The Delights of Criticism

So on Saturday I got a report from Hilary Johnson's reader. I didn't send the novel until the end of July. The fees have gone up. They're still reasonable, but I'm skint. But if I want to progress I must take this step, so I borrowed the money from my parents. They are to be paid back from the proceeds when I self-publish. I hope they won't be waiting too long...

The report must necessarily contain some criticisms and I wondered if sometimes authors ring or email, fuming, complaining that their novel has been misunderstood or misjudged.

I was determined not to do this, no matter what unpalatable advice I found therein. A TS Eliot fact I retained from school is that his iconic poem 'The Wasteland' was twice as long until Ezra Pound took a red pencil to it.

No good writer, I believe, writes entirely alone.

Often, in creative writing class, I remind my students that writers should embrace constructive criticism. Emphasis, of course, on the 'constructive'.

People who try to rewrite your work to sound sound like their work should be ignored. People who tell you that the book is rubbish and you are crap should be ignored - especially the little voice inside your own head. But those who point out plot weaknesses, formatting mistakes, typos or wooden characters should be thanked, and with gratitude.

These are your true friends, the people who help you to improve your writing.

Listen, and move your story from good to great.

Getting the Novel Edited

I got the name of a good editor from one of the other people at the 'Novel - Advanced' workshop at Listowel Writers' Week.

The name is Hilary Johnson.  The person I was talking to said she paid £120 for a developmental edit - that is, one of Hilary Johnson's employees read her novel and gave her great feedback on plot and structure.  She said it took 5 weeks.

So today I'm doing the same myself.  It will be the first time they've ever received a novel that's already perfect.

Or maybe not.

Seán Ó'Faoláin short story competition

I'm planning to send a story into the Seán Ó'Faoláin short story competition - see here.  The €15 entry fee would usually put me off but the Munster Literature Centre is respectable.
I don't know whether to send in one I've already finished and polished, or whether to try to finish the one I'm working on at the moment.  It could be good when it's ready I think.  Slow work though.  

Learning Creative Writing

A few weeks ago I went to my first Creative Writing class. My first one as a student, that is… I’ve been teaching them for a while now.

There were 16 places on the ‘Novel Writing – Advanced’ course in Listowel Community College. As I locked my car outside, I took stock of the strangers passing me on their way to the door. They looked much cleverer than me. I was unnerved.

Inside I discovered that there were several other courses taking place at the same location. When I found the classroom I realised that none of the clever strangers was studying advanced novel writing. Instead, my real fellow-students were highly intellectual looking. I turned tail and ran. Mentally. Physically, I stayed put.

Our teacher was well-known writer Eoin McNamee who has written several novels, some of which explore real crimes in the North of Ireland in the fifties and sixties. They assess the political influences brought to bear in the investigations. Eoin was a kind and helpful guide and mentor through the three days of the course. Thank goodness.

After the shuffling and murmuring and apologetic late arrivals, he asked us to write a summary of our novel (or novel idea) and then to write about the novel’s structure, breaking it into three acts and identifying the plot points. He gave us 20 minutes.

I have spent a year encouraging my own students to write for 20 minutes and read out the results at the end. Now the tables were turned.

I’ve written and rewritten the blurb for the book so many times that the descriptive paragraph gave me little trouble. The structure was harder. It’s four and a half years since I started the book, and about three since I first announced that it was finished. (Ha! Dream on!). Some of the details eluded me, such as for example when the second murder happens. Observing much clutching of hair and possibly hearing a few groans, Eoin gave us an extra five minutes. Then, as I was at one end of the horseshoe-shaped desks, he asked me if I’d like to start.

I had a very good reason for saying yes. As I explained on that first morning “My novel is very frivolous and I’m afraid I’ll be too intimidated to read it after I’ve heard all of your work, so I’m quite happy to start.”

I had decided that there was no point in trying to make the book sound serious and heavy-weight. It is what it is. So I forced myself to read the following:

“Oops! Cynthia Hegarty gets a shock when she realises her boss has been murdered in his office behind her. She’s the chief suspect. Ok, the only suspect. Feeling like Bridget Jones plunged into the middle of an Agatha Christie, she sets out to find the real killer. Meanwhile she has to juggle the victim’s amorous son and her psychotic ex-boyfriend. Her boss isn’t keen on his “resource” sleuthing instead of working. And the investigating Superintendent is far too attractive for Cynthia’s good. Cynthia’s in big trouble.”

I didn’t get the reaction I had expected. I had anticipated being frog-marched out of the room by an indignant teacher, perhaps with the parting words “This workshop is for real writers!” Alternatively I’d imagined a polite, bemused silence. Instead I got a warm, curious, supportive swell of feedback from the other writers.

I went on to read the three-act summary:

“Cynthia is working late when she notices her boss has been murdered in his office behind her desk. She is questioned by the London Metropolitan Police and allowed to go. She goes to stay with a colleague as she is too traumatised to go home alone. The action is interspersed with flashbacks to the events of the previous week. Does everyone working in Airwolfe have a motive to kill Nathan Boyle?

II
Cynthia’s friends James and Liz help her to investigate. She manages to persuade fellow Irish person Ronan, who runs the IT Department, to slip her a copy of Boyle’s emails and she trudges through them in the evenings. Zorr, who runs the security company that monitors Airwolfe’s offices, tells her that due to a CCTV glitch anyone could have done it. Her new boss keeps hassling her to work. Harold the victim’s son keeps taking her out to dinner.
Too scared to go home, she is living in the local Holiday Inn, but one night she’s so full of good food and champagne that she does go home. Her apartment has been trashed and a photo of her torn up. She keeps the photo and James and Liz help her to fingerprint all the suspects. Then James’s 8-year-old niece uses a CSI Miami kit to find the culprit but the results are inconclusive.
Cynthia has about ten suspects but the police don’t seem to have any.
Except her.
Just as she thinks she’s about to be arrested she’s kidnapped and wakes up adrift on an Oxford canal near a dangerous weir. She escapes and sees Harold, the victim’s son, on the river bank.

III
Cynthia is cleared and discovers Harold has been working undercover to detect embezzlement at Airwolfe. She gets police protection and goes back to work since the project is still late and her boss is still hassling her. One of the victim’s mates, Sam, is found dead. The Superintendent and Cynthia set up a Poirot-style dénouement scene and Harold is arrested.
Leaving the office, Cynthia is attacked and nearly killed but rescued by the Superintendent. Harold’s arrest was a sting for the real killer that went wrong. The real killer is arrested. Cynthia goes to the pub with James and Liz and explains all the loose ends. Harold appears and there is a romantic conclusion.”

I didn’t reveal the villain because I felt it would add some suspense if any of them ever read it. Pressed, I said that it didn’t really matter who did it in the context of the small amount of information they had. Eoin questioned whether I’d introduced a new character at the end, who turned out to be the villain. This is a real no-no in this type of detective fiction. The perpetrator should be accompanying you through the story but undetectable. Then, due to the writer’s cunning use of clues, the reader should feel at the end that the murderer couldn’t be anyone else.

Frankly, I was quite indignant that he might imagine I didn’t know this.

I reassured him that the murderer was one of the characters mentioned in the outline. But I still refused to say who, which broke the ice in the class as they all laughed at me.

Eoin, who had read the first few chapters of my work in advance, was very positive about it but had some questions about atmosphere. Do I create a distinctive world as e.g. Raymond Carver does? Do I build up an atmosphere with my writing? Here are the notes I took after the ensuing discussion:

Pace – too fast
Concentrate on atmosphere
Too much plot?

Eoin said that sometimes the character needs to take a cigarette break or have something to eat to give both themselves and the reader a rest. (Incidentally, he said that when he gave up smoking all his characters gave up smoking). However, he added that he thought it was very good and I shouldn’t be self-deprecating about it. So on the whole I felt I came out well. At least I was still in the room.

Then the others took turns and as I had suspected each of them was better than the last. There wasn’t a single writer there that I didn’t feel was publishable. The most noteworthy characters were:

• a charming, lively woman in her late forties writing about the outwardly civilised breakdown of a marriage
• an American, probably in his seventies, writing about his reckless progression through nineteen-sixties Belfast with two lifelong friends, also American
• a poised, beautifully dressed woman in her fifties writing about alcoholism, its arrival and its consequences
• a young American woman writing about a woman coming to terms with having assisted her brother, fatally damaged by Vietnam, to end his life
• an extremely tall, stubbled man in his forties writing about a series of bombings in the near future that propel the nations of the Earth towards another war
• a woman in her forties writing about a man who dies alone in a bedsit in England, far from his family in Ireland, and isn’t found for three weeks.
• a Dublin woman in her fifties with long white hair writing about a tragic love affair in late nineteenth-century Russia
• a woman in her forties, already a published poet, about to start a novel about a man in nineteen-thirties Ireland whose wife dies and who subsequently leads a long and empty life
• an English woman in her fifties writing about a boy whose family are taken into care and who is separated from all children including his siblings, and about his social worker
• a man in his thirties writing about a woman who forms a band in Belfast in the sixties, abandoning her child, then comes back to meet her child again in the eighties
• a woman with a complicated but brilliantly-plotted thriller about a woman whose mother dies, propelling her into exploring the mystery of her father’s identity
• a woman with a book (which she has been told is so long it should be a series of six books), about a man who makes good during the Celtic Tiger then loses all his money again
• a New Zealand pharmacist writing a murder mystery set in Scotland, whose Kiwi pronunciation of Scottish dialect was the aural highlight of the course

and my neighbour, a very nice woman in her thirties who missed the second day, so that I can’t remember what her book was about

Having read through this again I notice that the ‘more memorable characters’ include everyone on the course bar one person. It was a class that really gelled, where everyone made a strong contribution.

I wish I could remember who that last person was!

On the second day we each, in random order, read out a sample of our work. It was tempting to find the best bit and read that. However, I felt I’d gain most from reading the first two pages. If the first two pages aren’t close to being the best bit then there’s something wrong and you need to find out what.

I was extremely nervous. I have sweated blood over this scene. While I’ve got feedback from friends who’ve read it, I’ve never read it out to anyone before. It went well. I got one good laugh – which I was happy about as the novel is supposed to be funny. A few people said they’d like to hear more. There was some debate about my using a cliché in the first paragraph. I’d taken it out and put it in about fifty times. After this session I realised that the whole sentence can go and the first paragraph will be better. Progress!

Someone said that the narrator doesn’t describe what she’s feeling. I said she feels stuff in the next sentence and I’d happily keep reading all day but I’d better let other people have a turn.

As the others read their work I was awed by how good much of it was. The woman writing about alcoholism moved me to tears with a simply-drawn childhood scene. The apocalyptic man wrote an amazing dialogue, where a man on a psychiatrist’s couch watches an oil-rig exploding through the window behind the unaware psychiatrist’s shoulder.  The Kiwi wrote a fabulous description of an overweight policeman perched on the back of a drunken Scottish farmer’s tractor on the way to discover a body. The American described how his drunk friend on a bus in Belfast had a machine-gun pointed at him by a squaddie and might have died had the bus not pulled away.

On and on it went, a brief, intriguing immersion in world after world, interspersed with the collective encouragement and wisdom of the group.

Some of the more general advice from Eoin that I wrote down as the three days passed:

• Think about structure
• Organise your material
• See something before you write it down
• Don’t let the confines of a particular period constrict the story or the characters.
• Stubborness is the most important quality in a writer
• Followed by craft
• Find art in your story or your exploratory work

To put the last one in context, Eoin said that he knows some writers who say that they hate writing. This is terrible. Surely you should at least get some satisfaction from the knowledge that you have created a piece of art, even if the process was very difficult.

Eoin also said that successful writers need to develop a thick skin. Later he mentioned the danger that this could lead to numbness.

He discussed how the core of writing lies in seeing what’s around you, but the core of dialogue lies in listening to what people are saying. Everyone has an element in their voice that’s unique, and when you learn to pin this down you write better dialogue.

When the three mornings were up I was reluctant to part from this group of interesting and positive people who I will probably never meet again. I mentioned this to one of them who said, somewhat wryly, ah they usually turn up again, you’d be surprised.

What did I take from the course?

A greater confidence in the opening scene of the novel.
A better handle on my dilemma about how to handle flashbacks in the opening chapters.
A renewed enthusiasm about the work
A desire to get back to it and eliminate its greatest weaknesses as soon as possible
A confirmation of my belief that the support of other writers is one of the best things about writing

My first ever Creative Writing class

Is it wrong that my first ever Creative Writing class was as a teacher?

I had a chat with the three students, Nyree, Vanessa and Finbarr, about what they want out of writing. Their previous teacher, Alison, has moved away.  I have the impression they'll miss her terribly. There are two other regulars who weren't there today.

Then the session should have been over - it's been cut to an hour and a half - Alison used to do two hours.  But they didn't seem to know that and they sat looking at me with puppy-dog eyes, so I gave in and gave them a writing exercise.  I got the words from an online random-word-generator.

Write something containing the following words:

cable
exaggerated
privileged
vintage
expense
pretend

When I'd finished myself, I needed to go to the loo so I threw in another word: 'trellis'.

Hilariously, everyone including me wrote in their own genre. Vanessa the romance fan wrote about an impending proposal.  Nyree the poet wrote a poetic piece, and Finbarr, who writes in a nostalgic 'Ireland's Own' vein, wrote an article about the cable coming to Waterville.  (Top marks to Finbarr for adding 'trellis'  at the end in the most natural fashion imaginable.)

Here's the piece I wrote, complete with only-20-minutes-to-finish glaring problems:
"The exaggerated silence in the room told me that I was too late.  Moriarty had got there first.

The way the cable was twined round Alicia's neck told me she must be dead.  Her vintage fox fur had been cast aside.  All the expense of her privileged background, the security guards, the alarm systems, even the panic room had not been able to prevent it.

I knew there was trouble in store.  There'd be questions.  There would have to be answers.  But for now, all I could do was pretend.  Pretend that she was a stranger, and not the only woman I had ever loved."

....waiting....

The long wait for the 2009 Francis MacManus shortlist continues.

I don't know why I put myself through this. It's highly unlikely that I'll be shortlisted again. The story I entered this year was written in October, the week before Molly was born. It had some merit - I like to think - but Molly arrived a week early, so it was only revised two or three times.

Nevertheless, I like to imagine that I have a chance. I think the story has a certain atmosphere and immediacy, and it's topical.

On the other hand there were 1200-odd entries this year as against 700-odd last year. No wonder they're later with the shortlist.

And the long wait continues...

Edit, edit, edit again

I re-edited a short story last week before sending it off again. It's the third trip out into the wild for this particular story. It failed to win the competition I wrote it for in December '08. (At least I assume it did; there was no feedback.) Then it was turned down by a magazine.

It's much better now than it was either of those times though.

Out of curiosity I checked, and I've done 44 backups of that file. I'm a fanatical backer upper since the old days of dodgy floppies and "del *.*", so that represents about 14 or 15 fairly lengthy editing sessions. It's amazing but I'm still finding flaws. Most recently I eliminated several unwieldy paragraphs, replacing them with an elegant line or two. The story will be about four sentences long if I keep this up.

I sent it off to another competition. I'm looking forward to seeing how it does, but probably won't hear anything for at least three months. I also have two other stories out looking for a home, and I splashed out and entered the novel into the Debut Dagger. So things are ticking along.

The baby's only four months old; that's about all I can manage at the moment.

Yes!

So, it turns out it only takes listening to three lines of my own story to make me cry.

I was delighted with the actress; accents, age, everything was spot on. Overall, I thought it was great.

Two problems:

- Every flaw in the plot, dialogue etc became glaringly obvious to me
- They left out a sentence, or possibly moved it from the beginning of a paragraph to the end. Have to check. But it was a sentence that made sense of the rest of the paragraph. However, I'm told you could still get the gist.

So now I'm a person who has had a story broadcast on the radio. Weird. But good.

Will I cry?

So, my story should be on RTE1 in about 38 minutes. I am extremely nervous. Unbelievable that something I made up in my head is going to be broadcast to the nation. Anyone at all can listen!

It's especially weird because I had no input into the recording and have no idea what it'll sound like. The narrator in the story is a 17-year-old girl. The only thing I know about its reader is that she's female. As long as she's under 30 it should be ok.

It could be ok anyway, if done right. Well, there's nothing I can do now. I shan't be ringing RTE in a huff even if I HATE the broadcast, but it's going to be very interesting.

How will I feel when I'm listening? Will I cry?

Welcome Molly!

So, if you've been paying attention you'll have noticed that I haven't posted in three months.

By complete coincidence my daughter Molly was eleven weeks old today. Welcome, Molly!

I may have mentioned in previous posts that there was a major task hanging over me; a novel reorganisation. I wanted to put the murder on page one and move early action to flashbacks from there.

It seemed a Herculean task. I've been pondering it for ages.

Today I decided to just get on with it. I want to enter this years' Debut Dagger, and you only supply the first 3000 words to the competition. No point doing it until the murder's on page one and I'm fairly happy with it.

With Molly gurgling at me from the corner of the sofa, I went through my MS and noted where alterations should be made. It took about an hour. Then I implemented the changes in the doc. That took exactly an hour and five minutes.

Now I can print it out, read through it, and smooth the rough edges. Any inconsistencies introduced by the new order of events can be eliminated. Then I can send it off.

Two hours, for a job that's been hanging over me like the Sword of Damocles for months.

I also removed the childish nickname my characters have for the murder victim. The nickname gave me a distaste for the MS a long time ago. Only now that it's gone do I realise that this is partly why I've done no work on the novel since April.

Of course pregnancy and work commitments were also responsible. But it's a useful insight - if you've come to hate your writing, look for the small changes that'll make you fall in love with it again.

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.