Knee-Deep in Novel

I haven't blogged recently because I've been writing. So, I really shouldn't tell myself off for not blogging.

I have read various books about writing by writers, people like Ray Bradbury and Stephen King, thinking that they must be doing something right.

What leaped out at me from their books was their sense of discipline. Stephen King writes 2000 words every single day. Ray Bradbury sits (sat, now) down on Monday and wrote a story. He rewrote it on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, and on Saturday he sent it to a magazine.

I have been getting into a routine of writing 2000 words a day. I used to write and edit simultaneously, going back and rewriting chapters endlessly before moving on. Now, I have taken some very good writerly advice that says 'Plough on! Re-writes are for second drafts, just get the words down.' And they're right.

By creating what I'm calling the Critical Mass, the writing starts to take your ideas and run with them. The characters begin to pull their own weight and, without you knowing, keep on working when you're not. So, you sit back down at your desk to find they have had all sorts of thoughts that you would never have had on your own.

The price of this productivity is jettisoning all short stories and poetry for the time being, as well as my lovely writing community over at WriteWords. They wander in and interrupt the secret meetings my characters are having behind my back, demanding their own meeting rooms and interactive white boards. So I've had to sent them on extended leave, at least until this first draft is done.

Writing in America

Inspired by Tania Hershman's recent posts about ex-pat writers (or in her case, recently repatriated ex-pat writers) I decided to think a little about how the move has affected my writing.

I am currently sitting in my study in my house just outside Washington DC. I put up a photo of this room a few posts ago, but that was before the clutter arrived with the shipping. It is now filled with books, pictures, printers, bits of miscellaneous paper and my trusty Leonardo da Vinci action figure.


Out of my window I can see typical neat suburban houses. A couple of times a day a yellow school bus comes round picking up and dropping off kids. The families here are a complete mix of colours and religions; it’s far more multicultural than where I’ve just left in the West Country. The kids all look like your typical American kids: climbing onto the bus in jeans, sweaters and sneakers… do they realise that most of the rest of the world have to wear school uniforms? It’s a million miles from my old tartan skirt and tie, with regulation bottle green woollen jumper.

So that gives a little snapshot of my surroundings.

Since leaving Leeds in 1998 I have lived in Edinburgh, New York State, Australia, Bristol and Gloucestershire. And now back to America. I have travelled in South East Asia for several months, Central America, Europe, and once did a road trip across America. To say I have itchy feet is an understatement.

It felt quite natural to up and leave to another country. Much of my writing is influenced by places I have been and I was excited to think of the inspiration my new surroundings would give me.

The speech patterns are different in America. It isn’t just the words and phrases people use, it’s the whole rhythm of speech. This also varies hugely by state and by cultural background. I know the language is the same but I feel like a fish out of water every time I go up to someone and ask for something, or speak on the phone. I rehearse what I am going to say. It’s not like you can get away without speaking, everyone talks to you in shops, queues (lines!), lifts, etc. Then there is the slight double-take, pause and, “where is that accent from?” Most people say they “love the way I talk,” which is probably a different reaction than other immigrants might get and maybe I should be grateful for that, but it would be nice to not have to think so much about interactions.

So how have my experiences so far affected my writing?

I am far more aware of speech patterns when writing now. I have written various pieces set in America and I try to make the ‘voice’ authentic.

The landscape, cities, countryside, urban areas, all slip into my writing. I am more respectful of trees now. Forests, rather. Trees here go on for hundreds of miles. There are so many of them. Even in my civilised little suburb I never feel too far from some very wild trees. Nature is bigger here. Everything is bigger! I would like to get a sense of than expansiveness into my writing.

I have started writing more poetry here. Poetry happens when I am feeling introspective, which is not surprising. I have started my second novel, too. Somehow new projects and new beginnings go well together. Or maybe I have just picked up on that infectious American spirit. Yes, we can!

Most recent rejection letter

My most recent rejection letter was a particularly lovely one.

'Maynard Hill' is vividly imagined and well-written...

This is high praise from an industry where anonymous compliments slips are the norm. I've seen the length of the letter, however, and I know there is a But coming.

... but although I enjoyed reading it I'm afraid to say that it's not for us.

Then there's the usual blurb about the competitive marketplace and the cordial, but standard ending:

We are sorry to disappoint you and wish you the best of luck in securing an agent to champion your work and find you a publisher.

I added it to the pile, feeling that the workshops I have booked onto on "How to Get Published" at the Cheltenham Literature Festival are probably long overdue. I have been sending my novel around the literary agents on the advice of the Artists' and Writers' Yearbook but I can't help thinking that I must be missing a trick. The pile of rejection letters nods wisely at me. Money well spent, it intones sagely.



Certainly I wasn't given the elixir of life at today's workshops and neither was I handed the gilded key to the magical kingdom of The Waterstones' Front Table. I wasn't told much I didn't already know. But. There's something about sitting in a room with the motley crew of the Good Ship Hope that gives the aspiring writer a sense of solidarity. We swap stories, we laugh. We have colleagues!
Writers don't really have colleagues. This can be one of the best and the worst aspects of writing. It's an intensely lonely world. However, I have no competition in my workplace; three days ago I was named Employee of the Month and that was on top of my recent promotion to Chief Writer. Soon I hope to be made Chief Writer Extrodinaire.
I have certainly taken some good lessons away from today's workshops by Jo Herbert, editor of the Artists' and Writers' Yearbook, and Alison Baverstock, who has written books on the subject and used to work in publishing herself. One thing that was particularly hammered home was that we need to wear an entirely different hat to sell ourselves to a world concerned by shrinking profit margins and increasing competition. Forget Keats, think Alan Sugar.
That seems to be one of the main problems for writers: the sort of people who sit in dusty little studies talking over plot developments with their Weeping Fig pot plant are seldom the types who could sell coal to Newcastle (cider to Sommerset, hippies to Totnes).

My covering letter certainly needs revisiting. In the meantime, I have a weekend of Pitching your Writing Idea. A whole weekend? Is that really necessary? The pile of rejection letters nods meaningfully.