Counting my blessings

It's Mother's Day and my eight year old woke me at 7am with the declaration, 'It's seven o'clock!' Possibly this is what her teacher refers to as her 'concise approach to factual information' which, we are told, probably means she's going to be good at science.

I am giving thanks for the return of my writing vibe. I managed to get down 2,000 words of an entirely new novel on Friday, being the second book in the planned crime series. I've settled on a format that means I can relax and enjoy the process, which is vital at this stage. Thanks also to my support network of writers (you know who you are) who enthuse, inspire, assist and generally lend power to my writing arm when I need it most. A special mention to the wonderful crew at Fiction Workhouse under the tireless stewardship of Vanessa Gebbie, who is never less than generous with her time and talent.

Finally, a sigh of grateful relief for the change of novel I am reading. I have put aside When will there by Good News? by Kate Atkinson (too chick-litty for me, I'm afraid) and taken up the far more robust and rewarding Strangers on a Train by Patricia Highsmith, whose description of a character's smile 'staggering back' to his face made me grin hugely.

Prick of the Spindle

The new issue of Prick of the Spindle is up and I'm proud to be a part of it with my flash, Flood Plain. This was a difficult piece for me to write because my village was one of those affected by recent flooding. I subbed the piece and then withdrew it. I sat and looked at it, wondering what to do about it. I put it in a dump file, but I kept thinking about it, seeing the original image around which the whole piece was constructed. I knew it was subtle in terms of character and tension, that it would miss the mark with some readers for that reason. In the end I sent it back out, to a venue I've never appeared in before. And they liked it enough to publish it without requesting alterations. I'm glad. It speaks to a specific moment and a mood, and deserves to stand on that alone, at least I hope so. The artwork is from the same issue, by Aydasara Ortega.

March

According to Thalassa Cruso, 'March is a month of considerable frustration.' I'll say it is. The sun's out and it's warm behind glass but try sitting out in it for any length of time without getting whipped by the wind or freezing your feet off. March also seems to be a terrible month for receiving rejections, especially from writing contests entered in the blithe optimism of the autumn. One after another they've been blowing in. I feel battered. My writing has slowed to a crawl. I am surrounded by beautiful notebooks bought in the spirit of the new year's resolution that I would fill them. Each is empty, pristine, reproachful. I am still coming upright from the latest novel rejection, lacking the energy or optimism to begin all over again. What began as a mild reluctance has developed into a stubborn avoidance. I need to spring-clean my mental condition, shake myself down and get started. So I am drawing this line in the sand by way of a reminder: it's Spring! The perfect time for fresh starts.

Wigleaf

The editors at Wigleaf emailed to say that a flash of mine, The Rocket Laundry, was 'a big favourite' from their recent submissions and they want to publish it, probably in August. This is a new venue for me, and one that's regarded highly by writers I admire, so I'm happy to have made the grade. The story was first written as part of a flash challenge at the Fiction Workhouse last year, since when I've redrafted it using the useful feedback from my fellow Workhousers.

The story is one of several I'm working on based in or around the internment camp where my grandparents and mother were held during prisoner during the war. So it's a story close to my heart. I'm glad it will be published in a weighty venue.

London Eye

My writing buddy, Gay Degani, has a new story up at Every Day Fiction today. It's a haunting tale about The London Eye that pulses with atmosphere and paranoia (two of my favourite things in fiction). Do check it out. It's short, sharp and packs a hell of a punch.

Proof positive

Here's a thing. You've got a complete manuscript of a novel. You're hiking it around the bazaars. It's double-spaced on A4 pages, according to the rules for subbing to agents and publishers. You've looked at it onscreen for months, maybe years. You've printed it off and read it through and through. If you're anything like me, by this point you're losing all perspective on it as a book. It's become A Manuscript. You can't read it quickly because you can't hold it in your hands like a published novel. You can't get comfy with it, crease the spine, fit it to the shape of your palm the way you do with a printed book. It's a tome of a thing, takes forever to print off, doesn't look anything like anyone's favourite book. You're starting to wonder if it ever will. Well, wait.

What if I was to tell you that for ten pounds you could turn your Word document into a paperback book, printed in trade size on decent-ish paper, perfect-bound, private to you? That you need only spend about forty minutes uploading the document, tweaking the cover text (adding pictures if you want) and paying online. That within five days you would be holding the book - a BOOK not a manuscript - in your hands, shaped to your hands, readable on the train or the bath or in bed. And that the ten pounds includes postage.

This could just be the best ten pounds I ever spent. Already I feel differently about the story, the characters, the impact, the marketability of the book. And I've not even started reading it yet.

The ten pounds was spent at Lulu, for those who haven't guessed already. Probably cheaper than the cost of printing the manuscript out again on A4 paper. And a whole lot more satisfying. I intend to proof all my stuff this way from now on. Don't be put off by the "self-publishing" tag at the website. This isn't publishing, it's proofing. You can keep the book private, it isn't for sale on their site, just for you to be able to read it like a book instead of a ream of paper. Try it and see.

Kellerman and son

I've just finished reading The Brutal Art by Jesse Kellerman, a crime novel about an art dealer in New York uncovering a century old secret. I enjoyed it, although the first quarter was by far the best. It got a little muddled in the middle and the ending was delivered in a series of short denouements that fell a bit flat after the early promise. The Brutal Art is on the Richard and Judy bookclub list, so I guess it's got a high profile over here. Higher, perhaps, than his father's crime books. I first read Jonathan Kellerman a couple of years ago, and have enjoyed watching the incremental improvements in his novels as each new one is published. Rage, which I read recently, was a great book. Clever, layered, full of character-driven plot twists. Not a wasted word in there, and the pace was maintained throughout. Jesse is following in some big shoes, and kudos to him for striding out on his own. His mother, Faye, is also a crime writer, but I've not read any of her books. (The opening chapters to one were published at the back of Rage, and I didn't like her style nearly as much as his.)

A crime novel about the dark world of art - what an excellent idea! Publishers (and agents) please take note.