All posts in category Writing as a commodity

Jim Crace at Foyles

IMG00769-20130219-1931There is endless fascination in listening to writers talk about writing and their personal approach to it.

Every one is different; for each who extols the necessity of ‘writing what you know’, there are ten who insist that you must make stuff up, and for the ten who insist on years of research before setting pen to paper, there’s one who insists that you should just make stuff up.  There are the planners, setting out the skeleton of each chapter before writing anything, and then there are those who collect bits of pieces of writing together in files before they can work out what story it is they’re telling.  There are gushers and miniaturists, hand writers and iPad-ers.  For whatever aspect of character and approach you can find, it is also possible to find the polar opposite.

Maybe I’m just looking for reassurance that my own rather haphazard approach is as valid as any other.

Jim Crace (JC) is a writer whose work I admire, and as I have just read his new novel ‘Harvest‘, when a friend told me that he would be speaking at Foyles bookshop, I booked a place straight away.

He is a speaker to whom is very easy to listen, and was thought provoking in his analysis  of his own writing style.  He explained that while he might have tried to write according to what others might regard as a better way, he always returned to his own voice, which he described as the writing voice I have been given.  This voice is rhythmic, moralistic and serious, but not autobiographical .

JC suggested that his happy life is antithetical to the production of fiction inspired by the ‘use what you know’ principal, as fiction doesn’t like happiness, long contended marriages and well adjusted children.  Readers want to experience drama through fiction rather than experience it in life.

An attempt at a novel inspired by autobiography was abandoned, on the advice of his agent, after 30,000 words.  A couple of days after taking the decision to stop writing, despondent, he and his wife took a journey from their home in Birmingham to an art exhibition in London.  On the train, near Watford Gap, a generally unprepossessing space between two tiny hillocks, run through by a motorway, railway lines, home to a service station the butt of many jokes, and two rivers, one of which flows to the sea on the east coast and the other to the west, he noticed the ridge and furrow patterns in the surrounding fields.

It was that pattern in the landscape which started him thinking about the centuries of agricultural activity in England; that one of the important things about the country is that it has been occupied for so many years that there are layers of human habitation and history everywhere.  It is not possible to walk anywhere where no-one has walked before you; and that we are surrounded by the signs of history if we care to notice them; it’s all drenched in narrative.

At the watercolour exhibition the picture which jumped out at him was one of a bird’s eye view of field enclosures. This, together with his ‘Watford Gap Moment’, started him thinking about land clearances and the people affected; and that even if he wrote something ‘historical’ it could still have contemporary relevance as there have always been, and still are, people being turned off land.

He quoted Hilary Mantel’s ‘rule’ that in historical fiction if you are going to include a fact, then you must ensure that it is correct.  JC said he didn’t adhere to that tenet.  For him, facts create constraints on narrative imagination – the less you know, the more you can imagine.

The questions from the audience after he had read from Harvest, focussed on his stated intent that this would be his last novel.  Some people were worried about how he would express his creativity without fiction to write(!).  He assured us that he still has plans to write some natural history books, (which, with his love for making things up may not be entirely based on science), and that, after many years of sitting alone in his work room in his garage, he has other creative plans outside….and there’s always the possibility that he will change his mind and find the right ‘autobiographical’ book to write.

So, here’s to a Watford Gap Moment for us all today.

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by rowena on February 25, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on February 25, 2013

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Lots of Little Bits and Pieces

IMG_2938I’ve spent the last couple of days going through all the scenes I have written for my new writing project.  I’ve characters and, forgive me for the cliché, the concept of the piece, but I’ve yet to find the over arching narrative.  It’s all just bits and pieces, some are possibly chapter length, but many are short sketches.

For a while I’d been thinking of it as the beginning of a patchwork quilt, an off-cut here, a few stitches there, cutting up a couple of old garments that have worn through and saving the usable bits, and matching them up with other little scraps from the back of the cupboard.

It’s all displacement activity, but my motivating metaphor for today is that of the mosaic, tiny bits of coloured stone all arranged meticulously to create complex patterns; in the days when this floor was being made, there would have been piles of tesserae, some wet concrete and people on their hands and knees, slowly, inch by inch creating an orderly pattern out of the mess.  That.  That’s the stage I’m at, I just don’t quite have the diagrammatic map yet.

IMG_2940

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by rowena on February 9, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on February 9, 2013

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The Bottom of the Pile

IMG00718-20130111-1137What do these two books have in common?  I’d almost forgotten I had them, but now I’ve rediscovered them, they have made me feel a little guilty because these are but a couple of the books that I have started, but never finished reading.

It’s not really apparent from the photo but both volumes are water damaged – they were at the bottom of the piles of books on the floor by my bed and were the badly affected when I had a water problem in the flat.  In a way, these are the sacrificial ones, by soaking up so much they protected the stacks above them; so even though there were 20 or so piled up handy for bedtime reading, only these two were damaged.

But the fact remains, I’ve never finished them.  Now that they have resurfaced, should I attempt to read them again?  Can I even read the water damaged pages, some of which are a little stuck together; or should I replace them and try again?  They have a war theme in common, but I’m fairly sure I bought them several years apart.

I bought Stalingrad because I had talked, or rather, encouraged my Russian teacher to talk about, the siege of the city in the Second World War, as it was his home town and he had family stories to tell.  It’s a dramatic story, but somehow I couldn’t stick with the book.

The Kindly Ones originally published in France, was a celebrated there as a literary phenomenon, and a number of my French colleagues recommended it to me.  I didn’t feel up to reading it in French, but when I saw it had been translated I bought it fairly quickly, and I tried really quite hard to persevere, but abandoned it after about 100 pages, which as you can see didn’t make much of an impression on the whole thing.

I’ll let you know if I do go back to them…..

So, what books have you never managed to finish, worthy or otherwise?

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by rowena on January 11, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on January 11, 2013

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‘Hawthorne & Child’ by Keith Ridgway – A Review

I got this book on the basis of a recommendation from Isabel Costello and her literary sofa, and after hearing the author read some extracts at an event a couple of weeks ago.  He read very well, in a beautifully mellifluous tone which accentuated both the pathos and humour in an extract about one character’s obsession with the death  of a racing driver and the evil of Tony Blair, and I wanted to know more.

So, what of the whole book?  Hawthorne and Child are a couple of police detectives apparently straight out of the central casting mould of buddy cops, different from each other, but complimentary, who’ve worked together so long, they know all of each others foibles.  We first meet them as they embark on the investigation of a random early morning drive by shooting in a street in north London.  A standard opening chapter for any detective novel, a murder, the preliminary gathering together of the obvious clues.  But that is the only thing about this book which resembles standard detective fiction.

We never return to this murder, as each subsequent chapter focusses on a different set of protagonists; sometimes Hawthorne and Child are central, sometimes peripheral.  It feels like a loosely connected collection of short stories, as there is no central narrative thrust which runs through the book.

Maybe it’s about the impossibility of always being able to know a complete narrative of anything in real life, and of turning on its head the expectation that a novel will present a coherent story arc, and the mystery of other people and their stories; or maybe it’s challenging us to try to make sense of the unrelated fragments, making us aware of our need to make up or complete partial stories.  Or maybe it’s all taking place in Child’s imagination.  I’m not sure, and I suspect that is at least part of the point.

The writing is very clever and beautifully done, with wonderful phrasing and rhythm which worked so well at the reading, and it is this which kept me going towards finishing the book.  The sense of place, of the peripheral areas of north London is also recognisable and fully realised; but I couldn’t help but feel a bit let down at the end when the book simply stopped.

The main gift it gave me was to make me think about what I find satisfying in a book; yes, it’s about language inventiveness, vocabulary and rhythm; and yes, it’s about place and rounded characterisation, but I also want narrative tension, because without that itch to know what will happen next, it is far too easy to put the book to one side and to read something else instead.  As with any collection of stories, I don’t think it would matter what order you read the chapters in Hawthorne & Child, as one does not follow on from the other; it’s just that together they build up a picture of time and place.

I might be imagining it, but is there a mini trend at the moment for books of loosely connected stories to be published as novels?  I’m thinking of  Girl Reading by Katie Ward, which I enjoyed, and A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan and The Slap by Christos Tsiolkos, neither of which I managed to finish.  Could this be because the commercial market for short fiction is so weak?  What do you think?

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by rowena on December 19, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on December 19, 2012

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Conversation as Currency

There is an anecdote in Richard Ellman’s biography of Oscar Wilde which has been in my mind a fair bit recently; at least, I think that’s where I remember it from.  and even if the story isn’t true, or I have not recalled it correctly, it still has a peculiar and compelling relevance.

Graham Greene recalled meeting Oscar Wilde in Paris when Greene was a very young man and Wilde was near broken and in exile after his release from prison.  They spent a congenial time together in a café bar, and Greene was gratified, but very surprised, at how Wilde entertaining was, that such an eminent man would be so gracious and engaging in conversation with young strangers; until he realised that Wilde was paying for the drinks Greene bought him in conversation, the only currency at his disposal.

A fair exchange.

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by rowena on December 15, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Writing and life, Writing as a commodity
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Posted by rowena on December 15, 2012

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Reading or Studying?

I often listen to Radio 4′s A Good Read on a Friday night as I’m getting ready for bed, and so sometimes, I admit, I fall asleep before it’s got quite to the end.  But last week I heard it all the way through, more alert than usual perhaps because of a comment made by one of the contributors which set me wondering.

The format of the programme is very simple.  Two guests are invited to recommend a paperback book as ‘a good read’ and, together with the host, who has also nominated a book, they come together and discuss them.  Generally, as with so many discussions, the most interesting programmes are the one during which the contributors disagree.  Where one person fails to see the charms of the others all time favourite volume from childhood, or where another admits to not being able to finish something because they hated it so much.

Last week had some elements of that when opinions differed on Anne Enright’s The Gathering, and The Box of Delights by John Masefield. But it was the work that united them that generated the most thought provoking comment, which each of them repeated in their own way.

TS Eliot’s Four Quartets was selected by historian Ruth Richardson.  It is unusual in itself for a book of poetry to feature on the programme, which mostly focusses on fiction, with a dash of history and popular science, so it was not unexpected that this would be a point of note.  Ruth Richardson explained why she loved the poetry, picking out lines that meant something particular to her, or which had struck a chord with her on different times.  She also confessed that although she didn’t understand it all, she loved it none the less.

I’ve never studied it, she said at one point, rather defensively, as if failure to have ‘studied’ it might disqualify her from liking it.  Later, when giving her reaction to reading it, Harriet Gilbert, the host, also said that while she had read the book many years ago, she too had not studied it.

And I wondered what they meant.  Are there things that have to be studied rather than just read? Is reading a lesser activity than studying?  Which novels that you love might you have to qualify your enjoyment of by admitting a failure of study?

Is it about understanding every inter textual/mythological/ historical/ philosophical/ biographical reference contained in the text, or enjoying the rhythm and richness of the words; rather like understanding all the allegorical references in the bits and pieces around the edges of a Renaissance painting without actually looking at the rich colours or the sweep of the drapery?

Or does study imply that you have both read the thing itself, and read what other people have had to say about it?  My first thought was the idea of studying something at school or university, where the act of being taught it, revising it, and writing an essay about it, drained most things of any kind of excitement or enjoyment.

Are there any novels that you’ve enjoyed but which, if you were to recommend them, you feel you’d have to confess that you’d never studied?  I’ve certainly never done so, therefore for one day only, I’m going to give it a go…. looking back through the 19th century canon……

I read War and Peace (*)when I was a teenager, and loved it.  I don’t think I understood all the philosophy bits because I’ve never studied it, but it’s a great story.

* Insert as appropriate

Anna Karenina

Madame Bovary

Crime and Punishment

Cousin Bette

Tale of Two Cities

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by rowena on December 3, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on December 3, 2012

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‘The Writer in the Digital Age’ – The Writer’s View

I wrote yesterday about my observations of a discussion on the proliferation of independent publishers hosted by TLC at the Free Word Centre last week, from my perspective as a reader.  Today I thought I’d reflect a little on what  I learnt from a writers point of view.

I think there are many, like me, who continue to strive to achieve publication by the ‘traditional’ route.  I’d like to engage an agent to sell my novel to a mainstream publisher.  I’d like to receive an advance (no matter how modest) and I’d like to be able to walk into a book shop on a High Street in a town I’ve never visited before and see my beautifully printed novel on the shelves.  I’d like to know that people I’ve never met have read it and connected with it in some way, and that they could appreciate it as a piece of work into which I had poured a great deal of time and effort.  If they wanted to buy it in digital form, that would be OK too, but deep down, it wouldn’t give me the same visceral thrill.

Even as I type this, I know it’s a romantic dream from a time that is nearly over; and I know the likelihood is that I will have to compromise on some, if not all, of it.

Many of you may be thinking  just get on with it.  It’s so easy to publish it yourself.  But I hesitate at that advice.  I’ve worked very hard to write it, and invested a great deal of time and effort in it, and so I want it to go out into the world as well dressed and as well presented as I can possibly achieve.  No matter how much I believe in it, it will still need copy editing, proof reading, and then, when it is finally ready to go, it will need the engine of publicity to make sure that it doesn’t disappear amongst the piles of other books being pumped out into the world.

Listening to the discussion last week about the growth of small independent publishers in the UK, confirmed to me that, while the business models are changing, broadly the same steps in the process of publishing a quality novel remain.  What is changing is the allocation of the risks and rewards.

Under the ‘traditional’ model, broadly, the agent handled all the business affairs, negotiated contracts and advances and royalty rates.  The publisher invested in the author, buying the rights to the book, having it edited and proofed, and then printed and marketed.

In the new world of Independents and Self Publishing all of those elements, the contracts, the money, editing and publicity are still all there, it’s just much more likely that it is the writer who will have to bear most of the upfront costs, hopefully, in return for a greater share of the sales revenue.  But without an agent, or any business savvy, the scope for losing out has increased exponentially.

It is in this environment that people are trying to form their own networks of skilled practitioners, of freelance editors and designers, to work directly with writers.  Byte the Book, which was represented at the talk, is one such example, running networking events for people interested in the new publishing universe.

But at the end of the day it’s a business, and if you want to succeed you have to adopt appropriate business strategies, which, you’ve guessed it, include working out what is the right way to brand yourself in the market…….. I’m just going to have to rid myself of that mental image of a lassoed calf squealing as the smoking branding iron is applied to its rump.

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by rowena on November 28, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on November 28, 2012

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‘The Writer in the Digital Age’ – The Reader’s View

How can we negotiate our way, as both readers and writers, through the world of books and literature in this era of great change?  As greater consolidation is underway amid the traditional publishing houses,  small independent houses pop up every day, and direct digital self publishing becomes easier and more accessible, choice and selection can be confusing, and so it was an opportune time to attend a discussion on the subject hosted by TLC at the Free Word Centre.

I am both a reader and a writer, so I am interested in how to negotiate the new environment in both capacities.  How can I find interesting new things to read, and how can I get my own work out into the market place in the most effective way?

How do we choose what to read?  Understanding how that choice is made, can inform how I might choose to publish my own work.

With all the changes in the publishing environment, browsing in a book shop today, I can have the feeling that I’m seeing only a fraction of what is available in the market; but, equally, I don’t particularly enjoy looking through listings on internet book sites, as I feel over faced by all the stuff that’s there, and don’t know how to gauge the quality of what it is I’m looking at.  I know that there are books out there that have been carefully crafted, edited and cared for, but also there are even more that have not.  How can I tell the difference?

Before this recent period of upheaval we used to rely on mainstream publishers to make the broad selections for us, to essentially curate a collection from which we could choose our preferences.  For the moment, it is not clear who has replaced them in their curating role, but it seems inevitable that from the chaotic multiplicity of the current marketplace, that some new ‘ taste-makers’ will have to emerge.  They might be book bloggers, book groups or other collectives and networks.

The idea of brand is as prevalent in the book business as it is in bottled water,  But which is the relevant brand now?  Is it the writer or the publisher?  Many readers make their choice on what to buy by reference to the writer; I certainly did in my early reading years, and have the complete works of Graham Greene, Iris Murdoch and F Scott Fitzgerald in their 1970/80s paperback livery to prove it.  Others rely on the reputation of the publisher,; that was probably me too as I loved the line of Penguin orange spines arranged on the shelves in my bedroom, because I was confident in relying on most of the choices they has made for the compilation of their lists.

Some small publishers, today are tapping into that pleasure for book lovers of having a beautiful row of co-ordinated volumes on their shelves, or like And Other Stories  are inviting readers to subscribe a financial contribution to the publication of future books, hoping that their reputation for making excellent choices will create a group of followers/’stakeholders; the short listing of Deborah Levy’s Swimming Home for the Man Booker prize will only enhance their reputation.

Talking of the Man Booker, it is interesting to note that this year the judges short listed three books published by small independent houses. Were they trying to make a point?  Are there more interesting things being published outside the major houses?  And if they are, why is that?

How can the average reader find all these gems without the help of some sort of filter?  The big trick then is to find the right filter for you.

Tomorrow I’ll write about the discussion points I found interesting from the writer’s point of view.

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by rowena on November 27, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on November 27, 2012

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The Vicarious Artist

By the end of Saturday I knew how he felt

Following on from my day helping with ‘The Build‘ of my friend Gillian’s area at The Other Art Show last week, on Saturday I went for a proper look around all the exhibitors, and then after a short break, went back, took my coat off and helped out, talking to people who paused to look more closely at Gillian’s pieces.  As I’d spent Friday with my own stumbling efforts at drawing class, I felt like I’d looked at the art market through an oddly intense prism over the three day period.

I think there are things I learnt that I have some relevance to my own efforts in the writing market, about finding your own place and presenting yourself in a coherent manner.  There are clear parallels with what was discussed at a writing forum I also attended last week, and about which I will write in another post.

First there’s the creation side; choosing your subject, the manner in which you want to explore it, and then executing it to the very best of your ability so that you communicate to the person looking at it.

With large pieces of visual art the sheer effort of transporting them to the places where people will be able to see them is enormous; wrapping them up so they don’t get damaged, carrying them yourself, in the rain, up and down steps, making sure they’re hanging straight on walls that slope.  Sending out a few Word documents pales in comparison.

And then there’s the pain and nerves of showing your creation to the world, trying to stay true to your own endeavour while hoping that it has some commercial viability, and having to accept that not everyone who sees it will like it, and, perhaps more frustratingly, that not everyone who likes it will buy it.

I’m not a natural extrovert, so when Gillian asked me if I could help her out with the stand on Saturday afternoon, while I was very happy to agree, there was a little niggling doubt sitting right on my shoulder about how I would do; how I would manage to start a conversation with a stranger about ‘art’.

On my tour of the show as a ‘normal’ visitor, I practised by having little chats with a couple of people about the work they had on display, and nothing terrible happened(!), but I could see that it’s as delicate and tricky a business as finding a helpful shop assistant, one who leaves you alone when you just want to have a quiet browse, but is there straight away when you want to find the right size.

Once I’d overcome my nerves at being left in charge while Gillian took a much needed walk around the block to get some fresh air away from the stuffy exhibition hall, I developed my own technique.  When someone paused to look more closely at the work I waited until an opportune moment to get eye contact, and then, my opening line was usually

‘Can I tell you something about the work? I’m not the artist; my friend has just gone for some air and she’ll be back soon.’

Most people then asked questions about some or all of the pieces on display.  As I know some of the thought process behind the capturing of small otherwise insignificant moments, or the juxtaposition of unexpected objects or people, I could keep a conversation going for a reasonable time.  As soon as someone who looked like they knew a thing or two about art asked me about the techniques used to produce this or that effect, I had to confess  my ignorance, other than knowing that the correct answer to is it meant to be backwards/shiny/that colour/like that….. is always a definite ‘yes’.

I wish I’d been successful in making a sale, but it wasn’t to be.  The experience did, however, make me think about how carefully we have to position ourselves as creative people in the market place……..

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by rowena on November 26, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on November 26, 2012

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‘Is Crime the new Literary Fiction?’

Earlier this week I went to a panel discussion burdened with the question, Is Crime the new Literary Fiction?  The panel comprised Lee Childs, Sophie Hannah, John Banville (as his crime writing alter ego Benjamin Black) and Peter James.  The chairman was not Mark Lawson as advertised, but someone else, who assumed we must know who he is; unfortunately I don’t.

I wanted to go to hear the discussion because I like reading crime fiction, and also because I enjoy hearing crime fiction writers  getting bent out of shape and aggravated about the arbitrary distinctions drawn in the world of fiction between literary and genre.  I should confess straight away, however, that I have never read any books by any of the writers on the stage, even though I would describe myself as a major consumer of the genre.  Having listened to the discussion, it’s fair to say that none of them persuaded me that I should be reading their work.

I find it an interesting conclusion to have reached, as usually listening to writers makes me want to read their work,  but it has been useful and has crystallised some of my understanding of what I enjoy in the crime genre.

The quality question was dealt with fairly quickly, with consensus that not all crime fiction is first rate, and that some ‘literary’ output is fine, and that perhaps it is most useful to think of genre as an aid to identify the tribe of people who like particular types of books (cue a bitchy remark by Lee Childs about ‘the 64 year old English man who thinks the most interesting people he’s ever met were with him at prep school’ genre created by Julian Barnes.)

In a crime series, the writers suggested that it is the main character which is important; they expect their readers to remember the characterisation of the hero detective, while few will recall the plot once the book is finished.  The plot is needed, but only as the engine to illuminate character.  With this I am in total agreement,  where I differ is on a very strong opinion expressed by Lee Childs that he hates the idea of his protagonist going on any sort of ‘journey’.  He is determined that there should be no learning curve or development of the character of his hero, who learns nothing, and never changes, as he knows everything he will ever know or need to know, already.

While I too dislike the current obsession with characters’ journeys because it seems to be an unnecessarily rigid orthodoxy, if I think about the crime fiction series that I enjoy, a key element of them is the development of the hero, usually getting older and more world weary and cynical; I’m thinking of Ian Rankin’s Rebus books or James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheau series.

There was a difference of opinion in the discussion about how outlandish or realistic the scenario in crime fiction might be, and if the writers have a political agenda.  The only thing that was in common was a dislike of authority figures, although no-one had any particular sympathy for the little guy.

My preferred crime writers tend to deal in contemporary issues and a tangible sense of place and time; Ian Rankin in present day Edinburgh, and James Lee Burke in Louisiana.  Where there are chaotic and confusing times, these writers seek to make sense of it by using the conventions and order of the crime genre, while providing something much more than just a puzzle.

It was interesting to hear that none of the writers on the panel have a clear and fixed idea of the outcome of their novels at the time when they first start writing them. This affords them a sense of discovery and enough interest to keep them writing; and writing quickly with a lot of impetus and momentum is key to writing an exciting novel, it seems.  There’s a lesson there for us all.

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by rowena on November 15, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by rowena on November 15, 2012

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