We’re advised to become our own brand these days, to be as much a part of what readers buy into as the stories we create. This is all part of the relentless marketing that’s needed to get known, and is something that’s alien to most writers, who shun the limelight and work reclusively.
Once an author achieves a level of success that sees their name as recognisable as that of their literary creation, then that’s something publishers will capitalise on – even after the writer dies.
It’s happened with the James Bond series of books, where nine authors have written continuations of the secret agent’s adventures since his creator Ian Fleming died in 1964. These include well-known writers, such as Kingsley Amis, Sebastian Faulks, William Boyd and Jeffery Deaver.
Stieg Larsson’s untimely death has seen some nasty squabbling between his civil partner of many years and his family, about the fate of the Millennium trilogy of crime novels, including the continuation of the series. A fourth Millennium novel is about to be published, written by David Lagercrantz, a chameleon of a writer who specialises in mimicking the voices of others.
This has caused much controversy, but I can’t say that I’m surprised it’s happened. After all, if J.K. Rowling or E.L. James dropped dead, do you really think that more novels would not appear, using their brand name?
What do you make of this practice? Imagine your own identity as an author being continued after your death – would you be pleased for the ongoing fame (and income for your family), or offended that you were being exploited?
After reading several well-respected advice books on the writing process by Stephen King and Lawrence Block recently, I looked around for something more modern. Their wisdom is palpable, but things have moved on a lot since with the 1980s with technology.
I saw several favourable reviews of How to be Writer in the E-Age, by Catherine Ryan Hyde and Anne R Allen, so bought the Kindle version for a mere £2.82. They are both very experienced authors, who’ve encountered the sort of problems that beset us Colonists. The interplay between them is amusing, as they write alternate chapters, feeding off what the other has just said and bouncing ideas around.
They really know their stuff, offering up-to-date advice that I found valuable. I wish that I’d discovered this book a year ago, as the way that they cut through the bullshit to give practical tips on things like the social media is very helpful.
I was sorry to hear of the death of E.L. Doctorow in 2015. He’s one of my literary heroes. Try reading Ragtime or Homer and Langley, if you haven’t done so already.
It’s undoubtedly a trend in all aspects of entertainment, including books, film, music, fashion and exercise. There’s an increasing number of people who are living longer, so it would be foolish to ignore them as a consumer group.
I’ve never been keen on the term baby boomer to describe my generation. Mind you, I once asked my parents why they had me. I was only a little boy at the time, and I thought that they’d say something romantic about how they loved each other very much and wanted to have a baby to prove it. But no, the blunt reply was that: “Rationing ended, so we could afford to have you” – welcome to real world economics, Paul.
I’ve written stories with characters from eight years old to eighty, but have only concentrated on the complications of ageing a couple of times. Once was in a novella that contemplated what happens after a marriage partner chooses assisted suicide as a way out of suffering in life, with the bereaved widower having to begin again at 60. The other story portrayed a newly single divorcee spreading her wings at 50, trying to reinvent herself. This was partly based on some of the women I’ve met while computer dating. I may write more about what’s it like to age – after all, we’re advised to write about what we know.
Should any youngsters reading this post have wondered this very thing, let me propose that you think about when you’re going to stop listening to your favourite bands, drinking the booze you enjoy, indulging in the sex that floats your boat, driving too fast sometimes for a thrill – or even writing those stories that you spend so much time on…
Your answer will probably be never, I’m always going to do those things, as I love them.
Good for you, that’s exactly how I feel. Ageing really is a detail.
Writers are outsiders, observers, solitary folk who can be eccentric. We’ve all got our funny little ways – I know that I have, though some of my idiosyncrasies are solutions to my current circumstances.
I live in a very noisy place, a flat above a petrol station with a car repair workshop nearby, and a main road and airport flight path running parallel to the site. Lord knows what possessed me to take the tenancy, but I’ve had to adapt to the noise and lack of insulation in my roof space garret.
I listen to loud music through earbuds while I’m working. In summer, it reaches 90 degrees, so my electric fan becomes my best friend, as I turn into the Nude Novelist – there are advantages to living alone. In winter, it’s rarely above 50 degrees, so I become the Michelin Man through wearing up to twenty garments – including woolly hat and gloves
With writing material, I tend to make notes in LibreOffice Writer and I have about 100 folders of ideas for different things, such as character names, titles for poems, phrases to use and plot outlines. I’m also in the habit of jotting notes and reminders on jobs that need doing on squares of card, cut from food packets. These are scattered around my workstation, and I sometimes remember to look at them.
When I see those articles that Sunday newspapers like to run in their magazines, about writers and their offices, I wonder what they’d make of mine! Some authors are weirder than me, as this article reveals :
I’ve visited George Bernard Shaw’s home at Ayot St. Lawrence, which is not far from my home town of Stevenage, Hertfordshire. It’s a strikingly minimalist house, as Shaw was an ascetic and didn’t believe in fripperies. His writing shed is situated at the bottom of a steeply sloping lawn, at a distance from the house. What’s useful about its revolving capability, is that when it’s turned away from the house the hut windows and door are covered over by the thick hedgerow, affording complete privacy.
How strange are you? Confession is good for the soul…
There’s no need to worry about dealing with troublesome human-beings anymore, when it comes to having your precious manuscript edited. IBM has unveiled the Watson Tone Analyzer.
I don’t think that it actually says “I don’t like your tone” in a menacing way, as it’s far too geeky and polite for such malevolence. I cut and pasted a gruesome section of my novel into the demo tone analyzer, in which the corpse of a victim is found after laying outside for a week. The feedback that I was offered gave my 500 words an emotional tone of 3%, a social tone of 91% and a writing tone of 5% – well, there’s nothing more social than standing around a well-rotted body!
I can see this artificial intelligence method of analysing one’s writing as being useful to weed out repetition, though that can be done using the word search function of your writing software – and, believe me, it’s a frightening thing to do. How accurate such software can ever be in judging the feel of your writing, and offering alternative words that convey more of the mood you were striving to achieve, I really don’t know.
The robots are taking over – don’t say that, say this!
Lots of differing opinions in the article, about how worthwhile having a strong social media presence is when it comes to getting published. Followers online aren’t necessarily going to buy your book.
It caught my eye, as I’m in the early stages of establishing my author platform, with a view to returning to self-publishing. My blog on writing is almost ready to go live, after which I’ll build a WordPress website devoted to my Cornish Detective novels.
(Me waiting for a train full of readers!)
I’ve long had a jaundiced view of Facebook, though I’ve had a personal page for 16 years and a business page for four years, which I’ve done nothing to. Facebook was once useful to promote sales by advertisements, but many writing gurus reckon it’s had its day:
Marketing experts are favouring mailing lists generated by subscribers to an author’s blog and website as the way to go to generate sales. I was mulling over how much time to devote to Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest and Twitter, when the latest newsletter from James Oswald arrived. I’ve mentioned him several times before, and his success story continues to inspire me:
He reveals his attitude to social media sites. He’s removed his presence from Facebook, owing to their stance on sharing users’ data. He doesn’t see the point of Pinterest (where I started 27 boards) and admits that he became addicted to Twitter—to no real purpose of serving his writing or book sales. I’m amazed at how many intelligent creative people have admitted to this addiction, so it’s something for me to be wary of…I’ve only made one introductory tweet when I joined three years ago. Oswald has suspended his Twitter account and relies on communicating with readers directly, by a CONTACT ME email link on his blog, but, as he runs a livestock farm, the animals take precedence. He says:
‘Above
all else, though, Twitter is an enormous time sink. Struggling with
deadlines, I often find myself nipping back to the site for a quick
look ‘while I gather my thoughts’. It’s a kind of addiction, and one
I can do without.
To that end, I’ve logged off the site, and am keeping my distance for the moment. I won’t delete it like I did Facebook. My publisher would have a heart attack if I abandoned social media entirely. My daily Blipfoto uploads automatically, as will notification of this newsletter going out. I will return to posting occasional Highland cow and sheep pictures, too, now that lambing is over. But until Inspector McLean book ten is delivered, my presence will be much diminished. Newsletters are the new thing, honest.’
Interesting, that he favours an image sharing site called Blipfoto, which I hadn’t heard of…where he posts pics of his sheep and cows. I may join:
The only tactic I believe in
when it comes to social media, is to link everything that you do,
driving readers towards your sales points. (Makes them sound like
cattle!)
I’m going to be following
James Oswald’s example by giving my first novel away for free,
following up with the second in the series at a reasonable price.
I’ve got three more written and edited, so feel like I’m in a strong
position—but that’s only so if readers like them. I favour his
reliance on newsletters. I’ll use Twitter to make contacts, network
and to tweet the occasional witticism.
There are various ways of declaring one’s writing allegiances,
including messages on T-shirts, but what about having an illustrious
playwright on your underwear?
The Bard appears, along with Henry VIII, Ann Boleyn, Queen Anne and
Elizabeth I on underwear sold by Not On The High Street:
I had the puerile thought, that a man could make Henry’s nose twitch, if he thought hard about it….
It led me to wonder which writers would be ideal candidates for appearing on undergarments. Being confronted with some authors’ faces could be off-putting. How about Charles Bukowksi howling at you?!
Breathing is a process that for, most of the time, takes place
automatically and unconsciously.
We become aware of our breathing at times of stress. It’s commonly
advised to “take a few deep breaths” when upset, to
help you calm down, to take time to reflect on what to do next and
not lose your temper.
This advice has been refined into a technique called Resonant
Breathing. It’s easy to do:
‘Take five breaths per minute, and keep it going as long as needed. This means each inhale will last six seconds, and each exhale six seconds. That’s it!’
It’s reckoned that this way of coherent breathing also reduces
symptoms of depression, by changing the messages that the brain
receives.
Controlling one’s breathing can also help you drop off to sleep. Known as the 4-7-8 Breathing Exercise, it’s a simple way of influencing one’s physiology and thought processes to move into a state of relaxation:
Close your mouth and inhale quietly through your nose to a mental count of four. Hold your breath for a count of seven. Exhale completely through your mouth, making a whoosh sound to a count of eight. This is one breath. Now inhale again and repeat the cycle three more times for a total of four breaths.
I’d argue
that a certain amount of aggression is needed to grind away at the
more onerous tasks involved in writing, such as editing and
querying—even if it’s aimed at yourself in a restrained way. Wimps
don’t get published!
