I am a self-employed writer, which means I’m working for an idiot who doesn’t pay me enough – but the holidays are great.
I’m ex many occupations, from the respectable ‘career-ladder’ to disreputable “somebody’s- got-to-do-it”. All a good way of seeing someone else’s point-of-view. Best job, apart from writing, was dispatch-riding on a motorcycle in the 70s, though I’ve also enjoyed teaching, librarianship, counselling and helping to run a community-centre. Sometimes I’ve looked respectable in a suit, other times a bit more wild and woolly (though still stylish) as a biker. It’s strange how differently people treat you, depending on what you’re wearing. A suit means I’m sometimes addressed as ‘sir’, but in motorcycle leathers I’m always referred to as ‘mate.’
The worst job that I’ve done ? You really don’t want to know, but it was in a processed food manufacturer’s factory – put me off bacon, sausages and quiches for a long time, and made me look at pet food in a new way. I’m very glad that I don’t have any pictures.
I’ve been writing since I was eight, when I penned a story about a desert island and attempted to compile a dictionary – as Clarissa does in my short story ‘The Moon Is Out Tonight’. I’ve written for magazines under a variety of pen-names, ghost-written a couple of biographies and had a column in a local newspaper.
I used to concentrate on non-fiction of an informative, how-to instructional nature, as I’m a firm believer in the dissemination of knowledge to enable people to do things for themselves. Knowledge is power, and in these troubled times of economic downturn and increased intrusion into our lives by government agencies, its vital to know how to get through. My fictional stories also show people coping and finding ways to survive.
I’m based in a Celtic nation, the county of Cornwall or Kernow. I’ve been here for twenty years, and have lived all over the country, as well as abroad in France, Germany, Switzerland, Spain and the U.S.A.
This article, listing the 70 most beautiful words in the English language could be useful, if you applied the words wisely—in your book title or synopsis, for example.
I’m surprised at two omissions, words that I like and which I’ve seen authors mention as their favourites when interviewed—tintinnabulation, for the sound of a bell ringing—and susurration, meaning a whispering sound made by people, waves on a beach or wind through leaves.
I guess, that for most writers, two of the most beautiful words appear when they type The End…except that they’re followed by one of the most terrifying of words—Editing!
Do you have any favourite words that didn’t make the list?
I find that, as a reader, I approach books in different ways. Some titles I hope will be edifying, such as philosophy and self-help books. Volumes of poetry and studies of a painter’s work may lift my spirit. Sometimes, I read non-fiction as research for my crime novels, delving into forensic medicine, autopsies and poisons.
I tend to base my library requests on book reviews and works praised in author interviews. There’s always the drawback, when reading in my chosen writing genre of Crime, that I’ll be less likely to enjoy the ride than look for ways that it could be improved.
There aren’t many authors whose work blows me away every time, making me thrilled when I see that they’ve got a new book being published, keeping me alert for its UK publication date, so that I can be first in the queue to request it at the library. When I’ve got my hands on it, I’m voracious!
One such author is James Lee Burke, whose 400-500 page novels I usually read in a few days, but then I’ve been a fan of his 22 Dave Robicheaux detective novels since the first title, The Neon Rain was published in 1987. After so long together, I’ve invested in his protagonist’s story arc, even wondering about how he’s getting on from time to time, which proves how real he is to me.
Reading a new Robicheaux story is like meeting up with an old friend—and it’s not always good news—Burke’s protagonist is a deeply flawed man, which he realises himself, and it makes him all the more compelling. I’m currently 50 pages from finishing the latest story New Iberia Blues, already having mournful feelings that I won’t be able to find anything as good to read next.
In the Crime genre, the only other author I know of who portrays such a conflicted hero is Jo Nesbø whose Harry Hole is self-destructive, determined and excruciating to keep company with—which again makes the books unputdownable. There’s definitely an element of “What’s the idiot going to do next?”, that keeps me reading on.
It’s a key element of story-telling, that we care what happens to the main characters. Their story becomes our story—their truth becomes ours—a merging occurs. From the time of the caveman telling tales around a fire to people reading e-books on smartphones and Kindles, the narrator needs to create that empathy.
In historical fiction, I’m transfixed by the dilemmas that C. J. Samson’s Tudor era lawyer Matthew Shardlake faces.
Shardlake is one of the most likeable fictional characters ever created, and one who lives on his wits and cunning in what were incredibly dangerous times politically—with heads rolling off the Royal chopping block—and, where a man could be stabbed to death by the henchman of a courtier as he walks along a darkened street.
What these three protagonists share is that they walk a fine line between normality and oblivion. They all want to make things right in society, but the evil forces they oppose threaten to corrupt and destroy them. They’re living on the edge. As Friedrich Nietzsche warned:
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.
As a reader, I stand alongside them, glad that I’m not them, but eager to know how they’ll survive.
This year, I’ve been writing a short story to keep me sane (ish) while I queried agents and indie publishers. One of the protagonists is an incomer to a village in decline, who’s purchased the rectory which was empty for ten years, during which it was vandalised. It needs restoring, so I went to write:
‘He’d be busy renovating his new home—even if he employed tradesmen.’
I paused, fearing the wrath of sensitivity readers—should I say tradespeople?—which looks clumsy to my eyes. Also, it jars with the dynamic of the story, where males are in positions of influence, and smug with it, unaware that the village really runs on the efforts of a coven of modern–day witches.
Etymologically, the use of man as a suffix came from it meaning person in Old English—there wasn’t a gender differentiation. However, political correctness has seen a few expressions of long-standing being replaced with descriptors that are gender neutral.
Actresses have become actors, police officer describes policeman and policewoman, and there are no longer air stewards and air stewardesses, but rather flight attendants. Surgeon has long been used, with no differentiation based on gender. Firefighter was swiftly adopted and rightly so.
Although some jobs might have gender-neutral titles, like mail carrier, people still commonly say mailman and mailwoman or postman and postwoman without it being seen as sexist. And, sporting activities appear to have escaped being lumped together: sportsman and sportswoman are commonly used, rather than sportsperson.
Other artistic activities have long been described inclusively, such as painter, though one still occasionally sees sculptress and, less commonly,poetess and authoress.
It’s a shame, in a way, that political correctness has led to smoothed-over, catch-all terms that are vague and which imply we’re all the same. Can’t we celebrate the differences anymore, by acknowledging that someone is masterful at what they do with a special word, such as a female pilot who is worthy of being called the delightful-sounding aviatrix—rather than the bland aviator?
How do you handle potentially sexist expressions, terms and job descriptions?
It always helps a protagonist in a novel, if they’re comfortably off. Money is a great aphrodisiac, encouraging intimacy in luxurious surroundings, not to say kinkiness that would be rejected if proposed by a road sweeper!
And if things turn brutal, being able to afford weaponry, the latest technology, vehicles and the wages of disposable soldiers will provide more thrills for the reader than some lone tough guy with iron fists and a chip on his shoulder.
It slows things down if your hero has to work a 9-5 job. Much of Fantasy and Science Fiction storytelling sees the protagonist cushioned by the efforts of serfs or technological support teams.
Even ordinary-looking characters are given social cachet by money. I recently enjoyed James Oswald’s first Detective Inspector Tony McLean novel, Natural Causes, one of a series featuring an Edinburgh copper. Fourteen chapters into the story, he learnt that his recently deceased grandmother has left him a fortune of £5,000,000 in shares and property.
My own Cornish Detective, Detective Chief Inspector Neil Kettle, is a millionaire from the sale of his deceased parents’ farm and a life insurance payout when his wife died in a road traffic accident. He inherited another half-a-million from his father-in-law, (who turned out to be a serial killer), but gave his house away to a charity who operate women’s refuges, using income from the investment portfolio to run the place.
He’s unimpressed by wealth, his own included, as he’s more of a spiritual soul interested in art, music and nature. He’s toyed with the idea of packing in his career to become a painter, something which bothers his boss, the Chief Constable, as he’s a brilliant sleuth. He stays a detective because he relishes the intellectual challenge and resents the loss of order to society that crimes cause.
I’ve written two novellas in a series aboutan American Civil War veteran, who is trying to rebuild his life in the Era of Reconstruction. He’s a self-sufficient fellow, a trained blacksmith, but he’s helped on his journey by having been left funds and horses by a fellow veteran, he assisted in fighting off the KKK, before the man committed suicide. Giving him financial freedom enabled me to keep my protagonist moving, not having to stay static to work a job for money.
Ray Robinson did the same thing with his protagonist in Jawbone Lake, which I’ve just read, in which a software entrepreneur investigates the mysterious death of his father. His company is up for sale for millions, so he’s able to travel at will and help out witnesses damaged by dad’s criminal activity.
I’m not really the type of person to pen letters to an artist of any kind, nor to stand in line to get a copy of a writer’s book signed with a personal dedication. Were I to achieve any success as an author, I suppose I could find myself on the other side of the table.
Nevertheless, I contacted three writers yesterday, all of whom run interesting blogs that I subscribe to. In the last year, I’ve been assessing what works and what’s bloody annoying about blogs. The most irritating, is one that requires me to click through three links to get to the article mentioned in the newsletter—that’s like entering a supermarket through the sliding doors, only to find a vast empty space with a shop assistant directing you to open a door into a corridor, where you meet another shop assistant who points at another door you need to open before seeing the first food items.
There are some blog newsletters I’m always glad to see in my Inbox. I intend to pinch emulate some of their techniques as I resurrect this blog Paul Pens. I’m still rather naïve about blogging, but understand that guest blogging is a good way to network and meet people. I’ve noticed that several well-known writing gurus seemingly started out with a blog/website to promote their novels, but in offering advice about writing they created an income for themselves by offering online or residential retreats.
Building my brand, my Cornish Detective series and me as an author is best done through blogging, and, more importantly for sales, having a mailing list of subscribers. At least that’s what marketing experts reckon is the most effective way of making sales, compared to Facebook, Twitter and paid ads on Amazon.
I’m such a numbskull, that I’d failed to appreciate how lucrative blogging could be. Of course, I knew that revenue could be made from ads down the side of the page, promoting products that are often nothing to do with your books, but I hadn’t put two and two together to realise that blogging could be a viable business.
Anyhow, as an early attempt at networking other bloggers, I responded to three authors who’d put out requests in their latest newsletters. One wanted to know about novels that were neglected treasures, another was happy to take suggestions for articles about Cornwall, while the third was suffering from a cold and wanted home remedies…I told him about my use of garlic.
(I haven’t had a cold for 24 years).
If they respond, we may start a dialogue that leads to guest blogging. Writing is such a solitary occupation, that it’s good to know there’s someone else out there who’s castaway on another desert island chucking bottles into the sea containing messages!
Have any of you written to an author?
Did they reply?
Have you attended a book signing?
If you blog, do you have reciprocal arrangements with other bloggers?
There are a lot of amusing and beguiling collective nouns for creatures, such as a parliament of owls, a murder of crows, a charm of goldfinches, a clowder of cats, a kindle of kittens, a murmuration of starlings, a sloth of bears and an ambush of tigers.
Collective nouns for professions are less common, but they do exist. Should you have a group of butlers, they’d be known as a draught. Jurors are collectively known as a damning, while the rise of portrait painters in the Renaissance, who sometimes painted flattering representations of their wealthy clients, led to them being called a misbelief of painters. Personal relationships have resulted in less than happy collective nouns: a group of husbands is an unhappiness, while wives are an impatience.
After knuckling down to another campaign of querying recently, I found myself wondering about what to call writers, agents, publishers and readers en masse.
* Writers working alone—a loneliness.
* Rejected writers—a frustration.
* Traditionally published authors—a smugness.
* Self-published authors—a hopefulness…or maybe a defiance.
Although I’m not averse to reading positive stories, I’ve definitely got the typical British stoicism running through my veins: don’t complain, make the best of things and keep a stiff upper lip when motivating myself.
The problem with being long-suffering is that it turns into self-indulgent masochism. Keeping my nose to the grindstone might be virtuous, but with my sense of smell destroyed, I can longer appreciate how much my situation stinks! We all need immense amounts of patience to be writers but as George Jackson cautioned:
Patience has its limits. Take it too far and it’s cowardice.
I’m becoming increasingly impatient with the time it takes to interest literary agents in representing me to secure a traditional publishing contract, so am planning a return to self-publishing. To do so effectively means entering the hoopla of blogging, tweeting and posting on social media, which cuts into writing time.
Life is too much “Look at me…me, me, me” these days, with people getting momentary amusement from often meaningless twaddle. In selling myself as an author and marketing my books as commercial products, I hope to pen online content that entices readers prepared to devote time to my stories. I’m unsure how to do so.
I’ve been discussing various aspects of commerce with my best friend, who lives on the South Island of New Zealand. She runs a jewellery importation business, sourcing stock from Turkey and India, selling rings, bracelets and necklaces directly to customers at markets and through online ads. Trade is up and down, sometimes she does well, other times it’s a lot of effort for little profit.
Like me, she’s very determined/stubborn/tenacious, but, unlike me, she believes in a higher power. Not necessarily an all-powerful god, more tapping into a universal force that radiates benevolence when contacted. She does so through intention statements, writing down what it is she wants to achieve. She recently suggested that I do the same for my writing career.
My NZ friend sent me a book that she swears by. Although I’ve read a lot of self-help books, I opened the package with some trepidation.
There’s lots of talk of God, which would normally be a turn-off for me, but my friend advised me to not be put off by that (she’s not religious either), but to think instead of some other beloved deity—like my long-dead cat Pushkin—who ruled my life for a decade. I’ve read half of it so far. wincing a bit, while also thinking “That might work.” It’s well-written, drawing the reader in with lots of teases and hints and “aw shucks” humbleness to make it sound like they don’t know it all.
I’ll let you know what I think of it when I finish. To be honest, I can do with all of the positivity I can get. It’s hard to self-motivate, to carry on believing in me as an author and my books as commercial stories, when there’s no acceptance or real feedback from literary agents. Writing books that aren’t read reminds me of that conundrum about how if a tree falls in a forest, and there’s no one to hear it fall, does it make a noise? Do my books really exist without readers?
Just this morning, I came across a similar self-actualisation technique following a link in a writer’s newsletter to this article about vision letters.
As an experiment, I’ve tried writing out a list of intention statements, just five of them in a document on my desktop. I consult it from time to time—it’s almost like seeing a positive life coach version of me!
An article in today’s Guardian notes that in these troubled times, there’s been a rise in the sale of self-help books.
I recently read Philip Pullman’sLa Belle Sauvage, the first part of a trilogy called The Book Of Dust.
Overall, I enjoyed it, but was a little shocked at the number of swearwords—not because they didn’t fit the boy speaker’s way of expressing himself—more because of the likely age of most readers of the story.
I’m not so naïve that I think children don’t know how to swear, but there is a danger that normalising bad language in fiction will lead to overuse in day-to-day speech. Swearing isn’t always a bad thing, as this article points out.
I’ve only ever written poetry for young readers, none of which had anything ruder than the word ‘bum’ in it. With my crime novels for adult readers, I’m well aware that there should be a lot more swearing in the dialogue, were I going for verisimilitude, as coppers and criminals aren’t known for being genteel. Instead, I have my characters use swearing in times of stress.
Various famous children’s books have included swearing, such as David Almond’s Skellig, which caused his publishers to have a heated debate over his use of the word “bollocks”—they left them in! It could be argued that the use of swear words is age-sensitive when young readers are leaving childhood to become juveniles.
Censorship of anything is contentious, but should young readers’ books carry warning stickers if they contain swearing? Sometimes swearing is a key element in the story. In 2014, Brian Conaghan published When Mr. Dog Bites, which tells the story of a teenager with Tourette’s Syndrome, a condition the author knows well, as he suffers with it. Every swearword appears in the text, but in a realistic way and not done to be sensational.
If you write for children, how do you deal with swearing?
Do you make up swear words if you write Fantasy or Science Fiction?
Thirty rejections into my latest campaign of querying, I’m not feeling dejected at all, more puzzled by the phraseology that agents use in their form letters. I’m in the process of composing lyrics for a blues song from these phrases…things such as:
* ‘I didn’t feel passionately enough to take the novel further.’
* ‘We have evaluated your query and regrettably, your project is not a right fit for our agency.’
* ‘Please do not be disheartened by this reply and do not assume that we saw no merit in your work.‘
The strangest turn of phrase, which sounds vaguely nautical, was: ‘...your synopsis didn’t seem quite right for us. The comparatives you cited make this sound not in our wheelhouse.‘
This rejection alarmed me a bit, as the agency asked me to say where my style of writing fitted within the crime genre. As I’m writing a series, which features lots of characterisation and internal dialogue, with the landscape appearing as one of the characters, I chose Walter Mosley, James Lee Burke and Dennis Lehane, who all do these things. Seemingly, the literary agent doesn’t think much of these giants of crime writing.
Trying to work out what it is agents are looking for, is an act of divination comparable to examining the entrails of a slaughtered animal to work out the future.
Reading agents’ profiles on their agency employers and stalking them on Twitter and Facebook unearths such highfalutin wishes as:
* ‘I love big high concept stuff, psychological/domestic suspense that truly breaks the mould….’
* ‘She likes high concept hooks, books with an international appeal, quirky first-person narratives, historical novels with women at the forefront, and books which make her cry.’
* ‘Your book will be published for a number of reasons: it is a cracking good read, the writing is excellent, the timing for the subject matter is just right and the market is ready for your book.’
So, how do agents predict what will be commercial? And remember, they’re deciding what will sell in six months, at best…if it’s to be properly edited and formatted, given an effective cover and marketed in places that count.
Obviously, big news stories that are on people’s minds will affect which novels get published. It’s not hard to predict there’ll be stories about a mad president, the war against terrorism, border controls, climate change and the Illuminati.
But, how does an agent decide if your Regency Romance or Sci-Fi/Western mashup will be a big seller? Do they check sales figures for similar recently published books? Or, do they look for plots that mirror contemporary news events?
It would be good to know, for, after all, there’s little point in writing stories that are of limited interest (mainly you!): it’s not selling out to write something that’s popular, that achieves word of mouth chatter and which sells thousands of copies.
(I sound like I’m attempting self-hypnosis!)
What I’m describing is a book that’s achieved discoverability, which is the nut to crack for success. What is it about your story that makes it stand out? Increasingly, publishers are looking towards A.I. to predict which book will excite readers—cutting out the middle man—literary agents. This report contains some startling statistics and its assertions about using metadata to monitor readers’ tastes are believable.
If A.I. does take over, I can see literary agents becoming more like book doulas guiding the birth of a book, advising which is the best option to take for publishing it.
This no-nonsense advice about writing, querying, literary agents and being published, from Delilah S. Dawson on Chuck Wendig’s website Terrible Minds is worth a read.
Do you have any idea how literary agents work?
Have you been well-guided by an agent to improve your manuscript?
Or, did an agency hamper you?
Do you feel like you’re being made to jump through unnecessary hoops, and that it would be simpler to self-publish?
Yup, got me covered!