New place, new writing space

We’re preparing to move out of our two bedroom flat in Broomhill, Sheffield. Already boxes are being made-up, books and DVDs are being packed and the magnitude of clearing up four years worth of dust from behind our behemoth-like wardrobe is only beginning to dawn on the wife and I.

After the continuing debacle that is house-buying, we’ve decided to consolidate and move into another rented property – something with more than one floor and a garden. It’s going to cost more in rent than we’re paying now, but only half as much as we’d be paying if we went ahead and bought a place. House-prices are too ludicrous for words – so unless a miracle happens or conversely a disaster for house owners in the UK, then we’re resigned to never buying a house. It’s annoying, but not as much if we’d bought a house that was stretching and then got clobbered on the rising interest rates.

So I’m spreading my free-time thinly in order to find a new home over the next two weeks – and with a new home, comes a new place to write.

At the moment my study shares the spare-room, the Chinese laundry and the dumping ground for exercise toys, my DVDs, books and bedding – as well as the behemoth-like wardrobe that I swear is a doorway to Narnia for all the things we lose inside it; white stuff is growing on a couple of coats too, that could be passed off as snow in Spring (though it is more likely to be mould from the damp conditions of the flat).

What I dream of is a study in the attic, with a decent view, some natural light – bookshelves running the walls and perhaps a futon to sit and watch “big telly” and continue my obsession with films.
Nice.
It will be the perfect writing space. Large, uncluttered, surrounded with inspiration, visually, in audio, and of course the written word. It will also have that den-quality to it – a getaway upstairs from everything else – including family when it begins to expand…

Other Workspaces

Thinking about my working space got me thinking about the best places to work. In the day-job I share an open-plan office with my team and a few other business areas. There is no view, a crap air-conditioning unit, and our employers have seen fit to remove bins from the desks (so picture twenty or so people with carrier bags full of rubbish hanging from drawers etc!!). The desk isn’t too small, but it is cluttered – though not to the same degree as Sam Lowry's desk in Brazil.

During my lunch break I happened across the antithesis of my day-job workplace. And it is here.

ILM is perhaps the coolest place to work. Where else could you sit and create with a chunk of the Enterprise over your head, or be greeted each day by Yoda and his amazing techni-coloured fountain? Or be threatened by Stormtroopers, goggle at fish-headed pirates… The list and distractions go on.
And I thought Pixar’s workplace looked cool.

But I’m digressing. If I get my cool writing space in the new house, I can live with my decidedly un-cool-day-job-workspace. It’s a fair trade off.

Until then, moving will be disruptive. It’s to be expected. It might also mean being without t’internet for a while. So if I disappear over the next few weeks, don’t worry, I’m still here. I won’t have been kidnapped by Kafala-like individuals trying to sell me to the circus, nor will I have fallen through that behemoth-like wardrobe-entrance in the spare room - to a world of snow, fauns and Turkish Delight.

Which actually sounds like fun, unless of course, George Lucas invites me to work for ILM.

How do you begin a sequel?

Without giving too much away, The Secret of Mhorrer starts five years after the events of The Secret War and includes a few characters who survived the first book. I hurl the reader straight in from the beginning, but while I hint at the exploits of the first book without resorting to a “story so far…” prelude (which I always find a little cheesy), the references to The Secret War are scant.

As an author of a sequel, should I make assumptions the reader will have read the first book? Or do I labour the introduction, painstakingly including references?

I don’t know many people who read things out of order, but I’m sure there are those who do. Critics and reviewers, for example, might not have read the first book, but might be asked to read and review the second – so what of them? Will they be flummoxed by the setting, the characters and the overall theme of the book? And what breadcrumb trail should I lay to ensure they know exactly what is going on?

I might test the second book on someone who has not read the first. If they can understand it – and even better – enjoy it, then I’ll have succeeded (I hope).
Otherwise…

It’s something I should have thought about during the first draft. Or even the second. I fucked up there – but I’m thinking about it now!

Answers on a postcard please.

Failing that, please comment below.

Why we do that thing that we do

It crossed my mind over recent weeks that while writers tend to tell us how they write, many don’t confess to why. Most I suspect write because there is a story deep in their guts that needs telling. Something personal, something primordial, or simply because they love to tell stories – just ask any four year old what’s so good about telling stories…

This blog entry is a culmination of many things – perhaps David’s thorough blog entries on the writing craft, perhaps the recent thoughts of a fellow Macmillan New Writer who was tempted to stop writing books; or perhaps my own experience on the writer’s worst enemy: distraction. Because – and this is my opinion only – there has to be a right reason to write.

Reasons

First – and let’s get this over with quick – the wrong reason. I personally think no one should write purely for profit unless they’re writing non-fiction – a platform to sell their ideas. For the fiction writer, writing for profit is the basest raison d’être there is – other than writing for revenge. Writers usually earn fuck-all, so writing as a means to escape poverty or as a means to buy a fancy house is beyond foolish – and will almost always fail.

I love to write.

I love sitting down in a quiet room, the sun shining through the window, dust motes dancing around the laptop as I switch it on and begin thinking about the next 1,000 words. I love immersing myself in worlds, some far off, some close by or many years ago in the past or in the future. I love the imagination – I love daydreaming my stories onto the screen.

It’s the biggest driving force for me. Not the idea of being published, which is nice but not crucial to why I write. I have a day-job and I get by. I’d love to write full-time, but you have to be really lucky to get that far. I don’t write for adulation – which again is nice when it happens. And I don’t write for money, because it’s an empty purse. Publishing, adulation and the quest for profit are a distraction – distractions that have caused decent writers to give up, and terrible writers to keep going because they’re blindly chasing a lost cause.

In print

Publishing is the end result of writing, but chasing it can cripple the desire to write. I’ve said it before, but I gave up writing for publication several years ago due to compounded rejections, as well as a cowboy agent. I came close to being published a few times, but there is no consistency in rejections – it’s all subjective. One agent might love what you’ve written, another hate it. Publishing is finally down to luck – and several years ago I felt I had run out.
So I had a choice: write and seek publication (which would’ve sank me inevitably into depression) or just write for myself. I chose the latter because I love to write. So I stopped submitting to publishers and agents – I stopped buying the Writer’s and Artist’s handbook. And it felt fucking good – a blessed relief actually.

The naysayers (and I know who you are!) will be critical about this – saying that it’s easy to say when you’re published. But my feelings have not changed in the last four years. It felt great to see The Secret War in print, but if the Devil came up from a smoking fissure in the ground and gave me a choice: “only write one book and have it published, or write forever and never see anything in print”, I would always opt for the latter without hesitation.
Wouldn’t you?

If it happens

But I am published. And like I said sometimes it feels great. But other times, there is nothing to feel at all. When you’re published you’re not just a writer, you’re a promoter or you’re a confessor or you’re an apologist or you’re a liar. All things a writer becomes when you write in public. No matter what you write, there will always be someone who likes it perhaps too much, and someone who hates it because of another agenda. Then there’s the adulation, criticism, and other paraphernalia that is great for promoting your book and earning that precious money, but does fuck all for your writing – nor perhaps your state of mind.

I personally have spent too much time worrying about what everyone else thinks about my writing, and worrying whether or not anyone will buy it (especially in the months leading up to publication). Eventually I’ve drawn – reluctantly - this arrogant veil over me if only to keep me focused on what I should be doing: my writing. Adulation is great, but it is fleeting.
Spend it - go poor. Eat it - go hungry. Seek it - and go mad.

So why write at all?

Because you need to. Because there is a story(s) inside that must be written and that you’re the only one who should write it. It can be cathartic, it can be your version of the truth, or to entertain friends and family.
Or it can be purely for yourself… To write something you wanted to experience… That you wanted to read.

The web is littered with bitter writers. Perhaps those who lost what they thought was their dream. Those authors who lost the plot and tried to chase that status which became untenable, or those writers who are constantly asking “what should I write to get published?” And those misguided few who turn around and give advice such as “check out what is doing well at the moment and write something like that.” Because the web is full of charlatans – writers and critics who spend too much time on the internet - who think they know best and that their knowledge is supreme.

I suppose I’m the same, except I’m not telling anyone what they should do, I’m just giving my view from this side of the screen.

If there is one writer I can think of immediately who is enjoying the writing process, it’s Shameless. A blogger who continues with boundless enthusiasm to write and blog, and his output is matched only by his sincerity. That Shameless isn’t published yet is something that sometimes feels like an injustice, but I wonder whether Shameless is driven purely for adulation and the ambition to be published. I suspect not.

Being published is great.

But being a writer is greater.

My Wife thinks I’m bolshi

And she might be right. But the change has been sudden…

I would not say I am shy nor retiring. I can quite happily talk to a complete stranger without turning inside out through embarrassment. But there is a difference between chatting with strangers and boldly going into a bookshop, saying: “Hello… I notice you have a few copies of my book on your shelf… Would you like me to sign them?”

I found myself in this very position on Tuesday during a shopping expedition around Leeds (Sarah was looking for a wedding outfit for the end of May). While the Waterstones Leeds branch was bereft of copies of The Secret War (not to mention almost all Macmillan New Writing titles, oddly), Borders had a healthy stock on show, and while I was buying a copy of Fortean Times I couldn’t help but grin at the poor girl behind the counter and say: “Hello… I notice you have a few copies of my book on your shelf… Would you like me to sign them?”
To her credit, and the manager’s, the response was an enthusiastic “please do!” But it wasn’t until after leaving the shop that I got a sudden shameful pain – exploited by Sarah who likened it to the infamous “local writer” scene I made in Blackwells, Broomhill (that later spawned a t-shirt).

“You’ve become bolshi,” she said with amusement, yet at the same time lamented my once modest demeanour.

And I lament it too.

Not so long ago I was meek about my writing, even about the idea of being published, giggling nervously if someone asked about it. Now, and within the space of months rather than years, I’ve become this self-promoting, shameless bloke who is quite happy to march into shops, asking if they want me to sign copies for them. And not just shops who sell my books – I’ve been into those non-sellers to wax-lyrical about The Secret War, providing promotional cards and guiltily enjoying every minute (especially the point when they order copies of the book in).

At the start of this whole adventure, I never thought I would be doing anything like this. If I’d had an inkling of my future in pimping I might well have declined (back in those innocent times, the idea of self-promotion was quite terrifying to me as it is with plenty of writers). But now that I am doing it - and unfortunately getting used to it - I’m actually finding masochistic pleasure from exploiting myself and my book to all who will listen.

Like in this blog, for example.

Shameless?
Probably.
But I am – afterall - a debut novelist, and if it sells books, it can’t be all bad, right?

Right?

When Books Collide (a confession)

Writers can be creatures of habit. We have to be if we want to write – it’s the whole drive of sitting down at the computer, typing out word upon word, be it short story, novella, novel or even blog. I’m not talking addiction here (as mentioned earlier) but stuck in the proverbial rut where you start doing one thing and don’t think about the alternatives.
For me this means starting a project. Prior to The Secret War I never planned a novel. Then I read a book called “How to Write and Sell a Synopsis” by Stella Whitelaw. I read it because I was never any good at writing summaries of books (it’s still a flaw in my craft – a three page synopsis always threatens to turn longer as I try to cram in everything that I feel is special about the story – I can never be concise enough). Apart from aiding me in that quite frustrating task, I learned that a synopsis can be used for something other than trying to impress an agent or a publisher: it can be used to plan your book.

When I started writing a short book (by my standards) called The Prey and the Haunted, I decided to get the whole synopsis thing out of the way from the beginning. I had an idea what I wanted to write – mostly character driven – and spent a couple of weeks knocking up a four page treatment. Two things happened that I didn’t expect – and both were at opposite ends of the writing spectrum. The first was that having a basic plan tacked to a pin-board in front of me meant I never once wrote myself into a dead-end. For the first time in my writing, the book flowed where I wanted it to. There was no need for sand-bagging, or channel digging; the story was obeying me.

But the second was something I haven’t understood – truly – until now.

It goes back to what I said in the previous blog entry, as well as David’s comment. Once you write down the story in whatever form, or once you tell someone about the story in summary, then the story is told. For the writer, there are no surprises – so why write it?
The Secret War was the tightest planned construct of my career at that point. Prior to it – with its pages of notes, secret histories and plots and sub-plots – I wrote in a free-falling way, being driven by my characters more than anything, though always wanting to reach a certain goal. I was young then, knew little of character which could be a reason why I was not published until The Secret War. But as Natascha McElhone’s badge says in The Trueman Show, “How’s it going to end?” I never knew then what would happen to my characters, or really the story – what surprises would come their way?
With The Secret War, I knew – through each step – what would happen to my characters before I wrote it. With so many twists in the story, I suppose I had to. Planning it from the beginning meant I could concentrate on historical research rather than worrying about what dead-ends lurked behind each page. And I think without planning, The Secret War would never have been written – nor, I guess, published. By virtue that Macmillan New Writing did publish the story means that I got something right that I didn’t with my previous stories, doesn’t it?
And if ain’t broke…

The Secret of Mhorrer was just as well planned, perhaps more so. Yet despite planning, I didn’t see certain flaws in the original story. It was only when I wrote the first draft did they appear – not dead-ends as such, but unnatural progressions. Characters were too reined in, sub-plots were suffocating, and the surprise at the end – well it wasn’t much of a surprise to me as I finally wrote it; it felt damp, rushed and diluted like someone who has read the same Whodunnit over and over, or perhaps like watching Usual Suspects for the one hundredth time (you know who Keyser Soze is… why force yourself into amazement, boy?!!).

Realising this, I went into the 2nd draft with a revised plan but with a different mantra: if it feels right, write it – and fuck the plan. And so the 2nd draft threw up quite a few changes, the key one being the death of a main character near the end which was unplanned for but felt natural. I even added a chapter, cut another and twisted character motivations around (because it felt right). Even though the ultimate denouement or “Faux Denouement” was not entirely unknown to me, there is a sparkle to it now I never thought a 2nd draft, nor any draft for that matter, could deliver from something so rigorously planned. To reiterate an early blog entry – the 2nd re-write of The Secret of Mhorrer isn’t just a different draft, it’s a whole different story.

And so to A Well in the Flesh… This has not been planned. I have no story really, just a few images, an ending of sorts and a host of characters culled from experience. It’s the first character driven story I’ve written since The Prey and the Haunted (way back in 2001) and I’ve learned a lot about character in the interim – not to mention writing. A Well in the Flesh is a collision with The Secret of Mhorrer, and wasn’t that the point? To write something so different in terms of tone, structure, even preparation (there wasn’t any, I just started writing it a few days ago) that wipes my imagination clean for the 3rd draft of the Secret of Mhorrer?
But this collision has taught me something – the beauty of having no control, of simply hurling yourself into the page. It’s a little intimidating, but there’ll be plenty surprises (the biggest one being if I can keep it below novel size – I seem to be suffering from writus-bloatus at the moment). And it should be fun too, I reckon.

There are no wrong ways or truly right ways to write. Just traps in every process that can snare a writer.

I’m not saying I’ll never plan again, just not so anally.

A Well in the Flesh

A Well in the Flesh is now 5,000 words old and counting. I’ve been surprised how well its writing – being a 21st century story, and character (rather than plot) driven. For something that was initially just a diversion – a vehicle to flush my imagination clean (like lobular irrigation) – it’s entertained me considerably over the last couple of days and evenings. So much so, that I think it’s become more than just a diversion.

That wasn’t planned.

A Well in the Flesh came from a single image which was quite graphic. Without giving too much away from the story, the image was of a tidal wave of flesh, pink like scar-tissue, rolling down the high-street of a Peak District village - quite like Castleton - the flesh folding around grey-stone walls, feeling its way between iron railings and breaking through windows to pour into living-rooms and shops. And there was a sound – of distress, not from the people fleeing from its merciless advance, but from the Flesh itself…
…I’ll stop there, because my rule of thumb is: if I explain too much, it looses its potency – I loose the will to continue writing the story (because it’s already been told).

This Peak-horror novella shouldn’t be too long – perhaps 30,000 words (a mere drop compared to The Secret of Mhorrer’s 160,000 words). I didn’t want a mammoth project – I have too many of them as it is – and I didn’t embark on this with a view to publication. Though I might – just might, mind – seek an independent publisher if I think the novella is any good. Hence why it hasn’t gone up on the website yet.

Like I said, A Well in the Flesh is lobular irrigation, and I’m just content to write this little horror down for now. To see if I can shed some conventions that have bound me during the writing of both The Secret War and The Secret of Mhorrer – which are perhaps the most mainstream stories I’ve ever written.

I’m not sure what my audience is with A Well in the Flesh, perhaps at the end it might just be me – perhaps friends or family.

But if it works out, it might grow beyond that…

…Like the Flesh itself.

Well, I tried.

I've lasted three days. That's not bad, I suppose.

But the laptop has drawn me back - not for the 3rd draft of The Secret of Mhorrer (which I'll be starting at the end of the month, no fear) but for a short story/novella I dreamt up this lunch-break called A Well in the Flesh. It's a countryside horror story and a departure from anything I've written in the last eight years - and very different to The Secret War or The Secret of Mhorrer.

An antidote if you will. And I've just written 3,000 words for it this evening.

Like I said in the previous blog entry, I'm weak!!!

Return of the Keyboard Junkie

“Just hold your breath and realise this is me… finishing the second draft.”

Okay. Well, it’s not strictly Grosse Point Blank, but I’ve tinkered with the line because a) I love the film, and b) it feels about right.

The second draft is done, finished, blitzed, fulfilled and wrapped up in a nice bow. I know you’re thinking “it’s just a second draft, right?” Well, I say the second draft is more important than the first in one respect – if you really fuck up a story, it’s usually during the second draft. This is the stage where a writer goes blindly down one path, thinking they’ve explored the alternatives in the first draft – yet there can be more than one path to true enlightenment (sorry - I mean to a complete story that matches the writer’s expectations). Every story I’ve written but left unpolished has been down to the second draft – that point of no-return. There was The Apprentice and the Stripper, and before it the Forever Chain, that perhaps just missed the point, or rather the turning for a book that could have been exceptional, but in the end (to me) was a little bit of a shrug and a sigh.

If I’m honest, the first draft of The Secret of Mhorrer was where I realised the path was wrong, and in that respect I am quite lucky. The first draft just didn’t look right no matter what I did, so after going back and starting over, the second draft is more than an improvement - it’s almost a whole new story. I’ve excised huge chunks of exposition, of scenes and even chapters that were nice, but superfluous. And I’ve taken some characters and drop-kicked them from the book, while conversely characters who originally had small roles are now quite prominent. Yet despite more complex characters and conflicts, the book has been reduced from 186,000 words to 160,000. That’s not too bad - not bad at all. With more trimming I’ll get that below 150,000 words.

And it means I can take a break from writing. I’ve earned it I think, and a short break from the project for two weeks will be refreshing and give me some time to do other stuff… Such as promoting The Secret War (I’ve now got a couple of arts festivals in the pipeline over this summer) - as well as personal stuff like reading more during my lunch-breaks rather than lugging around this laptop (I’ll be instead lugging about China Mieville’s Perdido Street Station – so it’s almost the same weight!). I’ll be enjoying more of the Spring air (I did get out in the sunshine for a day over the Easter weekend and got sunburnt – in April?!), and I’ll even have more of a social life (though do writers really have such a thing?).

Yeah, films, friends, family and fun (in no order). Sounds fantastic…

(Is the deception working? No?)

Okay, I admit I just can’t wait to get back to the writing. I’m not sure if it’s just being a keyboard junkie or someone who feeds on his imagination, but I love storytelling. And I know – just know – that even if I don’t start the third draft of The Secret of Mhorrer soon, I’ll be tinkering with my children’s book - A World of Night - or perhaps writing a short story or two, or thinking about the Autumn Project (whatever that will be).

Someone recently remarked to me that they didn’t know a time when I wasn’t writing. I told them truthfully there were the years at university (discounting the long anthology I wrote in my final year). Though even then I managed to write a novella and a couple of short-stories in those three years. So if you want me to stand up and confess to my addiction, there you go. I love writing, and this blog will probably feed that obsession in the coming weeks.

Either that or I get addicted to something on TV (I’ve just started watching series 2 of 24, so it’s possible…)

But the draw of the third draft may become unbearable. A writer’s gotta do the thing that feels most natural, right? The call of the Sinai, of swashbuckling adventures in time and space, not to mention the main characters who I have a fondness for – will lure me back prematurely, I’m sure.

You see, I am weak.

I’m an addict.

Bye bye for now

I’m taking a short break from blogging… due to blogger’s block which in turn is due to being too engrossed with the drafting of the current novel. Once I’ve finished the 2nd draft, I can then concentrate on blogging something more relevant and coherent.

Needs must, you see.

And by the way… pop the corks – because Macmillan New Writing is 1 year old. Well, actually it’s a bit older than that, but it’s been one year this month when the first books were published. That’s 12 months, 17 books - mine included - and some notable successes along the way. Still no bestsellers, but I think that might change in the future, looking at the list for 2007 - including Borderlands by Brian McGilloway (which has had some good write-ups) out this month and David Isaak's Smite the Waters (out September).

I would pop a cork too, but I had a heavy weekend and need to be clear and focused for the final push – or rather the last two chapters. Two chapters that will end The Secret of Mhorrer with a big fat bang.

It’s gonna get nasty…