Please Donate to The SMA Trust by buying The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost today!

This month, I’m donating all royalties from sales of the Kindle edition of my latest novel, The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost to the wonderful people at The SMA Trust.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with them and what they do, they are a UK charity dedicated to funding research into spinal muscular atrophy. As their website states, “SMA is a genetic neuromuscular disease, which means it is inherited and affects nerves responsible for muscle function. Although classified as rare, SMA is the leading genetic killer of infants and toddlers, with approximately 95% of the most severely diagnosed cases resulting in death by the age of 18 months. Children with a less severe form of SMA face the prospect of progressive muscle wasting, loss of mobility and motor function.”

As many of you already know, I also have type II spinal muscular atrophy—and as physically limiting as it is for me, I consider myself extremely fortunate (and, indeed, I am). I’m forty-eight, in relatively good health and I can pretty much expect to continue along my merry path in life, buggering it up, for a good while, yet. For some, however, it is a very different story.

So, while I realise we all have our favourite charities and causes that we help out throughout the year as well as Christmas, I hope you might consider downloading The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost. It’s priced very cheaply at £1.54, with all my royalties (£1 per sale) going to The SMA Trust. You get a wonderful cheap read, the brilliant folks at The SMA Trust get a little extra money to help fund research into finding a cure for SMA, and I get … well, the satisfaction of helping and knowing that people are reading my book. Everyone’s, as they say, a winner.

Donate by buying The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost today!

Thank you!

The Far-Reaching Implications of the Assisted Dying Bill.

This is a debate I have quite deliberately kept out of for some time. The principal reason for this is that while I had and still have very solid views on the dangers regarding the societal efficacy of a change in the law, I wanted to listen to all sides of the argument and consider carefully—with as little emotion as possible—the position I found myself moving ever more strongly towards.

I feel I can now, however, confidently state that I am, with certain caveats, opposed to the Assisted Dying Bill.

Before I continue, let me just provide those who don’t already know me that well with a little background. I have a condition called Type II Spinal Muscular Atrophy. I am severely disabled. I use voice recognition software to dictate my writing and need assistance with just about all physical tasks. I am not, however, in pain. My quality of life—while some, viewing it erroneously from the outside, might foolishly think otherwise—is extremely good. I contribute. I take from life but I also give. I love, I hate. I am loved, I am hated. A balanced life, I’d say.

Generally speaking this is not something I need to explain. Those around me—family, friends, fellow writers, neighbours, casual acquaintances—usually get this. I am, I’m sure they would agree, a man living his life …

… and also, a man who does not want to be faced with the prospect of being thought of by some as a man waiting to die.

Now, this might sound like a fairly selfish and somewhat flippant view. I have already stated quite clearly that I am not in pain. So who am I to subject someone, however indirectly, to continuing pain simply because I’m concerned about societal perceptions of disability? Let me state as clearly as possible at this point that I do not believe that I have that right. My concerns, however, are very real—and I feel we need to ask in reply, Who are those who wish to die to subject others to a different kind of pain? The kind of pain that comes from misperception, social inequality, being seen as “second-class citizens”.

Because this is a very real possibility.

I vividly recall as a child, back in the 1970s, hearing kids half-joke about putting a girl I knew with cerebral palsy “out of her misery”. Kids being kids, right? Well, actually, no. Among some adults at the time there was still a sense that the humane thing to do would be to “let them die”. I have no doubt whatsoever that there are still people in the UK today with similar views—but the fact does remain that things have improved, that the general understanding that there are real, complete people behind the disability is now far more prevalent. The danger with such a change in the law is not only that it might be abused (let’s be very clear about this: no matter how many safeguards you put in place, something will go wrong—deliberately or otherwise: if people die through negligence when we are trying to save them, as so often happens, what might occur with these new practices?), but that it will rekindle prejudices that, while still there in some cases, are, after much hard work, on the decline.

Of course, this is all very easy for me to say. I am not “suffering”. If I were, would I not have the same rights as anyone else to end my life, as some argue? Well, yes, perhaps I would—but if the granting of that right impacts upon the life I now live (and, perhaps more to the point, the lives of others), as it indeed might, I like to think I would stand by this assertion even in pain.

There is an argument I so often hear. It goes something along the lines of “you wouldn’t let a dog suffer like that”. A real argument winner, that one. Except for a single point so often overlooked in this actually quite offensive statement: we are not dogs. In the case of our canine friends, the decision is made for them. We cannot know what they want. We assume that we are doing the kindest thing for them. While no one is suggesting that anyone other than the individual concerned should make the decision concerning their own life and death, it is nonetheless true that other assumptions (and, if misapplied, even that final assumption) will indeed be made.

My suggestion: focus on improved palliative care—and where it is a matter of “poor quality of life”, place the emphasis on improving quality of life … or (and this might be frighteningly cynical of me) would that be too expensive?

I’ll leave you with that thought.

© 2014 Gary William Murning

“Creativity” Versus “Discovery”.

A few days ago, while tentatively considering returning to “serious” blogging, I asked a few friends what they would like to see me write about in my first few posts. Among the first responses was one from my pal Gregg Fraley, suggesting that I write about creativity and, in particular, my creative process.

I am always a little wary of writing about how I work. I’m not the superstitious type, but there is a part of me that thinks that to examine the process too closely is to run the risk of not only killing the goose that laid the golden egg, but also of chopping it up into nice bite-size pieces and stir frying it. A thorough job, you know?

But Gregg asked, and, to be fair, my work has taken something of a back seat just recently (mea culpa), so now is actually a rather good time to re-examine the particular methods I use—as I slowly and cautiously return to what I probably do best. So here goes …

I suppose I’ve always been of a similar mind to the ancients (don’t even think about it, I’m warning you!) A rather grand claim, I know, but the notion held by many ancient cultures that art is in fact a process of “discovery” rather than “creativity” especially resonates with me. Embarking on a new novel is an exploration of themes and experiences—an imitation of the peculiar world I inhabit, but (and I think this is the primary defining feature of what I do) also a refinement of that “world”. I don’t in any real sense, to my mind, build the world of my novels; I find a way into it and listen to what the characters have to tell me.

All very romantic and mystical, I know—but, of course, how this is achieved is far more prosaic.

The road to discovery for me has always been about hard graft. As some of you may already know, I never have much time for those writers and artists who fall back on the rather lame excuse of being “blocked”. That’s not to say that there are not times in our creative lives when we simply cannot work. Life and its vicissitudes simply refuse to be ignored on occasion. But if everything is going fairly well with your life and you still can’t work … well, you’re not trying hard enough.

Inspiration only rarely strikes (it does happen: The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost, for example, came to me almost fully formed at 3 o’clock in the morning—but this was very much the exception that proved the rule). Nine times out of ten, inspiration is something you have to go after with an elephant gun. It is elusive and cunning and resistant and capricious. If it comes to you unbidden, you can bet your life it was purely accidental—probably because good old inspiration was trying to avoid someone else. If you want it, you have to be prepared to suffer a little.

Now, I’m not going to suggest that creativity/discovery is an angst-filled process where every artist or writer becomes some drunken neurotic (ahem). The vast majority of us, while we might like the occasional tipple, are actually rather well adjusted. And, of course, it’s not as if we are heading down the pit for a twelve hour shift six days a week. But let’s be honest about this: in order to look at that world out there and discover aspects of it that have previously only rarely been explored, the writer or artist has to all too often look into himself/herself. And that can take a bit of effort and a lot of getting used to.

The practicalities of how this is achieved vary from writer to writer and artist to artist, of course. For me, though, it’s very much a case of “getting on with it”. A project usually begins with my looking for ideas that might hold my interest long enough to become a full-length project. How I do this is different for each project. It may require lots of surfing of the Web, bouncing around and following different threads, or sometimes conversations with friends and family might start the ball rolling—but only, only, if I am receptive and working at finding those ideas.

Once I have a fairly clear impression of what I want to “discover”, I go to work on the initial outline. Most of the time, I will outline the whole project in great detail before starting the novel itself. Occasionally, if I want to keep myself on my toes and guarantee spontaneity, I might only outline two or three chapters ahead. Either way, once I’ve made a commitment to working in a certain way, I do it.

One of the most important lessons I think I have learned as a writer (probably around the time I got my first word processor, way back) is that just because you put words down, it doesn’t mean you have to keep them. Write without worrying that what you are writing might be nonsense. Sometimes the sad truth is you have to write five sentences of nonsense just to get to something worthwhile. Put everything down. Leave nothing out. And then go back and “discover” the kernel of truth in the work by removing what doesn’t stand up.

Finally, I think it’s important to stress one major point: whatever we might call it—creativity, discovery, whatever—it should be fun. Hard work, yes, but rewarding and fulfilling hard work. If you look to the prospect of doing what you do and more often than not dread it, it’s pretty unlikely that anything worthwhile will come of it. Writing, it’s true, puts me through the wringer at times. It demands much of me. But it also has the capacity to lift me where nothing else has. It helps me make sense of the light and gives a manageable shape to the dark.

Without it, I run the risk of mislaying a part of who I am. And that would just be careless, now, wouldn’t it?

© 2014 Gary William Murning

Disenchantment or: Where Self-Promotion Can Lead.

I know, I know—sounds like a really depressing blog post, based on the title, doesn’t it? And, I suppose, at another time, the realisation that has recently come to me might indeed have been depressing. However, the truth is, while I have become disenchanted with the whole business of struggling to sell books, it has also been a liberating experience.

It can become something of a treadmill. This isn’t a whinge, of course. I have enjoyed the whole publishing process since the launch of my first novel If I Never. Over the past twelve months or so, however, it has seemed increasingly futile. With the huge growth in independent authorship, the marketplace has become more than crowded—it has become glutted and exhausted and, to my mind, a further expression of vanity publishing at its worst (in many, though not all, cases). To be heard above the promotional hubbub requires something beyond persistence, something I’m not entirely sure I any longer want any part of.

I’ve always known that promotion was a part of the publishing business, naturally. And I have no problem with that. But when it starts to predominate, impact on the writing, and steer one’s creative course … well, something has to be done, right?

So this is how it’s going to be for at least the next twelve months: I’m going to focus almost exclusively on my writing (well, at least as far as my work is concerned; if you’ve been paying attention, you may have spotted that I have other wonderful things going on in my life at the moment—which take precedence over everything else). Promotion will be set completely aside. When my latest project, The Architect, is complete, it will be submitted to mainstream publishers and I will set to work on the next project. More work will be brought out through GWM Publications, but not until 2015. This work will be promoted, naturally, but I will not be spending every last minute on Twitter trying to schmooze people into taking a look at it.

Instead, I’m going to ask my small but faithful band of merry readers to do what they have always been kind enough to do for me and continue spreading the word. Word of mouth is something that I have always acknowledged as the number one promotional method. So, while I get my head down and write the books I hope you will continue to enjoy, please whisper to your friends about me, tell them titbits from my stories, share this blog with them or point them to the free samples on the GWM Publications website … and know that somewhere there is one grateful writer, putting words down, happy in the knowledge that the readers that truly understand what he is trying to do are doing their level best to bring other people on board.

© 2013 Gary William Murning

The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost—Local Press.

Today I was featured locally in the Middlesbrough Evening Gazette. A short piece but perfectly the point.

Pre-order your copy of The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost today!

© 2013 Gary William Murning

 

Lorna Lovelost on the Jane Adams Website.

Today, friend and fellow author Jane Adams got my prepublication promo for The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost off to a fine start.

The full article can be read here, but to whet your appetite, here’s a wee snippet:

Lorna is a book about loss and memory and love and redemption – to use an overused and clichéd word. Love really does conquer all, but does so with grace and style and sex and humour and in the end subverts not just the readers’ expectations, but Lorna’s too. I’ll be writing in more depth about Lorna soon – and interviewing the author here, on the blog, just before the book is published. The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost will be published in early October and I think Gary’s many fans will be very happy.

Pop along and read the full piece—and while you’re at it, don’t forget to check out some of Jane’s work!

Pre-order your copy of The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost today!

© 2013 Gary William Murning

The Architect—or Where the Solstice Finds Me.

Over recent months, I haven’t really written about current projects in these pages (though I have frequently mentioned what I’m up to on Twitter and Facebook). This has not been deliberate, merely something of an oversight. And, so, I thought today—the summer solstice—might be a good day to sum up just what I’ve been doing during the first half of the year.

Shortly after Christmas saw me editing my latest completed novel, The Juniper Faraday Project. A novel exploring the nature of trust, in the form of what I like to think of as a why-dunnit, Juniper is now going through the whole submission process. Early reactions have been promising but if mainstream publishing isn’t interested in it then I will, of course, publish it through GWM Publications.

While working on this, I was also preparing The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost for publication (October 5) and putting in place prepublication promo—more than I’ve managed with any of my other books so far. Lorna has, I believe, huge potential. It has broad appeal and … well, to date, it’s the novel I am most proud of.

Most recently, however, after finishing a proposal for a TV adaptation of Children of the Resolution (it’s “out there”, at the moment—but it is, admittedly, something of a stab in the dark), I’ve been working on the outline for my next novel, The Architect. The Architect is set to be my first truly large canvas psychological thriller in a good while (the first, I should say, I think I’ll be prepared to publish). A multiple viewpoint third person novel, it looks like being, judging by the outline, as large as it is complex (I think I’ll be lucky to bring it in under six hundred book pages)—something I relish, given that the novels I still love today generally lean towards the epic.

The Architect plays with themes touching on individual identity. Not an entirely new subject to me (I’m sure a few of my blog posts here have touched upon it in one form or another on occasion), and something all my novels touch upon, to a point. But with The Architect, I saw a way of doing something quite different. Resurrecting a couple of characters from one of my unpublished novels (the novel that, actually, secured me representation with an agent … an agent I then, a few months later, had a huge falling out with!), I found that they fit this form perfectly. Danny Lane, cerebral, caring, deeply introspective—a guy with type II spinal muscular atrophy (just like me, fancy that!)—came to life in my imagination in a way that he hadn’t previously, while Anderson Russell, Danny’s oldest friend, care assistant and general factotum balanced Danny in such a way that I knew, I know, that if I write this the way I want it … well, it has the potential to be both highly entertaining and thought-provoking (always my primary aim!)

Yes, I’m excited. There’s nothing I enjoy more than rolling up my sleeves and getting into the nitty-gritty of a fictional world. This one has required more preparation than any of my earlier novels (I’m still tweaking the chapter outlines to get the structure just right) and if the writing progresses the way the outlining has, I know it will be a thoroughly enjoyable process.

For me, if for no one else!

Available on October 5—The Legacy of Lorna Lovelost. Read your free sample chapters here!

© 2013 Gary William Murning