Some Novel Advice

I've always found novel writing to be a burden, I'm a short story guy at heart. I've got to the stage of my 'career' when I can write the first draft of a short story in a few hours in one sitting, and usually editing is just a couple of re-reads with a few words changed here and there. Only occasionally does anything have to be extensively re-written or altered. But novels are different beasts - they need time to be written and they devour that time. I've posted before about my completed novels - and at that point only one, "Moon Beaver", had been published - but I'm happy to report that I recently signed a deal for two crime novels through Telos Moonrise, the first of which should appear early in 2014. And I'm almost halfway through a third crime novel, "People I Know Are Dead", which is turning out pretty well I think.

So given this flush of recent success I thought I'd share some tips on how I wrote my novels in case any of this luck will rub off on the reader of this blog. Good karma, and all of that jazz. It might also be timely for those considering starting a novel for NaNoWriMo.

1. Have a title. It's essential for me - whether writing a short story or novel - to have a title before I begin otherwise I can't think about the work at all. A title is the coat-hanger to hang your story on.

2. Don't write every day. This flies in the face of popular opinion, but just as you would have a rest day from a day job so you need a rest day or two from the novel. That distance helps it to breathe, but even so you should...

3. Think about it constantly. I was reviewing my day's writing whilst washing-up a few evenings ago, and just tugging on those threads made me realise the novel knew how it ended even before I did. If I hadn't been thinking about it, I might not have realised it. Think about it as often as you think about your life because whilst you're writing it is your life.

4. Don't make excuses. As I said, I'm a short story guy, if the time is right I can have a completed story within a couple of hours. Two hours is easy to find. Several months to write a novel is a heck of a lot of time to create, especially if - like me - you're the father to a 17 month old and a 14 year old, you work 6 days a week, you like to eat and sleep occasionally, and you sometimes freelance outside of your normal day job in the evenings. I could easily find excuses not to write, but I don't. And - as it follows - I have written.

5. Write at work. If you can. I appreciate not all jobs are conducive to this advice - although there will always be lunch breaks - however if you can write at work then you're being paid to write. Kill two birds with one stone. At work I've written three and a half novels and three novellas. Two of those novels are my forthcoming crime books and two of the novellas have already been published. Don't jeopardise your job, but if you can write at work do it. This also means you don't have to write when you get home and just need to flop out.

6. Plot only the basics. I know some writers who write such a detailed synopsis of their novel that they might as well write the novel itself. That doesn't work for me, and for those of you who also struggle with that concept I suggest you don't tie yourself to it. I begin a novel by putting the title, and then a handful - and I mean no more than 3 or 4 - ideas underneath it. I then start writing. As I write, as and when other stuff pops into my head I add it to the notes under the novel. That way the notes are in the same file. I delete them as they get used. I never have more than ten notes running at any one time. A novel is an organic beast, not a scientific experiment. Treat it as such.

7. Don't ignore your muse. Sometimes stuff wants to pop into the novel that you never considered even in your wildest dreams. Put it in there. You don't know it yet, but your subconscious is aware of the relevance. Run with it. Your wildest dreams will become your reality.

8. Write the novel for yourself. It's important to have the market in mind, but don't write for the market. If you do you'll have a stilted novel with no life in it. Write it for yourself. If you can't enjoy it then no one will (although that doesn't mean if you love it everyone will, you - at least - must love your novel or it will show).

9. Ignore this advice. Seriously. Well, kind of. If you need advice on writing a novel then you're not ready to write the novel. The novel should birth by tearing itself out of your chest with superhuman force leaping into a sports car and driving dangerously along mountain road s-bends. If you need advice on it then you're not ready for it. You'll develop your own natural style that doesn't need to mimic others.

10. Don't ignore this advice. Might seem contrary but re-read my suggestions and see how they work for you. Take something from it, but don't use it as template. Just be aware of this advice. Find your own way.

11. Break the rules. I mean, who would have 11 bullet-points? That should be ten, or lucky seven, or at least an even number. Right? Nope. Don't be straight-jacketed by anyone or anything that's gone before. Fly with it.

Feel free to share if you enjoyed this. Then get writing!

The Malayan Tapir

As regular followers of this blog are aware I have a certain fondness for animals of the long-snouted variety. Who wouldn't? I've tried to seek out some of the more extreme examples for previous posts, but those are becoming thin on the ground so I'm falling back onto one of my favourites, the Malayan tapir.

I used to have one of these as a toy animal back in my youth and I prefer the black and white markings to those of the other three varieties of tapir. There's something more honest, more other-worldly, about it somehow. See what I mean:

There's some interesting stuff on wikipedia about how the long snout has been accommodated: They have a large sagittal crest, a bone running along the middle of the skull that is necessary for muscle attachment. They also have unusually positioned orbits, an unusually shaped cranium with the frontal bones elevated, and a retracted nasal incision. All of these modifications to the normal mammal skull are, of course, to make room for the proboscis. This proboscis caused retraction of bones and cartilage in the face during the evolution of the tapir, and even caused the loss of some cartilages, facial muscles, and the bony wall of the nasal chamber. That seems quite impressive to me.

The facial structure is even more impressive when viewed face on, although it does lose the elongated look, of course.

Perhaps the above photo is a little unkind, because they are a quite beautiful animal. Young tapirs of all ages have brown hair with white stripes and spots, but it's the monochrome adults which I prefer. And regardless of their overall cuteness, the predominant reason for including them on this blog is obviously the desirability of the elongated proboscis. I mean, just look at the length of that snout!

(Tapirs can be hired out as double-barrelled shotguns)

Editors Have Feelings Too

My blog today is brought to you by my partner and Fur-Lined Ghettos editor, Sophie:

I've been editing Fur-Lined Ghettos for two years now and have never received a vile email. Until today.

As a writer, I know how hard a rejection can hit. You put your heart into your writing, pluck up the courage to send your work out, wait months to hear back, only to get the standard 'thanks, but it's not for us' email. It hurts.

But, I also know it's subjective. One editor's opinion doesn't make your writing any less valid. Of course you shout profanities, though I have never, and will never, send an email out of anger.

It is neither polite nor professional.

As with many zines, Fur-Lined Ghettos is a labour of love. When it comes down to it we don't have the money to publish it, the time to read submissions, or to typeset it. But we struggle in the rare spare moments we do get because, for us, it's important to put out a print zine featuring writing we enjoy. Writing we know already has a limited platform.

So when I get a simple yet harsh 'fuck you' after I've politely rejected someone it hurts, a lot. I cried.

It's a shame that people are capable of being so heartless, and so thoughtless, when we're in the same boat. We're all artists trying to positively change the world. There is no place for hatred.

But thanks, I'll get a poem out of it.

punkPunk! update

As many of you might know I am editing an anthology of punk-inspired fiction titled "punkPunk!" to be published by DogHorn Publishing next year. The submission period opened on 1st July and runs through to 31st December 2013 so we are approximately half-way through the process. In that time I've had several submissions of interest, some way off the mark, and whilst I'm making no definite confirmed acceptances until nearer the closing date there are several pieces which I'm strongly considering for the anthology.

Whereas I felt the original guidelines were clear I've had a few people seeking clarification, so I'm going to try and pin down what I'm after in this post. It might also be worth you reading a previous blog post I made about The True Meaning Of Punk last year.

I'm looking for stories - in any genre - which capture the essence of punk. Not simply what it meant to be punk in the summer of 1976 when for those of us of a certain age the world seemed to tear itself open and roll at our feet, but also what it continues to mean to be punk. For me, punk embraced freedom, a DIY-ethic which meant anything was possible and it didn't have to look/sound good so long as it was done, and also - personally - was tied in with puberty and an understanding of the world which hitherto had been veiled. Stories don't have to reference particular bands or songs, or even directly reference punk itself, but they should carry forwards that sense of freedom and possibility, of kicking against the pricks, and the joie de vivre of anti-establishmentism.

I'm also not necessarily looking for pro-punk songs. Lost and broken dreams are just as integral as transitory success. What I'm trying to avoid are too many pieces about bands which didn't exist trying for a shot of stardom and falling short. I've had a few of these - and no doubt some will make it into the book - but the anthology needs to be more multi-dimensionary and I am genuinely open to anything. And I'm not after stereotypical punk figures with coloured hair and safety pins through their noses - if you have such a character make them authentic, not filtered through the way punk has subsequently come to be portrayed via the glamour of history.

In some sense: if you have to ask what a 'punk' story is then you won't be able to write it. A punk story should come from the heart, be infused with passion. And to further confirm: I'm not restricted to punk in it's pivotal years - the above guidelines are clear that later movements which sprang from punk will also be of interest to me. It's often said that everyone has a novel inside them which is open to debate, but I firmly believe that every punk has a punk story inside them. Let yours out.

Finally, it's best just to get writing with fire in your belly and punk in your heart. Ultimately I won't know what I want until it read it. Make me want it.

What's Inside A Ghetto?

Regular readers of this blog will be aware that I co-edit the irrealist/surrealist/gritty/feral poetry prose magazine, Fur-Lined Ghettos. Of course, we're constantly reading submissions for the magazine and also attempting to flog it, and one of the questions we constantly get asked is what type of work do we publish.

We came up with this: "We enjoy the surreal, the absurd, the nonsensical, the complicated, the simple, the truth, the lies, the complexity of words, the ecstasy of genius, the delightful power we find in the spaces between and dancing at the discothèque. Poetry. Prose. Short stories. Dreams. Essays. Conversations. Musings. Fact. Fiction. Art. Theory. Nonsense."

Naturally, this still doesn't really explain what we're after. And to be honest, we usually don't know what we want until we see it. Last night it occured to us that we're trying to promote a product the contents of which anyone other than those who purchase the magazine haven't seen. Like trying to sell a lucky dip. So, here's a preview of some of the work in each issue. Hopefully this will help those who are wavering about submitting/purchasing to make a decision about doing so.

From #1, "Paola" by Travis McCullers:

"I lit my friend's hair on fire one time. It was cool." - Darius the Convivial.

Blooded arms entangled besides--
Crooks after kisses, sugar for the ride

Flooded temples assume ruin
Doleful hounds perish in the sun
Girls flash their goods for bar denizens
Lorca drags on through the streets of Granada for eternity

Look here, espy the anguish, scan for scars
Stumple upon heaven in a box, dig in for your prize

Bless the relicts, sow the field with salts
Glide like a swan on the surface of comity
Grow your hair out long and brood for a sweet young nestling

Lick your albatross and swoon

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From #2, "A Visit" by Serena Cook

Why do you chuckle so?
What sparks the cruelty in your bones?
Do you do it to spite us?
You have everything...
Apart from the tissue that makes you human
Because maybe you're not...you can't be
The words you speak are malicious
The deeds you carry out are ruthless
You have everything...
We gave you everything you ever wanted
We gave you what we knew you needed
But now, what you need
What you desperately need is
A visit from a heart

__________________________________________________

Interlude to look at all the pretty covers:

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From #3, "Boris Johnson's Hair" by Mike Cannon:

Look at his lovely, lovely, stupid, lovely hair
The mouth doesn't matter fill it full of chips no difference
blunderbuss power politic bichon fries locked disaster face
GUUUFFFFAAAAWWWW!
A deformed Churchill burger smashed into pooh bear's corpse
re animated at 240 volts, fibre optic follicles burn through milk.
RA RA RA! YA YA YA!

How?

The king FOP, emperor bungle chops
jowl quivering over a microphone for stammering puppy sympathy
St Bernard's who cant rescue get put down. YELP. So sad.

I will do it FOR FREE. I will shave his head.
__________________________________________________

Of course, all work above is copyrighted to the individual authors and is not to be reprinted without their prior permission.

Hopefully this has answered some of the queries we get about what exactly lies within the pages of Fur-Lined Ghettos. So buy it. We do need your support to continue publishing such great writers.

Holidays

Haven't been able to blog for a while (did you miss me?) because we were on holiday. Now, holidays are pretty essential for my wellbeing. I work 11 days out of 14 in day jobs, not counting any freelance work or writing that I do in my spare time, and travelling is when I am happiest. In fact, I've said it frequently that I feel more at home travelling than I do when I'm at home. I get travelsick for travelling where others get homesick for home. Coming home for me is a big downer. I need to be on the move.

I spent a week in North Wales with my partner and our young child, together with my eldest daughter; and then we dropped off the kids with their respective grandmothers and did a 9 hour detour in the process to spend a second week in the Lake District. Believe me, that detour was worth it. I love my children, but remove them from the equation and BINGO! Anyone with kids will understand this.

In no particular order we saw waterfalls, castles, caves, beaches, mountains, The Village, generally breathtaking views, an assortment of wild animals, and other stuff I can't recall off the top of my head. Time stopped (for my views on travelling, immortality and the dislocation of time read my novel, Moon Beaver), and I incorporated two pilgrimages into the trips (more later). Along the way I took some cool photos and my partner took even cooler photos. A selection follows:

Here my teenage sprog advances on the windswept beach towards the lighthouse at Talacre, North Wales. The tide was out. Such an evocative place. Wales gave us an abundance of cool stuff, with Conwy Castle probably being our favourite destination. It also provided me with the destination of the first of my pilgrimages. Here's a clue:

I first caught The Prisoner television series when Channel Four was launched in 1982. It was one of those series which captured my imagination and probably assisted my desire to write. Portmeirion has therefore been a destination I've wanted to head to for some time, and it didn't disappoint. I kept smiling as I realised I was in the Village. The beach was particularly memorable - I expected to see Rover at any moment. People pruning the trees felt sinister beyond the normality of their roles. I loved it.

Anyway, once the kids had been abandoned and we drove through the worst rain-drenched motorway traffic I've ever seen by the seat of our pants, we ended up in the Lake District. I'd only been here once before on a school trip and could remember none of it. The scenery was the most spectacular I've ever seen in the UK, reminding me in places of New Zealand's Milford Sound. Of course, you had to get away from the crowds which swarmed around Lake Windermere like wasps on ice-cream.

Whilst we were in the Lakes we visited Ulverston for the second of my pilgrimages, to Stan Laurel's birthplace and the Laurel & Hardy museum (less a museum than a collection of memorabillia, rather ramshackle but with a distinct charm), where we watched their classic "The Music Box" on the big screen. Laurel & Hardy repeats were often on TV in my youth and without a doubt they are magical. Here they deliver a piano to an address "right on top of the stoop" (I could probably quote the movie verbatim: "He doesn't want me. He wants the other monkey. You!"). Again, without Laurel & Hardy I would probably be quite a different person than I am today. Certainly more serious and not such an idiot. (example: we spent the last three days of the holiday speaking to each other only in daft American accents).

We're not great walkers, so the mountains availed themselves as scenery rather than obstacles to be mounted, nevertheless we did get off the generally beaten track and drove the often single-track loosely tarmaced stretch to Wasdale Head with its panoramic view of Scafell Pike and associated peaks. The day was dull and therefore perfect for this journey into an almost lost world scenario. I'll close with this photo from my partner cos it's the best of the bunch. Now just 50 weeks to wait for the next sojourn.

The Tamandua

Regular readers of this blog will know that I love animals of the long-snouted variety. To celebrate both mine and my partner's recent birthdays we took a trip to Colchester Zoo yesterday. It was baking hot, and we did a lot of walking, but we managed to see all the long-snouted animals we expected: the giant anteater, the aardvark, and the dik dik spring to mind on recollection. As well as seeing and enjoying the regular animals with their regular-sized snouts, of course; including the lucky experience of watching a chimpanzee shit into its hand.

However, rather astonishingly, I saw a picture of a long-snouted animal next to an (unfortunately) seemingly empty enclosure that I hadn't heard of before (my partner said she knew of this one, and had in fact previously mentioned it to me, but I must have forgotten). The animal in question is from the genus of anteaters and is a Tamandua.

Looks pretty cool, doesn't it. Well, I looked within the enclosure through the mesh but couldn't see anything, and then I pressed my face to the glass on the other side of the enclosure and shielded the glare from the sun, but if the tamandua was there it certainly wasn't as bothered about seeing me as I was of seeing it. Most disappointing.

From wiki:

Tamandua is a genus of anteaters. It has two members: the southern tamandua (Tamandua tetradactyla) and the northern tamandua (Tamandua mexicana). They live in forests and grasslands, are semi-arboreal, and possess partially prehensile tails. They mainly eat ants and termites, but they occasionally eat bees, beetles, and insect larvae. In captivity, they will eat fruits and meat. They have no teeth and depend on their powerful gizzard to break down their food.

There's also the interesting fact: When aggravated, tamanduas communicate by hissing and releasing an unpleasant scent from their anal gland.

But more importantly, just look at the length of that snout!