What Editors Want.

As I mentioned the other day, I’ve been spending a fair bit of time over at the Authonomy website. For those of you who don’t already know, this is a writers’ social network site set up by HarperCollins. Effectively a peer-review, critiquing site it has the added attraction of making one’s work available to the editors of HarperCollins’s various imprints. As well as considering the top ranked work, they also use the tagging system etc to find titles lower down the ranking that might fit on their lists. Just how successful this will be, I can’t yet say, but if you don’t try you’ll never know, right?

So far, I’ve only uploaded the complete manuscript of Children of the Resolution to the site (saving my other work for a later date) but the first couple of comments I’ve had have been… well, to be honest (and utterly immodest), as good as I would have expected. The feedback I’ve had elsewhere, and my own gut instinct, suggests it’s a pretty good read — but it’s always good to have confirmation of that, especially on a website where it might be “seen”.

Another attractive feature to the website is the Authonomy blog which features, amongst other things, blogs by editors at HarperCollins. Whilst reading through this blog, I came across this article entitled What We Want — written by “Rob”, an editor on “HarperFiction’s hugely successful mass market list”.

I don’t know how many times I’ve said to myself and those close to me, upon receiving the latest rejection, “What the fuck do these people want?” Over the years I’ve written in just about every genre imaginable. Horror. Crime. Family saga. Literary. Fantasy. The list goes on. I start, and by the time I’m finished, it promptly goes out of fashion! (That’s a slight exaggeration, but you know what I mean.) Trying to second-guess the market is, by and large, impossible. So this piece struck me as actually rather useful.

This comment in particular made me feel a whole lot better, given some of the blog posts I’ve written recently:

“‘Celebrity’ literature is losing sales and perhaps people are looking for something with more depth, some real meaning now that the spendthrift culture of before looks increasingly foolish. Novels of inspiration, of triumph, novels that celebrate and examine life.”

This really does lift a writer’s spirits. The knowledge that there are editors out there who are looking for the new Martin Amis or Irvine Welsh, rather than the next Katie Price or Jade Goody, makes writing that little bit easier. It also helps that publishers are finally taking a rather more proactive approach to finding new talent. Whether it works or not, time will tell.

But at least they’re trying. Hats off to them for that.

© 2008 Gary William Murning

Project Guttenberg and Voice Recognition Software — My Saviours!

So I lost my copy of Her Privates We (also known as The Middle Parts of Fortune), Frederic Manning‘s (highly factual) fictional account of life in the trenches during World War I. It’ll probably turn up but, to be frank, I didn’t much fancy actually sitting down and reading it. I knew it would provide invaluable background for my new novel, but I have so much research to get through that as soon as I remembered that I had it somewhere I started trying to think of research shortcuts (i.e. ways of avoiding reading it!)

And, sure enough, one occurred to me — a fairly considerable one.

First, I took a look at Project Guttenberg to see if it was available as a free ebook, which, as it turned out, it was, along with lots of other books that could be highly relevant. So, I downloaded it as a plain text document and then, to save my poor old eyes, I sat back and, using the “Read This” function on my voice recognition software, listened to the opening chapter.

Now, it isn’t a perfect system. It has a number of “voices” but my voice of choice sounds very much like Stephen Hawking. Which is fine by me. The idea of having Hawking reading to me tickles me. However, I probably wouldn’t use it in any situation other than research. I wouldn’t read a book for relaxation this way because, well, the mechanical tone would quite possibly spoil it (although it isn’t half as bad as you’d probably imagine it to be.)

For this purpose, though, the combination of the Project Guttenberg texts and the voice recognition “Read This” function is pretty much perfect. I can even have it reading to me in the background whilst I do something else.

Ain’t technology brilliant?

© 2008 Gary William Murning

Location, Location, Location.

I always like to have a strong sense of place when writing a novel. I wouldn’t consider myself the kind of writer who labours over detailed, lyrical description of landscape and surroundings — far from it. My primary concern is always what’s going on in my principle character’s head. Nonetheless, without the capacity to visualise in detail where he/she is I quite often find myself struggling with the other aspects of the novel. Environment is an extremely important part of understanding who my characters are, even if I share only a little of the detail with my readers.

Wherever possible, I like the places I use to be real towns, cities, villages etc — or to at least be based upon them. In the early stages of planning a novel I will quite often consciously look for new places I haven’t used before, places that will reflect my character in the right way and provide the necessary possibilities I will need. The Yesterday Tree (the new name for We Are Watching) was no exception. I knew early on I wanted the North York Moors to feature. In winter it is a stark and awe-inspiring place, the sky seemingly going on forever. I knew virtually from day one that I would set some major scenes out there. There would be a dead man. A suicide. Probably more — much, much more.

But where was my protagonist going to live? He wasn’t a city or town man, that much I already knew. So it had to be a village — or at least a market town.

Last Wednesday, I found the perfect place. Thornton-le-Dale.

Nothing bad could ever happen there, right?

We’ll see about that!

The Yesterday Tree.

As is so often the way whilst outlining a novel, I today discovered that We Are Watching — the outline for which is now progressing very nicely — no longer wants to be We Are Watching. As the various threads started to unravel a phrase within the story began to stand out more.

The Yesterday Tree.

It somehow seems to more accurately represent the way the story is going. Life, the past and its continuance into the present and future — age-old wisdom. I think I like it.

We Are Watching — On Novels and Databases.

Today came as something of a relief. I have not succeeded, due to a number of distractions and research requirements, in progressing any further with the chapter outlines for We Are Watching, but last night I found myself telling my parents all about it — what I had so far, where I hoped it would go, why I wanted to write it and so on — and the simple act of speaking it, of hearing the story in outline form, rekindled the flame. With this kind of novel, there can be a tendency for it to sound a little silly in an unplanned oral presentation. But it stood up remarkably well. My parents, who are the perfect critics (direct and, yet, well aware that the novel will have a stronger plot foundation than a spoken outline) got it right away. A very productive conversation.

It also helped me see where I didn’t want to go with the story. In many respects, it is an allegory for the current surveillance situation in the UK — but I saw quite quickly that it is fairly vital that it remain an allegory. I do not want becoming a “government conspiracy” novel involving databases etc. All of that will be there, but as a subtext.

On the subject of government and databases, I today read with a mix of relief and scepticism that no decision on the giant database — intended to contain details of all phone calls, emails and Internet use — has yet been taken. More debate has been called for. Whilst reading this article, however, a piece of advice within it struck me as one worth repeating. It’s something many of us will have been aware of for a very long time, but it never does any harm to be reminded of such things.

“There will be more people look at your internet information than look at a postcard when you write it…”

Take care out there

A Bump in the Road.

Today I hit a bit of a problem with the chapter outlines for We Are Watching. I’m succeeding in shaping the plot in its necessary form, but with three chapters outlined it still hasn’t really ignited for me. I like the opening, my characters, the story so far but… I suddenly find myself questioning whether this is a novel I want to write. Very unexpected but not unusual.

Tomorrow will probably be very different. If not… well, I’ll play around with a few more ideas. I’d rather have all of the doubt out of the way one way or another at outline stage than spend a few months working on a novel that ultimately doesn’t do what I want it to do.

An important part of the process — but still a pain in the arse!

Monday, Monday (Dah Dah, Dah Da Dah Dah.)

Well, you knew it wouldn’t be long, didn’t you? Today I officially started working on the chapter outlines for We Are Watching. Far earlier than I had intended, but what can you do? Addicted I may well be, but at least I have something positive to show for it!

So, what progress have I made? Well, I have my beginning. Three single spaced pages of notes for chapter one (Times New Roman 20 point)… so far! It begins in a completely different place than I had originally anticipated and — wouldn’t you know? — my protagonist Austin Wright has been renamed Charles Rigg! When I saw him… well, he just looked like a Charles, you know? Not a Charlie, mind. No, he definitely isn’t a Charlie — proper or otherwise. Charles fits him, funnily enough, even when he has his hand around his best friend’s throat, pinning him to the kitchen table (which is where we find him at the beginning of the novel.)

Details apart, however, my overwhelming feeling upon starting to get everything discovered, shaped and outlined was one of excitement at doing something so different to my last project. As much as I enjoyed writing Children of the Resolution, it was by its very nature restrictive. When you’re writing about a bunch of disabled kids experiencing the dawn of integrated education in the 1970s/1980s, there’s only so much that you can allow yourself to do. Electric wheelchairs aren’t quite speedy enough for convincing “car chases” and Johnny and Carl’s fight in chapter four was never about to become Kill Bill volume 1 or volume 2. We Are Watching… okay, so I probably won’t take it to those extremes. But I will at least be able to build some action packed scenes — something with fluidity, tension, a sense of threat, all the good stuff. The stuff that I hadn’t realised I’d missed so much!

Incidentally, does anyone know what police missing persons procedure (in the UK) is? Charles’s wife “disappears”. He gets it into his head that she has been abducted (he’s unclear about who by), but all of her clothes and possessions have been taken, too. How seriously would such an incident — given that there is no history of domestic violence, or anything else, for that matter — be taken? I tend to think, not very. Formalities followed, but little else?

[EDIT: For further details on police missing persons procedure in the UK, click here.]

Research Delights.

Okay, I’m the first to admit that I’m not very good at doing nothing. The in-between-novels stage is never a period that I find particularly satisfying, no matter how much other stuff I try to cram into it. The need to create is fundamental to who I am, I suppose, and even though it is less than a week since I finished the edit on Children of the Resolution, I’m already getting “twitchy”.

So I’ve started researching proper We Are Watching — watching endless YouTube videos on remote viewing and visiting fascinating sites like this on RAF Fylingdales. Regarding the latter, I’m actually quite surprised by just how much information on the base is available. Granted, the Cold War is well and truly over, but looking at it from the road as we drove by last Wednesday, it looks peculiarly vulnerable sitting out there on Snod Hill.

I know, however, that Fylingdales is going to feature heavily in one of the principal scenes, at least, of We Are Watching. It’s a simple scene involving a group of friends, much alcohol and, as I have hinted elsewhere, a remote viewing exercise — which they attempt in much the same way as many of us have probably messed about with Ouija boards at one time or another. It’s not a serious exercise. It’s just a bit of fun.

Or that’s what they think!

Announcement And a Promise Of More.

I always think I’ll have plenty of time to concentrate on blogging once I get to the end of a novel, but I never do.

Most of this afternoon was spent on the moors and out around Helmsley way, looking for atmospheric locations for my next novel (We Are Watching, in case you don’t know already!) It’s a beautiful part of the country, especially at this time of year. One minute you’re travelling through a tunnel of trees of cathedral-like intensity, and then they drop away, open out to reveal a beautiful, hilly landscape of just about every possible shade of green imaginable. I never tire of it.

Anyway, I’m a bit short on time so I’ll cut to the whatsit, as they say.

After last week’s Idiosyncratica topic post, which went quite successfully, with some truly fascinating and inspirational essays written, Mike’s been keeping busy by setting up a group blog. I’d recommend that existing members run along right away and take a look, if you haven’t already. Don’t forget to add it to your feed reader. All announcements will now appear on this new blog, and all participating members will be given administrative powers so that they too can post announcements, suggestions etc.

Anyone who is interested in joining but hasn’t already should contact either myself or Mike and we’ll do the necessary (always assuming we think you’re worthy, of course )

Tomorrow, I will write more. I don’t know what, yet, but it’ll probably be utterly intoxicating and unmissable — so don’t forget to drop by (if only to tell me that I lied and that the post isn’t utterly intoxicating and unmissable!)

Ta ta!

The Watcher Watched.

Saturday morning — cooler and greyer than the past few days — finds me four chapters from the end of my edits and feeling very satisfied with the result, if somewhat tired. Settling into that “end of project” feeling, I’m looking forward to a short break before properly starting the research and planning for We Are Watching. Said break might not last too long, however, as I rarely find I am at my best “in between” projects.

Speaking of We Are Watching. Earlier this morning I read this BBC article concerning Google’s plans to launch the Street View mapping tool (a function of Google Earth) in the UK. For those who aren’t familiar with it, this particular tool allows you, on certain streets, in certain cities, to view the street and surrounding buildings etc as if you were actually there. There are privacy concerns, which you can read about here, but that isn’t really what I want to talk about.

The article prompted me to boot up Google Earth and head over to the States to check out some of the Street Views. Whilst I was doing this, I was also thinking about We Are Watching. As the title might suggest, my next novel is definitely going to have “surveillance” overtones — so the possibilities that Google Earth might provide as a research tool were playing through my mind. I’d used Street Views previously and, to be honest, even then I found it a little unnerving. Today, however, the mild discomfort I’d felt before this time hit me full force.

I was on a street called Maple Avenue. I won’t give exact details, but I suppose there are many such locations in the States. Autumn leaves, wooden faced buildings and an overwhelming sense — no doubt the product of the Google Earth Street View tool — of desolation and emptiness. The stillness that the photographs invoke made the place seem like a ghost town. It was oddly intense, unlike anything I’ve experienced whilst sitting in front of the computer before, and my first reaction was, “I want to capture this feeling on paper.” Watching, looking at those empty streets, those dark windows, I realised with a shudder that I felt watched.

A metaphor for the 21st century? I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that I’m really beginning to find We Are Watching.