Hiding from prying eyes

Longhand or computer? is one of the questions we pose to the guests in our Quickfire Questions series, and when I answered the interview myself last year, I didn't hesitate to say computer.

I envy those who are able to answer longhand, because I love the idea of writing uninhibited first drafts with crossings-out and squashed-in extras in the margins. It would give me a sense of freedom, as well as a link to writers throughout history who have used the same basic tools and honed their craft without the help of cut 'n' paste and find 'n' replace.

For research notes and some of my non-fiction stuff, I use an unlined Moleskine and a fountain pen with purple ink, which probably makes me sound like one of those writers who say in interviews that they regularly send off for a certain kind of pencil from a market stall in Ulaanbaatar otherwise they simply can't channel the muse, dahling. When writing longhand notes, I find that the information embeds itself more deeply in my mind, I can recall it with clarity and continue to process it while I'm engaged in non-writing activities. I would like to do this for fiction too – so why don't I?

Well, it all goes back to my early teenage years, when I first realised that writing was the one thing I really wanted to do. I tried to keep a diary, mainly because Judy Blume characters did, but this soon became a source of hilarity to my family. No matter where I hid my journal, I became paranoid that they were rummaging through my stuff, ready to read it out in a silly voice. The daily entries dwindled to a few inane comments about what I'd had for dinner, and soon fizzled out altogether.

I was even more secretive about fiction, because if anyone found my stories – or on the rare occasions I dared show anyone – they just did not seem to grasp that I had made it up. The heroine must obviously be me, and if another character happened to be a bloke, then Oooooh, I must have a boyfriend, ha ha ha! An admittedly dire historical story with a Saxon prince anti-hero resulted in my mum joking that I secretly wanted to kill my dad.

OK, so this is not a big deal – the lame teasing of an awkward and oversensitive kid is hardly anything new, but for years I felt that everything I wrote was public property and therefore had to hit the page perfectly formed. Even when I got a computer and could password it up to the eyeballs, I retained the belief that someone was looking over my shoulder and would laugh if I wrote about anything beyond my own limited experiences.

Years passed and I eventually got a grip and started writing what I wanted to write, discovering the fun of first drafts, where it's OK to churn out crap (or rather, what appears to be crap but often ends up better than an agonised-over sentence.) I can now write articles and blog posts and send them out into the world on pretty much the first take. I can show my non-fiction work to anyone without feeling remotely hurt if they suggest improvements.

Fiction, however, still feels like something to be kept secret until I'm really happy with it. Though I no longer bother putting passwords on my files or closing them down every time I move more than a metre from the screen, it would be a big step to choose the vulnerability of writing longhand on paper that could fall into anyone's hands. Writing on the computer is – for now – a way of giving my work the safety that enables it to go beyond being safe.

Help me put this book down!

The critically-acclaimed The Help by Kathryn Stockett, set in the 1960s in the segregated Deep South, is a seriously impressive book. This page-turner, a kind of slow Mississippi Burning, is told from three points of view.

In the book African American domestic servants (the coloured help) Aibileen and Minny work for the white ladies of Jackson, the creme de la creme of society. Aibileen has raised 17 white children, but sadly her own son was killed in an accident at a lumber yard, while Minny can't hold down a job because she talks back to the white women. And then there's 22-year-old Skeeter Phelan, a young white lady who has recently come home from college, Ole Miss, to find out her childhood maid has mysteriously disappeared.

While Aibileen and Minny are simply trying to make a living, Skeeter is in the enviable position of being able to pursue her ambition of being a writer. Inspired by her maid Constantine, who vanished, she comes up with the idea of collating the stories of the maids, for a publication. The worst of the female bosses, Miss Hilly, a Cruella De Vil character, treats Minny like a thief. And she campaigns to have Jackson households install extra toilets so that colored help do not have to use white families’ bathrooms.

Given that this is set in the 1960s, if any of the white women found out their servants had been talking publicly, they would have fired them. Furthermore, it a also illegal in Mississippi as it contravenes the Jim Crow segregation laws. Descriptions of the early activities of the civil rights movement are peppered throughout the novel and it gives it a true authentic setting.

This is an utterly compelling and thought-provoking book and I dare anyone to say otherwise. At first glance my initial reaction was that it's far too commercial for me, but how wrong I was. When I started reading, I couldn't stop, and this book, which deserves all the praise in the world, prompted many 4am reading stints.

Apparently Kathryn Stockett spent five years writing this novel, which clocked up almost 50 rejections from literary agents (high five Kathryn!) It was a number one New York Times Bestseller and has sold all over the world. A movie starring Sissy Spacek and Emma Stone is due to be released next year.

Dear Agent,

Dear Agent,

You have a tough job, I know.  I’ve read all the stuff about how you’re inundated with unsolicited manuscripts (try saying THAT after a snifter of Baileys), about how you’re fighting hard for your current list of published authors and about how the economic climate is making it so difficult right now for anybody trying to get a foot on the first rung of their writing career.

And I’ve watched enough episodes of ‘The Apprentice’ to appreciate that any kind of business deal, even in the publishing world (maybe especially in the publishing world, where trust plays such a key role) is only as good as the financial return it can realistically make.

So it’s a gamble.  Particularly with a newbie – I mean debut author.  

This new writer whose work you’re reading right now could so very easily turn out to be the lemon of the century.  They could be a one trick pony, a one-hit wonder, even a plagiarist of the highest order who’s got you hooked, lined and sunk already with their clever use of language and their ingenious plot-lines.

Of course you could Google them.  And their Facebook profile alone could ease your worried brow or else send you screaming for the hills.  And if they have a Blog, so much easier.  Unless their blog is a ‘name and shame’ shrine to all the rejection letters they receive from Agents, of course (you know *who* I mean).  Which is just mental. (IMHO obvs.  You might enjoy reading it.)

This work you’re currently holding could be the endeavours of a writer who’s given up opportunities to accomplish success in all fields other than the one true vocation they dream of. The humour which shines brightly through the words you’re reading here, could be all the confidence that is left of this writer – rejections having taken their toll and reduced them to a small quivering mass of nerves. They might have endless ideas overflowing in their ‘to be written’ document file and they might have the bright, exciting beginnings of new books already started, which they’ve already quietly dismissed as a reject themselves – a death before life. A waste of time which they convince themselves they’d probably spend more wisely keeping a house clean and greedy mouths stuffed.

You know how much power you have, dear Agent?  Do you know how monumental the tiniest glimmer of hope that you give to a writer can be?  It’s the difference between light and dark to us – the flick of a switch.  It’s easy to give up and not believe in ourselves when we haven’t achieved what we’ve known we always wanted to from aged 6. But it’s the hardest thing in the world to keep treading the same path wearing different heels and lipstick in the hope that one day we’ll turn a head.

Just saying.

Yours hopefully,

Location, location, location

I’ve got a very comfortable office at home. It’s a bit of a mess, admittedly, but I’ve long adapted to just averting my eyes from certain corners, like the one filled with a tottering pile of used padded envelopes [damn, I just looked directly at it]. But despite that, I have a good desk, a comfortable chair and a fairly decent computer. There’s the brilliant Spotify to satisfy all my musical needs and it takes just five minutes to pop downstairs for a cup of Earl Grey and a chocolate biscuit or five. If I get stuck for inspiration, I can take a walk in the beautiful park my house backs onto. Perfect, right? Hell, who wouldn’t get a whole ton of work done somewhere like that?!

Um, me...?

Even though I have everything I need right here, sometimes I know the only way I’m going to get words down on the screen is to get out. My number one favourite writing desination is the British Library. Laura Nelson guest posted on Strictly once before about the BL, but I think it deserves a bit more praise. I went for a day there last week, which always involves a bit of domestic rearrangement and upheaval to organise, but the minute I walked into the Humantities Reading Room, I felt an almost chemical sense of peace descend on me and was ready to write my heart out.

If you live within any reasonable distance of London and are wondering about checking it out, it might be useful to hear how it all works. The Reading Rooms are only accessible if you have a reader’s ticket. But writing a book is usually enough reason to be granted one. There’s also a mezzanine area which everyone can use. Here there are a number of seats with tables and somewhere to plug in your laptop. But be warned: these seats are at a premium and people queue to get them first thing in the morning. They’re all usually taken within about ten minutes.

If I can’t get to the BL, I might go to a cafe with a notebook or my laptop instead, which is very much a second best option but can still sometimes help me feel a bit more productive.

So if you’re feeling stuck or uninspired, try changing your writing location. Sometimes a change of scene is enough to get your creative juices flowing again.

Book Slam

Last week I finally dragged myself along to Book Slam. I have been meaning to go for ages but had never been free on the night. This time Geoff Dyer was appearing, so I was doubly eager to make the journey to The Tabernacle in Notting Hill.

Book Slam describes itself as London’s first/best/only literary nightclub. It was started about five years ago by the writer Patrick Neate and has grown up and spawned some looky-likeys (according to the experienced slammer I interviewed in the queue to the bar).

You sit at cabaret style tables, drink wine, maybe eat, and listen to some readings by guest writers and then there’s music. Tickets were £8 in advance or £10 on the door. I had a delicious, if expensive, Tabernacle burger and lashings of merlot, and more of that to follow.

The readings are sensibly short and interspersed with breaks long enough for you to get to the bar again, or chat to the people at your table, or celebrity spot. Apart from the official guests we saw that woman from Smack the Pony and there were lots of others who looked suitably arty. There was also time to sidle up to Geoff Dyer and get three books signed. I had recently finished Out of Sheer Rage, his hilarious account of not writing a critical study of D H Lawrence. I’d spent my time when reading that book trying to work out if I liked or loathed its self-obsessed and chronically indecisive narrator (i.e Geoff). Much like the narrator I had swung from loathing one moment to loving the next. Having met the real Geoff when asking him for the signing, I was swept away by his charm and am firmly in the love camp.

Patrick Neate was MC. He did a great job being funny and self-deprecating and whipping up support for the writers on parade. He explained that writers are a shy species, not accustomed to the limelight, who spend their days locked away in rooms with computers. We, the audience, should encourage them. Patrick generously allowed us to heckle him as much as we desired, which some did. He said it was good for him.

Geoff Dyer read from his recent book of essays Working The Room which was entertaining enough to send me to the bookstall table in one of the intervals. Rupert Thomas read from his drug-fuelled memoir This Party’s Got To Stop. Diana Athill didn’t make it as she had flu, and that’s a big deal at 93 years. Patrick said he’d tried to convince her to risk it, but in the end he stepped in with a piece of performance poetry. It was impressive – how he managed to remember the whole thing.

The evening was topped off by The Mind’s Ear orchestra. They play anything, conducted by members of the audience who volunteer for a slot. We listened to styles ranging from disco to chamber music, with all sorts of variations. It’s a brilliant idea and the effects are riotous. You have to see them if you get the chance.

So, all in all, Book Slam didn’t disappoint, apart from possibly the nightclub bit – at the end of the evening everyone decanted almost immediately into the bar downstairs, away from the main hall and the DJ. Maybe that’s because they had the orchestra this time. Jess and I went on to find a late opening pub in which to dissect the evening – oh the joys of a non-working week, for me an essential part of the writerly lifestyle is the permission to get pissed on Thursday night.

We’ll be going again, and if anyone fancies coming along we’d love you to join us.

Guest Post: Author Talli Roland - The Importance of Being Social

Working in the isolation of my flat each day, people often ask how I handle being alone. My answer? I love it. I make my own schedule, I sing Bon Jovi whenever I please, and if I want to snack on smelly squid crackers, no-one complains. It’s bliss and if I had my way, I’d probably never leave the flat. But looking back over the past year, I can’t deny that socializing does have its benefits. In fact, it was how I met my publisher, with whom I have now published three books.

After spending a fair bit of time whinging about everything writing-related to my long-suffering husband, he encouraged me to find other writers to whinge to. To prevent divorce and my head from exploding, I set out to find a writers group. Through the course of my search, I ended up meeting a publisher looking for new projects. Several pitches later, I signed a contract for the first book in a new travel series, 24 Hours London. Even though my real dream was writing fiction, I was ecstatic to finally be on the publication ladder.

When my novel The Hating Game was ready to pitch, I turned straight to the publisher I was already working with. Luckily, they loved it and I finally got what I’d wished for: a fiction deal. Still, the hard work was just beginning. As I already wrote for the publisher under my real name in a different genre, they thought it might be a good idea for me to use a pen name for fiction.

Although I was thrilled to have the deal, I knew this meant building up my platform again from scratch: reestablishing presences on Twitter and Facebook, and creating a new blog. I’d seen the benefits of social media when promoting my travel books – it had helped me get quotes from other authors (and even London Mayor Boris Johnson!), reviews and run giveaways. This time, I was determined to secure even more of a following and make my author platform the best it could be.

It’s a big investment in time and effort, but the results are more than worth it – I’ve now got more than 500 followers on my blog and double that on Twitter. But what really makes social media special is the relationships you build along the way. I have never met such a supportive group of people. Time and again, they have reassured and encouraged me when I needed it most.

For me, the key to building solid relationships in social media is interaction. Social media is not a one-way street: if people follow you, follow them back. If they comment on your blog, go to their blog and comment, too. Jump into Twitter discussions – you don’t need to know people to talk to them. If you’re on Facebook, comment on people’s statuses and posts. Not only is it a good way to get others to notice you, but you will let that person know you’re interested in their life, as well.

I recently wrote a blog post about author promotion, asking how much self-promotion is too much. Almost every comment replied that if an author interacts with their audience, they’re interested in that author’s promotion. But if it’s a one-way line of communication, it’s a turn-off. Who wants to listen to an author blaring like a fog horn?

Today, my debut novel The Hating Game launches. Using social media and the relationships I’ve developed over time, I’ve managed to get over 400 bloggers, Facebookers and Tweeters signed up to my Take On Amazon Web Splash today: my quest to make it onto the Amazon Bestsellers List – even if just for one hour! That’s something I’d never have been able to do without putting the time and effort into my blog and other media. But more than that, I’d never have met all the wonderful people around the world I know are standing behind me, cheering me on.

And the best thing? I did it all without leaving my flat.

Talli Roland has three loves in her life: rom coms, cupcakes and chocolate. Born and raised in Canada, Talli now lives in London, where she savours the great cultural life (cupcakes and chocolate). Despite training as a journalist, Talli soon found she preferred making up her own stories – complete with happy endings.  

The Hating Game is her first novel. The ebook is available now ahead of its paperback release next year. To learn more aboutTalli, go to www.talliroland.com, or follow Talli on Twitter or on her blog.

Number Two's

Everybody needs somebody

 

I've noticed that my writing seems to blossom when I introduce the ‘other half’ to the story. The Buddy. Best Friend. Foil. Muse. Whatever. The Wise to my MC Morecame, the Dec to my Ant, the Jerry to my Tom. The Pauper to my Prince and soforth.
In a bid to try and be semi-professional about this post, I tried Googling “Great Literary Foils” and it started to confuse me, so the above ‘double acts’ will have to suffice I’m afraid. I will think of more as this blethers on, I’m sure. Oh, here we go…
Elizabeth Bennett had Charlotte (apparently, that’s what Google said. I don’t really remember much about her, but if you showed me a clip of the recent TV dramatisation I’d probably point and nod a lot) and Pip had his Mr Drummble (I think).
*Google has now left the building*

More contemporarily, Rachel had Darcy in “Something Borrowed” by Emily Giffin and then, rather brilliantly, Rachel became Darcy’s foil in the sequel ‘Something Blue’ – I say “brilliantly” because Darcy was such a prize bitch of a character, it was impossible to see how anyone would be able to ‘warm’ to her as an MC. But it worked. And there’s a film being made as we speak.

Anyway… (I’m not Ms Giffin’s publicity agent, honest).

In my first book, “Labrats” (NOT coming to any bookstore than I’m aware of) my MC’s ‘other half’ was her four year old daughter, who got her through the monumental break up with the husband/father quite unintentionally. And it’s only now, looking back on it, that I can see this is what happened. The little girl’s presence perfectly balances the hideousness of the broken marriage and her innocence only serves to highlight the betrayal of her father with his mistress.

In the second, “Life, Lopsided”, the slightly manic, slightly OCD main character’s personality traits are mellowed by her best friend/colleague’s level-headedness and normality. And it’s this relationship that ultimately ‘saves’ the MC and her desperation to find balance in her otherwise…well, lopsided world.

“Double History” is my favourite by far – my first foray into teenage fiction – and the one that is still Out There (with agents, yes, even as we speak!). Main character, Maddie is an angry, bolshie, Gordon Brown-hating teenager who’s been reduced to living in an ex council house after her dad’s been made redundant and she is thoroughly peed off with everything. Enter Amber, the refreshingly funny *almost* airhead who fancies anything with a pulse and believes she can contact the dead – in particular the ghost who’s living in Maddie’s new (old) house. I do *heart* Amber!

In my current teenage WIP, “Grounded”, the misunderstood, chocolate-munching, bullied MC, Becca is at odds with the rest of the world (including her mother and step-father) and it is her best friend, Liberty who is the guiding light and calming influence in what is currently a very miserable situation for Becca (she’s been ‘grounded’ electronically and has to cope with no mobile, internet, iPod, etc). So, Liberty becomes her balance.

And how else to perfectly even out a story but with characters that strike harmonious chords in what would otherwise be such a distorted situation? It’s only by reflecting on how I’ve been inadvertently making this ‘happen’ that I realise I’m still learning the whole craft of how writing really works, and how well it can work when it’s properly produced.
It’s the Yin-Yang principle, isn’t it? Top-heavy cakes and arguments rarely go down well, do they? And I’m beginning to see that it’s the overall equilibrium of things that really makes a reader go ‘aahhhhhh…’ (not in a Long John Silver way, I mean, more like the Bisto kids).

Oh...and where would “Romeo and Juliet” have been (really) without the Maid. I forget her name (did she have one?) but she was Juliet’s real BF, wasn’t she? She kept the sense of what was ‘Right and Proper’ amongst the tumultuousness of the lover’s hot-headed romance. See – I knew I’d come up with another one!