Editing wisdom

Thanks to Nathan for linking to this great post on editing. I'm sticking it up here for ease of retrieval next time The Novel gets some TLC.

The Deadline Approaches

Why is it that the less time I have left the more work comes in? Three and a half weeks and counting... and I haven't had a chance to touch my novel in months.

Meanwhile the broadcast of 'Only Four Girls' has been postponed due to rescheduling at RTE. It should be on soon though I hope.

Interim Report

I've been feeling gloomy about my literary opus for some time. The agent who asked for the whole MS (having already read 3 chapters) finally turned it down after six months. This happened around last April.

The agent said that mysteries by new writers were not *not* NOT selling to publishers. I must admit I was extremely discouraged. But recently I'm feeling more optimistic because I came across this blog post.

At the moment I'm being paid actual cash to do some IT-related work. I'm hoping I'll get that finished on time to send out a revised version of my first three chapters to a batch of agents.

What's the deadline, you ask?

Childbirth, probably some time in late October.
`

Query Letter

My Details

Date

Ms x, Submissions Editor
Some Agents
A street
London POSTCODE

Dear Ms. x,

I'm looking for a literary agent, and I'd like to submit my crime novel for your consideration.

Cynthia is a light-hearted software developer working in the City of London. She doesn't believe in mixing work and romance – until she meets her obnoxious boss's dashing step-son Harold. Unfortunately, said obnoxious boss is murdered just as things are hotting up. Cynthia was fifteen feet away at the time, concentrating on a particularly tricky program. She knows who she'd be arresting if she were in charge of the case.

Feeling like a techie Bridget Jones plunged smack into the middle of an Agatha Christie, Cynthia decides to track down the killer before she's hauled off in a Black Maria. Her friendly co-workers James and Liz volunteer to help with fingerprints and back-watching. Cynthia trawls through her boss's emails and interviews a succession of eccentric colleagues. Absolutely everyone seems to have a motive.

Meanwhile, Harold is flatteringly persistent. Flirting madly over dinner, Cynthia wonders if this is a romance? Or is he just sussing out what she's up to?

Cynthia's enterprise arouses the ire of the enigmatic Superintendent in charge of the case. She can handle that. But then she attracts the murderer's attention.

Stiletto in Old Street is my first novel, complete at 75,000 words. It's aimed at the contemporary crime fiction market. All of the characters are fictional, but I have experienced Cynthia's setting at first hand; until recently I worked as a senior software developer in Old Street.

I have not included an SAE because I am currently based in Ireland. If you would like to see the manuscript, please let me know by email. My email address is above. Thank you for your attention.

Yours Sincerely,





Ita Ryan

Why First-Time Writers are Old

Nathan Bransford's Friday blog post pointed to a very interesting article at Whatever about why first novelists are usually in their thirties.

John Scalzi wrote his first novel at 28, and was published for the first time (with his second novel) at 35.

Encouraging.

Out into the Big Bad World

I've just revised a short story which failed - somehow - to win the competition I wrote it for, and sent it out into the world again. This time I've submitted it to a magazine.

I've another story under consideration elsewhere.

That's it; I'm not querying my novel at the moment pending extensive rework.

It's a good feeling sending a story out. I'm not writing at the moment, but I still have a couple of little representatives flying around. You never know what might happen.

Tips from the movies

Here are five lessons writers should (apparently) learn from the movies.

Ah, now I see where I've been going wrong. Although I always describe my explosions graphically, I haven't included a soundtrack and rarely use slo-mo effects.

Polish, shine, perfect

Nathan Bransford's blog post on Thursday Stepping up your Game hit the nail on the head. Only one agent so far has asked to see my entire MS. Here's a quote from her eventual rejection:

"The market is extremely tight at the moment, and crime fiction in particular is proving difficult to place."

Encouraging, no? No.

But everyone in the business is saying the same thing. Did you think it was hard to be published? Well now it's a whole lot harder! There are only two sensible responses:

1) Polish, shine, perfect.

2) Give up.

Back to page one.

Just before Christmas '07, I went out for drinks with friends I rarely see. I'd been writing for about 6 weeks. I told them I was writing a murder mystery, proudly boasting that I'd written 12,000 words already. I hadn't got to the murder yet though, I added.

"You've written 12,000 words of a murder mystery with no murder?" said one of them. "That doesn't exactly sound riveting!"

With friends like that...

However others were A LOT more encouraging, so I kept writing instead of topping myself.


I stopped submitting to agents a month or so ago. I decided that the novel was just not ready, and I could be harming its chances by sending it out. There were a number of issues churning at the back of my mind, not ready to be verbalised.

The intervening month has clarified one of them for me:

The first 12,000 words of my murder mystery have no murder. Maybe that is insufficiently riveting.


So when I embark on the next round of edits, the murder will be moving from page 58 to page 1. Current pages 1-57 will appear around pg. 4 or 5 and 9 or 10, interspersed with current events.

I'm not over-fond of books that are structured like this. If Agatha can spend 30 pages (admittedly, rarely 57 pages) setting the scene, I tend to think, who are we to introduce time disconnects and where-did-it-all-go-wrong flashbacks?

There is, however, a difference. When you pick up an Agatha Christie you're along for the ride. You know you'll be entertained. You let Agatha take you there how she will. When you pick up one of my books there will be slightly more uncertainty - at least until you've read some of my stuff already.

No poetry

Adorno famously said "There is no poetry after Auschwitz".

That's how I feel after the release of the report of the Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse in Ireland.

The findings are being discussed all over the country this week. My usual concerns seem inexpressibly trivial in the light of what these children went through.

The report is honest and detailed and its authors deserve praise. But it's too late. Most of the victims are long dead.

Back back back!

I'm just back from a holiday on a remote Croatian island with no public internet access. Hi!

While we were away, the winner of the Francis MacManus award was announced. You can read the details here.

The winning story was broadcast on May 10th. It should be available here. Click on the link for May 10th 2009.

I haven't tried to listen yet because the requisite silence is not available in my house. If the link turns out to be faulty I'll update this post.

Not only the winner, but twenty other stories to listen to! I can't wait!

Cut!

Read Holt Uncensored on ten common writing mistakes and how to avoid them. A lot of articles of this nature are interchangeable, but I love this one. It picks up on the overuse of filler words. I think of them as verbal tics. They're pervasive in real life and can make dialog more realistic. But here's what Holt has to say:

"Actually, totally, absolutely, completely, continually, constantly, continuously, literally, really, unfortunately, ironically, incredibly, hopefully, finally - these and others are words that promise emphasis, but too often they do the reverse. They suck the meaning out of every sentence."

Writing short stories for competitions concentrates the mind because there's usually a word limit. I tend to write the story first, then have to cut a few hundred words to make the limit.

This is incredibly good for my writing.

The cuts happen in several iterations. First time through I remove the obvious dross. Then I think the story's perfect. But I still have to lose 200 words.

I run through a few more times, becoming more ruthless but wincing with each cut. Whole sentences are culled. I become convinced that the story is losing its character.

I take a break. When I come back I'm amazed at how much more effective the pared-down story is. I might still have to eliminate twenty-odd words. Make it forty to be on the safe side. But the few remaining dispensable words tend to leap out on the last run.


Two of the stories I've put through this process benefitted enormously. Sparse prose rules! The third story was just too long for the word limit. It retained its sense after the cuts, but I felt it lost some of its humour. I will probably reinstate much of it before I send it out into the world again.


Cutting ruthlessly throughout my novel would make it so much better. But there are over 300 pages. It'll be no joke. Of course, I discarded some of the dross on previous read-throughs. But while reading Holt's article I did word searches... and an appalling amount of this stuff remains, begging to be hunted down and killed.


I appear to be especially fond of the word 'really'. Really, it's everywhere. It's really scary actually.

Still smiling

Yesterday a friend read my story 'Only Four Girls' to her parents. When she told me, I was so worried. She said they loved it. But what if they found it boring or silly or amateurish and she was too polite to say?

Gradually overnight it has sunk in - hang on, it's going to be read to the whole country! On radio! And that was decided by total strangers! So it couldn't be too bad.

How cool is that?

Happy Days

In a recent post on consistency I mentioned a short story I wrote for a competition.

Yesterday I discovered that the story has been short-listed - for the Francis MacManus memorial award! This means that it will be broadcast on Ireland's state radio station RTE 1.

The winners haven't been announced yet, but I don't think I'll be one of them. But a broadcast of one of my stories! Yay! A link to it should be forthcoming in a few months' time.

And now I have a first line for my "writer's CV". It'll still be only one line long...but that's a big improvement.

Read this story

I read a very good short story this morning over on ElectricSpec.

It's one of those slow burners. It's been on my mind on and off all day. I read another story in the same issue - I won't say which one - and it was totally forgettable.

What was it about The Girl Door that compelled me not just to finish it but also to think about it? It'd be interesting to know if it has the same effect on others.

Hobgoblin of little minds: essential quality for a mystery writer

Back when I last re-read my novel, I said I'd address read-through concerns in future blog entries.

My one-year-old (hi Den Den), Website work and other concerns intervened. But now I'm coming back to this topic, and today I'm going to talk about consistency.

For ages I was extremely complacent and didn't see consistency as an issue. I assumed that all the details of my story were neatly tabulated in my mind. It never occurred to me that they had grown dim behind a mist of frequent edits and plot changes.

Then I wrote a ten-page short story and sent it to my sister for feedback. She's the ideal reviewer; sympathetic, speedy, scrupulous and not afraid to criticise.

She replied with a number of questions, amongst which was: "I thought the mother was dating Mr. Collins. Who's the Mr. Davis on page 9?"

Mr Collins only appears on page 7 of the story. You would think that I could keep his name consistent for four pages. But no; the poor man's name changed half-way through his subplot. This rendered the story unsatisfying verging on incomprehensible.

And I'd thought it was perfect! I was JUST about to send it off to a competition when I ran it past my sister for safety. Thank goodness! (I still don't know if I won anything btw).


I was horribly shaken by this experience. If I couldn't even keep Mr. Collins-Davis on the straight and narrow for four pages, what were the chances for my 300-plus-page novel?

On examination, I discovered that:

- Dashing Harold's mother's name was Julia the first time we met her but Laura thereafter.
- Cynthia's desk at the office, located in the basement in the morning, was magically elevated to the third floor by afternoon.
- The murder weapon was hanging on a wall; 'high up' on page 47 but 'fairly low down' by page 160.
- Cynthia's co-workers thought their boss had died of a heart-attack on Tuesday, but were clued in to all the gory murder details by Wednesday.

(Actually that last is not so unlikely. Most offices are a hotbed of gossip and Airwolfe (my fictional company) is definitely no exception.)

A murder mystery riddled with inconsistent detail is bad news. Mystery readers deduce while reading; for example:

'ok the dagger is high-up, and we heard earlier that Liz is very short so she wouldn't be able to reach it, so she's not the killer'.

Then later on they're told that the dagger was low down. Furthermore Liz appears to have grown by six inches.

Definitely not good.

Agent for a day

Have a look at this 'Agent For a Day' competition over at Nathan Bransford's blog. A fun exercise for the aspiring writer.

I expect to be humbled by the experience of participating. Wouldn't be hard, says you.

Reviewers, or When to Stick your Fingers in your Ears.

As mentioned previously, I've been lucky enough to get feedback from a number of friends and family. Everyone makes an effort to think of something positive to say; probably because I tell them to. Nearly everyone then adds some constructive criticism.

I've found I have three responses to criticism:

1) Wow, I think I knew that myself but I hadn't verbalised it yet. Thanks - I'm off to do some rewriting!

2) Really? You think? [Do some rereading]...you're right. I can't believe I never saw that. I'm off to do some rewriting!

3) Don't agree. Reread some. Think. Still don't agree.


The response that gives me trouble is number three, because, you see, how can I be sure that I'm right? Maybe my reader has identified a profound truth about my book, but I'm just too stupid/stubborn/defensive to see it.

So how can I be sure? I don't know, but as always there's advice out there.

My font of all critiquing wisdom, Louisa Burton, tells would-be reviewers: "To properly critique a story, you must invest in that writer's vision of the story, not try to filter it through your own sensibility, to remake it into what it would be if you had written it."

In her must-read article Re-work And Edit, Barbara Trapido offers this advice to the would-be author:

"In my experience, misguided suggestions will jar with my own instincts, while valid, sensitive suggestions have a way of pointing to failings that I really knew about all the time, only I hadn't quite managed to bring them to the front of my mind. So toughen up about criticism and take all the ego-bruising. Some of it is helpful. And sometimes you'll be getting praise. Don't blow like a reed in the wind over every suggested change. It's your book. It's your project. Walk tall."

In my own experience, there are some things about the novel that I know, because I'm the author. To give a simple example: I know it's a mystery, so anyone telling me to remove the murder is just plain wrong. There are other aspects of the book's pace and tone that I'm fairly sure about. If a reviewer is telling me to change one of those, I know they just don't get that element of the book. This helps me to evaluate any of their other suggestions that feel wrong to me.

Then I send them a flame email.

Only joking.

Incidentally, I suspect that rejected criticisms lurk just under the consciousness. I probably act on them much later, and don't even realise I'm doing it.

Blogging lessons learned

I've now been blogging for...um...six weeks and I'm going to share something with you: blogging is time-consuming.

A post a day is ridiculously impractical. I'm going to settle for a few a week. One a week, anyway.

I've seen many authors comment that blogging eats into writing time. This has to be true. If you write professionally - or even as a hobby - you're not going to post your blog entry until you've done some editing, run grammar and spell checks, and done some more editing. Maybe you'll reword a few sentences, do a little ruthless deleting, perhaps edit again.

Hey, that's your book you could be working on! I imagine that a blog comes into its own as a procrastinatory tool as an author's deadline approaches.

Here's what I've learned from the blogging experience so far:

1) Blogging takes time.
2) Never say in one post what you're going to talk about in the next one. You're bound to forget.

Oh, and blogging is fun.

Story-telling

When I began my novel I hadn't read anything about writing. I just got on with it. But it wasn't very long (an hour or two) before I found myself thinking about the art of story-telling.

"Ok," I thought, "here's my heroine stuck in the office for a typical boring day. I want her to hang out with all the main characters and establish their motives before the murder happens. But this is supposed to be a suspense story. What's going to keep the reader interested?

Enter Harold; dashing, enigmatic and handsome. "That'll keep them going for a minute or two," I thought. Harold was a natural, and soon became my heroine's love interest and a possible villain.

I was actually wary of reading writing guides at first in case my inspiration would be tainted (bless). I was right in the sense that any distraction is bad news when you're doing a brain dump. But when the first flurry of activity was over, I turned eagerly to the how-tos. I was delighted (and stunned) to see that my instincts hadn't led me astray. The main theme of every text out there is how to hook the reader and keep them turning the pages. Don't, for example, wait until page 30 to start your story. (Ok my murder happens somewhere around there, but that's not germane to this blog entry).

My favourite how-to so far, incidentally, is "Don't Murder Your Mystery". I recommend it even if you're not writing crime fiction.


Yesterday I had occasion to re-read "Guests of the Nation", a short story by Frank O'Connor. Instantly I was a precocious teenager again, sitting in English class in Secondary School. I can clearly remember the textbook questions.

"Hawkins claims that in the same position he would act differently. Do you believe him?"

"Belcher's character is established very early on. How is this done?"

I can also remember my utter contempt for the author of the textbook. They had clearly not 'got' the story. At all. "This is a story about the meaning of life," I remember thinking. "Don't they understand that? Ok, we can answer the stupid questions but that's so not what this is about."

Two decades later, having tried to write short stories myself, I know how pertinent those questions were. When I first read "Guests of the Nation" I couldn't imagine it being written differently. I believed every word of it. I assumed it had appeared in the world fully formed, like a pearl.

But really, a pearl is assembled slowly and gradually over many iterations. Now I realise that that is how "Guests of the Nation" was probably constructed.

And as I found out, it is not diminished by analysis. You can pick out each perfectly-crafted piece and examine its beauty from all angles. When you've done that and you read it again, the story is enhanced.


Those unappreciated textbook writers, whose questions I never really connected with, lived in my head when I started writing seriously. "You've already told the reader this; can't you find a way to avoid going through it again?" they would ask. And a hundred other questions that make my writing less pedestrian than it would otherwise be.


PS "Guests of the Nation" is only ten pages long, and can be found in every half-decent anthology of Irish short stories. You should read it. Everybody should.

My favourite feedback guidelines

Louisa Burton has an excellent article called Critiquing: To Give and to Receive on her website. It's invaluable if you're about to critique someone's work or you're due to get a critique back.

In fact, I used to try to get my friends and family to read it before approaching my novel. I suspect some of them skived though, so now I settle for paraphrasing this paragraph when handing over the MS:

"Try to maintain some kind of balance in your comments. It always surprises me how often critiquers point out all the problems in a manuscript, but make no mention of the good points. It’s just as important to know what does work as what doesn’t. If something made you laugh or cry, mention that. If something was particularly well worded or moving or effective, for heaven’s sake, let the writer know, so that he can analyze why it was good and hopefully reproduce those results in the future."

Apart from Louisa's advice, here are two guidelines I picked up somewhere that have been very helpful:

- Your reviewer's identification of a problem in your work may be spot on. But their suggestion on how to correct it could be pants.

- If one person identifies an issue but you don't agree, it could just be their personal taste. If two people or more come up with the same issues, then like it or not you have a problem.

Only novices and eejits

Another rejection today. This time from an agent who had requested a partial. It was very kindly worded - enough so that I felt it might not be her standard letter. However, there was no guidance at all.

I emailed back asking for feedback. Ok, ok, I know that that's not really done, but I figured when she'd previously asked for a partial she might smile upon my request.

Only novices and eejits reply to agency rejections, but I really have nothing to lose. I'm more or less at a standstill as regards changes. Any feedback would be fantastic. And hey, at least I didn't question her sanity and present her with 100 reasons why she'd made the wrong decision.

Read-Through Happiness

Yesterday in my remote corner of Ireland there was a 'planned power outage' from 9:30 to 16:00. It was bliss. I'd planned to program a website during my three work hours. Instead, guilt-free, I was able to curl up in front of the wood stove with a flask of tea and my MS. I finished my current read-through and to my delight, I still like my book. I think it's quite good.

I approached the last third of the story with some trepidation. One of my reviewers recently sent me some reservations about the villain, the list of suspects and the structure of the denouement.

As reviewers usually are, he's right about a lot of it. But with some edits, additions and tweaking I think I can clarify the parts that created confusion.


Some writing experts recommend concentrating on only one thing during each revision. For example, focus only on consistency. Do your characters remain the same age throughout? Does their hair-colour change according to your mood when writing the scene?

It would be fantastic to have that kind of time, but the novel is complete now and takes four hours to read. With no guarantee of publication and only three hours a day to work, I can't justify doing that very often. In my leisure time it's important to keep reading other writers and trying to learn from them. I am wary of navel-gazing.

So with each reading I try to catch errors in every area. Over my next few posts, I'll describe the kinds of things I look for. I'll post about dialogue, action, plot structure, and whatever else occurs to me. But I'll probably start with reviewers - when to listen, and when to stick your fingers in your ears.

Poor Helen

I've spent more time on this blog talking about how to get an agent than about how to write. So yesterday I posted a spare short story I had lying around.

"Helen" took me two days to complete and I cried for most of them. It's very important to me but I don't think it's saleable. It's too shmaltzy.

Tolstoy said: "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Then he wrote a novel about an unhappy family. Happy families are boring.

What interests me is the ephemeral nature of happiness. Either you die, or you get old and everyone else dies. Either way, it's all over while you're still moaning about whose turn it is to wash the dishes.

"Helen" is my attempt to capture the tragedy that's built into the human condition. The sadness concealed in the heart of the good times.... I still cry every time I read it.

Poor Helen. She can never go home.

Helen - a short story

"I remember when you were around fourteen months old I used to drop you in to playgroup for an hour or two," said Helen. "When I arrived to pick you up I'd come in quietly and you wouldn't see me at first. I'd watch you walking around, nodding seriously because you'd just learned how to, watching the bigger children or playing in the toy car. Then I'd say something to Louise and you'd hear my voice. You'd look up and shout and come running over to me and grab my legs."

"Was I cute?" asked Brian.

"You were the cutest toddler in there! I'd pick you up and squeeze you hard. You'd wrap your arms tight around my neck and kick your little feet and squeeze back."

"What did I say?"

"You couldn't talk, you were one!" said Helen. "You only had a few words. 'Mama mama mama mama' would be the most you could manage. I'd say 'We're going home now, Brian. We're going home in the car.' You'd lean back and pat my cheek. I knew you understood even though you couldn't answer. "

"Already a little genius," said Brian, grinning.

"Indeed. I'd put you down to find the money to pay Louise. You'd think I was going off without you. You'd grab my legs again and scream. I'd root the money out of my pocket quickly, then pick you back up. I'd hug you tight and you'd hug me. All the playgroup ladies would laugh. Louise would say 'He gives great hugs!'...

Helen's voice trailed off. She was wondering how long it was since she'd had a hug. Since around the time John died, she thought. Twenty years then. Twenty-one in May.

She gave herself a mental shake. It was important to stay cheerful. "You'd fall asleep in the car on the way home. I'd have the key in my hand and I'd pick you up and carry you in to your cot. You'd hang on tight, still asleep, your head against my chin. I'd smell your little toddler smells; smeared food and baby shampoo. Your hair was so soft!"

Brian rubbed his bald head ruefully.

"When you woke up I'd give you a drink and a biscuit and you'd play near the window until you saw John's car. Then you'd say 'Dada dada dada' and run to the door. He'd be thrilled to see you there when he came in; he'd pick you up and swing you through the air. He'd play with you while I was getting dinner. I remember the first time he crawled around the floor with you on his back. You kept falling off, first one side and then the other. He'd reach his arm up behind him to catch you. You were shrieking with delight and he was laughing and I was laughing. It was so funny!"

"My recollection is that I was an excellent jockey."

"You were when you got older. If John'd been away for a while, sometimes he and I would have a hug while I was cooking. You'd come running over and throw your arms around our legs. We'd see your eager little face looking up from knee height. John'd reach down and lift you and you'd be in the hug too. Later, when Amelia arrived --"

"I remember Dad used to throw us up in the air and catch us."

"He loved that. My Dad – your Grandpa Jim - used to do it too when I was small. He called it throwing us at the ceiling. He'd throw us up up up and we'd scream and Mum would say 'Oh Jim, be careful!' but she'd be laughing."

"Happy days" said Brian.

"Happy days," said Helen, smiling at him.

#

That night Helen woke herself up in the small hours, laughing.

She'd dreamt that Brian came to visit her again.

"Come on Mum, we're off!" he said. He pushed open the heavy door that was such a stupid door to have in a place like this because no-one over seventy could manage it. Amelia was outside standing beside her car. She smiled at Helen as she always did, but this time she gave her a hug before she helped her into the car.

"We're going home Mum. We're going home in the car," she said.

She was laughing and Brian was laughing and Helen started laughing too and she laughed so much that she woke herself up.

She thought about her dream for a while. It was a lovely dream but so unrealistic. Amelia hadn't room in her one-bedroom apartment to swing a cat let alone an elderly mother. Brian was a pilot; he wasn't at home enough to take care of her. Anyway, no matter where she was on this earth, big comfortable John wouldn't be there. Her Mum and Dad wouldn't be there either.

She realised she was crying and tried to stop. It was important to stay cheerful.

Ruth was doing her rounds when she heard Helen. There'd been a report recently saying people in these places had no-one to talk to. She'd always known that, but since the report she'd made an extra effort to be kind. She had plenty of time to finish her rounds. Anyway she liked Helen, who was funny and good-humoured and rarely complained.

"Are you ok love?" she asked. She pulled up a chair beside Helen's bed and took her hand.

"I want to go home," said Helen.

Ruth thought of Ted on the sofa, reading the sports pages and half-watching the TV. Amy and Nick would be tucked into bed upstairs. She wished she was finishing early.

Helen was still trying to stop crying. Her whole body was rigid with the effort. Ruth could feel Helen's hand clutching hers as she tried to suppress the great racking sob that was growing inside her.

"I want to go home."

Confident? Or delusional?

Nathan's Friday post linked to a blog posting by JA Konrath which I just got around to reading. It's about how to tell whether a writer is confident, or just delusional.

It casts an interesting side light on my bad books discussion. Here's a quote.

"Confident writers know they'll be published, if they keep at it.
Delusional writers think they'll be rich and famous.

Confident writers work to get the words right.
Delusional writers think they got the words right the first time.

Confident writers expect to be periodically rejected.
Delusional writers are shocked every time someone fails to recognize their brilliance."

Ok, I am definitely delusional.

More about bad books

On Friday I explained that an agent who rejects your book will take every possible measure to ensure that you remain enthusiastic about writing. Bizarrely, they will want you to remain convinced that you are about to make your fortune as a bestselling author.

This means that if you have written a bad book – derivative say, or repetitive, or boring, or incomprehensible – the agent will not tell you. That's fair enough. (S)he wants to catch the bus home unmolested by disillusioned manuscript-wielding fanatics.

So who will tell you? Ah, you say, your family will tell you! Your friends!

Ha ha you're so wrong! Your family will think the book is fantastic. (If they don't they're bankers anyway and they never loved you). Your friends may be a little more ambivalent but they too will be reluctant to let you know it's rubbish. Think about it. Would you like to be the one to shatter your best friend's dreams?

No, I didn't think so.

This is why all the tip sheets for submitting to agents tell you to refrain from quoting your Ma/best friend/pet dog in your query letter unless your Ma is Maeve Binchy.

So we're back to square one.

Encouraging agents

I've been thinking about yesterday's post. Specifically the question: how do you know when you have a bad book on your hands?

How do you know if the reason you're not meeting with success is that your book is rubbish? How can you tell when you should just give up?

Here's one thing I can tell you now: agents won't help. There are few greater exercises in tact than the agent's stock response; the standard letter they send to nearly everyone they don't plan to represent. This letter takes no account of how brilliant or appalling the writer's work is.

I've received several. They are good for the soul. As J.K. Rowling said "these were real rejection letters – even real writers had got them" (Writers' and Artists' Yearbook 2008). Here's the first one I received by email, a response to a posted submission including the first three chapters of my book:

Dear Ego,

Thank you for writing to us regarding your work [my book]. We are afraid that, despite its qualities, we do not feel sufficiently enthusiastic to offer to represent your work.

We apologise for the impersonal nature of this email and regret that we cannot enter into correspondence about your work.

If you wish to have the material you sent to us returned please note that we need to receive an s.a.e. and sufficient postage within one month of the date of this email.

We wish you better luck in finding representation elsewhere.

Best wishes,

An Agent.


I will now deconstruct this email for your edification.

"We are afraid that, despite its qualities, we do not feel sufficiently enthusiastic...."

This sentence is a brilliant excercise in ambiguity. It must have taken hours of painstaking thought. The master-stroke is the absence of an adjective before the word "qualities". The enthusiastic writer will mentally fill in with "intriguing" or "brilliant" or "extraordinary" or "fantastic". So they'll take it as a compliment when in fact the agent sending the letter may be thinking "dreadful", "horrendous", "unbelievably bad" or "criminally awful".

Why not just say something unambiguously nice? "wonderful qualities" for example? Because if they do, then all the writers rejected via this standard letter will immediately email back saying, "But surely if my book has wonderful qualities then you should reconsider?"

As it is, the irate author is deprived of ammunition.


"We do not feel sufficiently enthusiastic..." this too is masterly. The subtle implication is that they do feel a little bit enthusiastic. But the sentence remains correct even if they feel utterly unenthusiastic and can't believe you ever had the cheek to inflict your piece of sh*t on them. They may know they'll lie awake for the next few weeks shuddering at the thought of your awful novel, but "we do not feel sufficiently enthusiastic..." remains technically correct.


"We apologise for the impersonal nature of this email and regret that we cannot enter into correspondence about your work."

This is for the writer who still hasn't worked out that the letter is a 'form reject'.


"If you wish to have the material you sent to us returned please note that we need to receive an s.a.e. and sufficient postage within one month of the date of this email."

In my case, I specifically mentioned in my brief letter that I didn't want the material returned. This sentence is a further reminder – if one is needed - that the agent is so busy that they probably didn't read past line two.

In a curious way this is reassuring. We writers tell ourselves that the agent is obviously SO busy that it's not surprising that the intriguing, brilliant, extraordinary qualities of our writing escaped their attention.

Finally:

"We wish you better luck in finding representation elsewhere."

All agents encourage you to keep looking. Here's a quote from another email:

"Since the decision taken in representing work is a subjective one and will vary greatly from person to person, I would encourage you to contact other agencies."

Agents all claim to be snowed under with submissions, so I often wonder why they encourage us to inflict our work on their competitors. I have concluded that they want to spread their misery. Furthermore, if there's one thing they don't want, it's for a writer to fixate on them. They don't want chocolates in the mail, they don't want tenners between the pages (well maybe some of them do), they don't want angry emails berating them for their ignorant rejections.

For example, here's a memorable quote from an article about agenting on the BBC website.

"The author who turns up uninvited at the office, or who bombards an agent's assistant with phone calls, is not likely to elicit the sort of response that will lead to a happy professional relationship. We recently had an author visit us clutching a bottle of champagne and asking whether she might read her novel aloud to an agent while the agent sat back and sipped her drink. This betrays a view of the life of literary agents that is romanticised at best."

Morale and Perseverance

In my other incarnation as an I.T. person, I read Joel Spolsky's occasional articles about his company, Fog Creek Software. Today's was about why startups fail.

Spolsky quotes Paul Graham: '"The biggest reason founders stop working on their start-ups is that they get demoralized," he writes. "Some people seem to have unlimited self-generated morale. These almost always succeed. At the other extreme, there are people who seem to have no ability to do this; they need a boss to motivate them. In the middle there is a large band of people who have some, but not unlimited, ability to motivate themselves. These can succeed through careful morale management (and some luck)."'

The parallels with writing are obvious. Similar questions occur to me. Is it possible for a start-up to succeed with a bad business? Is it possible for a writer to succeed with a bad book?

The answer in both cases is probably: sometimes, but you're making it a LOT harder for yourself.

The reason why would-be entrepreneurs lose morale and abandon their business is probably the same reason why would-be writers throw in the towel. Things aren't working out, and they conclude that they have a bad business. Or a bad book.

Irish coffee anyone?

One of my reviewers made the following point: You wouldn't drink Irish coffee on a first date. I disagree. However, I've asked around. It seems that opinion varies.

The scenario is this:

Cynthia finds her boss's murdered body in the office late one evening. She's terrified of being done for the crime so she decides to investigate.

Fortuitously, she's due to have dinner with the boss's attractive stepson the following night. He's a suspect too but she goes along anyway. She wants to suss him out. Also, murder or no murder, he's still GORGEOUS.

Dinner goes well. There's a spark, albeit slightly dampened by the spectre of his stepfather's corpse. At the end of the delicious, champagne-soaked meal they have Irish coffees.

Yes or no?

According to my reviewer, this just SO is not romantic. If anyone reading has views on this, let's have 'em.

(And if not Irish coffee, then what? Flaming zambucca? Tequila? A pint of Carlsberg?)

Sinful Self-Indulgence

Since yesterday's post I've been mulling over why I can't seem to get around to my next novel-related task. I'm not in the middle of any short stories. I do a bit of I.T. consulting, but I've nothing urgent on at the moment. I only have about three hours a day when I can work at anything, and right now I should be hard at it. My main outstanding task is a full read-through of the novel, reviewing my latest improvements.

This morning I realised what's wrong. I enjoy it too much. The jokes are perfectly attuned to my personal sense of humour. The sad bits are precision geared to making me cry. Whenever I glance at a page I get sucked in for half an hour.

Stiletto takes about four hours to read. It feels like a criminal waste of four hours when I could be doing something more objectionable, like work. The guilt level is up there with pulling a sickie, going for a walk by the seaside and sitting on a rock with an Agatha Christie and a glass of wine.

Hmm. Maybe I'll start that revision now.

The Long Wait

"Writing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo", said Don Marquis, whoever he was.

A bit like sending your novel to an agent then. I've queried a few agents now and so far I've had a request for a 'partial' and a request for a 'full'. The 'full' at the end of October, the 'partial' about three weeks ago.

I've heard nothing back from either of them – nada, nowt, rien. I imagine them floating in a leisurely way towards the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The 'full' is a pink petal, the 'partial' is yellow.

Meanwhile I've submitted several short stories to different short story competitions. None of the winners are due to be announced until March. Although the odds are against my stories winning or being placed, I can't try to sell them elsewhere until I know for sure.

It's a period of hiatus, a weird interval of suspended animation. The only solution is to get stuck into something new. But right now I'm going to get stuck into Joshua Ferris' "Then We Came to the End" instead.

Please be my agent!

The query letter for my novel, "Stiletto in Old Street", used to be awful. Thanks to online advice from Nathan Bransford and Agent Kristin amongst others it's now brilliant. I wish. I sent a batch of four out today; the response rate might tell me something. Last time I sent five inferior queries and got one request for what we in the trade call 'a partial'.

It's an appalling time to query. See Crapometer today for some of the reasons why.

Those of you who are not aspiring writers may wonder what a 'query letter' is. It's the letter you send to agents describing your novel and begging them to represent you. There's a formula available – see Nathan's blog. If you know about that, you're on to a good start. The challenge is to be unique and persuasive and gripping and outstanding within that formula. I'm sure an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters could get it right, but for the rest of us there are an infinite number of pitfalls.

For example, you are supposed to say something personal about the agent. What if you don't know anything personal about them? I'm querying UK agents. Half of them don't have websites. I can't find their author lists and when I do I've never heard of anyone on them.

Common advice is to find books that are like yours, find out who the authors' agents are and then query them. Bingo! You're agented!

Yeah, yeah, that's so not going to happen. For a start I can't find any books like mine. They must be out there but I have not been able to locate them in Cahersiveen Library. Furthermore, this technique would probably generate a list of maybe five agents. What do we do if they all say no? Give up? Well yes, that's what they'd like us to do at 101 Reasons to Stop Writing. But I'm too bloody-minded, at least for now.

So I get my agents from the "Writers' and Artists' Yearbook". There's a whole list in there, over a hundred of them. If they have an asterisk beside their name they're members of the society of agents or something, and that means they get a query from me. Eventually. I'm starting at the end, on the principle that the agents at the beginning probably get a lot more queries.

When I've run out of asterisked agents I'll take my chances with the unasterisked. (Incidentally I did once send a highly personalised query to an (unasterisked) agent who claimed to like representing both women's fiction and crime. My crime novel has a contemporary, chick-litty tone. A perfect match! Plus her agency promises to respond to emailed queries within a week. That was in May '08 and I still haven't heard back.)

When I've queried all the unasterisked agents, I'll either give up or self-publish. It depends on just how bloody-minded I turn out to be.

Welcome!

I believe it's traditional for a first blog post to list the reasons why the author has started blogging.

I've been thinking about what to say over the past couple of days. It's not easy to gather up the mish-mash of different impulses and sculpt them into something that looks sensible and focused. But I shall attempt to do so.

Frankly, the reason I first considered blogging was the general view that seems to prevail on the web that writers who wish to be published should have a blog. They should also, apparently, have a big bunch of journalist and PR friends, and a website with a readership numbered in the hundreds of thousands. I don't have any of these things, but hey you gotta start somewhere.

The question on my mind was, if I started a blog what on earth would I blog about? Instinct told me that the cute sayings of my one-year-old son wouldn't cut it. (This morning, by the way, he made the great mental leap that allows him to distinguish between 'egg' and 'leg'.) Likewise, my opinions on Ireland's economy, trenchant though they may be, don't seem like the best material for impressing agents and publishers with my writerly abilities.

Gradually I began to realise that as a writer with a blog, what I would blog about would be writing. This seems dangerously self-indulgent. Just, like, tell people all the nonsense that's churning around in my mind all day? Just, like, expect them to listen?

Do you remember when you signed up for a pen-friend in primary school? Guidelines would be issued as to what to write in your letter. Guideline number one was not to start every sentence with 'I'. They didn't say what you should use instead, but I was an obedient child. Religiously in each letter I would refrain from saying 'I' at the beginning of each sentence. If I wished to tell my correspondent that I'd been to the beach, I would say “My sister and I went to the beach.” Describing my new shoes, I'd say “Some new shoes were bought for me.” Perhaps I was missing the point, but I took it all terribly seriously.

And now the suggestion has been made that it's my duty to write something that's all about me! Me and my inner life! Start every single sentence with 'I' if I like! Bore people rigid with detailed information on my every writer-like thought! And don't do all this in a secret diary to be published after my tragic but noble early death - instead put it out there on the internet in the hope that someone, somewhere, will be fascinated!

What's not to like? Welcome to 'The Egotistical Writer'. If you want to read a blog redolent with modesty, reticence and a desire to avoid boring the reader, go somewhere else. Or, as my one-year-old would say, “'way!”