the bed at home. In fact, “Debut Novelist” is a misleading term. Yes, it’s an author making their debut on the public scene, but to the man on the street it implies that the debut is in terms of actually writing a novel as well.

*Stands up in the room* - my name is Samantha Tonge and I’ve got… ahem… more than one book under my bed. And as I approach submission time again with my *mutters a number indiscriminately* unpublished book, I’ve sensed a wee red-horned devil on my shoulder, whispering into my ear:
“Go on! Tell them in your cover letter! Mention the fact that this isn’t your very first novel.”

So, here goes:

Dear Top Agent,

Over the last few years I have learnt and honed my craft. You should have read my first novel! Based on my amazingly interesting life, each chapter was twenty thousand words long! The POV was all over the place and I’d never heard of Show Not Tell. My second book, of course, was better apart from me striving to mimic Sophie Kinsella. Book three received harsh rejection and in retrospect I rushed the second draft. Book four was ahead of its time and book five just wasn’t loved enough. Book six was crossover, book seven too derivative and book eight was dismissed as gimmicky – no agent liked my second person, present tense prose.

I’ve learnt from all these mistakes and my present book really is THE ONE. Everyone says so, including Auntie Hilda and my best friend’s husband’s mum. You must, must read it, so, I’ve enclosed the full manuscript of ‘Too Good to Miss.’ It’s single-spaced, so it looks like a proper book. And as an added incentive to plough through my work, one of the pages is attached to a crisp ten pound note. Enjoy. I’ll ring you next week to let you know if I’m still available for you to take on.

Yours as ever,

Samantha Tonge


BooBoo Anonymous would be proud! But sadly, a cover letter like that would not inspire. So how do I convey the positives about having completed several manuscripts? The determination it displays as well as the ability to learn and take on board harsh critiques? There’s got to be a way of expressing this in a cover letter, without putting an agent off. Anyone any ideas? Come on you other BooBoos, let’s untie that elephant’s trunk!

There is, however, one other perspective we should explore and that’s how heartening it is for a beginner writer to read of some ‘debut’ author’s novel appearing on Waterstone’s shelves. Back in the days when I thought I was going to be the Next Big Thing, these success stories sustained me through periods of self-doubt. By the time I found out for myself how tough it can be it was too late – I’d been well and truly bitten by the writing bug.

Quickfire Questions with... Camilla Bolton - Darley Anderson Agency

Camilla Bolton joined Darley Anderson Agency in August 2007. She is an Associate Agent for Crime and Thriller fiction, having formerly been in newspaper journalism.


Which 3 authors, dead or alive, would you invite to dinner?
Stephen King, Roald Dahl and Maeve Binchy.

Email or phone?
Phone definitely as I’m not the best at spelling or grammar.

Cosy crime – passé or popular?
Good page-turning cosy crime will return, especially with authors like Alexander McCall Smith re-inventing it with a unique twist. So I’d say it’s zoomed past passé and is heading for popularity.

An author should always…Look at every word they write and make sure it’s 100% necessary. Excess words slow pace, stop stories and potentially bore readers.

Favourite desktop snack?
Coffee

Cliffhanger or reveal-all ending?
Reveal-all ending as I hate not knowing something.

You really must read…
Killing Floor by Lee Child.

Dan Brown is…
A great story teller and huge commercial success.

Daily Mail or The Times?
I’m very ashamed to confess that I rarely buy papers, I always intend to but never quite make it. Sadly I spend my time reading crime and thriller books.

Crime fiction is literary when…
It takes 5 pages to say what a commercial novel could manage in a paragraph. I know, it sounds a bit extreme, but literary crime fiction relies on words as well as plot and consequently the pace will be a lot slower.


Thanks, Camilla! And it's admirable that your only desktop snack is a cup of coffee!

Asking the right questions.

What do these topics have in common?

1. Premature babies
2. Exotic carpets
3. The lifecycle of wolves
4. Native American superstitions
5. Inner workings of fairground carousels
6. Anglo Saxon burial methods

The answer is nothing, but they’re all subjects I’ve had to research for my fiction. Not for the same book, I might add (hmm..maybe that’s where I’ve gone wrong) but they all had two things in common: they were vital to the story and I knew zilch about them. Researching your novel can be a daunting business for the unpublished. First of all, you have to work out how to introduce yourself. Do you start your query with: ‘I’m writing a novel about…’ and hope that’s enough? Or do you give them a full CV? Or, do you just blur the facts a bit, hinting they’ll be seeing you on next year’s Booker shortlist?
You may think this is easier for published writers (was that the sound of hollow laughter?) because you can include a sparkling Amazon link to your last book. But this might bring its own problems. What if they don’t like the cover? What if their sister did it for her book group and ‘didn’t much care for it’?
The good news is that the vast majority of the time, people are hugely flattered that you, someone brave enough to actually write a book, wants some of their specialist knowledge. If you mix in Strictly Writing type circles, you might start imagining everyone is at this novel business. The fact is that most people ‘out there’ are actually quite impressed and interested. I’ve never had anything but positive responses from individuals or organisations I’ve approached for help.

If you are nervous about research, here are some tips:
- Always be professional in your approach. Be clear about the information you’re seeking, so the person in question knows whether they can help or have to re-direct you elsewhere.
- Try a little gentle bribery. ‘Obviously I will give you a mention in the acknowledgements for your helpful input,’ goes down a treat.
- If someone does seem unhelpful, remain polite and gently prompt them to suggest another individual or organisation they think would be more suitable.
- The internet is a goldmine of information, but make sure you get your facts from decent sources. There are lots of dodgy sites masquerading as information portals, so always have a proper look around before you lift a fact, and better still: double check it. After all, you don’t want Mr Nitpicky Nerdypants of Norwich cluttering up your Amazon reviews with his insistence that fish fingers and Smiley Faces didn’t exist in The American Wild West.

If you can get beyond a certain feeling that you’re a fraud, research can be one of the most enjoyable bits of writing fiction. Anyway, I’m off to work on my new novel. It’s about a premature wolf cub in Anglo Saxon Britain, which gets reincarnated as a modern day carpet salesman with a thing for fairgrounds.
I think it has potential, don’t you?