How to make a newish author happy, part two

You might remember that as a postscript (or should it be a postpost?) to a post about covers and blurbs, I linked to Musings from a Muddy Island, which is a booky-writey blog I enjoy, about one thing which makes authors happy: seeing people reading their book. A few other things which have made this particular author happy this week are:

1) A few months ago one of my longest-standing writing friends - let's call her Marguerite - whose beautifully built, beautifully written short stories I admire enormously, asked my advice about arranging and submitting a collection to agents, and as I've never done that I passed the query on to all my short-fiction-writing friends at Glamorgan, who came back with all sorts of helpful advice. We all know that it's next-to-impossible (though not completely impossible) to make your publishing debut with a short fiction collection. But Marguerite sent them off, and settled back to wait. Meanwhile, I happened to mention NaNoWriMo, which she'd never heard of, but dived straight into, and a couple of weeks later I got an ecstatic email about the joys of being able to unfurl huge bolts of story-cloth, and see where they flew. Then Excellent Agent got in touch, talked perceptively and lovingly about her work, said that, yes, the collection would be next-to-impossible to sell, but the longest story felt more like part of a novel, and had she ever thought about expanding it? And Marguerite said yes, she had and in some detail, because she and her trusted readers had always thought the same. And now, with NaNoWriMo behind her, she's suddenly feeling that it's not so hard to write at novel-length and breadth at all. So she's signed with Excellent Agent, with a carte blanche to ask for as much or as little of that perceptive editorial help as suits her. I'll be the one raising a glass for the deal...

2) I've accepted an invitation to speak - along the lines of my Mexico lecture - at the Second World Summit on Evolution, in the Galapagos Islands, in August. Quite apart from the shameless ego-massage of my inviters being embarrassingly pleased that I've said yes, apparently you have to step over the sea lions between the hotel and the conference centre, and if I can wangle a couple of extra days beforehand I can spend them riding in the Ecuadorean highlands.

3) The last heavy-going stage of my PhD is being very heavy going indeed, and on Sunday I admitted defeat and emailed my supervisor to postpone meeting her, because there was no way I could get something to her that would be worth her time. This did not make me happy, though she was as kind and calmly understanding as she always is. And then, like taking a cork out of a bottle, on Monday I sat down, turned off the computer, stared into space for half an hour, rooted out one of the big notebooks I use for first drafts and my favourite biro, and wrote the first two pages of each of the two main voices in my new novel. It's three years since I last began a novel and, unlike either A Secret Alchemy or The Mathematics of Love, this one - working title Kindred and Affinity - is all unknown territory, in characters, period and plot. I've felt like a singer, waiting in the wings: I'm as prepared as I can be, and yet I have no guarantee that when I walk on stage and open my mouth, anything will happen at all. Only it has. I've decided that my self-imposed deadline of submitting the PhD by Christmas is not only impossible, it's also not important. I will do it, but it has to take its place alongside the even more important work. And, yes, I opened my mouth and something came out which does sound like a first, slightly hesitant song.

4) Before meeting Marguerite for tea and getting her great news, I dropped into my favourite bookshop in the world, Foyles, for a bit of Christmas shopping. And this is what made me happy, with apologies for the poor image. (One of the drawbacks of having once taken photography seriously is that I don't take the quality of my phone's camera seriously enough). Thirteen copies of A Secret Alchemy in the New Hardback Fiction section - yes, I'm afraid I did count - and I even allowed myself to wonder if the fact that one face-out pile had a copy less than the other, and there's a space on the right-hand side, meant that once there were fifteen, which is a nice, round number, after all: the kind of number you order. (Of course, all these are on sale-or-return, so they could all trundle back to Headline. And of course the right-hand space could be left by selling a different book, but still...) No copy of The Mathematics of Love in the main fiction section, which, paradoxically, also makes me happy, because they do routinely have a copy, (yes, I'm afraid I do check) so I can allow myself to think that, too, has been bought. Since The Mathematics of Love was first published in June 2006, it's good to know that it's still routinely in stock not just in Foyles, but also in Waterstones.

Have a happy weekend!

Comments

[Brian Clegg]

'my favourite bookshop in the world, Foyles...'

I used to love Foyles when I was a student just because it was so ENORMOUS. But over the years I rather came to dislike it:

a) Because it's so pokey
b) Because of the ludicrous habit of arranging books by publisher (I think they've stopped this now) and
c) Because they didn't trust their staff so had this Victorian system where you had to 'buy' the book, but then pay separately at an unfriendly barricaded paying location (again stopped now?)

... so why is it your favourite, Emma?

[Emma Darwin]

Ah, Brian, have you not been to Foyles in the last few years? It's completely transformed: as easy to find your way round as any other bookshop, knowledgeable staff, and when it comes to stock what you might call strength-in-depth, so it's fantastic for the kind of browsing that I do a lot of, when you don't know if the book you need as a staple of the research for your next novel actually exists, and even if it does you'll need to have a good dip before you buy it. Plus it's technically an independent, and has a great café. And 15% off everything if you're a member of the Society of Authors (even buying online). What's not to like? as they say...

[Jane Smith]

Ah, Emma, I'm with you on the "important" writing: if your new novel's flowing, do all you can to keep it flowing and do the rest of your work when that flow stops.

Congratulations, meanwhile, to your friend on her new-found novel-writing ambitions, and on her finding an Excellent And Encouraging Agent (who sounds wonderful). And to you, of course, for your Foyles finds. Just last week I turned several copies of Alchemy face-out in a branch of Waterstones, and felt quite satisfyingly subversive.

[Thomas]

I've felt like a singer, waiting in the wings:

I find this analogy both moving and terrifying.

As a veteran performer but lackluster improviser, the idea of stepping onstage without a perfect knowledge of what's to come, without hours of rehearsal and a perfect fluency with my material shakes my guts.

Best of luck on your new journey.

[Emma Darwin]

Oooh, Jane, thanks for the subversion. I confess, I've never had the nerve to do that...

Thomas:

"As a veteran performer but lackluster improviser"

reminds me of a fascinating conversation I had with someone who was running the centre for early music performance and study, at my old University, Birmingham. The sort of music they worked on had/has a big improvisatory element, or aspect, but she said that the some of the unbelievably skilled professional classical professionals she worked with - the freelance sort who populate the big pro orchestras, and can sightread a brand-new film score, or break your heart with a Beethoven symphony on half an hour's rehearsal - found the improvising not just difficult, but actually distressing and upsetting: not having a 'right' way to do it meant there were no anchors for them. It reminded me of all my different posts about why some new writers and their teachers cling so desperately to rules.

By contrast, she said, Jazz and folk musicians, even if the ones who were much less technically advanced, were absolutely naturals, even if the early-music idiom they were working in was quite different from what they were used to.

[TL Boehm]

NaNoWriMo...sighs. Next year I am going for it. Peace. TL Boehm
http://www.eloquentbooks.com/BethanysCrossing.html

[Emma Darwin]

That's one of NaNo's merits, I think: part of the letting go out outcomes, which writers so badly need to do at times, is letting go of this year's NaNo, because there's always next year.