Along with the 6 extracts we get to submit we have the opportunity to attend a mentoring day in the Big Smoke.
Apart from the industry figures that we got to meet there was the benefit of meeting up with the other mentees. Writing is essentially a lonely job. You spend a lot of your time on your own, making stuff up and then typing it out, deleting it all and starting again. The mentoring program is great in that it gives you direct response on your work from someone who has been through the publishing process. But, still, you don’t get to meet your mentor. And who can blame them? Writers are generally weirdos.
So, I got to meet with 7 or 8 other human beings who were going through or had just gone through the same scheme as I had. And they weren’t weirdos. Some of them were even friendly and chatty.
From an industry point of view we had presentations from Will Atkins, Director of Macmillan New Writing, Arzu Tahsin, Editorial Director at Orion and Carolina Sutton, Agent at Curtis Brown. They talked us through how they work, what they do, how to craft submissions, the future of the publishing industry, the etiquette of approaching agents and much more. Really great stuff.
I’ve been to conferences before, heard agents and publishers talk, but the ability to sit in a room with only 8 other people and quiz influential people in the industry was invaluable.
I stopped short of thrusting my manuscript in their faces of course.
That would be rude.
I left the day feeling positive, fired up and highly motivated.
I write within a genre (well, two actually… horror and fantasy) and that brings with it a number of advantages and disadvantages. The disadvantages tend to be the way people look at me when I tell them I write horror, and start to shuffle backwards and check for hairs on my palms or the bloody axe half-hidden behind my back, and the reaction from many “mainstream” publishers and agents who look at you as if you might grow a second head at any moment (horror? Do people still read that stuff?) and cast their eyes around wildly for something, anything they can press into use as a makeshift crucifix to ward you back to the dark shadows you obviously emerged from.
On the counter side is the fact that working within a genre means there is an identifiable group of other people who are doing the same thing. I have just returned from the World Horror Convention (WHC) and although I have previously attended one day conventions and workshops this has been a different experience for me. Here is a group of people who are passionate about the genre in which I write. People who understand when I wax lyrical about a piece of cover art by Steve Crisp (this man virtually drew my library!) or meet the author of a book I enjoyed years before.
Before I attended the WHC I expected to enjoy the experience, what I hadn’t appreciated was how important it would be. This is a group of people who understand what is happening within the genre publishing industry and actually shape what is going to be coming out in print for the next few years. I have no doubt that amongst those conversations at the bar and in the corridors there are deals being done and relationships being forged and strengthened that will bear literary fruit.
For me, I have come away knowing a few more people than I already did, a renewed understanding that it’s okay to want to be a published novelist (and that yes, it’s a crazy ambition, but it’s not an impossibility), a clearer understanding of where I am with my writing career and what I need to do next to progress it, more books than my little arms could cope with on the train home, and a stunning piece of Steve Crisp artwork. Not a bad result for a long weekend in Brighton.
At the beginning of the World Horror Convention I had the opportunity to make a pitch to a number of publishers and agents working within the genre.
Having never made a pitch before I did my research; I read up on all the participants, made notes on their interests and read and re-read this on the train down to Brighton.
I entered the room; a small, awkwardly shaped bar where they sat behind cramped tables and this was when I made my first discovery: they’re the same as the rest of us! No second heads, no-one with more than the standard 2 eyes, just normal people.
It didn’t take me long to make my first pitch, and quickly after that my second and third and so on. I came to the convention weighed down with typescripts of my synopsis and first three chapters (all double spaced, single sided, 12 font) as the grooves worn into my shoulders will testify.
So, what did I learn? There are two key things I will take away from my experience at the pitching tables:
i) Understand your book! I know this may sound strange, I have been working on the rewrite of novel for months, I can quote whole passages with my eyes closed, so of course I know it. But do I Understand it? Within a few minutes of pitching I had a Road-to-Damascus moment in explaining what my novel was about. I understood it…in the same way that writing a synopsis (or rewriting one after you’ve re-written the book) helped to crystallise my understanding of the work and highlighted issues that still exist within the narrative arc, so making a pitch required me to focus on the absolute core of my novel and deliver it. For me that process has given me an invaluable insight into my novel, and as I’m still mid-rewrite, an opportunity for that to influence the final product.
ii) Learn your pitch. This is not unrelated to my first point. I had envisaged a scenario where I would place my offering on the table in front of the publisher and they would flick through the cover sheet and synopsis and ask a few pertinent questions, and some of those I pitched to did in fact do just this. But others looked at me, looked down at the document I laid before them, and waited. And waited. And it quickly became clear I was going to be the one doing the work around here. This wasn’t like an interview for a job where the panel has a list of questions written down in front of them. I was expected to sit down, pitch my story to them without (one assumes) coming across like a babbling fool, and then the questions would begin.
So what do I take away from this experience? Well, none of the individuals I approached said, “of course I will print this,” and pulled a contract from their back pocket for me to sign, nor did any of them look at me with incredulity and ask “you’ve written what?”. Whether anything will come from the pitches I made I have no idea and I won’t know for weeks and possibly months (in some cases, many months) to come. But as a learning experience and an insight into what I need to do to develop the business-side of my writing, and another tool in my array of writing techniques, it has been a true learning experience.
In my last post I discussed the common advice of “reading like a writer” and my discovery of audiobooks that help me to “listen as a writer”. Well, tied in nicely with that is my topic this week: reading (aloud) as a writer!
At the end of this week I shall be attending the World Horror Convention 2010. As part of that I will be reading the first two chapters of my novel (Sunday morning at 10.30, in case you’re in the area!).
To prepare for this I have been reading the first two chapters and I’ve made a discovery - that advice about reading your work aloud because it “sounds different”…? Well I’ve never been a massive fan of it but I am hereby doing what no self-respecting politician would do and admitting I was wrong.
Reading my work aloud has made a huge difference… it has forced me to read every word and not simply assume I know what’s written there (How many times have I read the chapter only to discover, when I read it aloud, that I had my main character “parking the park” instead of his car!). As a result I have taken to walking around the conservatory at odd hours of the early morning (so they don’t hear me talking to myself and send for the men in white coats) reciting my chapters. I am a huge convert and if you’re a writer, and like me you’ve heard the message “read your work aloud” numerous times but have never taken it to heart, I urge you to find yourself a quiet spot and read, and read, and read….
So, I’m nearing the end of my mentoring process.
I’ve sent Tim 4 extracts and each time he has come back to me with something that has made me think about my writing, most of the time has taught me something and on 2 occasions has caused a major rewrite.
This extract was a piece from the centre of the book. In this extract Maximilian has locked Grace in a room and is trying to piece together the memories of how he came to be here. Grace is trying to escape and is using her skills as a counsellor to try and convince Maximilian to let her go.
It is absolutely pivotal, it is important that these scenes zing because they form the centre piece of the novel and set up the climax.
Firstly Tim had a couple of positives to share with me- he thinks there is real potential in the dynamic between them and he really admired the vividness of language in the flashback scenes of Maximilian.
But, and this is a fairly big but and one that made me think for several days, why is it important that we see inside Maximilian’s head? The question he asked was, is this essential? Because he thought the tension would potentially be stronger if we as the reader had little or no idea of Maximilian’s motivations.
I mulled this over for a while and made a hard decision. I could get across all the ideas that I wanted to within conversation between them and in some ways it would be truer to the themes of the novel if I were to do that.
If I was to be honest with myself I was writing from his POV because it gave me an opportunity to write some beautiful prose. I was writing it for me and not for anyone reading it.
So, out they came, tens of thousands of words.
Cutting your favourite bits out of your work is known as killing your babies. I was slaughtering them. This was word genocide.
I now have a lot of blank paper in front of me, but I’m excited about the possibilities for the novel again now.
Gulp.
As an aspiring writer you’re often exposed to regular aphorisms intended to help you improve your craft: write what you know about, show don’t tell, etc One that I have always struggled with is the instruction to “read like a writer” with the warning that once you become “ a writer” the way you read a book will alter so that you will never be able to enjoy a book as you did before.
I understand the idea behind this - the suggestion to take in a writer’s style, use of language, observe their tools even whilst you are consuming their narrative. The problem I have always had is that if a writer is good and their story draws you in, you tend to forget to read like a writer (which isn’t to say there isn’t something to be learned when the writer is not good and the story does not draw you in).
I recently found a solution to the dilemma: Audiobooks. You engage with the story through an audiobook in a different way to the hardcopy in your hand (or on your ereader if you’re that way inclined). I’ve recently listened to Stephen King’s The Stand on audiobook and the experience was beneficial. Maybe because I know the story already so well I was able to listen as a critical reader - to appreciate some of the “tricks of the trade” Sai King uses to tell his tale. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend coming to The Stand through an audiobook as a first read, and I envy anyone who hasn’t read it the opportunity to experience it afresh, but as a learning tool it’s definitely one to consider.
I’ve just received my first critique back from Miranda. It was based on the first 5 chapters of the novel and the issues it has identified have caused my head to whirl. The following morning I was awake at 4.30 with ideas and plots and any other number of points racing through my mind. I’ll probably expand on them in greater detail in later posts but I thought I’d mention two here that particularly struck a chord.
i) My novel is set in a fictitious town in Yorkshire. As you read the story you come to appreciate that the town’s name: Stoneville, is a key point. However this is a 12th Century town in Northern England - not the middle of the United States of America. Add this to the fact that the main street through my town was called (wait for it…) Main Street and Miranda rightly pointed out the inconsistencies and the difficulty in developing a credible location for the piece. It struck me at that point that much of the fiction I read has a US location and how much I had absorbed into my culture without realising it. This isn’t an American-bashing mission, I was in Maine just a few months ago and I loved every minute… it’s my reflection on the need to understand your location and not be sloppy when making decisions such as place names etc.
ii) Miranda also suggested reading around the genre (horror). I read a lot of horror but I thought I would try and read as a writer (more of this in a later post!) so I have selected 10 horror novels and read the first 30 pages to look at how they were constructed. How the authors set the scene, introduced the characters, and created and developed the tension. So here’s my top 10:
Bentley Little: The Walking
T.M. Wright: A Manhattan Ghost Story
Stephen King: Lisey’s Story
Stephen King: IT
Joe Hill: Heart Shaped Box
Ramsey Campbell:Needing Ghosts
Neil Gaiman: American Gods
Clive Barker: Weaveworld
Michael Marshall: Bad Things
Michael Marshall: The Insiders
Tim Lebbon: Face
Mark Morris: The Deluge
John Ajvide Lindqvist: Let the right one in
The first thing you’ll probably notice is that I’m not very good at sticking to my plans! 10 is a bit harsh and even this list is shorter than the original.
In making the list I deliberately chose not to include any “classic” novels (Dracula, Castle of Count Otranto, Frankenstein etc) as I’m interested in how a contemporary author tackles these issues.
I have an interesting dilemma. I submitted a short story to a publication last year and have received a response saying that they’re interested in publishing the story if I remove the profanity as the story would currently be R rated (It’s a US magazine).
Coincidentally (if there is such thing as coincidence) I’ve recently been listening to Stephen King’s book “On Writing” and the same day I received the response from the publication the passage I was listening to in On Writing was discussing the need to be “truthful” in your dialogue.
This censorship may come as a surprise to people who know me, I don’t swear, but I do recognise that the characters in my tales are not all mini-me and so there are times when it’s appropriate for them to release the odd swear word. So my dilemma is whether to accept the editorial advice and cut the profanity, or whether to stand by my original draft and understanding of the characters within the story.
If the advice was given because the language wasn’t true to the character, and that was a criticism I recognised, then it would be a no-brainer. But is that my truth? I reread the story and questioned whether the speech was apprropiate, and in hindsight I still think it is right; I think that it indicates the frustration and anger of the character speaking. So do I think adjusting the language is “selling out” or lessening the impact of the piece? Well yes. Do I feel strongly enough to pull the story from the publication?
There will be other stories, and other publications… and it’s unlikely the publication or otherwise of this piece will affect my writing career, but still…
Procrastination.
The enemy of all writers.
I work during the week, so the weekend is my writing time. If I can get some writing done in the evenings then great, but Saturday and Sunday are my staple writing times.
Every saturday morning I write a list of things to do that weekend. And it always starts with write 1500 words on WIP. This weekend’s looked like this:
1500 words- Not done.
Send extract 4 to Tim Clare- Not done.
Write short story for Short Fuse based around Babel- Done.
Write short story based around Union for Writers and Artist Yearbook Competition- Started.
Write a short story about Loch Ness for Litopia- Done research.
Write short story for Bristol Short Story comp- Not done.
Design business cards and presentation folder for submissions- Started.
Review Point Blank for my blog- Done.
Review Heartland for my blog- Done.
Do 3 critiques for Litopia- Done.
Write blog for my work blog- Done.
Submit book reviews for forthcoming Litopia Muse Ezine- Done.
Writing East Midlands blog- Doing it now.
On the surface of things looks pretty good, it’s been a fairly productive weekend. A short story in the bag, a couple of blog posts, some research, caught up with my critiques.
Apart from the fact that the only thing I really need to do is the first 2 items.
Why the delay then?
Because I’m procrastinating.
Because those 1500 words aren’t new and fresh and exciting words. They’re editing.
And editing is the mother of all procrastination.
I’ve written 131 words out of the 1500. I’ve listened to a podcast. I’ve done all the washing that was in the washing basket. I’ve watched the Arsenal Chelsea match. I’ve been to the Gym.
And the reason I’ve done this?
Because it’s hard. Because editing is hard.
This section is slap bang in the middle of the book; everything I do now unravels something else or is affected by something that happens before and after. I write something and I have to go and check whether the reader already knows this. And so I procrastinate.
What I need is someone to lock me in a room with no outside stimulus and force me to finish this section. I don’t even think it would take that long if I put my mind to it.Even when I’m sat at my computer it doesn’t guarantee that I am writing, there’s always the internet, Twitter, Facebook and Litopia. I’m building my author platform I tell myself. I’m not. I’m avoiding doing something that is hard.
The good thing about getting all this out is that I now feel guilty enough to stop faffing and get on with it. It’s about 6.30. If I knuckle down I can get 1000 words in before bedtime.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
After an exchange of emails with Miranda where we talked about what I was looking to achieve from the mentoring scheme, what elements of my writing I was particularly keen to focus on, and similar areas for consideration, the time has now come to step up to the oche.
I’ve been submitting fiction for a number of years now and I don’t ever remember being nervous like this when submitting a piece. Not that I think the response from my mentor is going to be a tirade of abuse of the “you can’t write, what are you doing on this scheme?” sort. I suppose I’m conscious of the desire to “make a good impression” (as we all are, surely?) and also that this is a leap of faith for me because typically my “public” writing falls into two categories: reading out raw work in workshops and writing groups while the ink is still drying, or submitting stories for publication once they have been worked and worked and worked and I’m satisfied that they’re as good as I can make them. The work submitted to Miranda is somewhere in the no-man’s-land between those two: I’ve written it, I’ve started to edit it, but it isn’t finished.
But it’s out there now… and whilst I’m waiting for the reply I’ll get on with some of the issues I have with the structure and storyline of the novel as it stands.
