Crisis!

Those of you who are waiting for my submission - it’s almost done.

I wanted to read the new version of Into the Snicket several more times to make certain the chapter by chapter synopsis was up to date and accurate. During this process, I made sure that the domestic abuse element did not overshadow the murder. These two elements now drive the plot naturally to the right conclusion rather than make it seem contrived. The subjects I write about don’t suit flowery covers, but the sort with daggers soaked in blood. I have achieved what I set out to achieve. Publishers can’t doubt the genre of this book anymore.

Transforming Into the Snicket from literary/crime (with a dash of romance) into crime/literary (no bullshit) has required a lot of concentration. I’ve worked my arse off, rewriting, rethinking and, at times, re-inventing the rules. Fortunately, my brain has managed to handle the pressure of this rewrite. However it can’t deal with extra burdens. Christmas, for example, has sent my cerebrum into overload, forcing me to compartmentalise and prioritise. I did wonder if Santa could re-schedule it to the 1^st February 2014, but my kids weren’t too chuffed about that idea. So something had to give. Not only has my novel changed, but I have too.

I want publishers to buy Into the Snicket, so I’ve decided not to waste time writing Christmas cards. I’ve adopted a ‘fuck it’ attitude to this tedious task. If anyone should worry that I’ve not sent one this year, they need to understand that this unpublished author has endured numerous trials and she’s not going to let anymore chances pass her by.

I’ve produced a novel that I’m proud to submit. I can’t delay the process any longer. I don’t want it to get into the wrong hands. This is MY work, which has been five years in the making. MY ideas have been drawn from aspects of MY life. It means a lot to me to get this right. Don’t take it personally if you don’t get a Christmas card. My festive spirit might return next year.

Revision, Revision...

After years of submitting work, I should be cruising in the fast lane instead of being stuck on the hard shoulder; waiting for recovery to give me a tow. Into the Snicket required methodical attention. If I was going to give the publishers something they couldn’t refuse, I had to review the beginning, middle and end. 

Into the Snicket was always a realistic account of domestic abuse, but the plot needed to focus on the murder if it was ever going to become a crime novel. There’s no room for fluffy sentiment in this genre, so I’m pleased to report that I’ve done what I set out to achieve. The time has come to get a trustworthy car with a good service history so I can hit the road once again. 

It’s been tough. I seem to have developed a permanent grimace on my face; one that’s not too dissimilar to an elderly woman in excruciating pain. After going through so many ‘trials’ I have come to resemble someone who needs urgent intervention: an enema, a good curry and several bags of prunes. You’d think people would take pity on me. Excuse the pun, but no one seems to give a shit. I might have aged considerably, but I’ve become very wise. I’ve learnt to be patient. I've worked hard to produce a manuscript that will take the fickle publishing world by storm.

 

I’ve been here before, so I’m fastening my seat belt and getting ready for a bumpy ride..... 

 

Time Management

 

Into the Snicket is ready for agent submission. I know what they are expecting: one synopsis, three chapters, chapter outlines and a letter. I presumed that I’d have a theme for this week’s blog, but I’ve not made much progress. Unfortunately, there isn’t an awful lot to report. As you know, I’m a dedicated unpublished author, so it’s not my fault. The blame very clearly lies in the hands of Guy Fawkes. Quite simply, the gunpowder plot couldn’t have come at a worse time for me, just after Halloween and a few weeks before Christmas.

 

Thankfully, Halloween is over, but I’m still finding wispy bits of decorative cobwebs, clinging onto plants, over architraves, under staircases and sofas like sheep’s wool on barbed wire. I had to leave all the authentic cobwebs in place just to get on with the synopsis. However, I’m not making headway with the rest of the submission requirements. Five days post Halloween party and four days after my very bad hangover, I came across a half eaten apple from a bobbing game. I can’t even remember this ever taking place. The same goes for my involvement in the dressing up chocolate game. All that chocolate was probably the cause of my iffy tummy as I can’t recall drinking that much wine....Suffice to say, I’ve not been able to dispose of the green jelly that is still blobbing about in our fridge - taking up permanent residence on the top shelf with gelatine insect-sweets creepy crawly-ing out of its innards.

 

I’d managed to write the main synopsis, but Bonfire night was looming. I needed to check the sell-by-date on the black treacle and set to work making Parkin. The kids were given a gingerbread men baking kit thinking this wouldn’t require adult supervision. They did a good job really. I shouldn’t panic so much. They only spilled a bit of flour, onto sticky golden syrup dollops, which somehow spread all over the work surface, floor, kitchen cupboards - indeed - the whole house. And, why did I have to worry so much about them eating most of the raisins when they'd already come up with the ingenious idea of making aliens instead. Creatures from outer space need only one eye and no buttons – problem solved!

 

It is November 6^th.  Finally, I’ve got time to do the submission. Or maybe, I should get the Christmas preparations out of the way? Why couldn’t Guy Fawkes have done all his plotting around June/July, after Easter and before the summer holiday? That would have spread out the festivities and given me a break.....

 

Mixed Genre Puzzles

It’s a difficult task writing a crime/thriller in first person, especially when the protagonist isn’t the victim, murderer, witness or part of the investigative team. You could argue that the writer who attempts this is rather stupid. To me, it was a puzzle that needed to be solved.

 

I’ve had to think long and hard about which novel to take forward for submission. It would have been easier to concentrate on Ghost Towns, because the issues from the first draft have been resolved and it’s ready to move onto the next stage. However, I felt compelled to review my first person, crime/thriller novel. Into the Snicket deserved another chance. In its original form it received agency representation and was sent to publishing houses, which is no mean feat. Eight out of sixteen publishers responded, but the consensus was that it lacked the pace required for a crime/thriller genre. It required an overhaul and this would take time, but I couldn’t shelf a project which had got this far.

 

This task necessitated a certain amount of determination, but I have all the right attributes. When I couldn’t fathom out how to complete more than one side of a Rubik’s cube, I wasn’t one of those cheats who peeled off the stickers to glue them back into the right place. Neither did I dismantle it, piecing together the same coloured squares - taking the easy way out. Instead, I made a resolution to keep clicking at that bloody cube until it was done without the aid of adhesive or a geeky friend. Forty years later, I’m still working at it. I’ll win in the end, but unpublished writers don’t have time for trivial games. I’ve had bigger fish to fry, namely, the mixed genre puzzle, which blighted Into the Snicket.

 

The matter was finally resolved. It was simple really. So bloody simple, I don’t know why I didn’t do these things in the first place! To create pace, I’ve built up the tension in the first ten chapters. Also, I deleted characters that were getting in the way of crucial elements - such as the murder, the body and the murderer’s identity. However, I knew that it lacked a certain something else.

 

I couldn’t pinpoint the problem until I attended an Off  The Shelf event in Sheffield. Here, Mark Billingham said that crime writers don’t stick cuddly kittens into their books and if they did they’d kill them! How true! His endearing words made me even more of a fan. Then he spoke about the importance of dialogue and I realised that this was the missing link. I should have told him that he’s my hero. Instead, I was star struck, unable to speak, stuttering and blushing unable to explain that his advice has saved my book. Into the Snicket was resuscitated with dialogue. The additional voices allow more perspective: a bigger picture, which enables the reader to take part in the investigation - ticking the crime/thriller box.

 

It was important that my protagonist’s vulnerable voice doesn’t grate or bore. This isn’t a cute book - it’s about domestic violence for goodness sake. So I took MB’s advice and added more dialogue, planting subtle clues within conversation. This enabled me to delete the clunky murderer’s voice, which had originally made an appearance after every fifth chapter. Now, the murderer’s viewpoint is in the prologue only – serving as a device to show that there has been a murder.

 

Into the Snicket is ready for agent submission. I know what they are expecting: a synopsis, three chapters, chapter outlines and a letter. Something tells me that I've got a theme for the next blog.....

 

Confusion

Continuing on the same theme as my last blog, I will try to demonstrate the daily trials of an unpublished writer using the self-builder as an allegory. It is no secret that I have amassed a portfolio of unfinished projects and need to focus on successfully completing one. Therefore, I’ve returned to an old property with intentions to spruce it up for re-sale.

 

The revised plans are kept under lock and key in my study, which for the purpose of this allegory will be referred to as an on-site caravan. There are days when I sit within those flimsy four walls, frozen to the bone, wondering if my work will ever manifest into the stuff of dreams. I often wonder why I’m putting myself through such stress - up to my knees in rubble and mud, with nothing to show for my labours; except the bags under my eyes. I’m slightly overwhelmed by the task ahead - losing sleep – worrying that my grand design might not even pass the building regs.

 

The self-builder can assess their profit margin, whereas the unpublished author has no way of knowing the value of their work-in-progress. When and if they get published, they’re expected to work for free while promoting their book. Quite rightly, Philip Hensher has recently refused to write an introduction to an academic’s book for free. In the light of this news, many authors have expressed similar frustrations, which is understandable considering they have already spent many hours working for nothing in order to get a book published in the first place.

 

An unpublished author is required to master their craft by attending workshops and creative writing classes. Then they will need to copper up more money to pitch their work at conferences and festivals. It is also highly advisable to enter numerous competitions, which all require entry fees – of course. And, if the bank has not already stopped their Mastercard, they will be compelled to increase their debts by buying other people’s books to check out the competition. In fact, the unpublished author will build up a vast collection of literature including a ton of guide books and manuals that claim to know the secret of slush pile avoidance. All this expense will be accumulated before they’ve even got around to sending their first three chapters to literary agents. Inevitably, once the unpublished author reaches this stage they must be prepared to suffer the heartbreak of rejection - followed by more rejection - over - and over again. All this sorrow will inevitably come at a cost, not only to the mental health of that person, but also, a small fortune will be frittered away on printing ink, stamps, brown envelopes and SAE’s for receipt of bad news. If the unpaid/unpublished author is fortunate enough to get a contract with an agent, they will have to embark on the daunting task of attracting an editor. This whole process from idea to final publisher submission can take years. I’ve notched up a total of five years and haven’t had a sniff of an advance.

 

Therefore, I return to my cold caravan to wade through paperwork. I will weigh up the costs that have been incurred against income that may never come my way. I’m growing weary, sinking into unstable ground – subsiding at a rate of knots - in urgent need of some serious underpinning and nerves of steel.

Confidence low. Scaffolding in place.

I have spent the summer holidays cabbying kids around, clearing their mess, breaking up fights, packing suitcases, putting up tents and taking them down again. I've fended off flies on camp sites and suffered sleepless nights in sparse motels situated directly below flight paths or overlooking the M1.  

 

Thank goodness I’ve got the house to myself. Now I can indulge in a little ‘me-time’. Well, actually, there’s no time for any of that nonsense, not when ‘Ghost Towns’ is far from being complete and in need of representation.

 

It shouldn’t take long to sort out the first draft. The hard work has been done. I’m not daunted by the fact that I am working on this project alone. I am the writer, after all. I know exactly what needs to be done. The unpublished author has to stay focused. We are used to a bit of confidence bashing. It happens all the time.

 

I'm well on the way to completing my second book, which is commendable, I suppose. I’ve dug the foundations and laid every sodding brick. The scaffolding has been removed, piece by piece. All I have to do is add a few final finishing touches, which isn't difficult. I’ll soon brighten the place up with a lick of paint, flooring and fabrics - nothing that I haven’t done before.

 

When I stand back to admire my creation, I’ll feel like an unkempt self-builder who has been ‘roughing it’ in an on-site caravan for the past year. However, he’ll be able to sell his work for twice as much as it cost to make the damn thing. The unpublished author has no way of judging their valuation until an offer comes their way.  

    

Rejection!

In this industry you have to develop a thick skin. Don't let your guard down. Never trust anyone. Remember that saying, 'As tough as old boots'.....

Let's consider one old boot in particular. It has been thrown away onto a wet slush pile with seams torn apart - a worn out 'soul'. If I add the fact that it's got leathery skin, which is flopping all over the place, perhaps I've given you a clue as to how I'm feeling right now? Yes folks - I am that discarded boot!

In my attempt to focus on a specific genre, I've unwittingly taken a different path to both agents who were involved with my first novel. The time has come to look for representation again. Yet another trial for the unpublished author and one that is apparently all too familiar in this business.

In one of my recent tweets, I asked if I could borrow Jane Harris' crampons after she had confronted her 'story book mountain'. She's in no need for them any more, but I'm clinging onto that mountain, teetering over the edge, dangerously close to a slippery slope. Enough of the metaphors. Cut the crap! I need a crime/thriller agent. Will somebody save me?

Undeterred, I continue to work on the second novel with more determination than ever. I've added more twists and turns to the first draft and deleted waffle (admittedly, there was a lot). This one categorically fits into a specific genre, so I'm leaving base camp to trawl through the final editing stage. Onwards and upwards with crampons at the ready. Wish this old boot a bit of luck....