United We Stand

Last Friday I blogged about the criticism aimed at Dan Brown’s latest novel, The Lost Symbol.

The debate my post sparked was lively and enjoyable. I, for one, love nothing better than discussing the craft of writing with other writers.

But what became clear to me as the day wore on was that writers appear to fall into two camps. Those who believe that story is all and those that feel the style of a piece is what makes it sing.

To be fair, I’m sure most of us would say we aim for both...a riveting plot, well told.
But when the chips are down we tend to place more importance on one or the other. Do we want to be recognised for the sheer beauty of our prose or the excitement our story lines engender?

For me it is always the later. I write thrillers and more than anything else they must ...er...thrill. If they don’t, they fail.

Now this doesn’t mean I don’t put a lot of effort into my work. Far from it. I agonise for weeks over the structure, trying each permutation to see which more successfully ramps up the tension than another. I try to create characters that best tell my story and carry the reader with them. These are my conduits to the public and nothing they say or do will be irrelevant to what I am trying to achieve.
Finally, I keep my writing spare. I avoid long descriptions or digressions. This takes will power. Of course I want to frolic off, telling my readership all sorts of interesting asides, but this would be pure indulgence on my part.

Before I wrote full time I was a trial lawyer. I spent over ten years hanging out in court rooms. Over time it became obvious to me who the best solicitors and barristers were. The ones who won more cases than they lost. I’m proud to say I fell into that camp.
How did we do it? We kept things simple. We focussed on the best part of our argument and never let the jury/judge lose sight of it. And we were always in forward motion.

I attempt, whenever possible to bring these rules of communication to my writing. I remind myself that they work.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying this is how everyone should write. There are many scribblers out there who prefer a more languid pace. And there are readers who like it too. Sometimes that is exactly what I am in the mood for and I love nothing better than savouring a delightful sentence.

Personally, I think there is room for both story led and style focussed fiction on the book shop shelves. And everything in between. I think the publishing industry remains healthier when it commissions a mixture.

Finally, I wish writers would give each other a break and stop trying to rubbish one another work. When I was a solicitor I never heard the tax bods saying the PI guys ‘couldn’t lawyer.’ The family experts didn’t lord it over the defence advocates. We accepted that we each did a different job, that each needed an entirely divergent skill set.
As a writer, I see it in exactly the same way.

The Lion, The Bitch and the Gloria

I've read that Stephen King writes 2000 words a day six days a week, always listening to heavy metal music. JK's been known to write longhand in busy cafes. My own act of writing involves sitting at my familiar desk looking out over the garden, cup of tea by my side - in complete silence. I begin by re-reading what I wrote the previous day, do a mini edit on it and usually, most times, it's at that moment that the characters come out to play. And I don’t just mean the characters featuring in my Work In Progress. I mean my own character traits made flesh, who regularly turn up to help or hinder me in the writing process. What I'm writing, where I am in the story, or how I'm feeling in general will completely dictate which one may make an appearance.

Take the Lion. She’s a hunting Lioness, strong and dependable, sure in her ability to take care of business. She urges me to be strong. Keep the Faith. She nurtures me, feeds me, encourages me to grow. She's most apparent during first draft months.

The Bitch makes regular appearances during all stages of a manuscript. She throws all the proverbial toys out of the playpen, ‘poo poos’ the publishing industry and snarls at anyone who mentions how many attempts it took JK Rowling to be published. She sabotages my work regularly and reminds me how crap I am. She also happens to be gorgeous, you know the type - tall, leggy, slim, blonde. (Note to self. From now on your inner bitch must look dishevelled, ugly and be so inarticulate that you have no choice but to ignore her.)

Which leads me to the Gloria, and I don’t mean the ‘in excelsis Deo’ Gloria. Er, no. Though I’m sure that sentiment rings true somewhere in my psyche, I actually mean the Gloria of the Gaynor type. You know…the one who survives? She tends to appear at submission time. She berates the Bitch with a withering silent look and then bursts into song….’Oh now Go, la la la la. I will survive etc etc’ I need Gloria. Oh, how I need Gloria.

Today is my first day back writing after a long break and it feels SO good to be at the desk. My hands hovered only momentarily over the keyboards before they began tapping rhythmically, almost of their own accord. It's quiet. The only sounds are birdsong in the garden and Gloria singing, sounding quite tuneful in fact.

The Lion is snoozing in long grass, one eye half open, there if I need her. The Bitch is hovering to my left, glancing nervously at her ragged fingernails. Actually, she looks like hell today.

I feel a good writing day coming on.

Humbug

Can there be anyone in the world who has missed the hoo-ha surrounding the release of Dan Brown's latest novel, The Lost Symbol.

Booksellers across the land have been inundated with advance orders and queries about this most awaited of books. Sales are set to outstrip his previous block buster, The Da Vince Code with a first print run of millions.

At a time when the economy is on its knees and the publishing industry is feeling the pain, you'd imagine a feel good story of this magnitude would be greeted with joyful relief.

Getting the public into shops or on line stores can only spell good news. If a punter pops into Smiths for a copy of The Lost Symbol the chances are pretty high that he will walk out with something else too, particularly with all the discounting and special offers around to tempt the innocent. And who has ever placed an order on Amazon for just one book?

It's not rocket science. The more books people buy, the better authors' advances, the more new books get picked up.

Yet Dan Brown's success has, in some quarters, been met with only derision and sneering.

Hundreds of column inches in the loftier press have been devoted to rubbishing his latest effort, in much the same way that DVC was rubbished. 'It's not very well written,' sniffed one radio four presenter to a patient and extraordinarily gracious Kate Mosse. Who are any of us to say what is good or not, was her response.

Of course, everyone is entitled to their opinion. If someone reads TLS and finds it not to their taste, well, you know, shit happens. I don't love a lot of books I read. But it is hardly worth the tirade of condemnation that is currently pouring from the self appointed arbiters of good taste.

And that's the point really. The wave of sniping from the chattering commentators says more about them than the book in question. They did the same to JKR and Meyers. It's as if they take their stand point against Dan Brown precisely because he is so popular. If they loath what the common man likes, it sets them apart. It makes them cleverer, better...

Good old fashioned snobbery. Don't you just love it.

But here's the thing. The opinions of a handful of journos who live in North London and are still bitter about not being able to send their kids to private school, are neither here nor there, but it's very easy to get sucked in.

Frequently, I hear writers bemoaning the commercial success of Brown et al. If only it weren't for Harry Potter, my own genius would have been discovered...

But we must not fall into this lazy trap. As writers who are still seeking a publisher or whose published works have not sold like Brown ( and frankly, none of us have), there is no room for flippant mockery of those who have cracked it.

We shouldn't focus on the 'lack of texture', or the 'one dimensional characters.' We shouldn't focus on what is wrong with these stories, but what is right with them.

Whether we like it or not, Brown, JKR, and Meyers have touched the hearts of millions. Their message has reached an audience the size of which is usually reserved for religious leaders and Brad Pitt.

A writer who believes they have nothing to learn from the most successful authors of this generation are deluded, or arrogant, or both. Frankly they deserve their failures.

So fellow scribblers, as TLS remains at the top of the best sellers list for longer than Summer Loving was number one, banish bitterness from your heart.

Pick up a copy and read it with an open mind. You don't have to love it. You don't even have to like it.

Just ask yourself; what is right with this story.

Your literary holiday

Regarded as one of the most important novels of the 20th century, Ulysses by the legendary James Joyce and my fellow countryman describes a day in the life of Leopold Bloom. Bloom's journey runs from the Martello Tower in Sandycove, Dublin, Ireland, back to his home in Eccles Street. And each year many Ulysses fans follow in their footsteps during Bloomsday, an event observed annually on June 16 to commemorate the life of James Joyce.

This brings me on to the topic of Dan Brown and how places featured in a novel can enjoy a huge influx of visitors. Finally, millions of Dan Brown fans are able to open his latest code-filled mystery, The Lost Symbol. The world-renowned author of best-sellers Angels and Demons and The Da Vinci Code, has already enjoyed record-breaking sales figures with his latest release. And with the hype that surrounds the books, the locations featured in the narratives have also been swept up in the adventure, as code-crackers follow Harvard-hero Langdon in his journey.

Rome and Vatican City, the setting of Angels and Demons, has enjoyed an influx of visitors, thanks to Dan Brown including them in the book. Tourists flocked to the area particularly in the summer of 2009, when the film was released in cinemas. Now there are tours and attractions that specifically follow the events in the book. While the tours cost money, there's also the option of going alone, taking your time, and enjoying a self-guided tour. You can enjoy St Peter's Square and the Sistine Chapel as well as the Castel Sant'Angelo on your own timescale. Tourists can take advantage of cheap flights to Rome, especially now that there are mammoth discounts during the recession.

But the influx of tourists who crammed into Rome was not unique to the city. London, France and rural parts of Scotland, also attracted Da Vinci Code lovers. For cracking clues in London at your leisure, the website LondonTown.com has a Da Vinci Code personal guide which includes plot summaries along with useful tips for Dan Brown thrill lovers.

And don't forget a jaunt to Paris, For piecing together the French puzzles The Louvre museum has created its own walking route within the galleries, combining elements from the story with actual truths about the museum's legendary artifacts.

The Scottish-based scenes in The Da Vinci Code take place outside Edinburgh, at the beautiful Rosslyn Chapel which I hope to visit some day. Again, it's easy to reach and has enjoyed an influx of visitors since Dan Brown started penning his books.

This list of places to visit is by no means exhaustive. Read the books for yourselves and plan your own literary holiday.

Photo of Christchurch, Dublin, by me!

Guest Blog by Laura Nelson - The Climb Towards the Clouds

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve said to people that I’ve finished the novel. After the first draft, I was beaming. I’d felt I’d reached the top of the ladder. “The end!” I hollered. But I looked up and realised I was still on the bottom rung.

After the third draft, I’d landed on some sort of platform – the editing step. I paused, wobbling. I’m scared of heights; I had to keep going. There were serious flaws that called for a substantial re-write. The re-write took me over a year.

The fifth draft emerged. At last, something I could hold in my hands. Something that resembled a novel! But the first chapter was cracking under the strain of holding up the rest of it, and needed to be built from scratch. And there were inconsistencies in the plot. There was lazy language; there were under-imagined scenes.

Months later, the miracle happened. I emerged from the mist and saw the top of the ladder. I made myself a cup of coffee. I did a dance around my living room. I called a friend. The book is finished – at least for now. I bought a laser printer and some Jiffy bags. I checked what time the post office opens.

I waited for the ‘end-of-novel grief’ that novice writers are warned about. It didn’t come. My novel isn’t dead; it’s just a child that has grown up and left home. In any case, I have a folder full of cuttings and post-it notes. And the sharp, demanding voices of unwritten novels, like spoilt children, vying for my attention and saying: “Write me, write me!”

“Be quiet,” I say. “I’ve already decided which of you is coming next.”

People sometimes ask: why novels and not short stories, which are, well, shorter? I do write short stories, and I like writing them, but for me they are a hit of adrenaline – they come to me in a flash. Then it’s all over.

A novel is a long term commitment; it’s hardcore. You lead it through good and bad, love and hate. You see it evolve, flourish, hobble; balloon and shrink. It’s a warm feeling. It’s a living force. It has to be tamed. It’s an enigma.

Apart from my day job, which I also love (for very different reasons) and which puts the roof over my head, writing the novel is the most important, exciting and pressing thing I have ever wanted to do. That it’s a feat absurd, almost unattainable, makes it all the more worth trying.

Back at base camp, I’m eyeing the ascent in front of me. The huge, Herculean hillside. Experienced novelists say it doesn’t get any easier. It’s going to be a hard slog. Any sensible person would have been put off by the first attempt.

Am I a masochist? Am I a maverick? Am I mad? These are questions, as writers, we ask ourselves. Why do we write, when it’s so hellishly difficult? Well, we do, don’t we – we get it done – because we love it. And that’s the greatest miracle of all.

*

Laura has two short stories published in the April 2009 issue of Litro magazine (http://www.litro.co.uk/?cat=33), has published fiction in Nature, and has read her stories live at Tales of the DeCongested (http://www.decongested.com) and Litro Live! events in Foyles bookshop, London.

Spreading the Word

Another school mum took up cross-country biking last term.

‘You should come along,’ she said.

‘Can’t,’ I replied. ‘I promised myself this year I’d spend all free time writing.’

She looked me up and down too slowly and said, ‘You really must do both.’

My husband once heard Margaret Atwood read. During questions at the end, someone asked her advice for aspiring writers. Her answer: ‘Take posture lessons.’ As usual with Atwood there was grit behind the wit. The anecdote came back when I took a rare look in the mirror and saw not myself but a copy of a well-upholstered writer friend who went to the doctor half crippled and was diagnosed with the wonderfully vague but ominous ‘premature decrepitude.’ Writing was sending her to an early grave. There can’t be a more sedentary job. Even office secretaries walk to the station. When I visited my friend some months after the diagnosis, she was lithe and vibrant, no longer a woman whose appeal lay solely in the strength of her mind. She’d attacked the gym and the towpaths.

I joined the cross-country bike gang. We cycled bridleways past fields of sheep, up chalky hills. So far, so pleasant. Then our leader shot into the woods where there was no path. Within seconds we were ducking below the handlebars to avoid thorns whipping our eyes, then standing on our pedals to descend steep steps formed by raised tree roots. We cycled the edge of a ravine I never knew existed, across bridges one plank wide with sheer falls of scree either side. The exhilaration and sense of achievement were addictive. Unable to wait for the once weekly fix I go out alone most days now.

Hard exercise connects fundamentally with writing. When writing full tilt we experience the runner’s high but our bodies don’t get the benefit. Matching that mental pitch with its physical equivalent redresses the balance. I’ve not yet experienced the two working simultaneously, where the physical feeds the mental, but can’t wait for this to happen. Oliver Sacks swam a lake shore to shore then wrote a chapter between each crossing. He delivered his manuscript buckled and stained with lake water. I used to wonder how a man as socially gauche as Sacks claims to be could make page-turners of such complex material. He describes here (http://www.powells.com/authors/oliversacks.html) the rhythm of the swim dictating the rhythm of his prose. Murakami runs marathons and has for years. His thoughts go on for miles after most of us would let an idea peter out.

One of the greatest appeals and challenges of writing is in finding balance: balance between editor and creator, story and structure. Sitting all day at a desk, divorced from the world, speaking to no one but my kids and the postman is unbalanced. It wasn’t until the stasis began to show in something as trivial as hip size that I accepted exercise isn’t a skive or a diversion, it’s crucial to a writer’s physical and creative health.

Love, Sex and Magic

If only he asks me out… my life will be brilliant! If only he tells me I’m beautiful…my life will be brilliant! If only he asks me to marry him… my life will be brilliant! If only he stays faithful through the ups and downs… my life will be brilliant! Ah. True love. It blinds us into thinking that if we get our hands on what we desire then everything that’s wrong with our life will transform and we’ll be as happy as one of those shiny, sunny faces peering out from some lifestyle magazine. And isn't writing just the same? If only I finish this wip, if only I get an agent, if only I get a publishing deal, if only my sales are superlative, if only I publish story after story, if only my contracts are renewed year in year out… But achieving literary success will not heal all our ills, will not cast asunder all our emotional baggage. We’ll still be us – just like all those years ago when finally dating cool Tom from Year 10 didn’t erase the acne or extinguish exam jitters.

Writing and writing projects really are like the lover from hell.

Remember that awful feeling? The relationship is over – it’s stale, it’s going nowhere. You just haven’t told the other person yet. You ask for outsiders’ opinions, they tell you to try again but it’s too late, you’ve already got your heart set on someone else. Does this sound familiar? When you’re sick of a project and a new one is calling to you, making you feel disloyal for the excitement it ignites, for the resentment you feel at the old words and sentences you’ve reworked to death all those months before. Moving on - it’s a difficult thing. But when the time is right – and you’ll know – whether it’s after a stack of rejections or after some brutal advice from an editorial agency, or simply a voice in your head telling you that your plot and themes just don’t work… The deed has to be done. Cruel to be kind. Onwards and upwards. Allow yourself to fall in love with a new plot and set of characters.

La la laaaaa, la la laaaaa, I’m too sexy for my pen, you can’t touch me, I’m on cloud nine, my hair is strong, my nails hard, my eyes bright, the world is great, la la laaaaa…Talk about falling in love! This main character is original or what! And as for the plot! And my new style! This time I know it’s the one.
Yeah, yeah, it’s pretty great, isn't it, that initial first draft buzz? Yet, *months later*… Why have I still reached 100,000 words and am still not near the end? It's becomes like bad sex, when you and your muse must force the words, even though neither of you are in the mood. The magic's gone, that spark that once bore such hope.
*Sob*. How could I have been so stupid? Did I really think this was going anywhere? How come everyone else can see what’s wrong but I can’t? It’s all pointless, I’m worthless and may as well give up now.
The buzz means nothing in the long run. Enjoy it for what it is – a necessary rush of adrenaline that gets things started but sadly can’t protect you from disappointment and rejection.

*Whispers* - speaking personally, I’ve had four big literary loves – apart from some ongoing affairs with, ahem, blogs and forums, mere fumblings I’ve allowed myself to enjoy, convincing myself they were as important as my writing. My Big Four are called “Poppy Love,” “Moon in Taurus,” “From Zero to Nero,” and finally “Lunch Date with a Tomb Robber”. From the first three, difficult as it was, I moved on. And my fourth? Well, it’s early days, but, shhh! Don’t tell anyone, the prospects are looking good as I still feel that tingling enthusiasm, I still believe in my story, I’m still prepared to put in the work. And as to whether there’s a realistic future for me and Number Four, time will tell. But if my heart’s broken again and this one too is put to - or literally under the - bed, I trust, deep down, that a new set of characters, a new plot, will heal the break and get the passion pumping once more.

*Sigh*. As the great Diana Ross once asked - 'Why do fools fall in love...?'