Bottle

So I finished the “re-write” of my novel earlier this week and found myself on the crest of a wave of excitement and anticipation. It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Feedback from the few who have received advance copies has been good and my wife who, believe me, would tell me in no uncertain terms if it was crap, has given it a big thumbs up.

I’m ready, I thought.

For the next step.

Acquiring an agent.

I did an initial search on-line. And straightaway found the wave dropping away from me like the start of a tsunami and disappearing down the nearest drain.

Without exception their web sites are cold, clinical, unwelcoming places full of corporate speak and self advertising. Finding one single link to the submissions page is a labour of Hercules. They keep that particular doorway well hidden. Almost as if they don’t really want people to find it.

Plus finding an agent who (a) is accepting unsolicited work and (b) taking work of the genre that best fits what I have written is another labour entirely. I managed to bookmark a few but they have another list of hoops for the potential author to leap through. Everything must be just so or they won’t even look at your work.

One even demanded a CV.

A CV?! This is my first novel! Aside from a bit of poetry and a short story I’ve not been published before!

I tried the old trick of picking a few successful authors and searching for their agents. What a waste of time that was. J.K. Rowling’s agent is not taking any new work at the moment. They’re inundated. Possibly because of the success of J.K. Will Self’s agent had a very cold pop-up window which virtually said thank you but no thank you if we haven’t already heard of you. Other writers who decorate the spines on my bookshelf are either American or Japanese. I’ve nothing against acquiring an overseas agent but they do tend to take a higher percentage of any earnings – 20% and above. Rather steep.

The end result of all this wall-banging was that it totally shrivelled up by burgeoning little author’s ego and sapped me of all confidence. It made me lose my bottle and I went back to checking my emails instead.

I’ve come back round since then. Karen has bought me a couple of advice books for writers and the Writer’s Yearbook is always a hardy reference manual on my bookshelf. I shall read the relevant sections, gird my loins and pitch myself into the Rejection Game once more. I’d got hardened to it when I was writing poetry. I daresay I shall harden up again.

Bottle is all well and good. But bulletproof glass is the thing required...

The Great Work Is Finished

2 years, eight months.

303 pages.

231,558 words (though this is apt to change).

My novel is finally finished.

I typed the last words last night and then let my fingers hover over the keyboard for a few moments, savouring the slightly shocking sound of silence.

I can’t quite believe it. I’ve lived with this story and the characters for such a long time it now feels weird to be without them. But there is nowhere left for them to go. Nothing more for them to say. Their day is done.

And it feels good. This is the biggest writing project I’ve ever undertaken. I started a novel once before in my twenties but it petered out half way through and that failure was always a source of chagrin. It’s nice to have exorcized that particular ghost and proved to myself that I can see a narrative through to the very end.

But of course this isn’t the end. This is merely the beginning of the end. I now have to contend with the rewrites, the read throughs, the asking other people to read it and eventually the submission process. Writing the first draft was the easy part.

And so this is a heads-up to all my dear blog readers. Sometime over the next few months, I’m not sure quite when, I shall be asking for volunteers to read the damned thing. I’m not expecting reams of technical feedback or in-depth analysis, just a simple “yes I liked it” or a “no, it was crap” will do (though any technical stuff would be appreciated).

I’m not going to post it on-line for download but anyone who is foolhardy interested can email me and I will gladly email them a copy. I’m not expecting to be inundated with requests but I figure that at the very least a couple of you might be bored enough to want to read it. Go on, I’m letting you in on the ground floor of the next big thing here...

As a thank you I will ensure that you get a glittering mention on the acknowledgments page... (there, I’m sure that’s clinched it for you).

In the meantime, big spender that I am, I’m going to treat myself to a chocolate bar. A Boost Duo. I think I’ve earnt it.

My Dreams Of Academia Are Over

Last week saw the beginning of the end of my life at University.

My final lecture was sat through. My final seminar was participated in.

I also completed my final essay – getting it finished a mere 6 days after the title choices were published (unlike my fellow students – the younglings – who will no doubt complete theirs a mere 6 hours before the final deadline).

I’ve waded through a reading list of 18 books this year and all have been codified and footnoted to within an inch of repetitive strain injury.

All that remains is a couple of revision seminars after Easter and my final exam sometime in May / June and then I’m done.

Although I’ve enjoyed taking this part-time degree, after 10 years of juggling study with full time work and full time life I’ve had enough. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was feeling until I’d completed the essay and gradually woke up to the fact that I was effectively free. The sense of relief was amazing. The reality of being able to read what I want again for sheer pleasure is not to be underestimated. It’s wonderful and I’ve dived straight into some Philip K. Dick (Ubik) as an antidote to all the University texts that are swimming around in my head.

Don’t get me wrong, I will miss University. For all I’ve moaned about the other students – the non mature ones – it’s been interesting to hear what they have to say and how they view the world. It’s also been interesting to note how I’ve changed in how I interact with them. I started off feeling more like them than the other mature students I originally started with but now, here at the end, I truly feel a generation away from them. I’ve got older. And got older in my thinking. I’m not sure whether that scares me or not.

What I shall miss most of all though are the dreams.

I used to dream about school once in a while as a matter of course anyway. But while I’ve been back in the academic world my dreams about school have increased both in number and regularity.

And they’ve been great. I’ve never had a bad dream about school – even the obligatory “late for exam” dreams which I get but rarely have never been that bad. There’s always something fun about my school dreams (not sure why as I never found school particularly fun when I was actually there). But then there’s an added element to my school dreams... Somehow they have become inseparably fused with the world of Harry Potter.

No matter whether I am at Junior school, Secondary school, college or University, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are regular colleagues. It’s bizarre. Yes I am a fan of the films and I’ve read the novels but it’s weird how and why this crossover has occurred.

Evidently the world of Harry Potter resonates deeply with my subconscious.

Possibly that says that even in curmudgeonly adulthood I still retain a childish need for escapism, and fantasy. I don’t at all see that as a bad thing.

But thank God I grew out of reading the Famous Five and Mallory Towers back when I was 9... at least Harry Potter has some adult themes! I’m not sure I could cope with having regular dreams about "midnight feasts" and friends who say "Golly gosh" all the time.

I much prefer "Expelliarmus" and chocolate frogs...

On The HP

The definition of a good book: you don’t want it ever to end but you’re unable to stop yourself racing through at breakneck speed to the final page...

I completed Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows over the weekend and I feel quite bereft now that it’s all over.

It sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? It’s just a kid’s book for Christ’s sake! And years ago I was one of those people who steered myself away from the HP books with an avidity that now seems ridiculous. There’s too much hype, I thought. Too much hysteria. Too many people rave about it therefore the books can’t possibly be any good.

That kind of thing.

Then I got into the movies.

I confess, I love them. They get better and better and I’m already excited about the new one that is currently in production. I’m a HP movie devotee.

But even up until the last film – The Order Of The Phoenix – I still refused to read the books. In fact on this here very blog I proudly pronounced that I would not read the books until the film franchise was fully completed.

What rot!

Once I spied the books on Amazon – the complete 7 in a nice embossed boxed set – I had to own them. And once I owned them... well. What’s the point of having books sitting around the house and not reading them?

So a number of weeks ago I pitched in with the first and kept at it until the final page of the final book...

And it’s been great. It’s been wonderful. Yes, they’re kid’s books but they’re not just kid’s books. They work on many different levels. I’m amazed at how deeply I was sucked into them. How intense the journey has been. Maybe I need to get out more but a series of books hasn’t gripped me like this since I was a teenager. I gave myself willingly to the entire HP world and was happy to lose myself there.

My respect for J.K. Rowling is immense. Speaking as someone who is three quarters of their way through their first novel I take my hat off to someone who can plot 7 so deftly and so completely and still keep the reader hanging on until the very end. It might not be Shakespeare. It might not be Rushdie. It might not be the stuff of a lot of “worthier”, more intellectual writers but you know what? I don’t care. There’s a lot to be said for a good story written so well that you actually wish it were real. For characters that you become emotionally attached to.

Harry Potter for kids? Pah! Why should kids get all the good stuff? It’s too good for ‘em I say.

For those of you who are still cynically resisting the lure of HP... give it a go. You will be surprised. For those of you who are already in the know. Well, just say hi and smile.

As for what I do now... well, I need to start prepping for my final Uni module next academic year. Vikram Seth’s “A Suitable Boy” is next on my reading list. Karen tells me it is excellent.

And I’m sure it is.

But my heart is still at Hogwarts...

Book Me, Danno

No, not a reference to the 1970’s Hawaiian cop show of dubious brilliance but to a delightful book themed meme that has been passed onto me by the glorious Gina at Reluctant Blogger.

In order to appease the meme gods I have to:

1. List three books I’ve always meant to read, but have never got around to reading.
2. Share the two books that changed my life.
3. Recommend the one book I’ve been talking about since the very first day that I read it.

So here goes:

Three books I’ve always meant to read but have never got round to reading.

1) Rookwood by Harrison Ainsworth – the story of Dick Turpin’s legendary ride to York on Black Bess. And I have utterly no excuse for not reading this having managed to locate and purchase a nice hardback copy of it last year. It’s sitting on my bookshelf regarding me with a reproachful eye. In my defence I’ve been up to the gizzard in University reading for the last few years so my opportunities to read for pleasure are few.

2) Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh – despite my many literary leanings there are huge gaps in my reading and Evelyn Waugh is one of them. However, I’m hoping to add this particular novel to my list of “books read” pretty soon as Karen and I have just watched the entire series (Jeremy Irons / Anthony Andrews) on DVD. I’d never seen it before - though Karen had beloved memories of it from when it was first broadcast – so it was something of a revelation to me. I absolutely loved it and I’m amazed at how much it’s impinged on my psyche. Wonderfully, gently tragic, wistful and gritty all at the same time. I absolutely must read the book now. I bloody must.

3) 1984 by George Orwell – seminal work, blah blah blah, major influence, cough cough cough, essential reading, etc etc etc. I just feel that I ought to read this book before I die (perhaps that’s why I’m leaving it to the last minute?) and again I have no excuse as we have a copy knocking about the house. If it’s any consolation I’ve read The Road To Wigan Pier...

The two books that have changed my life.

1) The Vintner’s Luck by Elizabeth Knox – Not sure if it’s changed my life but it is certainly one of my most favourite novels. It’s a beautiful story without being at all mawkish. One night a French vintner, drunk on wine literally stumbles upon a statue of an angel in his vineyard... but the angel catches him and promises to return on the same night for every year of the vintner’s life to see how he is. Words like gorgeous and sumptuous are bubbling up in my mouth but none do this novel justice. It moved me greatly and I never want to be without a copy.

2) Anything by Angela Carter – and by anything I mean anything as opposed to “Anything”. I first discovered Angela Carter in my early twenties and her work blew my mind wide open. Her style of writing, I’ll admit, doesn’t suit everybody – it’s dense and deliberately wordy – but I love it. Her stories are heavily crafted fairy tales that are ripped apart, the truth in them dusted off and shaken out and then stuffed back inside the barely cooling carcass before electric shock treatment brings it all back to life again. Immensely satisfying and frequently shocking, both magical and dirtily earthy the energy in her novels is impossible to pin down. Films such as The Company of Wolves and The Magic Toyshop all owe their existence to Angela Carter. I have a book shelf full of her entire output.

Recommend the one book I’ve been talking about since the very first day that I read it.

This is a toughie and I don’t think I could limit it to one book. The Vintner’s Luck I would recommend to anybody. Likewise The Shadow Of The Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon and The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. All wonderful, beautiful novels that will totally immerse you in lives that seem much bigger than your own. But recommending books is like recommending holidays... it rarely works. One man’s beer is another man’s poison or something. It’s just important to find your own special book. A book that speaks to you is a very, very precious thing indeed.

Hufflepuff

Having escaped the many tags that are currently doing the rounds at the moment I have been hit firmly between the eyes with this one by Matthew Rudd over at Does That Make Sense:

Basically you take the book you are currently reading, turn to page 123, skip the first three lines and then – for reasons darkly mystic and unknowable – reproduce the next five on your blog.

As I am currently reading Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban my response to this meme is thus:

Hermione shuddered.
All around them, people were asking each other the same question: "How did he get in?"
"Maybe he knows how to Apparate," said a Ravenclaw a few feet away. "Just appear out of thin air, you know."
"Disguised himself, probably," said a Hufflepuff fifth-year.

Yes, rather typically, I get hit with this meme not when I’m wading through some mighty academic tome or some work of startlingly confrontational politics but when I’m taking a reading sabbatical and am immersing myself in something fun and easy.

Thank God I didn’t get hit last week when I was struggling with Spot The Dog. I don’t think it even has a page 123...

Tris, Gina, I'm tagging you to continue the meme!