Nanowrimo again

No, I don't like it, I think it's a silly idea.  The whole idea of competitive writing, like competitive baking, is symbolic to me of what is wrong with British society!  The idea of 1.9 m people writing a half-formed novel is horrifying.   Of course they won't all finish, of course a few of them will be genuinely good, but those that are completed, how many will be sloshing about in the self-published doldrums.  So why would I possibly want to participate?

The answer is simple, I am very stuck with the new book, and the idea of writing 50,000 words in a month and getting critical mass was appealing... I thought that if I wrote the Bertha strand of the book as a stand alone story I might see where things were going.   It would also force me to write first and research afterwards.  Research is a problem - I wanted to see what happened technically, found a website and was reading about Bertha's children... mistake!  Anyway,  I started on Tuesday, and by yesterday I had 6,500 words, and was well-pleased, some interesting characters and a sex scene...

So it is working, and it's given me a deadline, and I do love a deadline!  Also, I want to get it finished before the 30th November - because there's a lot of Christmas stuff that has to happen just before Advent - not least writing the advent calendar for Facebook.

Now the great new project is starting up - and that's going to keep things interesting, I may even forget about the other lovely book, sitting with an agent.   Sigh.

Ghost in the Machine

Sometimes, you plunge along, rather uninspired, but you do it anyway.   Sometimes you just say something to someone and unleash a deluge.

I've just unleashed a deluge of stories - from a man I know slightly - and now I have undertaken to ghostwrite his book... weird.  I wonder if it will get anywhere.  He is incredibly excited about it, while I am feeling my usual jaded self.  He is 55 and has done a lot of drug-related activities and a lot of illegal stuff.  I foresee problems, but I also am faintly excited, since I think I have a latter day Howard Marks on my hands.

The reason he is excited is because he is currently unemployed and full time carer for his Dad, so his life is pretty dull, and he has been thinking about writing up his adventures for some years, so I seem like a gift from heaven.   I also know that Mark and others will sigh and throw their hands up and say "It's another Tony!" "You and your lame ducks!"

I just hope he's got enough material for a book - we need 50k at least.  I am hoping I can write this alongside my other projects.  I expect so, it's basically editing, so shouldn't interfere.

Blurb

A first few trial blurbs (I reckon it's best to start early) as I'm already finding it difficult to explain what the story is.


A sinister church and three driven, passionate women, linked across 1500 years

A mysterious church, three haunted women, linked across the centuries

It was a church like no other - and it linked three women's struggles for fulfilment across the centuries

The isolated church with a sinister message three women struggle to breaks its hold over them.


A church with a message - and three women's struggles to break its grip on them.

Adela, Bertha and Constance: each has her own struggle, for love, recognition and a family. They are linked across 1500 years by the tiny church that the locals call "The Devil's Chapel".

Research

I thought I could just get going, but yesterday told me differently.

Stupid really, an A-level in Medieval history and 6 weeks studying the Dark Ages at degree level (before I switched to Classics) do not equip you to write a multi-stranded historical novel without a bit of extra work.  I started with 1910 - a period I am happy and familiar with due to my research on The Ash Grove.  Then I stopped,.   I need to write the three different strands independently and then cut them into each other - I think.  But logically I should start with 1910 and the story of Dorothy's research (actually maybe I'm going to call her Constance)   But I start doing my own research, and I'm drawn to the historical periods, rather than trying to understand the history of female scholarship and women's role in the Society of Antiquaries,.   Next week I am going to the Antiquaries' library I think, to get on with it.

Yesterday I felt stupidly stuck, but an hour's reading of a book about Romanesque sculpture this morning has filled me with ideas again.   I am off to buy a bookstand for the desk - so I can take notes onto the laptop.  Why haven't I had one before?

This is a Barfrestone capital formed as a double-bodied dragon - a fairly typical "grotesque" illustration, which as I observed at the time, seem to mimic designs seen in medieval manuscripts.  This has been confirmed this morning.   I also discovered the that masons' lodge was under the direction of a church official, the Prior of  ChristChurch (the Cathedral monastery) so that adds a whole different dimension of tension and conflict and the need for concealment - good stuff.

The new term begins!

I have started writing the Devil's Chapel - and I am delighted that I have 4,000 words of an actual beginning... I have re-used some of the MR James type text I wrote in March, but in a more concise, dynamic way.  I think I will write the three stories independently and then intercut them and edit and add foreshadowings and so on later.  I have even thought of a plot twist.

Today I felt very ill, so I didn't do much, but I edited and read up notes and thought and tried to induce in myself a medieval/dark ages mindset.  Tricky.

The autumn campaign

It  has been several months now, well actually over a year, since I found myself in the midst of writing a book.  It isn’t lack of ideas, perhaps it’s the anxiety that I am not “doing it right” and that I have no way of understanding how to “correct” myself.  Is that it?   I think really it is “what’s the point?” and the realisation that the books I am writing are not what the market wants, however well written and excellent they are.  And of course as time goes on one begins to think how they might be re-worked and made even more excellent. Perhaps the fact of having written 4 novels in 7 years seemed a bit overwhelming and maybe my brain needs a rest, but frankly I think it is discouragement rather than anything else.  The reason I feel able to write now is because there is interest in one of my books.   

Since the spring, well, since about May, when the energy I first had for The Devil’s Chapel petered out, I have done no real writing.  I messed about with the OAMFD idea and then lost interest.  I fiddled with a few ideas, wrote a few sketches, but nothing caught fire.  I have had endless ideas for work, but nothing that really grabs me.  TDC is listed as this autumn’s project and I think it’s a good one.  I just hope I that this lassitude doesn’t extend beyond our trip to Naples.

It really is quite depressing not writing, however domestic life has been rather demanding over the last few months, and I hate the idea of writing during the summer holidays.  However, all this will change soon I expect, there will be no "summer holidays" to speak of now that Finn has left school, and we can choose where and when to go away.  I will miss the summer holidays - a six week period of feeling at liberty to enjoy oneself, even if one doesn't have the funds to enjoy it completely, or that they are supplemented by AirBnB which requires a certain amount of work.

The feeling of "the autumn term" has always been one that I've liked.  I've postponed it a bit this year, with our trip to Napoli - but when I come back I will be ready for lots of good new things.

All Change

Several things have happened.

Firstly, an enlightened agent has asked for a full read of the book formerly known as The Malice of Fairies
He is still reading it, I will not worry about it until October.

Secondly, I decided not to go to "The Festival of Writing" because the actual cost was £490 plus train fares and taxis and was just too much.  Also my gut was telling me not to go, and the fact that an agent was having a full read was enough to console me.

Thirdly, I decided that even if the agent turned down the book, I would not self-publish in the autumn.  This came about in a conversation with Tara, she said "your heart's not in it" and this is true, it's always been a sort of desperate measure... something I felt I must do to earn some money and justify my existence.

The upshot of these three things is that I have, miraculously, felt I can write again, that it's worthwhile.  I started to look at all my notes on the triple story book (working title The Devil's Chapel) which I started thinking about and researching and writing after my trip to Barfrestone Church at Easter.  I was delighted to find I had the beginnings of a good structure and some nice ideas about what women have wanted throughout the ages.  I'm excited.  I hope I can do it justice, marry it together and make it moving..

I intend to base the carvings on those at Barfrestone, but not to use them literally.  I don't want to get stuck, my ideas about continuing Woden worship are a little weird, but not impossible.  So I want to extrapolate from that.

A burst of enthusiasm

After the marketing man never got back to me, despite florid promises, I decided "What the helll, I shall do it myself."   I opened my list of "agents qualified to be, attendant on my lovely book..." and found some.  The first agent wanted something different in the subs letter, which was fun to write.   Even more fun, he got back to me 10 minutes later and said "it was the sort of thing he liked" and asked me to be patient.   A few days later he asked for the whole MS, and asked me to be patient.   He's brief, businesslike and un-gushing, which I like (shades of the lamented lost agent, JM).

I have changed the title for subs, it's now going out as "The Road through the Woods" and this may have made all the difference.  That, and removing the Sioga elements from chapter 3 and leaving them until later in the book.

On Thursday, when I got the request for the full MS, I was smiling for about 2 hours.   The smile shifted slightly when I remembered that I had left a half-finished acknowledgements and glossary at the end of the text, there is something hubristic about thanking everyone before you are published, looks a bit babyish... no matter.  I was preparing for self-publishing.  I may still have to do this.

But I am so Relieved that finally an agent has taken some notice of it!  And Delighted that it is someone I think has a good reputation.  

Daniel Adorno's advice on Tweeting

This is a bit of a break with the blog style to date.  I need somewhere to keep my bits of useful information about book marketing (whether I'm conventionally published or indie, I need this sort of advice) and I thought, put it on the blog - share it with my readers.  It may or may not be of interest, but it has rather more general appeal than my struggles to get published!

So, this is an email I received from blogger Daniel Adorno.

Ask any writer and they'll tell you that writing is meant to be a solitary experience. Writers do their best work when no one is around and when distractions are minimal. Unfortunately, many aspiring authors are unaware that this rule of solitude should never apply to their social media platform.

Too often I've seen authors who have either neglected their Twitter accounts or are completely oblivious to the rules of social media. I'm sure many authors would like followers on Twitter in the thousands because it'll probably lead to more sales of their books, more reader engagement, and more visibility in a crowded industry. And yet, most indie authors on Twitter have follower counts in the teens and tweets with no engagement.

Did I just describe your Twitter account? It's frustrating isn't it? You've written an amazing novel or non-fiction work and no one knows it exists! I understand how you feel because I was in the same boat.

When I first signed up on Twitter, I was excited for the possibilities of building a platform and an audience for my writing. I was confident that after a few tweets about my book and short stories, people would flock to my book page and click the buy button. Reality set in pretty quick. For weeks, my Twitter page languished with a meager 20 followers (most of them friends and family) and a dozen pathetic tweets from yours truly about writing.

I didn't realize at the time that there were two problems with my Twitter approach.

1. Not searching for my audience

For some strange reason, writers throw out all logic when it comes to their own writing. I thought my stories would be good enough to garner some attention and I'd gain an organic following. Well, unless you're a celebrity, don't expect people to find you on Twitter and start following you. You, the author, need to find your audience, not the other way around.

How do you go about doing this?

It's really simple. Find people on Twitter who like the same books, movies, TV shows as you do and start following them. Search for fans of Harry Potter, Dr. Who, Downton Abbey or whatever franchise you're into and connect with them. Retweet their posts, read and comment on their blogs, and engage in conversation.

Remember these are people who are into the same things as you so connecting will be really easy and even fun! Twitter is about socializing, not just marketing. If you take the time to connect with potential readers, you will naturally grow your audience and interest in your work. Not understanding this concept was the cause of most of my frustration when it came to gaining more followers and once I remedied the problem things started to turn around. But there's one more gap that kept me from gaining traction on Twitter...

2. Not following the "rules" of Twitter

When I say rules, I don't mean the terms and conditions when you sign up for Twitter or any other social media platform. I'm talking about the norms people follow when they tweet, retweet, and follow others. You'll quickly realize that once you start following potential readers and like-minded folks on Twitter, you'll get them to follow back.

I've learned that it's good Twitter etiquette to follow someone back who's followed you first. Initially, I didn't want to follow people who I didn't know because most of my experience with social media came from Facebook, where I avoid friend requests from strangers and do my best to keep privacy settings pretty strict. This approach is counter-intuitive on Twitter if you want to gain a following and reach an audience.

Will your Twitter feed be flooded by tweets from strangers? Yes, but you can manage this with apps like TweetDeck or by creating Lists to filter out the tweets you don't want to see. But within the flurry of tweeting there are informative posts and tips you can respond to, which brings me to the next "rule".

Retweet like crazy!

Well, don't go completely nuts with it, but try to help your followers and those you follow by sharing their content. As an author or writer, you're also bound to gain fellow authors as followers--retweet their content too! Don't see the other authors as competition. They're trying to build their brand, platform, and following just like you. Help them out with their marketing and you may help yourself out as well, either by gaining some followers from their audience or landing a guest post on their blog. Twitter can be very reciprocal that way. Be generous and treat others as you'd like to be treated. You'll be surprised how far you can get!

In the spirit of tweeting and retweeting, if you're on Twitter and I'm not a follower of yours, click below to tweet me and I'll follow you! I'll do my best to retweet your latest writing success so your marketing efforts are just a little easier ;-)

Click here to tweet me!

See you on the Twittersphere,
Daniel

Goodbye cruel (publishing) world?

Periodically one's writing is a source of despair.  Viewed rationally this despair is no more real than one's feelings of delight in one's work.  The work is as it is, nothing has changed (apart from a little light proof reading) but one's whole attitude to it is changed.

Last week, the publishing marketing guy took on the task of giving me a one-line pitch for The Malice of Fairies.  We exchanged a couple of emails, and then he was delayed by his other work...so I felt low again.  I think it's really hard to do a one-line pitch for the book.  I've had this discussion with T and I know the theory behind the one line pitch, but getting the feel of TMoF into a sentence is crazy.   The marketing man agrees with his ex-wife that TMoF is a title that will not work... A lot of people like it - they say it's intriguing, they sense an opposition between Malice and Fairies... they say they'd pick it up... I'd be sorry to lose the title, the suggested alternatives  "The Stolen Child" "The Road through the Woods" "Hashtag Lost Girl" don't really do it for me...I'm usually good at titles...

Another point is that the number of agents who have turned me down in the UK is still only about 20 (including the madwoman mentioned in the previous post, who seemed to think it was horror).  I haven't submitted it anywhere recently, I am waiting for the guru to pronounce.  Yet somehow I feel as if I have no where left to turn.  But there are about 79 agents who might be interested.  And things can happen, but over all, since the edit in the spring I have felt increasingly unwilling to write, unwilling to engage, unwilling to believe that anything will happen.    Apparently visualising (ie daydreaming) about your future success is not as helpful to creating actual success as having sensible expectations based on previous experiences.   A lot of my previous experiences are so long ago I cannot quite tell what I should expect on the basis of them.   I got sacked from several jobs - but I can't see how that fits with the future success of this or any other novel.

So, at present, I am seriously considering giving up writing.  Been there, done it, failed.  I have devoted the best part of 7.5 years to this - to say nothing of all the abortive novels and ideas pursued since my late teens. I have nothing to show for it financially.  People admire my tenacity - but I am increasingly wondering if I am barking up the wrong tree.  The emotions I feel are similar to those I felt when I abandoned the idea of becoming a priest.  An intense disbelief that something I had pursued so ardently and with considerable work and energy and felt was the right thing to pursue, turned out to have no future.  Something that meant everything for me had to be abandoned, at that time, when I prayed about what I should do next, I heard the word Writing.  It took a while to get up to speed, but finally I did, and now it doesn't seem to be the answer either.   T has been very staunch and saying "the darkest hour is before the dawn" etc., but I really feel this must be one of the longest hours before dawn ever...I am glad I don't do Tarot cards any more - I suspect I would endlessly be getting that card, I think it's the 3 of Swords, which means "the false down, disappointment, despair".  That seems to sum it up when I feel at my worst just now.

So the plan is this: inundate agents with the book, then give up and self-publish.  The only question I have is whether to go to the Festival of Writing and see if I can hook an agent there.  It's £400, which would make TMoF the costliest book ever.   Will I ever get back all that money?  

A small shift in the pack ice?

This week I have had two interesting things happening, well three actually.  I received an email from an agent who I had sent a query to nearly 8 weeks ago, asking to read my "chapters" because she said she was "trying to avoid the genre" but "couldn't resist" my offer.   How lovely.  The chapters went back by return click.

On the same day an Irish publisher sent me a rather confusing email.  It said that they were full up currently but I could send it again next year, when I'd continued to edit it.  This wasn't a guarantee of publication, only that I could go through the process again.     I asked them to clarify what they meant, so they sent me a longer email, suggesting I try the Mercier Press, which don't take unagented books, but I could send them a query letter.

Meanwhile I had been negotiating with an editor about giving the book a critical read and giving me some notes... but she wanted £450 - paid in advance, so I will wait and see what the agent says and then perhaps get it done.  I don't know, I don't really want the book edited again, which is what she was suggesting..I just want a bit of advice.  Why does it have to be so expesive?

This is a dream I had about a fortnight before this post, after being offered an edit (unwanted), of my novel for £500.

I dreamed that the house (not this house, another one) was full of young men, all involved in publishing, chiefly editors.  They were here because they wanted to edit my book, and I was trying to placate them with booze.  They were drinking the house dry and getting increasingly drunk, one of them offered to edit the book for £150 for me.  I was pleased with that, but then became preoccupied with the state of the house, which was full of empty bottles and glasses and mess.  I think I invited one of the editors to go and have dinner out or something, so that we could continue our discussions.  They were all young and fairly attractive, one of them a bit like that French actor I clocked for Connor, Sylvain Dieudonne...

Clearly I was not happy about the rampaging greed of editors, shocked at how much they had drunk and how I had no wine left in the cellar.   Clearly I did not want to spend my hard earned cash on an otiose re-edit.

The Bachelor Sparrow

About three weeks ago I noticed a cock sparrow singing loudly from the second from top branch of the dead elder tree, that sprouts spectrally from the heart of a flower laden lilac bush.  I wondered why it was singing - perhaps it was a warning, had it spotted the cat, Bernard, tracking the erratic paths of imaginary frogs through the flower bed?  I knew a blackbird's warning cry, but this song didn't sound like a warning.  It was robust, repetitive but unremarkable.   After a while, the bird flew away.

The next time I was in the garden, there was a cock sparrow, clinging to the elder tree, ringing out a message.  I mentioned it to my husband, he said "how can you be sure it's the same one?"   I felt sure it was, it had the same MO as crime writers say.   As if alarmed by our scrutiny, it launched itself in a bowl shaped flightpath onto our neighbour's roof, where it began its song again, now within earshot of the sparrow nest under her dormer window.  Was it a joyful father sparrow, announcing the good news to all and sundry, and taking a break from the work of nest building and feeding..

After a few days I decided that this must be a courtship song, destined to draw a mate.  And then my heart sank. It was already May, the birds had coupled up weeks ago, nests had been built, eggs laid.  This lone sparrow was persisting in trying to attract a female, but honestly, what were his chances?  Perhaps if Bernard caught some hapless foraging cock sparrow, there might be a female in want of a mate.  This spare bird would be the answer to a matron's prayers, if he could be encouraged to feed her orphaned chicks, and forego his own immediate right to father a brood until this batch were fledged.  Did that happen?  Do sparrows make good step-fathers?

Three weeks later, the sparrow still sits in the elder tree and sings, then shifts to a nearby roof and sings again.  Occasionally I hear his song from the top of the apple tree.  Sometimes I fancy I hear a faint answering twitter, but it's probably another bird, a blue tit, touring the aphid patches on the honeysuckle for a good feed.

Why doesn't he leave and try another garden?  There are no spare females here, but I know there are sparrows at the end of the road, within easy flying distance.   Perhaps he does, perhaps he sings out his brand message in many trees in this rectangle of back gardens.  Perhaps he will never find a female.  Of course he doesn't know that.  It can't occur to him that all the females locally are mated and nested and brooding.  And if he could know that, what would he do about it?  Now at least he is fulfilling his biological destiny, to sing for a mate.

This creature has moved me, I am praying for him.  I am praying that he will, against all the odds, find a mate and pass on his persistent, determined genes, to breed a race of resolute young sparrows who are able to stand up to what fate holds for them.   But I fear for him.  How long do sparrows live?  Will he survive the winter?  I am terrified to think that he will freeze or starve over the winter and not be able to know the triumph of successful mating.  To die alone, on some bare twig, or perhaps in the shelter of the camellia or one of the other evergreens, this seems a desperate fate to me.  Surely he will survive to next spring, when his mature and masculine trills will thrill susceptible female sparrows from all the local gardens.  He will mate with a youthful, healthy female and bring forth a brood of unsurpassable beauty and strength.

When I first thought about this sparrow, I was thinking about his loneliness, and projecting human emotions onto him.  While I was writing this, I realised that his desperate attempts to sing out and attract attention moved me because they were similar to my own attempts to sing out and attract attention for my book.  I do not want to die before it finds a home, I want it to go out and flourish in the world, although I would prefer not to have to go through another winter before that happens.
  

Two book blurbs, both alike in dignity?

I have just read an article on how to write book blurbs.   I had one in place for The Malice of Fairies, this one:

Deirdre is a rationalist and a sceptic, but a visit to West Cork and a romantic encounter with the mysteriously irresistible Connor begin to challenge her long-held belief system. The whole structure of her life begins to totter when her young daughter Elsie disappears, abducted by the sióga, a powerful clan hidebound by thousands of years of tradition. There’s nothing fey about these fairies and Elsie’s abduction catalyses the clan’s disenchantment with Aurelia, their ageing chieftain. Aurelia’s sons, Connor and the ambitious, sexually-conflicted Gawen, are rivals to succeed her, threatening further dissension within the sióga. Elsie is in danger of becoming collateral damage, while Deirdre risks losing not just her precious daughter, but everything that really matters to her. 

After reading the article, I wrote a new one: 

Deirdre’s lost in the woods when she meets the irresistible Connor. A sceptical academic, Deirdre falls for this uncannily charming man, and is drawn back to Ireland to visit him, taking her nine year old daughter Elsie.  With Elsie’s sudden disappearance, Deirdre receives a series of devastating blows which steadily force her to see the world differently, until finally, Connor’s mother, the manipulative Aurelia, offers her a terrifying bargain.

Aurelia’s people, the sióga, are bound by centuries of tradition which Connor and his sexually-ambiguous brother Gawen, are both longing to change.  Rivals to succeed Aurelia, their struggle for dominance seems remote from Deirdre’s familiar, professional world, but everything she loves depends on its outcome.

Which do you think works best?   Comments below please - or on the FB page The Malice of Fairies,

Tara Moore "Fade to Dead"

This is my friend Tara's latest novel, published by Urbane Publications, and available from all good online stores and crime festivals.   Just as Trotskyites in the 1970s were urged to "make the turn to industry" (i.e. go and become agitators in the workplace, rather than intellectualise in universities), writers are being incessantly urged to write crime. Tara has had a long career writing commercial women's novels, with a hint of the dark in the last ones, until her agent urged her to turn to crime.  As I don't read much crime (or much of anything  at the moment) it would be a long slog to become a crime writer, and the results would not be as satisfying as this is. I particularly liked the main character, DI Jess Wildacre, although apparently some reviewers do not.  I found it funny in places, and very grim in others.  You feel all the frustrations that the police team feel with this serial killer and it seems impossible to see how they can find any evidence.  It's a relief when they do.  I didn't see the twist coming either.  What more can I say?  Read it yourselves.

The Point of Blogging

I started this blog about 5? years ago, because I was told by other writers that we all had to have a blog, a calling card, something to impress the industry with our "platform".  I don't know if anyone else gets a chance to see the stats on this blog, but if this was my only "platform" it would be a pretty wobbly and isolated one.

The intention of this blog was to provide an insight into the process of working, for anyone who might be interested.   Occasionally I put up a sample of the work.  These samples always have far more readership than anything else on here, quite reasonably, since they are properly written chapters, and not just me whinging on about how hard things are.

The blog falls between any number of stools - I could do something with it, like become a mega reviewer, or I could indulge in a bit of literary gossip, to attract more customers.  But this is not about the numbers, it's more of an aide memoire for me, how I felt, how I responded, what I did.  It's not personal, anyone can read it really.  I don't think I've been rude to anyone; a bit cheeky about agents maybe, but when you've had the rejection letters I've had, you can't help that.  

I continue to do it not to gratify the loyal readership (sorry) but because I am interested in the process and progress of the works, the ideas I've had, the ideas I've discarded, and so on.   However, I will try and write more about other writers I know and what they are doing.  This is called backscratching (and ruder things), but is essential to "get on".

Avanti!

I was rather shocked today to realise that it was about 6 months since I'd done any serious writing.   Of course I have been involved in the editing and re-writing of The Malice of Fairies and I have written considerable chunks of The Devil's Chapel, The Dog-Walkers Book Club etc. but despite applying my bottom firmly to my chair and typing so much that I seem to have RSI or something in my elbow, no new work is forthcoming.  What I mean by serious writing is what I do when I'm writing a book, 2-3,000 words a day, and a smart answer for anyone who is foolish enough to interrupt me (cups of tea and coffee delivered silently are acceptable).  Everything in the last few months seems to be a bit scattergun.

This is due partly to the slow progress of TMoF - although if agents were getting back and asking for changes and so on, I wouldn't have much time for other writing.  It is also due to an underlying "is there any point?" feeling.  Yes, I would enjoy writing them, but I am not so sybaritic that I can simply lounge in the pleasure of writing for its own sake.  It needs to earn me some money.

At present, I have gone beyond sorrow, into a place of incredulity.  However, yesterday I discoverd a US website called Query Tracker, which lists about 1400 agents, so clearly I have barely scratched the surface.  The trouble is dealing with each individually crafted submission, as well as my paltry attempts at a social media presence.    I feel happy because I'm getting on top of it, but at the same time, the unplanted summer plants, the ironing, the state of the spare room, dealing with our listings on the AirBnB website, the redecoration of Ned's room etc. all are neglected as I sit here, close cousin to Mrs Filth-Packet, in my dressing gown, awaiting the CALL!


The other projects I have begun, or am continuing, include: screenplay treatment of TMoF, because everyone says it would be a great filum entirely, a sarcastic but helpful book about approaching agents, working title "Other Agents May Feel Differently", the Beastly Betty idea, a thorough overhaul of The Romantic Feminist since apparently there is still interest in the 70's.  But I am not working consistently on one thing.  I cannot tell if this is good.  I like to focus on one thing, but maybe it's more "creative" to diversify one's interests.  Maybe I should just go with the flow and do a bit here, and a bit there.   I am reading more, and doing odd bits of research for The Devil's Chapel.  In fact I've just had an idea for another element of it...I haven't "lost it".   This is just a different phase.  Maybe it's a better one, multi-tasking could be more stimulating.  Now, what am I giving the guests for dinner tomorrow night....?

Self-pitying tosh

I think the following can be put into this category.  As I rightly recognised in the last post, I have too many projects to think clearly, and I think the reason I have so many projects is because my brain is trying to protect me from the feelings of utter misery and despair about my future as a writer, while at the same time preventing me from getting on with anything..

Now, unlike some people who want to be writers, I can write well, I have a reasonable amount of insight into the human condition, and the persistence to get it down on paper .  I have written 4 novels in the last 6 years and chunks of other stuff, including the ill-fated Ransome series Pah!   I have done all the things they say you have to do, I have even paid for editorial advice and editing, I have had rave rejections for my first two novels, yet I cannot get any interest in The Malice of Fairies.. I am getting nothing but the standard brush offs...no rave rejections, no requests for full reads.   I know this is the second phase, post editing etc. and perhaps I should treat it as a the real beginning.  Perhaps I should be more patient, but I cannot help becoming very discouraged.

I have been grown up about this for a long time, I have been realistic, I have been sensible.  But I really thought this was the novel that would make agents catch fire...All the efforts I have made to promote it (well, as many as I felt I could get away with without everyone getting sickened by it).  If all feels pretty futile.

But then again, 10, mostly N. American, agents, have still got it.  There's hope. And there are plenty more to apply to.  I suppose one has these phases of discouragement from time to time.   But let me run through my fears - that my work is too same-old, same-old to be a cutting edge literary novel, that my writing is better than my story-telling, that my work is too "clever" to be widely commercial,  that I have no sense of popular taste, that my age is against me (not that that gets written on submissions.) but that I am somehow beyond the culture.


Some of this misery is clearly connected with my over inflated excitement/expectation about the novel - but everyone has enjoyed it, praised it (all 4 of them) and since 2 of the readers are professional writers/editors then one does tend to take it more seriously. Perhaps if I had had lower expectations for it, I wouldn't feel so awful now.  But a part of me felt that if I wasn't utterly wholehearted about it, neither would anyone else be. so I have to carry on brightly cheery and perky about it. Nevertheless, I am feeling unlucky.  I don't really know if I believe in luck, I certainly haven't had an enormous amount of it lately. I ought to have more faith really, and just think that for everything there is a season, and this is just not my season yet. The fact is, everyone says, if you have talent and work hard you will succeed... humph, the people who haven't succeeded are curiously silent on the fact. Reluctantly, I have come to believe in astrology - although it's not foolproof, and some of the astrologers interpret things in a weird way.   Take the Mars retrograde... a lot of people say everything will slow down, low energy etc. nothing much will happen, or alternatively there's this:


Perhaps there's something in it, the decline in competition and forward urge may give one the chance to re-charge one's batteries, and rest up a bit, and deal with oneself, rather than worrying about the "competition".  Which in my case is the other million wannabe novelists who are putting their work into the agents. People always say writers aren't in competition with each other - but I think that's bunk.   The fact is, all these other wanabees are clogging up the agents intrays and preventing them from spending more time on MY submissions.  And there are only so many people getting published each year, only so many slots at the publishers.  So, yes, inevitably there is a sense of competition.    But we can all take a back seat, and preen ourselves into a state of glossy awesomeness..

Another factor in my discontent is probably my impatiience, I want something to happen NOW.  Because it's feels like it's around for a long time.   If I were prepared to take a long term view - that the book will be published, just not yet...it might be easier.

"On submission"

There is a terrible emptiness that comes over me once a novel has been completed and has gone out to be submitted.  An emptiness somewhat exacerbated by the fact that people are not hammering on my door and demanding full reads.  

My brain is over-compensating by giving me three different ideas for a novel simultaneously.   Firstly there's Beastly Betty the reworking of Balzac's Cousin Bette, I bashed out a thousand words of that, I was setting it in the 1950's, so there was the same sort of post-war reverence for the war leader - it is set in London of course.   Then I realised I needed to be really thoroughly immersed in the book for it to come easily...
The second idea - which I have done a fair bit of work on is The Dog-Walkers' Book Club - a story of life in a seaside town with gaslighting and stalking and deceit and secrets.    Finally, inspired by my visit to Barfrestone, I began writing a short story, which expanded towards a radio play, which I now think might make a novel.  The novel would be a 3-stranded work - linking Queen Bertha of Kent with some nasty medieval masons who are still worshiping the old gods in the 12th Century (not unfeasible) and some modern antiquarians who are trying to understand why this church is so EVIL.

As a result of these ideas, and the need to re-write The Ash Grove  and perhaps get a screenplay for TMOF, my brain is far too busy to actually write.   Oh, and of course, I have nearly completed Other Agents May Feel Differently a short guide to submission and rejections.

Miscellaneous writings 1

April 2016

At this age one's fantasies change.  I don't imagine having chance romantic encounters.  My fantasy is about driving to a pub that's off the beaten track and meeting by chance a long lost old friend, and having a long, warm, deep conversation with him (yes, it's a him); that middle-aged "What do you think of the show so far?" conversation.

Sadly this pub is bereft of such an encounter, but it has a lot of young couples having dinner together, well three.  It's a very nice pub, full of period charm and cream, verdigris and moss green paint; very Farrow and Ball.

I now realise that the glorious chords of harp music are actually someone's mobile.  It's very tasteful.

The food arrives and smells gorgeous, and this, with a glass of Chablis is not going to cost more than the cinema ticket, glass of wine and average sarni I would have had at the Gulbenkian.

As I sit here I think about the new novel idea.  I have three ideas on the go at the moment, and I have a lot of ideas for this one, The Dog-Walkers' Book Club.  I know too very angry and bitter women, both of whom are also intermittently charming and friendly.  Neither of them can stand too much kindness and need to be put into the book. Both of them sting like scorpions when they have had enough of your kindness and are capable of turning people against you.  I recently had a conversation with a man I know slightly, explaining why he had never been especially friendly to me.  I do wonder how many people are wandering around thinking I am a complete bitch.  I suppose when they meet me and find me agreeable, they have to downgrade their assessment from "utter bitch" to merely "two-faced".  

I have also been thinking about the saintly woman with the epileptic child - she could be inserted into this too.  Maybe I should write it as a series of stories from each character's POV.  No doubt there will be more thoughts to come on this.

What happened about that publisher?

Ah yes, there was the promise of a "strong recommendation" to a publisher.   Well, she backtracked, but for a good reason.  The publisher under discussion has a tricky habit of acquiring your world rights and then not exploiting them... so you could have a bestseller in Ireland, but the rest of the world would remain ignorant of you.  This happened to a friend of mine... so it was decided that I would try and get some other, more reasonable, publishers to take an interest.  There are several small Irish publishers that will look at unagented books, and there are only about six agents there, of which only one is really active, i.e. has a website and an email address, two of the others have email addresses, the rest are wedded to snail mail.   So much for the Celtic Tiger - more like the Celtic Carrier Pigeon.   Sorry, not being rude, perhaps all that sort of development got stalled in the crash of 2008.  The Irish were terribly stymied after that, and are really only just recovering.  Besides, that sort of personal, quite intimate business model works well in a small country where there are only a couple of degrees of separation between people.

Same old same old.

Yes, that's a really enticing title for a blog post isn't it, chums?

The results of my last batch of submissions are as follows  Answer pending: 3,  Rapid rejection: 1.  and one silent rejection.   The RR was welcome, "not for me... wish you well"... in other words the "Other Agents may think Differently" letter.  I also received a rejection from a November 2015 submission - which said  "it just wasn't exactly what I was looking for" which gives the comforting (or distressing) impression that if I'd moved the plot a couple of inches to the left I might have hooked her.

It is important to remember that the agents who spend the most time on social media are not necessarily the Best Agents - just the ones who are perhaps more egotistical... of course that could make them great agents if they have taken your MS to heart.   They are however, likely to be the agents who respond most slowly. I do appreciate the quick rejection, almost as much as a request for a full read.   No hanging around hoping.

Yesterday I sent out another batch, two to US agents, one to a UK agent.  I think the 6 week period of grace required by Mulcahy is a bit unrealistic in this world.  They had two weeks of near solitary enjoyment of my presence in their slush pile - (the other agent I sent it to did the silent rejection on me.) so now they are in fierce competition to ignore it with another UK agent, and there will be more.

Weirdly I was encouraged by this You Tube video - Piers Blofeld (related to Henry?) is an agent who makes occasional videos about publishing and agenting matters.  I saw them all, and particularly enjoyed this one, since it is germane to my situation.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aduzco1VJZE   He goes through why he will reject a handful of MSS - and I realised why TRF probably didn't pass the "So what?" test with a lot of agents.  It's only a few minutes, but it's enlightening.

Progress

I have been feeling ebulliently cheerful today.  I have momentarily been convinced that The Malice of Fairies is going to really appeal to some of these publishers and agents.  I have sent it off to a UK publisher, a UK agent and two US agents today.  The UK agent would appreciate time to consider the book without feeling other agents are also in the race.  That is a charming idea, and if it means they will take it, then great.  However I suspect it will just mean their reader has a more leisurely period for dismissing it in.

Since it's nearly full moon, here's one I took in September

Agents are so different - there are clearly some who go through their own inboxes and answer rapidly, and others who farm everything out to readers, who may or may not reflect the agent's wishlist.  And then again, those wishlists, they are so full of things that ring a bell, that make one feel a common bond with the agent, which the agent doesn't really recognise when looking at your submission.  For some reason I don't have much hope of Head of Zeus, mostly because they seem to publish more thrillers than anything else.  They say they publish literary/commercial etc. so there's no reason why they shouldn't.  Especially a literary/commercial novel with magical elements that will appeal to everyone, and is set in Ireland - a place revered around the world for general magic and mystery.  There is another publisher called "& Other Stories" which sounds feasible - but might actually be too literary for me...  There's nothing very experimental about TMOF except the subject.

Damn it, someone out there must publish it sooner or later.  I really believe in it, but there's always the nagging voice that says "well no one's liked it so far".  Apparently one failure of human intellect is to assume the future will be like the past.  I have to assume, quite strongly, that it will not be. But I have always believed in the possibility of change and this is how I persist. 

The Cast List!

Today I am still slightly in Limbo... first I can't do submissions until I get the full text back, secondly I suddenly started doing a bit of a new novel - working title "An Instant Dislike".  My mojo went awol for a few days, for health reasons, but has mercifully returned  A sunny day works wonders.   So, having done 4,000 words of An Instant Dislike over two days, I went out this morning, to Spanish, then we went into town because it was a lovely sunny day and we had a couple of cheques to pay in.  And then it was nearly lunchtime - so we had a small lunch at  the Arches bar, and a small glass of rose (first of the season!).

Then we came home and walked up the dreaded Jacob's Ladder - it killed me, but I did it.  Then I felt inspired and gardened for about half an hour in the sunshine.  Feel much, much better.  Where is the writing coming in?   No, there was no writing today.  I got into a completely frivolous correspondence with my editor about who would play various parts in the film of TMoF - we have already cast Connor - Sylvain Dieuaide (left) and Tadgh - Theo Cholbi (below).

We have basically agreed that Olivia Coleman would be nice for Deirdre, although perhaps too nice?  And Jeremy Irons would be OK for Philopoemen.   Suddenly I realise that there are quite a lot of good meaty parts, and why the hell am I not (a) working on the script and (b) working on The Ash Grove or (c) writing another 2,000 words of An Instant Dislike (which doesn't get italicised because it is a whim rather than a book at present).  But today has just been one of those slightly larky, chatty self indulgent days that have to happen occasionally in one's life.  So I should just enjoy it, and I have, and try and do some serious work tomorrow.

Also, it is of course St. Patrick's day today, so I'm allowed to do something frivolously Irish.  It has just occurred to me, why did the Church chose 17th March to be St. Patrick's?  In the old calendar would it have fallen around the vernal equinox (which may have had pagan significance?).

katehamlyn.com

I have a website.  I took advice from Ruth Rollason of Marmalade Design who came and held my hand through the process, and I realised, yet again, how incredibly fortunate I am in my friends.

The website is chiefly to act as a calling card to agents and publishers, to show that I am serious!  

Thanks to Tara I had decent versions of 3 book covers (she smartened up the Blarney cover picture for me) and so on the whole, the whole thing looks pretty professional.  It is slightly marred by the photo of me, but photos of me are pretty grim on the whole (unless they show me under 25).

So, I need to Google myself and see if it comes up now.

"Serious interest"

After a very quiet time, during which "The Malice of Fairies" seemed stuck in agents' inboxes, I sent a plea to G. who edited "The Ash Grove" for me.  I only wanted her to say what I was doing wrong with the submission letter, had I taken the wrong approach and so on.  She went the next few miles as well, edited it, commented extensively, and best of all "adored" it.  She has said that once we have finished editing it, she will "strongly recommend" it to her publisher.  This is incredibly exciting, and is the beginning of a process which I hope will lead to greater things...

However, there is every chance that (a) publisher will still turn it down or (b) offer me a poor contract  or (c) not market it well.   So I am beginning to think about how to market it myself.  I just wrote a review on Amazon  ://www.amazon.co.uk/review/R2KFMJ1K4Y8MCD/ref=pe_1572281_66412651_cm_rv_eml_rv0_rv
and managed to insert a reference to The Malice of Fairies in it, I suppose that's allowed, although the book isn't out yet, I hope by the time someone reads that review it will be.

I need to do a website fairly urgently.  I really ought to get help and learn useful skills like Photoshop, but the question is, when?  I do need a website now though.  Have to get help!

Imbolc - St. Brigid - And the Imbolc scene from The Malice of Fairies

Firstly

A little bit of background, before we get to the juicy bits... and they are rather juicy on this occasion.  I have used Imbolc as an excuse to all my clan of sith (who are, of course, descendants of the Tuatha de Danaan) travel to visit another clan, and this gives them an opportunity for a bit of fun, sexual diplomacy and discovery,  Skip to the bottom of the page if you like!

February 1st is St. Brigid's Day, it's also Imbolc, the pagan festival which is one of the four major mid-season days of the year.  While the Christian/medieval financial year was divided into 4 quarter days when people were paid (this continued into 19thC see Dickens, passim.) which were Christmas Day, 25th March (the Annunciation), 24/5th June (St John's Day, old Midsummer Day) and 29th September (St. Michael and All Angels), the 4 major pagan festivals (Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasa and Samhain) fall on the midpoints between the Christian festivals - roughly, blame the transition from Julian to Gregorian calendar when in doubt.  These all mark points in the year when the season changes and Imbolc opens the season when the light really begins to come back and proper farming gets under way again.  Of course in the UK it isn't really spring, there's usually plenty of winter weather in February.  However...

I used Imbolc as an important festival in The Malice of Fairies... it is a peculiar day, St. Bridgid was a real person, a 6thC abbess, but there was also a goddess, one of the Tuatha de Danaan who was called Brid/Brigid (many variations and Irish spellings), so some people claim St. Brigid is just a syncretisation of a pagan deity, but there are in fact 12 contemporary  references to the Abbes Brigid in Kildare.  When I was a child I was taken to visit Faughart, near Dundulk, which is described in this blog post http://irelandsholywells.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/saint-brigids-shrine-and-well-faughart.html


 I remember the more modern, Catholic bits of the site, like the oratory, the Lourdes type scenes and the rows of statues. Places like this on the left, but there are more ancient bits too.

Brigid is intimately bound up with her pagan predecessor, who was patron of the spring (apparently) as well as being a veritable Celtic Athena and responsible for all manner of arts and crafts.  It made sense to give Brigid February 1st as her feast day, since Brid had been worshipped then too.   They weren't stupid the early church bureaucrats,   Both Christian and pre-Christian elements seem to be involved in the rituals and customs  which surround St. Brigid's day, These are described here : https://www.facebook.com/Medieval.Ireland/photos/a.194168750626927.44161.176930512350751/1043693535674440/?type=3&fref=nf

Imbolc is also, give a day, Candlemas - the festival of light, so this is always a good time of year for me, and just before my birthday too!

The Malice of Fairies   Chapter 16 - extract

“Farmers!”  Gawen spat. 

They had ploughed over the hills, cut down the sacred thorns, and taken no mind to the people’s protests.   The English were gone now, but the farmers had learned bad ways from them.  And gradually, with no humans to provide for them, his kind had had to extend their activities and now, even he, a warrior, one destined to bring glory to his clan, had to concern himself with stock keeping and the soil.  He should be fighting, defending his clan, not mumbling like an old man over the numbers of the cattle.  He had even wondered whether one of those computers the mortals had might not be a good idea for this demeaning work.  By Holy Brid! That must never come upon them!

“That was grand sport we had last night with that old farmer!” called Tadgh of the 9 Hares, one of his  younger companions.  Gawen smiled happily at the memory.

“Aye – it was like the old days – I haven’t had such sport for an age.”

“He was completely covered with mud!”

“He got out of the bog all right, though.”

“And the cream of it is, he’ll never be able to tell a soul – no one will believe him!”

“That’s about the size of it”  Gawen grinned as he remembered the way they’d pushed and poked the man across his own water meadow and into the boggy end of it where it went down to the river below Casleanshee. 

“Still – he’d no business being there at that time of night – he should have been at home!”

“He’d drunk so much he fell asleep in his tractor!”

“The ould sot!”

“Did he see you at all?”

“We gave him the odd glimpse, enough to confuse him beyond reason.  He’ll never know what he saw.”

 “There are still those that can see us without any help.”

“Well – he wasn’t one of those!”

“That judy of Connor’s – she can see him without help!” Gawen said bitterly.   “I wonder why she has the sight?  I think it’s one of her charms for him.”

“Have you ever had a mortal woman yourself?” Tadgh asked.

“No” Gawen replied shortly “I’ve never felt the need.  Our own kind are sufficient.”

Tadgh looked under his lashes at his leader.  He wondered if the rumours were true – that the great warrior had never quite relinquished his desire for men’s bodies?  It was a cruel law that dictated the love between men was ignited between youths, but they were then to conform and be satisfied by women as they reached manhood.  He had reached manhood himself 20 years ago, and yet he still felt tormented by longings for those sportive couplings with other youths.  Of course, he could not love a youth now, but would it not be possible with an equal?  He looked at Gawen again, surreptitiously.  He had the body of a perfect warrior, there wasn’t a line on his skin, or a muscle that wasn’t as firm as a rock.  The women surrounded him at all the feasts and dances, yet he clearly preferred the company of men.  How much, though, did he prefer it?  Tadgh knew Gawen took pleasure with Maeb from time to time, but was it possible that he too might secretly long for the pleasures he had tasted as a youth? How would he respond if Tadgh ever tried to engage him in that amorous play that he longed for?  It made him shiver with desire to think of it.  How would he ever suggest it?  How would he go to it?  He could not start as with a maiden, the arm casually around the shoulder and there was no chance for the furtive caress in the close press of the dance.  Gawen was his leader, his chosen lord, he would serve him or service him according to his needs – if only he would speak of those needs.   Their horses were so close, they were riding slowly, thigh to thigh almost...

Gawen’s hand was on his thigh, squeezing it briefly

“Come Tadgh – we dawdle – we should be ahead of the people, not at the back. Onwards!” and he kicked his horse into a canter, leaving Tadgh behind, electrified with desire from that touch – and convinced that it wasn’t quite casual.

The great hall of the Tuatha na ghleann was dark the next morning. Both clans were there together, huddled in their cloaks – for no fires had yet been lit.  They had arisen early to greet the day – the hall doors were wide open and they were all looking out to see the break of day. There was an uneven strip of lighter sky above the eastern hills as the dawn began to break.  Soon the strip of grey grew and lightened where it touched the hills.  Elsie watched for a few minutes, and saw how the low, flat hill was beginning to shine, and then a tiny incandescent crescent appeared beyond the hill and as the sun rose slowly, the clouds seem to roll away before its progress, the sky beyond gleamed with a pale colour that to Elsie seemed to be primrose, pale blue and pink all at once.  There was a sigh of happiness from the assembled company and whispers of “Praise be!” here and there.

 “A perfect day – Bridget be praised!” Maeb said. “Her greetings to you Elsie!” she said leaning over and kissing her fosterling on both cheeks before going to kiss all the children, starting with her own.  Everywhere the adults were giving each other friendly kisses and greetings.  There was a respectful silence when the two chieftains gravely faced each other. Florence, as was proper opened wide his arms to Aurelia, his guest and they embraced in full view of their clans.  It was obvious that this embrace was a little more intimate than was usual on these occasions.  More than one person had seen Aurelia leaving Florence’s solar an hour or so before dawn, to be prepared for the festival.  The symbolism of the sexual union between the clans largely escaped Elsie – but there was a round of applause from some of the company, acknowledging the renewed bond of friendship between them.  Aurelia had made sure that everyone was aware that it was she who had wooed Florence, and there could be no question that he had exerted masculine will over her.  Florence, one or two of his court noticed, looked uncharacteristically tired, but he nevertheless presented a joyous demeanour to the company.   While all eyes were fixed on the chieftains, Tadgh and Gawen found themselves in close proximity at the back of the crowd.  As they exchanged a formal Brid’s Day embrace, Tadgh let his hand casually brush Gawen’s chest.  Gawen grasped his wrist and looked deeply into his eyes.  Tadgh saw joy and anger there.

“Do not toy with me Tadgh!  That was no idle touch!”

Tadgh was terrified, yet thrilled by Gawen’s firm hold on him, he was so bewildered he did not know what to say.  This could be a dream or a nightmare.  His heart beat in his ears seemed to deafen him, the sun seemed to hesitate in its progress, but this could be his only chance to speak.

“True lord, I touched you with intent, I crave your pardon if it was not to your liking.”

“It was truly to my liking.” Gawen laid his other hand firmly on Tadgh’s chest and for one glorious moment Tadgh thought he was going to kiss him. Gawen moved back abruptly and all bodily contact was lost, yet as the crowd moved away from viewing the sunrise they held each other’s gaze for a few seconds as the gathering broke up around them.

We can't go on like this!

I speak of the immense lassitude that has surrounded me for the last fortnight.  Admittedly I have been ill, and adjusting to different conditions (having a student to teach and going to Relate), but the lack of productivity is very unimpressive.

What I intended to do was get on with re-writing The Ash Grove, sorely neglected for some time, after a promising start to the re-write.  Instead I have done a bit of extra editing on TMoF, this is partly because a friend has asked to read it in installments and I started "just checking" that there were no terrible betises, and as a result have been doing a lot of editing.  But I only have about 6 pages to go, so that need not detain me.  I then await G's verdict on it, which may mean more re-jigging - pushing TAG away into February/March...Part of me is itching to get going with the next project, but I think I'll let it wait a bit longer, I need to re-read the original book at least once before I try anything.   I still haven't thought of a job for my main character, since her 19thC job doesn't seem to have a modern equivalent... a sort of specialised embroidered but can't think if that would be valid in 1950s London?    More thought (and work) required.

A Quiet Time

Due to a high level of expectation about what one does at Christmas, December isn't usually a good month for writing.  In theory I spring into life on the first working day of January, and it goes off.

This year, for some reason it hasn't happened.  I spent the first week putting together the Ramsgate Montefiore Heritage Newsletter (Kate Hamlyn - Editor) and though that only took a day, there was a bit of foot dragging and fiddling about which somehow prevented me doing anything else.   I also did some "housekeeping" which included submitting TMoF to my Irish editor friend for a professional opinion and any thoughts about the market for it.  So, the plan was to start the Ash Grove re-write this week, only two things happened.  An on-going row with the husboid led to me cutting a deal, I would do his edits to the first two chapters of his book, if he would start the decorating work on the upper stairs and landing.  Then I began to have tremendous pains in my right foot, and so was unable to do anything, least of all, reclaim the small upstairs room as my office, which involves lugging boxes and stuff up and down.  So, I'm still here, in the bedroom, with a bad foot, NOT editing TAG and slowly doing Claudius' Elephants  for M, and attending meetings with him.

Meanwhile, the odd rejection (not rave) dribbles in.  An agent who sent me exactly the same rejection letter for the last novel...nothing from the US.  All very quiet.   However, there are a couple of things to apply for - the Escalator competition... and Gollancz fantasy open submission.  Must do that!   Some feedback from a friend, who thinks it's slowed down since the beginning - perhaps... but wonders what genre it is?  A romance I suppose?  She suggested making it more thrillerish... I dunno, aren't fairies enough of a shock?

I am not feeling at my cheeriest and most encouraged - all I can think of is "the darkest hour is before dawn" - so perhaps there will be news!

A good idea

Perhaps to distract myself from the current situation, I have discovered something new I want to write.  This would be an updated 1950s version of a French novel which is lively and dynamic and has a main character who has something like narcissistic personality disorder... all the humour is already there, but I think updating it to the 50s London will work brilliantly... I hope.  It's giving me something to look forward to.  There is a fashion for updates of famous Brit novels, or extension and "sequels" so that loved characters get a life, but in this case the book is not well known in UK, and not so much in France nowadays, so that may not help.

Here is a picture of the Stoa of Herodes Atallus at Athens - now connection with any of the above, I simply chose it at random, blind, from my folder.