The novel formerly known as The Song

I’m pretty good at changing my mind about things, and now that I’m not hamstrung by any plans to offer my next book to a publisher (short of an absolutely fabulous offer of thousands and thousands of pounds!) I’ve had a lot of ideas about the book formerly known (to me at least) as The Song. I’ve been working madly on it lately, but the signs are that it may well become two novels. I’ve even considered making it a trilogy, mainly because ‘the muse is upon me’, but I’ve decided two books will be best. If the word count is as long as I anticipate then it will be two books, but if not then it will be a single book with two distinct parts.

My decision to self-publish my next novel is exciting and freeing, but I shall miss the pleasure of seeing it in libraries and bookshops. In the case of the latter I’ve seen almost no copies of my other two books in bookshops, but it has been especially heartening to know both my books are in quite a few libraries. If things go well with e-book sales then I’ll look at producing a paperback.

Watch this space for more news of…er…whatever title I finally decide upon!

The joys of cycling

It used to be very much a cycling life for me, and I thought I’d write a blog post about it because of my protagonist in The Dream.

My old bike

The very bike.

I wrote about a character who hated cars and cycled everywhere, and I did so because that used to be me. When I first started work I would walk – it was only about fifteen minutes away – but two years later I bought a bike, and from then on we were inseparable. I loved that bike. I rode it to work every day for fifteen years. Eventually it became so worn out that my dad couldn’t repair it any more and I was forced to buy a new one, but it was never the same. The new one was a mountain bike; it was too big, and it had an uncomfortable seat and handlebars. The cycle to work – by then forty minutes each way – became more of a chore than a pleasure.

The great things about cycling are seeing nature close at hand, being in the fresh air, keeping fit (although that didn’t actually cross my mind much at the time) and just generally feeling free. The less than great things are getting soaked in the rain, fear of falling off in black ice or snow, getting chilly on the iciest of days, being blasted on windy days, having to walk for miles if you have a puncture, and being stuck if ill or injured. As it was, I tended to cycle to work even if I were ill or injured. Many a time I puffed along when my asthma was bad, or strained through the miles when I had a fever. Once I injured a ligament in my arm but didn’t get it looked at even though it was very painful; I couldn’t ride my bike if my arm was in plaster, and I had no alternative means of transport. Another time I fell off my bike and gashed my elbow and then cycled to the hospital to get it patched up.

So when I decided that Ollie in The Dream should be a keen cyclist, it was based on my own experience. Not only that, but a friend of mine who is now almost forty has travelled exactly the same path. Only now has she finally bought a car after years of cycling to work. This might sound strange to American readers, but it’s not so uncommon here in the UK. Like my friend I eventually succumbed to the lure of the car, but I will never come to love cars the way I loved that bike.

A Spell of Snow

My novella, A Spell of Snow, is now up on Kindle. It’s a time travel story with a teenage protagonist but wasn’t written deliberately to be YA and I think it’s really meant for anyone – or at least anyone who likes gentle time travel romance.Cover for A Spell of Snow

A Spell of Snow enabled me to touch on the terrible sadness that was World War One. There are two reasons this period is very poignant to me. One is Vera Brittain’s memoir, Testament of Youth. I identified very much with her when I read it, and the loss of one close friend or relative after the other to that war was painful to read. The other reason is that I have letters from one of my great uncles to his older brother sent just before his death in France in 1916. The first letters tell how keen he is to get out there and ‘do his bit for his country’, then he is finally in France, and then there are no more letters.

Lasting impressions

I’ve been thinking about the books that will stay with me for a lifetime, that have for some reason affected me profoundly and have probably had an influence on my own writing. There are only a few that fit into this category, although I’ve read thousands of great books over the years.

As a child the book I most loved was ‘Round the Clock Stories’ by Enid Blyton. My original copy of this book became so worn from repeated reading that my mum threw it away! I was so horrified by this that when I started work and earned my own money I actually bought myself a copy and read it again. So what was it I liked so much? I think it was just the general fantasy nature of the stories, and the various Otherworlds that Blyton created.

In my teens, I picked up ‘Andra’ by Louise Lawrence from the library and was totally overwhelmed. I loved everything about this story, except maybe the ending, which at the age of fourteen or fifteen was a little too grim and shocking. This book made a huge impression on me because it was one of my first encounters with a dystopian future. It might seem outdated now, as it was influenced by the Cold War and has some ‘spy’ themes, but my main interest was the destroyed Earth, and how Andra could remember it the way it used to be; the way it is for us. It made me appreciate what we have far more. The other aspect of the story that impressed me was Andra’s non-conformity. I very much identified with Andra. It took me years to buy my own copy of this book, and then I had to get it from the US, but it’s now safe on my shelves.

Next comes Mary Stewart’s ‘The Hollow Hills’. I read this series out of order and bought ‘The Crystal Cave’ later, so it’s still ‘The Hollow Hills’ that I think of when it comes to her Arthurian Saga. I fell totally in love with Myrddin Emrys (so much so that I named a character after him in my own first book). I almost wished I could transport myself into the past, I was so caught up in his story. This was my first encounter with the Arthurian legend (other than the TV series ‘Arthur of the Britons’!) and I was a little disappointed when I discovered that there almost certainly never was a Merlin, and most of these things almost certainly never happened.

In the 80s I started attending Star Trek conventions and my new friends kept telling me about a great book series they all loved about the planet Pern and its dragonriders (and indeed Anne McCaffrey herself was a guest at my first ever convention). I’d seen these books in the shops already but dismissed them as they looked too much like total fantasy to me, and I was a fan of SF. Still, I decided to give them a try, and lo, on came the light bulb! I loved the Pern books, and the Doona books, and the Crystal Singer books, and more. If I have to pick out particular favourites I suppose they are The White Dragon, Decision at Doona and The Crystal Singer, but it’s a close one. There’s no doubt that Anne McCaffrey was a big influence on me. I liked her attention to detail, the way she built her worlds.

And last, but by no means least, there’s ‘Mockingbird’ by Walter Tevis. I must have read this book ten times. It comes second only to ‘Andra’ in this regard. Yet, oddly, I can’t put my finger on what it is I love so much about it. Once again it’s about a dystopian future, and a pretty grim one at that, but as with ‘Andra’ there is hope. It’s a satisfying story with a credible robot/android as one of the main characters. Maybe it was that I read this during my ‘android’ phase – when much of what I was writing was about androids – or maybe it’s the variety of SF themes that Tevis explores, but whatever it is, this book may well qualify as my favourite ever.

Of course, that could be subject to change!

Off the treadmill

I’ve learned in the past few days that being constantly attached to the laptop (or desktop) and hence the Internet is a tyranny all of its own.

Unlike many, I don’t have a smartphone or an iPad (although I definitely yearn for one of the latter!), but even so I seem to be umbilically attached to one computer or another for most of the day. This, I’ve decided, has to end. For one, when I’m not writing I am on my personal treadmill, which consists of a round of sites, including Amazon in the UK and the US, Goodreads, Facebook and WordPress, all of which I check obsessively for book-related changes (although in the case of Facebook, also stuff other people might have posted, of course!). I also have my gaze dragged constantly to Twitter, where my fellow writers often inform the world that they have written 10,000 words today and cause me to shrivel in shame at my mere 500 (or whatever it might be).

The Internet has become a time-wasting tyrant. It reminds me constantly of all the great writers that are out there and how tough it all is in the world of writing and how we’re all jostling for readers. It informs me coldly that I am losing this battle for readers every time I look at my null stats on the various Amazons, that I don’t have enough reviews or books shelved when I check out Goodreads, that I don’t get any blog views when I check WordPress. Facebook groups inform me of all the marketing tools I should be using that I have already used (or tried to use, at least) to no effect.

So what could I be doing instead of clicking through this soul-destroying treadmill every day? Proper walking, out in the fresh air; cycling, ditto; gardening (spring is almost here!);  more reading; taking photos; maybe going to the nearby swimming pool. I’m sure there are lots more. I had a computer-free day yesterday and actually cleaned the car. It’s a start!

A few thoughts on promotion

When I imagined becoming a writer, the word ‘promotion’ never entered my mind. As far as I was concerned people wrote books and then I found them in bookshops, heard about them from friends or in magazines or, later, read about them in online forums related to my favourite genres. I did not particularly care about the writer of the book. I read, I enjoyed, I discussed with friends and family, I looked out for more books by that author (or, indeed, on that theme).

This, to me, is how it should be. I write, I’m (lucky to be!) published, people read, I earn money.

This, of course, appears to be a completely false equation. The current equation seems to go: I write, I’m published, I have to faff about on various social media to try and get people interested in something, apparently me, and then by some magic they might eventually deign to read my books, and maybe in ten years’ time I might earn some money.

I’m just not convinced that this is an accurate equation, no matter how many people propound it. I’m traditionally published but by a small publisher, which means little to no promotion. I am therefore in the same boat as the self-published, all of us seemingly rowing frantically for a shore of book sales, our keyboards our oars as we try to create something, anything, besides the actual books we’d prefer to be writing, to pique the interest of our potential readers.

Does this really make sense? How many people can write genuinely fascinating blogs, or pen fabulously witty tweets? I don’t think I’m among them, and I don’t think I’ll be arriving at that nirvana any time soon. I’ve expended many hours on a special blog for my latest book, only to be rewarded with almost no interest and hardly any views. I could have better spent that time on writing.

All I know is what draws me as a reader. It’s not blogs, it’s not tweets, it’s not Facebook pages, and it’s not the author’s great persona. It’s the damn book! The author can be any kind of a ratbag and if he or she writes a good book I’m not going to care. My reading is still almost exclusively based on what I see in a shop or on Amazon based on my genre interests. Is it really just me?