Upgraded

Over on my blog I wrote about feeling restless and several writer friends explained that this was perfectly normal. The lovely Marika Cobbald called it ‘post success stress disorder.” After years of working hard to write books and wanting to sell them, it all happened rather quickly. I signed with my wonderful agent on Valentine’s Day and on St Patrick’s Day I knew that the Dutch wanted A Cornish House. Last week while away on holiday in the Maldives, I knew there were several German publishers in an auction for it and then I heard that Orion wanted me for a two book deal. Suddenly I felt like I had been upgraded from my normal old me to a new me. It was a bit like going from a Fiesta to a Ferrari and instead of bumbling along I was doing zero to sixty in seconds not years or even months.

I have developed a normal rhythm to my writing life. I write one new book a year; normally in the autumn after I submitting to the RNAs New Writers’ Scheme and the rest of the time I’m revisiting and rewriting books that haven’t made the grade. A sort of forward/backward dance while working around the kids, the husband the cats and the flights…

Now I find myself waiting to hear from my editor on changes she would like and oh…the second book looms. I wondered if she would want one that I’ve written already or something completely new??? Should I work perfecting the old? Write fresh synopsises??? Maybe take up a new hobby like putting my head in the sand?

I couldn’t settle…I should be knee deep in revisions in my normal yearly schedule…but I didn’t know what to revise.  I couldn’t focus on anything. This was not good. I was not happy. I like my schedule. I like working – weird I know. Then I decided to start something new…I picked up my Cornish legends book and read until that spark hit…my mood lifted and oh that magic of a new book began.

So restlessness has gone and a new notebook is being filled…characters are forming, research lists growing, devious twists are being debated and a silly grin has returned to my face. Some days I just love being a writer…

Collective Buzz

Like Anna, I usually spend days thinking about my next blog post and polishing it to within an inch of its life, but this week I just haven’t had time. There were two reasons for this, both of them (as it turned out) very enjoyable.

Last Saturday I had my first ever book signing in a book shop, which was very exciting, but also scary. ‘Captain Paranoia’ inside my head kept saying things like “what if no one turns up?” or “what if no one wants to buy your books?” or even “what if they book shop manager has forgotten you’re coming?”. All potentially embarrassing situations. Why do our brains do that to us? It’s cruel and, as I should have known, totally unnecessary.

The book shop was small and not an awful lot of people turned up, but those who did were great and a few even bought my books :). I was doing the signing together with a fellow author, so I wasn’t on my own, looking like Billy-No-Mates. Best of all, the manager was brilliant and enthusiastic and I had a great time chatting to people. It didn’t really matter whether I sold anything or not, it was just good fun being out there, talking to potential readers face to face. Now I can’t wait to do it again!

The second reason why I’m winging it today is that I’ve spent the last three days helping out at the London Book Fair. It was my first time, so I didn’t know what to expect, but it turned out to be really interesting and again, huge fun! I got to talk to so many different people and it was fascinating just to watch everyone going by the stand. I heard there were something like 23,000 people attending over the three days – it’s unbelievable how many people are involved in the publishing industry in one way or another!

The greatest thing about it though was the buzz, a sort of collective love of books that was almost tangible. Everyone there was at least interested in books, if not absolute book lovers passionate about the written word, and you could feel it in the air. The smell of newly printed books, the murmur of voices as deals were made, translation rights sold, and new collaborations agreed. I was soaking it up and came home fired up, wanting to write so I can keep on being a part of it all. It was amazing!

When I thought about it afterwards, it was a bit like when you attend a conference or any gathering of authors and readers. It’s that same communal spirit, because we’re all in it together and we’re bonded by our love of writing (and in our case, romance). Everyone else’s enthusiasm spurs you on and makes you want to go home and write even better books.

So that’s what I’m going to try and do now – is that how you all feel too?

Please come back on Sunday to read what Liz has to say – I think she’s had an even more exciting couple of weeks than I have :)

Just a Perfect Day

Usually, when I blog, I've thought about it for a while beforehand. Then I've drafted it, then I've spent several hours wrestling blogger and cursing photos.

No photos today, no premeditation. I'm in a mellow, thoughtful mood, sitting in my dressing gown with the sun slanting in through the window beside me, and the doves cooing outside. Occasionally, dust on the laptop screen makes me think I've punctuated a sentence when I haven't...

I'm home at the moment recuperating from a not-quite-minor-not-quite-major-operation. (No, it's nothing serious, and yes, I'm fine - really!) I've been home a while, and I'll be home until the 20th this month. This tends to make one rather... introspective. I've been thinking a lot. And I've been wrestling with what I ought to do, what I ought not to do... Then, one day this week, I had a Perfect Day.

The sun was shining. I got out into the garden and did a little light gardening, transforming a weedy patch of plants that didn't survive this last unusually severe winter into a patch of fertile, open ground ready to receive new plants. I sat and read a book for an hour or so. I had a good, healthy lunch. I went for a (short) walk. I sat down and wrote for a couple of hours, 1,000 new words and plenty of edits and ideas. I spent time with Husband and the cats. I cooked. I cleaned. I responded to e-mails and tweets.

And when I went to bed (not too early, not too late) I felt like I'd both achieved things and looked after myself.

So, my Perfect Day needs to contain time outside, gentle exercise, good, healthy food, writing and contact with friends and family. What about yours?

Empty Time

I'm starting a new book, and it's going very slowly. For one thing, I don't really know what it's about yet. Well, that is, I do know what it's about—I have the heroine and the hero, and I've got the premise, and that's all written down in a blurb which I've given my agent and which she's approved. And I know that the theme of the book is knowing yourself and being accepted, about realising that even good people make mistakes, and more specifically it's about a woman who is trying to make up for something she did wrong many years ago.

So I know the big things. But I don't know the little things. I haven't got snatches of dialogue, or a picture in my head of the heroine's home. I don't know most of the characters' names and I'm not really sure what's going to happen on a page-by-page basis.

Discovering these things takes time. I discovered yesterday, for example, that my heroine keeps stashes of chocolate in her house in case her friends come round with a crisis. But that secretly, she comfort-eats it herself when she's alone. The details of her life, and her friends' lives, will emerge as I get the story down into real words, rather than big ideas.

But discovering these things takes more than just writing the real words. It takes lots of staring into space. Walks, and baths, and those five minutes lying in bed while the house is quiet. Empty time. Unfortunately, I've also got a new paperback out which means that every free minute is taken up with promotion, or also obsessively checking Amazon to see if it's selling. My husband isn't working, which is nice because I like seeing him, but is difficult because he assumes that unless I'm typing, I'm free for a conversation about guitars and/or whether we have any cheese. My son's funded nursery hours are stopped for Easter, which is also nice because we get more time together, but I have absolutely zero chance of thinking about anything but him (and Top Gear, and Lego) when he's around.

So I have been cranky. Craving empty time. And not able to appreciate the full time I do have.

Fortunately, next week is my birthday. And as my present, we are going to the seaside for a week. For five days, we'll all be together and I won't be working; it will be pure, guilt-free, family holiday time. And then, on the day after my birthday, my husband and son will go back home and leave me in the cottage on my own, for two days.

Five whole days of full time. And two whole days of empty time.

I can't wait.

How do you snatch your empty, thinking time?

Why a Book is Like a Suitcase

Well, they're both rectangular prisms, I suppose, but it goes deeper than that. I've been packing today for my trip to Los Angeles, and in the course of my folding and rolling and stuffing I realized my books — or at least my first drafts — are like suitcases, really.

Some of the things I'll put in, I won't need. And some of the things that I'll need, I'll forget to put in.

In all my years of travelling (and writing) I have never yet perfected this. I've tried, believe me. I've refined my packing technique so I can usually fit what I need in one carry-on, but even then there will always be one shirt or one pair of pants that I could have left home, just as in every first draft I've written there's always been one scene (at least) simply taking up space.

Which is nothing, of course, when compared to the bother of getting to the end of the first draft and realizing I need to add a whole new scene or subplot (the equivalent of having left my hairdryer at home, instead of packing it).

In my latest book, The Rose Garden, I wrote a lovely scene in which my heroine and one of the past characters sat talking on a hillside on a quiet Sunday morning, and another scene in which she met two ramblers on the coast path. Good scenes, both of them, but totally unnecessary to the plot, and so although I packed them into that first suitcase they were never used.

On the other hand, I found I had forgotten to put something in the middle of the story that was necessary, so I had to add it in.

It seems no matter how I try to learn from past experience, this always happens. Even though I've laid my clothes out carefully and taken half away, the way I've learned to do, I know there will be something that will languish in the suitcase all this week and not get worn. And in my current work-in-progress I know I'm creating scenes that won't be in the final draft.

Maybe one day I'll be able to spot them straight off, and save time. Anybody out there have some tips to offer?

(Come back Thursday, when the lovely Julie will be posting.)

Public Speaking: Facing the Fear

“Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking…” and that is about as far as I have written for a speech I have to give on Saturday. It isn’t a very big speech in the grander scheme of things but it is one in front of the RNA and is to say thank you to Katie Fforde for awarding me her bursary last year. So not long but definitely big in feelings and heartfelt thanks. And I am sitting here with my knees knocking.

Now those who know me know I am not frugal with my words. I am a talker. Some might say I love the sound of my own voice. I get paid to be a radio presenter so it isn’t that I can’t adlib and do off the cuff type stuff. But that is different. Stick me in a social situation and I can fake it. Put me in a sound booth and I’m fine. Stick me in front of a crowd where I can see them… not so good.

I have noticed that being a writer these days also comes along with the ability to do seminars and talks and “speechifying”. All quite terrifying thoughts and enough to sometimes give me second thoughts about wanting to be published. I know that Christina has talked abut it before on here and I was trying to figure out where my fear came from, I know I didn’t have it at school. I think it came during a presentation in my first year at University. I was doing a presentation on medical physics to my tutor group. I had done my research (I had scoured the Wellcome section of the Science Museum) and when the day came I put on my best interview outfit and presented.

There were a few things that I should have thought of… one biggie was that everyone else was in jeans and my beautiful Laura Ashley green skirt and jumper made me look like the posh privately educated girl I was. Also I should have done my research a little better… I managed to get something fundamental regarding prions wrong and I probably shouldn’t have argued the point with my tutor. Other than this I look back and realise it was a damn good presentation but I was eighteen and sensitive to criticism, real or imagined. So when my tutor made the comment ‘that some people had brought a lot of their personality to their presentation’ I didn’t see this as a plus point. In fact I thought I had done it wrong. So for the next decade I was paralysed in presentations. I kept my hands locked behind my back because I thought my usual gesticulating was wrong. I kept my voice even and probably monotone. In other words I got stage fright.

Then one of the companies I worked for put me in for presentation training. What a revelation that was! I turned out that all my natural instincts were correct and I had been supressing them for years!

I’d like to say that I have broken free from my bondage but I still stand in front of a crowd and look at them and feel like that eighteen year old. Ill prepared and out of place. I am still wearing that forest green interview outfit and I can’t quite remember what prions do. 

So on Saturday please think of me as palms sweating I try and tell everyone how much winning the Katie Fforde Bursary has meant to me… I’ll try not to drone on and I promise that there will be nothing about prions in it.

Please come back on Sunday to find out what Susanna has to say

It's All in the Details

I had an epiphany lying in the bath reading Agatha Christie about two weeks ago. This wouldn’t be the first time this has happened reading her. The story was being told by one of Miss Marple’s friends and the details she shares with Miss Marple are such an insight into her character. Now of course I knew this, but sometimes you need to see it done so beautifully that you can spot where your difficulty with a scene lies. I was working on writing a scene that I had avoided in draft one of Penderown. It is an emotionally painful scene and to be honest I avoid them where I can, but that of course cheats the reader.

So here I was lying in the bath reading 4:05 from Paddington when I realized I hadn’t picked the right details out for Demi's state of mind or her personality. Once I saw this it was easier to write the scene. I didn’t have to tell how she was feeling – it was there in the details.

So this is the view from where I’m sitting as I write this…if I were to describe this scene in front of me what would I chose to highlight? If I was Maddie in A Cornish House it would be the bluebell because she is so drawn to the colour but if it was her step-daughter, Serena, it would be the small scented jonquil.

These small spotlights that we choose can actually make writing much easier. Here’s the opening paragraph of A Cornish House…

It was nearly eleven and Maddie had been behind the wheel of the car for over ten hours. She

yawned and forced her eyes open wider. Slowing the car she approached yet another blind

bend. Moonlight silhouetted the twisted trees against the sky. Their tortured shapes rose from

the hedges, forming a tunnel. It seemed to be closing in around them. A shiver went down her

spine. The engine stuttered.

Can you tell Maddie’s state of mind? What she sees is an easy way to show and not tell.

Do you think about the details you chose or are they free flowing? In my rough drafts I don’t consider them at all. It’s only in the revision process that I know my characters better and can see through their eyes.

Please drop by on Thursday to find out what Biddy has on her mind…