What I Did at the Weekend

On Sunday I returned home after spending three days at the Theakstons Crime Festival in Harrogate. I had never been to the festival before, but I knew that there would be a number of big authors there and that some fascinating panels and discussions were planned. That's literally all I knew. I hoped to be amused, educated and entertained, and to come home feeling that it was money well spent.

Well, I can tell you that it was much, much better than that.

What made it special were the people. There were no cliques, no elitism, no friction. Everyone got on with everyone else. Big names rubbed shoulders and downed alcohol with the littler fish. In fact, I would go as far as to say that the luminaries were doing everything they could to encourage newly published and aspiring authors. Special mention must go to Mark Billingham, who could almost invariably be found at the 'front of house', welcoming people and having coffee with them. I chatted to him several times during the festival, and although I am a fan of his work anyway, I came away feeling that he is such a nice guy.

The talks and panels were excellent. Val McDermid was hilarious and Lee Child gave a highly entertaining performance in the Room 101 session. I particularly enjoyed listening to Dennis Lehane at the end of festival. He was refreshingly honest and frank, but also such a cool customer. Since he's a hero of mine, I joined a long queue to get him to sign some books, and he congratulated me on my debut novel and wished me good luck. I got a similar reception from Tess Gerritsen and David Baldacci in their book signings too.

On the Friday evening the Pan Macmillan team took a number of us out to dinner at the very posh venue of Rudding Park. I sat between Jeremy Trevathan, Fiction Publisher for Pan Mac, and Philippa McEwan, my publicist. They made for fantastic company, as did everyone else at the table (how often do you get to have dinner with David Baldacci?). Following champagne and a wonderful meal, we were transported back to the bar of the Old Swan, and the party continued. The whole weekend was as fast paced as that: I hardly slept, because even when I managed to get back to my hotel room in the wee small hours, my mind was racing too much for me to relax.

Philippa, my publicist, was brilliant. She introduced me to lots of important people in the business and the media. At one point she whisked me in to meet the manager of the Waterstones store that had been set up in the hotel. I had noticed on the previous day that copies of my book were on the shelves, even though I wasn't on any of the panels. It was pleasing enough when Kirsty, the manager, told me that they were selling well, but then it got better. I was invited to sign the remaining copies, they were stickered appropriately, and within an hour they were all sold!

I have to say that the organization of the whole event was fantastic. The logistics of such a huge festival must have been horrendous, but to me as a punter it seemed to run like clockwork. Sessions ran perfectly to time, stragglers were only allowed in at appropriate junctures, and the audio-visuals were spot on. There were also nice gaps between sessions in which we could grab a much-needed cuppa and some fresh air, and the lunches were superb. All of this in the remarkable setting of the Old Swan Hotel, and the fact that Agatha Christie was once found staying there after her mysterious disappearance only added to the atmosphere.

I must give a mention to Twitter here. As a social media tool, Twitter did its job excellently. I arrived at the festival feeling that I already knew some people, and when we finally met up I was not disappointed. The rapport was immediate, and I left having established friendships that I know will last a long time.

So that was my weekend. Exhausting, but also electrifying and inspiring. I can't wait to go back next year.

Edits, geddit?

One of the things I did recently was to send off the edits for my second book (currently titled 'The Helper') to my editor at Pan Macmillan. This got me thinking about how, before I was published, I had no idea of all the stages a book goes through before it finally hits the shelves. I imagine there must be many aspiring authors in a similar position, so I thought I would take this opportunity to demystify the process if I can.

Once you are taken on as an author, an editor will be assigned to work with you. In my case, it's the editor who accepted my book in the first place, and I imagine it's the same for most publishing houses. One of the first jobs of your editor is to re-read your novel and then try to identify how it might be improved. He or she will then write back to you with a whole load of suggestions. Some of these are trivial; others can require a lot more thought.

The editorial suggestions that were sent to me for The Helper came in two parts. The first part consisted of general story points - points about the plot and characters that I may not have considered. One of these in particular helped me to add a nice twist to the story.

The other part consisted of more detailed comments, with references to specific points in the manuscript. The form this took for The Helper was a large table, divided into four columns. The first column of each row gave the page number of the manuscript; the second specified the line number(s); the third held the editor's comments; and the fourth was left blank for me to indicate my response.

Here's an example of one of the easier edits to deal with:
page 12, line 8: Do skateboards clang? 'Clatter' ?

I had referred in my book to the clanging of skateboards. My editor suggested that 'clattering' might be a better word, and of course he's right. I changed it and simply wrote 'done' in the column reserved for me.

Here's a slightly more substantial revision:
page 26, line 6: Is this paragraph vital? Began to feel that Doyle's triumphalism was a bit overextended!

The editor is calling here for the removal of a complete paragraph. On re-reading it, I realised he was right, deleted the text, and wrote 'Cut' in my column.

Deleting text is often painful, but excisions don't end at paragraphs. I have deleted whole pages at the suggestion of my editor, and even a complete section. In his blog, Ryan David Jahn has explained how he once cut a whole chapter from a novel after the editor queried its usefulness.

Sometimes edits require text to be added. This may occur when the editor feels a passage needs further clarification, or feels that something extra is needed to add to the impact of an event.

When I had worked my way through all the suggestions, I sent the table and my general comments back to my editor. We then went through one more iteration - a few more suggestions, a few more edits, and then we were done.

What you may have gathered from all this is that an editor's comments are not dismissed lightly. In the vast majority of cases, I made changes in line with what the editor suggested. In one or two cases I let things stand, but only after serious thought, and I always explained why I had taken that decision.

The end result of all this work is, I believe, a much tighter and faster-paced novel, with a nice extra twist thrown in for good measure.

But that's not the end of the work on The Helper, as we shall see in future posts...

Landing a Two-Book Deal

So here's my big news of the week. I have signed a contract with Pan Macmillan for a further two books!

I can't tell you how excited that makes me feel. Getting Pariah published was wonderful, but you never know whether your first book is a fluke. Seems like it wasn't. Pan Mac want me for a while longer yet.

I have to confess that I've known about this for more than a week. Here's the story.

Immediately after finishing Pariah, I made a start on my second book (good advice - see my previous post). It took me just over a year to write, and I sent it to my editor, Will Atkins, on March 9, just a few days after the publication of Pariah. I thought it might take him a while to come back to me. I also worried that he wouldn't like it, even though I felt it was, in many ways, better than Pariah.

In fact, Will came back to me just two weeks later, on March 23. What's more, he said that he thought the sequel was 'superb.' And, better yet, he made me the offer of a two-book contract.

It's at this point that life got a little awkward. I'm not agented, so I had to handle the contract negotiations myself. It was interesting, to say the least, but I wouldn't recommend it to everyone. What I would recommend to other authors in a similar unagented position, however, is to get your contract looked at by the Society of Authors. Becoming a full member costs only ninety pounds, and one of the benefits of that is a full contract vetting service. I can't rate this service highly enough. Although the Society informed me that the vetting process should take approximately 5-10 working days, I received feedback from them within 24 hours! It was detailed feedback too, with a clause-by-clause breakdown indicating where improvements might be possible.

So we negotiated. Some things were agreed to; others were not. Perhaps I could have obtained better terms via an agent, perhaps not. In the end, though, we struck a deal, I signed, and I sent the contract off.

And then Royal Mail lost it!

So I sent it again - Special Delivery this time, which is a terrible rip-off for a simple set of documents, but I wanted to make sure it got there. It did, and Pan Mac countersigned and sent a copy back.

I'm now under contract again, with all that entails. Specifically, I have a deadline I have to meet for book three. But I've also now received the first part of my advance, which helps to make the pressure that little bit more bearable.

As I said above, the deal was done a while ago, so why the delay in telling you? Simply because we were waiting for the trade press announcement, which appeared on June 1. In case you haven't seen it yet, you can find it in this article in the Bookseller.

Now I'd better get back to writing!

Writing Tip - Be Prepared

Okay, so you've written your first book. You've sent it out to agents or publishers. Now it's just a waiting game. You can put your feet up, relax and wait for the phone calls. Right?

Wrong.

What you do now is make a start on book two. Without delay. You do that for two reasons.
Reason number one is that your first book will probably bomb. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear, but that's the harsh reality. Most first attempts at novel writing do not get picked up, no matter what stories you've read in the press. The chances are that you're not an exception, and so you need to move on. Writing gets better with practice, so treat that first book as part of the learning curve and write an even better second novel. That's the kind of persistence and determination you'll need in this business.

Reason number two: I could be wrong. Maybe you are the one in a million whose first book does get picked up. Or (more likely) you've written several books already, without success, but this is finally your time. This is when you finally get that magic phone call that I talked about in an earlier blog post - the one in which an editor says, 'We'd like to publish your book.'

But then you come down from the ceiling. You compose yourself. You try to listen to what else the editor has to say. Do you know what's coming next? I'll tell you. It's a question. Along the lines of: 'How far have you got with your next book?'

Next book?

See, publishers aren't interested in one-night stands. They prefer long-term relationships. They're quite traditional in that way. They expect to be wooed with the promise of further fruits of your labour.

The one thing you absolutely must not do at this point is say something like, 'Actually, I thought I would just write the one book.' Or, 'I don't have any plans for future books at this stage.' That's the kiss of death - the lack of commitment that will ensure the engagement ring gets thrown back in your face.

If you're planning to be published, then you have to plan to be published again and again and again. Which is what I imagine most authors want anyway, so it shouldn't be too much of a hardship.

So be ready for that question. When it comes, be positive. Reassure your potential partner that you are not trifling with affections.

And then go ahead and enjoy a long and happy life together.

What Writers Need

Okay, so you’ve cleared your desk. You’ve set up a regular time slot in which to write. You’ve got lots of ideas buzzing around in your head. You’ve got a computer, or pen and paper. You’re good to go, right?

Maybe not. There’s something else that many of us need.

It’s the support of our loved ones.

No problem, you say. Our partners love us. They will understand. We have this burning desire to write, and loving us as they do, our partners will understand. It’s a given.

That may be a natural assumption. Why wouldn’t our partners offer their support?

Well, think about what the writing life entails. And I’m not just talking about the odd hundred words here and there. I’m talking about serious, day-after-day writing. The kind that’s needed to churn out a novel.

What you will be saying to your partner is that you want some time away from him or her. Away from the kids too. Regular, substantial time. Every night, probably. Time that you used to spend together. What you might have once called quality time.

And it’s also possible that your partner may have to start doing some of the jobs that you used to do. Like washing the dishes, or putting the kids to bed, or doing the ironing, or getting the school lunches ready. All those fun things.

Oh, and something else you will need to explain is that this is purely a labour of love. There is no financial reward here – at least not yet. It’s not going to help pay the mortgage or the bills.

Writing requires commitment and it requires sacrifices. And not all the sacrifices are yours.

Put like that, you can see (I hope) that it can be a pretty big ask.

Not all partners understand, or want to understand. Here’s Pari Noskin Taichert, over at Murderati this week:
‘From my husband’s perspective, my taking the time and space to write has been selfish, self-focused and a waste of time and resources.’

Wow. But she’s not unique. The compulsion to write is often not readily appreciated by those who have not experienced it. They just don’t get it.

I’m fortunate. Immensely fortunate. My wife has always understood. In fact, she has always encouraged me to follow this calling, even when there was no hint of future success. If she had complained – in fact, if I had detected even the slightest unhappiness in her – I don’t think I could have continued. I don’t think I would have become a published writer. My marriage, my family, is too important to me.

As writers, I think we need to remember that, although it’s generally regarded as a solitary business, we don’t do it alone.

Here’s to our loved ones. They make us what we are.

Interview at MNW

There's an interview with me at the Macmillan New Writer's blog today. Hop on over there and take a look.

The Phone Call

There are many great moments in the life of a published author: seeing the book jacket for the first time; holding the first printed edition in your hands; seeing it on the shelves of bookshops. But one of the first and most memorable moments has to be the phone call. You know the one I mean. The one in which you hear those immortal words, ‘We would like to publish your book.’

In the case of Pariah, I had almost written Macmillan off as a potential publisher. I did not send it via an agent, but directly to them under their Macmillan New Writing scheme. The guidelines on their website say something along the lines of ‘If you do not hear from us within 12 weeks, then you should assume that your submission has been rejected.’ Six months later, I had still not heard anything. It seemed time to move on.

Then I got an email from Will Atkins, Editorial Director at Pan Macmillan. He made some very positive noises about Pariah and said he wanted to arrange a time to call me on the telephone. So we picked a mutually agreeable time on the following day. I’m glad we didn’t make it any longer than that because sleep suddenly became an unattainable luxury.

When the call came, pretty much dead on time, Will made lots more positive noises, but was still hedging his bets. He liked the book, but the decision wasn’t his to make alone. Others would need to be consulted, and that process would probably take about a week or so. I started to wonder what was the longest anyone has survived without sleep.

In fact, the next call came only a couple of days later. Everyone at Pan Mac had moved much faster than expected, and they all loved Pariah. Which meant – yes, you guessed it – I finally got to hear those words: ‘We would love to publish your book.’

I think my cries of joy could be heard in the next county as I raced up and down the stairs of our house, much to the surprise of the engineer who was fixing our boiler at the time. He remarked later that he had never met such a grateful recipient of his services.

Sometimes the cost of a phone bill can seem well worth it.