When good writers go bad …

No, seriously that’s just to get your attention. Although, having said that, I could, if I allowed myself to, be completely depressed by the amount of depression I have been exposed to recently.

There is something very special about writers: in aggregate, we’re like the bit of seaweed hung outside the back door to tell the weather. We respond to the slightest change in environment – and as ‘recession’ bites, we – in the aggregate – seem to have become devastated by the down-turn. Almost every writer I’ve spoken to this month has been utterly down in the dumps. Established writers say their careers are over, emerging writers say their careers are going to be blighted and new writers say it’s not worth even bothering, with the publishing industry being what it is.

Um.

Look, I don’t want to get all life-coachy on you, but seriously, allowing yourself to be a barometer of bad news is an appalling way to establish a sustainable writing career. On the bright side, for example, people may read, buy and borrow more books as they cut back on their DVD and cable/satellite TV spending. I’m not a Pollyanna (I can imagine everybody who has met me in real life spitting beverage into their keyboards at the very idea) but I do know that in any talent-based industry, more people talk themselves out of success than ever actually fight to attain it. And it makes me angry to hear people who know very little about the publishing industry (like me) taking headlines and turning them into life sentences of failure. Yes publishing is at a crisis point – but so is banking and car manufacture, luxury travel and haute couture – you don’t hear anybody in those industries suggesting that talented folk should go away and not contribute to restoring the collective fortunes, so why are writers so very prone to folding their tents?

Um number two – did you know that ‘Colonel’ Sanders, who wasn’t a Colonel at all, developed his famous chicken recipe in the recession of the 1930s? In other words, without the bad times, he’d never have had the good times. Why can’t writers think like that?

I sincerely hope that loads of you are going to leave aggressively upbeat comments telling me how wrong I am about writers-in-aggregate, as that would make me very happy. Not that I’m unhappy, but you know what I mean …


Book burning courtesy of Altemark at Flickr (I'd like to say no books were harmed during the production of this image, but I'm sure that's not true!)

As many of you know, I’m deeply interested in the writing of Jill Dawson, and so when I discovered she was part of a new mentoring scheme called Gold Dust, I asked her if she’d delve into it a little for me.

In the period between sending my questions to Jill and getting the answers back, I read a post by Agent Kristin that cast an interesting sidelight on some of the issues in the wider publishing world.

There are a variety of reasons that Gold Dust seems worthwhile to me: it would work well for the kind of writer who doesn’t enjoy big groups and doesn’t seek a hectic social life to go along with their creative development; it’s the kind of scheme that widens the net to include writers who have other reasons for not being able to take a creative writing degree; and (touching on Kristin’s post) it allows for diversity. Not every writer finds out they want to write in their teens, not every writer can find the time for even part-time study, some writers have cultural, personal or other reasons for wishing to focus intensively on their work without exposing it to even a supportive group.

Kristin’s post made me think - she suggests editors tend to be young and female, for economic reasons as much as anything else and that agents are somewhat more diverse. I wonder how much longer even that will be true? There are great writing degrees out there, and very mundane ones. As we end up with more and more people qualified in ‘creative writing’ entering the job market, they are very likely to become editors, and agents. W hile they will probably be great enthusiasts for literature, their talent-spotting and nurturing skills won’t be highly developed because they are so young, and because they will have been intensively exposed to the writing of other creative writing students, they are likely to respond to that style of writing, over other forms, at least early in their careers. So a writer who doesn’t or won’t or can’t fit what Zadie Smith called the ‘cookie cutter MFA’ might be wise to look outside that process to get the kind of support that would help them achieve publication. And that’s where schemes like Gold Dust might prove invaluable because they can provide intensive support and critique, a strong relationship with an established writer, and access to that writer’s network if they produce work that their mentor deems worthwhile.

So I asked Jill some questions about how Gold Dust works and what it aims to do.

What, in your view, is the key value of mentoring – is it the way that a mentor can help technically, with structu re and content of material, or the way they can help professionally, with an understanding of what it takes to get published, or the way they can help personally, by encouraging the development of the individual’s talent?

All of the above, and more. Read my article for Mslexia for how much I longed for a mentor when I was starting out. Living in a council flat in Hackney, a single parent, the first girl in my family ever to go to University - it wasn't exactly Martin Amis's life! I wasn't likely to bump into many experienced established award-winning writers to chat about publication, writer's block, or how to structure the next scene - how could I get access to such a person? In the end I think I found several, through doing an MA - Jane Rogers, the tutor, and Kathryn Heyman, now a close friend. Many of those applying to Gold Dust already have an MA and are now looking for more individual, sustained input over the period it takes to write a novel. Oh and by the way, Kathryn and Jane now both mentor for Gold Dust these days.

One of the elements of a creative writing degree that people seem to value is the sense of having a ‘peer group’ of fellow writers – what can mentoring offer to match that sense of joining a group of writers with whom you work and socialise?

Yes, of course - but this need is well provided for. There are hundreds of courses and wriitng groups out there as well as online communities. We provide something that didn't exist - one to one input from an acclaimed author. The Gold Dust mentors include three who were Booker shortlisted, two professors on MAs in Writing, two writers nominated for the Orange Prize, one Reader in Digital Writing, etc. They really know what it's like to embark on writing a novel or memoir and are willing to go on the journey with you, offering whatever input you think you need.

On the other hand, many people are not naturally gregarious and find it difficult to balance the need for a safe space in which to crea te with the demands of producing work to a schedule. I can see that mentoring would be better for them (and as I’m one of them myself, I am always pleased to hear of opportunities that work for the introvert!) but there must still be some kind of deadline process I assume? How do mentor and mentee work out what can be achieved in their year together?

If you are accepted, you are sent a contract. In that first meeting we suggest you sit down and thrash out with the mentor what you need/hope for. The mentor will then see if that's realistic in the time you have available. Our mentors are flexible but they are also wise. Often what you need is a tough deadline. It's different every time. If you read the 'testimonials' on the Gold Dust website you will see what others have said. (We don't edit these.)

What is the process of deciding which mentor works with a mentee? I know there’s a judging process but what does it contain – is it simply a question of literary merit or is likely compatibility taken into account?

A little of both. It's nice to work with a mentor who has chosen you and loves your work. But also logistics matter - such as where the mentor lives and whether they are currently free. Remember you have to cover your own travel costs. We ask you when you apply to name the mentor and do our best to match you with who you have chosen.

I know you’ve just had a writer from the scheme go to novel publication, and obviously you can’t give any specifics, but what, in general, allowed him or her to manage this fast track in an astonishing eighteen months from the start of the programme?

I used to teach at UEA and I'd say there on a course of 40 students, each year maybe one or two would publish. Gold Dust is very young (18 months as you say). We've had 46 pairs so far. Many are not yet finished - about 30 are on-going. So our success rate, compared with the best established MA in the country is quite high. The model of mentoring is well established. As I wrote in the Mslexia piece, the first year that the MA at UEA ran there was only one student in a tutorial room with Malcolm Bradbury. And that was Ian McKewan …

pure gold courtesy of kevin dooley at Flickr

Bread and books

Somebody emailed to ask if I’ve stopped making bread. Not so! The thing is, I make bread two or three times a week and one loaf looks very much like another (very much like Enid Blyton’s Famous Five novels, according to my disapproving mother when I was a girl, although I remember them as being full of fascinating adventure) so I assumed the reader didn’t need a constant procession of identical loaves. So here is today’s – it’s half white and half wholemeal flour, with some sesame seeds for quiet interest.

And what else is going on? Well not a lot of writing, if I’m to be honest with you. Novel revisions yes, although as of today I think they are done (I bloody hope so!) at last. Mainly I’ve been thinking about Saturday’s creative writing group at Crawley library and wondering if it will be as hot as last month and, if so, what the bare minimum is that one can wear. The class is marvellous; I’ve had some fantastic 50 word stories from participants this week, but it was perishing hot as there’s some kind of heating fault or problem and I really hope it’s sorted now.

And when I haven’t been revising the novel with my teeth gritted (I am so bored by my own words that I could cry) or thinking about Crawley’s creative writers, I’ve been fine-tuning Recession-Proof Writing, which is the day-long workshop I’m giving in Oxford on 10 April. I’m really looking forward to it and hoping that the weather will be kind so that I can see Oxford at its best in the few free moments I shall get during the day.

Anthology Launch



I really like this Hand of Fatimah style imagery, although I can barely read a word it says. It's the launch of Tell Tales 4 - The Global Village, in case you can't make it out either.

Sadly I can't be there, even though I'm in the antho (I know my name doesn't appear on the list, but it seems we couldn't all be fitted into this particular global village!) If you can make it, it's Thursday 2 April, 7 to late, The Blag Club, 68 Notting Hill Gate. Should be great.

PS - I was in Tell Tales 3 too, not that I'm bragging or anything ....

Will books get longer in a recession?

Recessionistas make predictions – skirts will be midi, lips will be redder, hair will be shorter (I’m ahead of the game there then!), eating in will be the new eating out, and books will be longer.

Okay, I added that last one myself. But there’s a sense in which it may be true. Straws in the wind point to length mattering. The whopping auction price for Niffenegger’s second book (good luck to her, it’s nice to see an author who’s already had a hit getting rewarded, rather than a writer we’ve never heard of getting an advance for a novel that bombs) is a hint, perhaps. Books may get bigger as readers think about the investment they are making in buying them – skinny novellas for £8.99 or beach books with 400 plus pages for the same price? How many commuter mornings can you while away with the first compared to the second?

Another straw is the surprise hit of Paris theatre this spring - the Satin Slipper, by Claudel, is a bizarrely fascinating work, combining the influences of Rimbaud and the Symbolists with long lines of free verse declaimed from a stage on which the protagonist discovers that true sensual love can produce an understanding of God. Oh and by the way, it’s an eleven-hour drama-fest which gives the audience cramps from sitting in theatre seats for a full day. There are a couple of not bad translations but as they tend to start at around £100 a copy, it may be cheaper to fly over and buy a ticket.

And the final straw is a conversation I overheard in Borders – completely unscientific but it’s anecdotal evidence: first woman holding up two novels to second woman, ‘What do you think?’ Second woman ‘Hmmm, the thing is, the weather’s so changeable. I’d go with the beige, it’ll work with everything.’ First woman nods. ‘Good point – I don’t want anything that might look a bit heavy for Spring.’ She puts down the book with the purple cover and takes the book with the beige cover to the till … if you require a book to be both a good read and a fashion accessory, you’re probably well into the recessionista zone!

Big books courtesy of gabesk at Flickr

Titles and short fiction
I’m in the middle of what I’d like to pretend is a raging debate, but it’s more like a desultory email discourse, into titles. For complicated reasons I did some editing for an anthology while somebody else was ill. Somebody else is now back, so I’ve stepped out of the frame, but the stories I was working on are still my ‘babies’, and one of the authors has asked me to step back in on an issue of titles.

There are two editors for this antho and we have a fifty-fifty split – I feel, as does one editor, that the story needs a new title. The writer, and the editor I stepped in to cover, both want the original title. I think the writer may be regretting asking me to enter the fray as I’ve come down on the ‘wrong’ side, but that’s his problem. My job is to do the best for the anthology as a whole.

Of course it’s not a major issue, but it’s interesting. The editor who agrees with me has a long pedigree in the biz while the one who disagrees is a relative newb, as is the writer. The antho is SF/F (science fiction/fantasy for those who don’t read the genre) and there’s a pretty classic split in the SF field between label titles: ‘Starship Troopers’ ‘I, Robot’, ‘The Time Machine’ and tangent titles: ‘Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’ ‘The Left Hand of Darkness’, ‘The Mote in God’s Eye’ which has little to do with content. ‘Mote’ has a tangent title but is hard science with a sociological spin, while ‘I Robot’ has a label title but is essentially a quest story with lots of emotional development.

My gut feeling is that the longer you read a genre, the more you enjoy complex and allusive titles, which is why venerable editor and I, who together have read a worrying number of decades of SF, want something slightly more ambiguous and challenging. Writer and other editor, who are both relatively new to the genre, maybe racking up a decade of SF reading and writing between them, are quite happy with a label title.

It will be interesting to see how this pans out. Not least because I would never disagree with venerable editor unless my writing life depended on it, and a title is not one of the things, in my view, on which a writing life depends. If you don’t like the title this time around, you can always change it if you get a reprint!

For me, what’s interesting is to see how other writers respond to this kind of suggestion, because I’m very blithe about all input to my fiction and often get caught out by how deeply other people feel about what seem to me to be ‘frills’, like titles. And I’m not being dismissive here, or not intentionally so, titles just don’t matter that much to me, personally. I can usually recount the plot of any book I’ve read in the past five years, but the title will often escape me entirely – it’s not part of what I hold onto in fiction, while for other people titles are utterly essential. Fascinating.

On the other hand, suggestions about changing the names of characters are something I’m very uncomfortable with, while other writers are apparently happy to turn Reg into Charles and Claudia into Simone at the drop of a hat. Nowt so queer as folk and all that. Bet you that my side wins though, because we definitely have the better title suggestion if it goes to a publisher vote …

Robots courtesy of Cesarastudillo at Flickr

Still Sleepless in Brighton

Being a writer introduces you to many new experiences. I’m having one right now. Excellent Agent (hereinafter EA) wants revisions to novel #1. Good revisions too. Novel #2 has gone off for a bursary read to a literary consultancy. Novel #3 is around 35,000 words. Normally (if anything is normal in my life) I work on several things at once, but one thing is always primary and until last week this, quite naturally, was novel #3.

Now, of course, novel #1 is also primary. Whichever piece of work is primary, that’s the one I usually find inhabits my subconscious and that I get nocturnal messages about and inspirations for.

Last night I had a dream. I was dreaming as one of my characters (this seems to be unusual – people generally dream OF their characters, not AS them) but it was the protagonist of novel #1, in the setting of novel #3. A part of me was trying to argue with the dream, saying that it was wrong, but most of me wasn’t listening. It was all really rather nasty. So I woke up, as one does, slightly panicked and disorientated, put the light on, assured myself I was me, in my bed, in my more-or-less reality and went back to sleep again.

I woke up two hours later, having been told by my subconscious that there was a minor flaw in novel #1 that neither EA nor I had spotted. I wrote down the correction (Alan is part-time shepherd for Tim in February/March – isn’t that gnostic?) and went back to sleep.

And then the alarm went off …


Shepherd courtesy of Nicksarebi at Flickr

This is not what I planned to write about

But this is what happened, and it dovetailed into what I was going to write about which is one of those things that happen and no writer could get away with letting them happen in fiction because it sounds too beautifully coincidental.

Last night, well 2 am actually, my very tall, very intelligent, usually very laid-back seventeen year old son came into my bedroom to ask me to ‘deal’ with the spider on the ceiling in his bedroom. Yes. My rock god son still needs his mum on rare occasions…

I got up, got dressed (yes I sleep naked, too much information?), got the stepladder, got the large and active spider into a plastic cup with a sheet of stiff card over it and threw the spider out of the front door and went back to bed. “I’m an adult,” I thought. “Finally, indubitably, I’m an adult. How very cool.”

And then I woke up an hour and a half later, sitting bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding, my palms slick, my eyes wide open into the darkness because, fucking hell, I had been near a spider and I’m terrified of spiders! And then I woke up another forty minutes later, having another complete panic about a spider being in bed with me. So I put the light on and persuaded the dog to sleep on the bed and didn’t get any more sleep that night.

So this is what I have to share with you. Whenever you think you’ve got there, whether it’s adulthood or career success, your inner child will rise up and remind you that you’re faking it. Oh yes you are!

So yes, I now have an agent, but that doesn’t prove anything. And maybe I’ll feel like a real writer when I get a publishing contract. But probably not. Because my inner child will have something to say about that too.

Spider courtesy of Opo Terser at Flickr and Opo Terser is a braver person than I am!