Time to Re-Write?

Someone recently showed me a letter they'd received from an agent. They were pleased as punch because it offered feedback, and were about to embark on a massive re-write. But was a re-write the right thing to do?

The answer is always, it depends. First of all, try to guess how much time they have invested in the comments. It takes time to read material and give feedback, and time is in short supply at most agencies and publishing houses. I have seen an almost identical letter sent to two authors about two different books. Both authors had thought they were detailed, personal letters - I thought the first one I saw was personal too - but they weren't, so watch out. Can you pinpoint evidence that shows they have really read your novel through and are making specific comments regarding your work, or is it just some clever stock phrases and generalisations?

Secondly, if you decide that it is a genuine response, are they spotting problems, or suggesting solutions? Suggesting that Clarissa might have received a letter telling her that Jack is a double-crosser is a solution, but do you know what they think the problem is? If Clarissa believes Jack to be a traitor, that will colour her relationship with him and make it more conflicted. So, is the problem that her relationship with Jack is too easy and straightforward? If they're suggesting solutions, work out what you think the problem is first. And then decide if you agree with it.

I feel very strongly that it is the writer's job to find out their own solutions to the problem. Others can make suggestions, which might inspire you, but it's your writing. When I work with my editor she makes suggestions, but I'm always trying to pinpoint exactly what the problem is. Then I can solve it in my way.

But that's working with someone who has already paid for the book, and therefore has a stake in it, which brings me on to my third point. You don't have to do anything. Yes, you want to get an agent or be taken on by a publisher, but you don't have to jump through their hoops if you don't want to. And I would be very wary of leaping in and making changes on the basis of just one letter from someone who hasn't paid out any hard cash.

Talk is cheap. You could spend weeks re-writing your book for someone who still turns it down. You might then have to re-write it for someone else who sees different problems. I have seen students re-write several times and end up so thoroughly confused that they've ditched the novel. Hang on to your own sense of what you're writing and why you're writing it, and make sensible decisions about re-writes that work for you.

Fancy a holiday in France with me? I'm teaching a week long course on Writing Mainstream Fiction at a fab chateau in the South of France in September. More details? Contact Chateau Ventenac.

Practice What You Preach

I woke up this morning and immediately my thoughts turned to the new novel. It's still not going well. Oh dear.

I've done the pep talk. I've tried jumping. I've tried writing rubbish (yes, I think we can safely say I've explored that one to the max). And still flabby prose lies on the page like week-old tripe in a plastic bucket. It's not going well.

Yesterday, looking for a justified alternative to writing, I planned my speech for the Romantic Novelists Association Conference. It was called Mind the Gap in a whimsical moment, and is about how to get your manuscript across the great divide between unpublished and publishable. And as I was lying in bed this morning, in my head going over my sad excuse of a novel, I suddenly thought - there's the answer. I must practice what I preach and apply the same principles to my own work.

At which point I discovered that I have written an unpublishable novel, given I fall down on so many of my own points.

The worst one, the unforgivable sin, is my central character. Oh, she 's busy all right, rushing here and there, but her actions are about filling time. She is reactive, rather than active. In short, she is not a Positive Person Planning with Purpose. This is one of my top commandments, so it's rather awful that I've got this far without realising I've missed it.

But no matter. I've had a quick look back, and I can see how I can give her a Purpose which she can Plan for in a Positive way. Phew. It's going to mean a lot of extra work, and I'm pretty sure I'll miss my deadline (which is a dangerous thing in the current climate) but it's got to be done. An unpublishable novel is an unpublishable novel. End of story. I must practice what I preach.

Fancy a holiday in France with me? I'm teaching a week long course on Writing Mainstream Fiction at a fab chateau in the South of France in September. More details? Contact Chateau Ventenac.

The Solution to Bad Times for Authors

Nicola Morgan, who writes the Help I Need A Publisher blog, wrote a blog post recently entitled When Will There Be Good News? about the sad and depressing prospects facing authors at the moment. Sadly and depressingly it's true: lots of authors are being dropped, or having their advances cut back to miniscule proportions. Nicola outlines what the causes are (recession, cost-cutting), and what she's going to do about it - diversify! But I thought she missed one cause, and one solution.

The Problem: Supermarkets.

If your book doesn't hit the supermarket shelves it will be practically impossible for you to feature in a best-seller list. Why does that matter? Because of EPOS (electronic point of sale - in effect, the bar code) anyone can look up exactly how many books you sold. Then, when your next book comes around they make a prediction of future sales based on that figure. No allowances are made. It's really hard. Especially when getting into the supermarkets in the first place is rarely a reflection of the quality of the book, it's about the cover and how much the publishers are prepared to invest in the book. Places on the shelves are paid for...

The Solution: Us

You, me, everyone who reads. If you read a book you love (or even like a lot) then tell your friends about it. Give copies as presents, write reviews on Amazon, tell people on Twitter and Facebook, get the word out. If you want an author to keep writing then you have to support them. Buy their books new rather than getting them from a second hand shop and if you're seriously broke, take them out from the library so the author can get some money from it (about 6 pence per loan, and it does add up). But above all else get out there and talk about their books. It's called word of mouth and it works.

Fancy a holiday in France with me? I'm teaching a week long course on Writing Mainstream Fiction at a fab chateau in the South of France in September. More details? Contact Chateau Ventenac.

Slush Pile Hell and Query Letters

A new blog has started called Slush Pile Hell. Each day it takes an extract from a query letter and gives the anonymous agent's true response - one suspects that a simple 'thanks but not for us' letter was sent. Some people have said it's unfair to mock would-be writers, others have said it's doing a service in showing what not to write. Me? Okay, it's funny, but the joke wears thin. There are some complete no-hopers out there, but that's hardly news.

At about the same time, someone posted on a forum that they'd been offered help with writing their query letter for a mere £250. Someone else posted of another service that cost only £100. £100 to help write a query letter? I'm in the wrong business.

My problem is that I don't see how anyone else can write your query letter. It's supposed to be about you and what you've written. It's giving a brief impression of who you are and your writing style, and telling a little bit about your novel. Only you can do it. I can - and have many a time - given feedback to students on their query letters, but it's really not much more than common sense. Anyone could do it. So hang on to your money and ask a friend to have a look. Here are some questions you could then ask them:

- Can you tell what I'm offering? (Yup, I've seen covering letters that omitted to say it was a novel/children's book.)

- What three words would you choose to summarise what I'm offering?

- On the basis of what's written, what three words would you choose to summarise the person behind the letter?

- Do you think the letter reflects me, as you know me?

- If you were receiving this letter, how would you feel?

The idea of asking questions is to stop them saying something like, it's fine or seems OK to me, which is what they'll probably do if they're not a writer.

Above all, don't get too hung up on it. It's a letter for heaven's sake, not rocket science! Be straightforward, be direct, don't make daft claims or be pushy. Tell them who you are, and what you're offering, thank them for their time and that's it.

Still not enough? There's more about covering letters in these previous posts.

Fancy a holiday in France with me? I'm teaching a week long course on Writing Mainstream Fiction at a fab chateau in the South of France in September. More details? Contact Chateau Ventenac.

Jumping!

So, did jumping work for my crisis of confidence?

Hooray! Yes!

I'm pleased to report that jumping to the bit I fancied writing about worked a treat and I wrote lots. I'm still pretty certain that what I've written so far is way off the mark and is going to need serious work to bring it to anything like publishable standard, but at least I'm writing again and moving forward in the novel instead of sitting slumped in a quivering heap trying to work out what other job I might possibly do.

Before I jumped I rang a friend for a moan, and my wise and lovely friend kindly pointed out that people often had problems writing when they'd run out of things to say. (Luckily they were at the other end of a phone so couldn't see me getting grumpy at the very idea I'd not got anything to say.)

They were, of course, quite right. Thinking about it now - with 2500 words under my belt - I'd run aground on the research detail of the story which I didn't know. My characters are trying to organise an event, and they're going to have to get in touch with the council and get told stuff about planning requirements and health and safety and probably food hygiene laws, none of which I know or have much interest in.

I'd forgotten one of my golden rules - don't write the boring bits. No one wants to know that stuff any more than I do, so I gracefully leapt over it and carried on at the point when I more or less know what happens. At some point I'm going to have to come back and fill in the gap, but for the moment I'm back writing again. It's still not very good, and the beginning is going to have to be re-jigged, but I'm up and running again. Crisis over - for today.

Fancy a holiday in France with me? I'm teaching a week long course on Writing Mainstream Fiction at a fab chateau in the South of France in September. More details? Contact Chateau Ventenac.

Crisis of Confidence

Yesterday I did a really dim thing. I was feeling a bit lost with where to go next on my current novel and thought it would be a bright idea to go over what I've written so far. Now I'm feeling utterly depressed and wishing I did another job - in fact, any other job - other than writing novels.

I'm not looking for sympathy. No, really I'm not. Well, just a bit maybe, but the the real reason I posted is that I think people look at someone like me and think it's easy. I got published relatively quickly and easily, I've stayed published, I've done reasonably well on the sales front. To an outsider it must look easy.

I'm not making any claims that writing novels is hard compared with many, many other people's lives because it simply isn't. But nor is it always easy. I read what I'd written and thought - that's rubbish. It's not good enough. It's not interesting, the main character is a whinger, the secondary characters are cardboard, and there isn't enough action.

What would I tell a student?

1) Never look back until you've finished the first draft. (Yeah, right. Too late.)

2) Everything is fixable. (With time, which I don't have.)

3) You've done it before, you can do it again. (But can I?)

I can hear the negative bit of me grumbling away. The piece of advice I think will work in my case is to jump to a bit I will enjoy writing. Today I shall write a random scene with the sole intention of making me enjoy what I'm doing. Cross fingers it works...

Fancy a holiday in France with me? (Obviously, I'm hoping to be over the crisis of confidence by then so should be better company.) I'm teaching a week long course on Writing Mainstream Fiction at a fab chateau in the South of France in September. More details? Contact Chateau Ventenac.

Those Freddy Krueger Hands...

You're going to think I'm obsessed with this scene, but I suddenly thought of something else it was an example of....

'Hello Mary,' Janice said, flicking her hair back over her shoulders.

Mary gave a brief smile. 'Hi.' She was dressed as Snow White, right down the the sparkly slippers on her feet. They twinkled as she walked over to the drinks table. 'Damn. They've got no cider.'

'Cider?' Janice echoed, pulling a face. She ran her Freddy Krueger hands over the bottle tops. 'Who on earth would be drinking cider at a party like this?'

'Me,' Mary said, pushing the black wig away from her unnaturally pale face. 'I need to get drunk fast.'

...which was withholding information for the reader to work out for themselves - in this case, that Mary and Janice are at a fancy dress party. It's really important a writer does this because unless the reader has to do some of the work, they won't engage, and if they don't engage, they won't read on.

Has anyone ever given you a long and complicated description of what you've got to do without letting you have a go at doing it? It's like watching TV chefs take you through a recipe: the second the show is over you can't remember how to make the stupid cake or whatever it was. You were passive when the information was given to you, so it's in through one ear and out through the other.

Same with reading. If the reader is passive, if it's all plonked down in front of them, they don't have to do any work and they won't engage. So there has to be an element of action, stuff they have to work out. The detective story or thriller is gripping because the whole thing is a form of puzzle, and even better, it's against the clock because the reader is competing with the writer seeing if they can work out the answer before it's given to them.

But the writer can do it on a small scale too. Chuck in a pair of Freddy Krueger hands and see how long it takes before they work out it's fancy dress.

Fancy a holiday in France with me? I'm teaching a week long course on Writing Mainstream Fiction at a fab chateau in the South of France in September. More details? Contact Chateau Ventenac.

Scene Settings

I have to admit I rather liked the little scene I wrote for yesterdays post:

'Hello Mary,' Janice said, flicking her hair back over her shoulders.

Mary gave a brief smile. 'Hi.' She was dressed as Snow White, right down the the sparkly slippers on her feet. They twinkled as she walked over to the drinks table. 'Damn. They've got no cider.'

'Cider?' Janice echoed, pulling a face. She ran her Freddy Krueger hands over the bottle tops. 'Who on earth would be drinking cider at a party like this?'

'Me,' Mary said, pushing the black wig away from her unnaturally pale face. 'I need to get drunk fast.'

And if you did too, I bet it wasn't the dialogue that worked for you, but the brief mentions of how these characters were dressed - the Snow White outfit, the Freddy Krueger hands. It was a writing example, so I set off with no knowledge of where I was going - rather like a writing exercise - and originally it was going to be just any old party they were at. But any old party was too dull, so I made it Fancy Dress.

If I'd been writing that scene for real, the costumes would have given me plenty of scope for writing such as descriptions of what people were wearing, their feelings about their costume, their reactions to other people "How could Nigel have ever thought a Superman costume was a good idea?". I find that sort of thing fun to write, and hopefully readers find it fun to read.

Always look for an interesting setting for your scenes. It's your choice, as the writer, so don't settle for the ordinary, the everyday. Make it different, make it interesting, make it fun.

It's Birmingham TONIGHT! 6.30 - 8.30 Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson, Veronica Henry and me will be talking about writing at Birmingham Library. Come and meet us!

Keep Cinematic in the Cinema

Third person is my preferred choice for point of view, but it's not without its problems either. I hate reading what's called cinematic third person. This is when the scene is described - dialogue and actions - but we're told nothing of what is going on in a viewpoint character's head. You get things like...

'Hello Mary,' Janice said, flicking her hair back over her shoulders.

Mary gave a brief smile. 'Hi.' She was dressed as Snow White, right down the the sparkly slippers on her feet. They twinkled as she walked over to the drinks table. 'Damn. They've got no cider.'

'Cider?' Janice echoed, pulling a face. She ran her Freddy Krueger hands over the bottle tops. 'Who on earth would be drinking cider at a party like this?'

'Me,' Mary said, pushing the black wig away from her unnaturally pale face. 'I need to get drunk fast.'

And so it goes on, batting action and dialogue back and forth, but never getting into anyone's head. It's like watching a description of a film - hence the term cinematic. Now, I'm not suggesting for one minute that every bit of dialogue or action should come accompanied with an interior monologue like a perpetual running commentary, but to never go into a character's head is missing a trick.

One of the great advantages prose has over other art forms is that we know what's going on in people's heads. We know what they're thinking. A great actor or dancer can convey some of this, but essentially it's deduction. We don't know. And I for one am really curious about what other people are thinking - because they never really tell you either. I love reading a novel or a short story and discovering a character thinks exactly the same as I do, or understanding why they're behaving in the way they are, even though it's a way I would never behave myself.

Cinematic writers often defend themselves using words like sparse, understated and subtle. Well, yes. And so is beige. Why not be sparse, understated and subtle with emotions and thoughts too?

We read for stories, but I think we also read to know how other people think and feel. Cinematic third person takes that away from the reader. It's like writing with one hand tied behind your back, possible but not necessarily desirable. It's a bit like a Kelly Hoppen interior, copied by hotel rooms all over the world. Acres of subtle beiges and good taste taupes...unless you get the flash of scarlet or contrasting chocolate, it's subtle, understated and - let's face it - just the teensiest bit dull.

Who lives near Birmingham? On 23rd June 6.30 - 8.30 Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson, Veronica Henry and me will be talking about writing at Birmingham Library. Come and meet us!

More Me Me Me - Writing in First Person

Jenny's comment yesterday has pointed out one of the big advantages of using first person - the unreliable narrator. As human beings we live a lot of our lives on trust which is why con men can be so successful. We just don't expect people to make up stuff about themselves. If I told you I have two children, or was brought up in London you'd believe me. Even people who put more of a shine on things that is usual - Jeffrey Archer springs to mind - stick fairly closely to the truth. So when a first person narrator tells you X, you don't automatically assume it's a lie. The unreliable narrator may be deliberately unreliable, or they may have been deceiving themselves as well as the reader. Part of the joy of reading the unreliable narrator is the slow dawning that all is not as it seems. Jenny mentioned Robert Browning's My Last Duchess; my example would be Zoe Heller's Notes on a Scandal.

Other first person advantages. I mentioned yesterday that if the reader doesn't like the character then the writer is stuffed, but the opposite is also true: if the reader likes the character then the writer has it easy. It's very easy to identify with a first person narrator if you like them, probably one of the reasons so many teenage/young adult books have a first person narrator. You've got a hot line into someone's brain, and they're thinking just the same stuff you do! Reader identification is a big plus.

Voice is another advantage. I can remember reading the first page of Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson. It was before I started writing myself and didn't know about technical words like voice, but I could hear the first person narrator's voice zing off the page and knew I was reading something different and exciting. Your character may not be likeable, but if they have a great voice, people will read on.

A first person narrator is telling you, the reader, a story. This has the disadvantage that you know that they must have survived to tell the tale (otherwise they wouldn't be telling you) so if the denouement hinges on whether they survived going off the cliff or not, you've got problems. But because they're telling the tale it means they can explain stuff to the reader. I love the Mary Stewart trilogy about Merlin - The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills and The Last Enchantment - which are all first person. Merlin tells us things that would be hard to convey quickly using other methods - the background to the Saxon invasions, the complicated kingdoms of Wales for example.

I've got a How To book which says that the other big advantage of first person is humour. I've had a quick look at three writers who I find funny - Terry Pratchett, Tom Sharpe and Stephen Fry - and they're all writing in third. I think humour is tied into voice: some people can say anything and it's hilarious. I mean, just thinking about the titles of Louise Rennison's books and I'm smiling - Angus, Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging, Knocked Out by my Nunga-Nungas, Startled by his Furry Shorts - but it's the voice that's funny.

So there we go, some advantages, some disadvantages. I think I might try writing something in first later on this year and see what happens, but I'll also remember the big big disadvantage that I forgot yesterday: people generally prefer reading third person. It's a very general rule and there are lots of exceptions, but...perhaps I'll stick to third.

Who lives near Birmingham? On 23rd June 6.30 - 8.30 Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson, Veronica Henry and me will be talking about writing at Birmingham Library. Come and meet us!

Me, Me, Me - Writing in First Person

In class on Friday a by-product of the fiendish exercise I'd set was the number of people who ended up writing in a point of view they didn't normally use. I never write in the first person because when I started writing I didn't want to write about myself and writing in first person blurred the lines and I found it hard to maintain the distance between the character and myself. And having had success with third person, I've just stuck with it. (At some point I must experiment with first person, but not when I've got a novel to finish writing.)

First person has some real advantages - and disadvantages. The big advantage is immediacy. As a reader you really feel you know this character, you know how they think, how they feel, their ups and downs. The big disadvantage is immediacy. If the reader doesn't like the character or finds them irritating, annoying, ditsy, too stupid to live, whatever, then you're stuffed.

A character like Sherlock Holmes would be intolerable in the first person, always condescending to ordinary mortals for not being as brilliant as himself. No wonder the stories are written from the first person view point of Dr Watson, who is amazed at how clever Holmes is. The reader is placed somewhere between them for intelligence, brighter than Watson, but not keeping up with Holmes.

Character aside, you'd also have problems with plot with a first person Holmes - or Poirot, or Miss Marple. Think of the number of times these characters work out who the killer is, but hold the information back from their companions (and the readers) before revealing all at the incredible denouement. Often is the answer, if not every time. If we were in their heads we'd have access to that information. If the writer hides the information, they risk the wrath of the reader - which is what happened when Christie published The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and Poirot's Last Case.

The final major disadvantage of first person is that of reported action which, regular readers of my blog will know, sucks. The first person character has to be present at all the major events of the story. This can lead to awkward manoeuvring to get them there or set up the dreaded reported action scene. The other solution is to start with a statement such as:

"I wasn't there, but Freddie filled me in with such detail I could imagine every minute of it. He'd been fooling around with his old jalopy when Marigold turned up.

'Hey Freddie - take me for a ride?'

'Sure,' Freddie said, revving up the engine, eyes on Marigold's legs as she slipped into the passenger seat. etc"

Hmm. Only to be used if you absolutely have to...

Advantages of first person tomorrow, when I've had more time to think of them.

Who lives near Birmingham? On 23rd June 6.30 - 8.30 Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson, Veronica Henry and me will be talking about writing at Birmingham Library. Come and meet us!

My Most Embarrassing Moment

I've been asked to contribute an anecdote for an anthology - my most embarrassing moment as a writer. So I thought I'd share it with you first...

It was my first ever talk, and I was a bit nervous. But I got through it, and at the end the woman in charge asked for if there were any questions.

Silence.

The audience looked very glum.

'Questions? Has anyone got any questions for Sarah?' Her smile started to slip. It was obviously the first time EVER there had been no questions.

Silence.

'Anybody? Any questions you'd like to ask? Anything?'

I was dying inside at this point.

Finally, finally, one hand went up.

I perked up, the woman in charge was visibly relieved. 'Yes? What would you like to ask?'

Deep breath. 'Where did you get your sweater from?'

Ah yes, the glamorous life of a writer....

Who lives near Birmingham? On 23rd June 6.30 - 8.30 Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson, Veronica Henry and me will be talking about writing at Birmingham Library. Come and meet us!

How a Hamster made me a Writer

I like hamsters. They're cute and furry and wash their faces in that sweet curled up paw way. And as a pet for a child they're easy to handle, inexpensive to keep, and don't need much by the way of maintenance. An added bonus is they don't live for ever, unlike rabbits and guinea pigs which can go on for years and years, long after the children have grown out of having small furry pets leaving their mother to look after them. But I digress.

We had a series of hamsters when my children were small. One Saturday morning I was cleaning out the cage, fitting a new rolled up newspaper to the bottom of the cage before putting in fresh bedding. And of course, I was letting myself get sidetracked by reading the paper. It was our local one and the article that caught my eye as I smoothed the paper over the bottom of the cage was about a short story competition. Hamster on my shoulder, we scanned the details. 1000 words max, legal theme, deadline that Monday.

I knew I wanted to write a novel. I'd known it for years, but somehow I never managed to find the time to actually write anything beyond Chapter 1. A novel was an awful lot of writing. On the other hand, 1000 words sounded easy - surely I could do that over the weekend. The only problem was the legal theme, as I knew nothing about the law.

I put the hamster back in its nice clean cage and went off and wrote a short story. It was about 600 words long, about a will and an inheritance, which was the only legal theme I could think of. I had to drive round to the newspaper offices on Monday to deliver it by lunchtime. For the next couple of weeks I eagerly checked the post, but nothing arrived. I forgot all about it.

Then, months later, the letter came - and a cheque. I'd won second prize and £50. Hooray! I ran around the house squeaking, then sat down and set to writing. This was obviously how I was going to make my fortune. I actually - oh the shame - worked out how much money I was going to win from all the short story comps I entered over the next three weeks.

I won nothing. Not a penny. I was obviously not a genius after all. But I had scraped a mention in a long list and that was enough to encourage me. I signed up for a creative writing course...

Who lives near Birmingham? On 23rd June 6.30 - 8.30 Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson, Veronica Henry and me will be talking about writing at Birmingham Library. Come and meet us!

Writing is Cheap

I was in stern teacher mode the other day, telling someone off for not sending her work out. 'But it's so expensive,' she bleated.

Mistake! Of all the excuses you can provide this one is the pits, worse than your dog happening to have eaten the one and only copy of your short story. Yes, there is some expense - postage, envelopes, paper, short story competition entry fees, fees for feedback. I'm excluding a computer from the list because most people have access to one at home or work or via the library. You could add creative writing course fees, tickets to lit fests and author events, creative writing books and magazines, but the basics are pretty simple: pens, paper, postage.

All of it put together does not add up to the same amount as a set of golf clubs and golf club membership. Or painting - paints and canvasses are incredibly expensive. I can't think of any hobby, pastime, leisure pursuit, call it what you will, that's cheaper both for initial investment and on going costs.

You're frightened of rejection. You're frightened of success. You have all sorts of complicated stuff going on in your head and your life and sending out your work will only add another layer of stress and anxiety in an already stressful and anxious life. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. Yes to all of that. Tell me that, and I'm as sympathetic as could be. But too expensive to write? No.

Who lives near Birmingham? On 23rd June 6.30 - 8.30 Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson, Veronica Henry and me will be talking about writing at Birmingham Library. Come and meet us!

Real Life Doesn't have Resolutions

Last week I attended the sad celebration for the life of a young woman, daughter of some friends of mine, who had taken her own life aged 24. She had kept her despair well hidden - I certainly only saw her as an intelligent, vivacious and beautiful young woman with everything to live for, rather than the troubled soul she showed to her parents and siblings. At the service I stood next to her cousin, a year older, who kept saying she couldn't understand why.

And there isn't any answer to why. We'll never know what was truly going on inside her head, poor thing. We can only guess at the anguish that led to her to think the world would be better without her in it. There are no answers.

I was thinking about that conversation afterwards. How comforting it is to read - and write - fiction. There are answers. We can know what is going on inside the characters heads. And there are resolutions. Most novels start with something or someone disrupting the status quo, then the bulk is trying to resolve the problems that has created, and the end is when a new stability has been established.

I think that's why we read. Fiction has answers. It sorts problems out. Real life is cruel and sad and sometimes has no meaning at all. It happens, and continues happening. Fiction is finite. In 100,000 words or thereabouts it takes problems and solves them (or clearly hints that they are on the way to being solved). Yes, sometimes the ending is left open, but essentially, the main issue is resolved. Fiction provides security and reassurance in a scarily random world, and that has to be a good thing.

RIP Hannah. My thoughts are very much with you and your family.

Reported Action Sucks

I was looking at a friend's work and there's a big scene which happens off stage, as it were. It's very dramatic, but by the time the viewpoint character gets onto the scene, the main drama is over and he's left to deal with the aftermath. But first, another character has to tell him what happened.

Oh dear. It just didn't work. The action, even though it was as dramatic as it could be, was rendered completely colourless by coming as a report. It created the same effect as being told a long and complicated story about some friends of your friend. You don't know them, so you're not really that interested and let your mind wander off, however animated your friend is.

You can't afford to let your readers wander off. You want them glued to your writing, living the action along with the characters. So, you've got to get your view point character there, in the thick of it, when it's happening. You're the writer - you can manipulate events to suit your craft.

But sometimes that's impossible. You simply can't get them there at the crucial time. In which case you're going to have to simply cut the scene. Sorry. Summarise the event in the speech as quickly as possible, then concentrate on the reactions of your character. That's where your action is.

NB There is an exception to this, which is the classic detective story where the detective interviews each suspect in turn. In effect, this is one long series of reported actions. The interest comes in the detective - and reader - finding clues and discrepancies. That's the action, not the event.

When It's Best to Tell

Jo asked me about the balance between tell and showing, and I thought it was an interesting question because it implies that there's a right amount. But each book will be different, each reader will be different, so you can't fix a quantity.

If there's lots of telling, there is an implication is that the reader can't work it out for themselves. This might be because they are less sophisticated - an early reader, for example - or because the action is so fast paced that there simply isn't time for the reader to keep up. So thrillers tend to have a lot of telling (read Dan Brown for the proof), as do children's books.

Other times when it's good to tell:

- when you can assume the reader knows the mechanics. I've heard this described as sandwich making - you don't have to tell us that making a sandwich involves taking two slices of bread, spreading butter over one side, putting a filling such as cheese on the buttered side of one slice, then placing the other slice on top, you can just write 'she made a cheese sandwich'.

- when you want to get through time quickly. 'The next two weeks passed without the letter arriving.'

- when you want to avoid duplication. You just had a scene with Jemima telling Justin about the new zoo that's opened down the road, when James comes in. Rather than give James and Justin's actual dialogue you might write something like: 'James turned up, so Justin quickly filled him in on what Jemima had just said about the zoo.'

- what's going on is actually rather dull, so you don't want to bore the reader. 'They worked feverishly to get the house ready for the party.'

- the information needs to be there. Queen Victoria came to the throne in 1837. It's a fact, there's no need to make us play a guessing game as to the exact date, if it's important.

- you want to move the story on. If Mavis is feeling nervous, while it's generally a good idea to give her some actions that would indicate nervousness to most people - nail biting, fidgeting, sitting on the edge of her seat - you might want to get on with the story telling, in which case, just tell us that Mavis is nervous.

There are no absolute rules, so first develop, then use your instincts.

Punctuation - as Natural as Breathing?

Punctuation. If you went to school before 1970 you're probably fine with it, but somewhere it got lost in education and it matters. Why?

a) it follows the rhythm of speech so indicates when to pause etc.

b) it makes your writing clear and easy to read.

c) you look as if you're lazy, careless or stupid if there are lots of punctuation mistakes. Sorry, but that's true. And especially so if the reader was educated before 1970, because poor punctuation screams off the page.

d) editors and agents are looking for reasons to discard your work and poor punctuation gives them an excuse.

Sorry, but you just have to learn it! Especially if you're being picked up on it all the time. Get a good book eg Strunk and White. And if you can't be bothered to learn, then find yourself a good line editor, a friend who will delight in fixing your punctuation before you send your work out. They are around.

In student work I notice a lot of mistakes around dialogue.

'Speech and the punctuation pertaining to the speech stays WITHIN the quotes,' she said.

'But the sentence is completed by the "she said" so the full stop comes after that.' He paused, thinking he'd got a capital H because this was starting a new action, that of pausing, after he'd finished his previous action of speaking, which therefore merited the full stop.

'The same is true even if the dialogue is finished with an exclamation mark!' she added. 'Or a ?' she continued, bossily.

Another common error is putting in commas when they should be full stops and vice versa. Think about how you speak when reading aloud. A full stop comes when you take a proper breath, commas are just the briefest of pauses. Or, think about what happens when you read out a list. Try reading this out:

'I went shopping and I bought a cat, a mouse, a bit of cheese, two tomatoes and a potato.'

If you listen you can hear your voice goes up slightly at the end of each word that's separated by the comma, and down when it comes to the end with the full stop. Punctuation is actually quite logical, it's not arbitrary sets of rules sent to try us.

(BTW I could have gone for a ; in that sentence instead of the comma as they are two complete sentences in themselves, linked by a common thought. And if I was speaking, I'd have a slightly longer pause between the two than you'd usually have with a comma pause.) Note full stop within the brackets as it's a complete sentence/thought within itself.

Punctuation shows us how people are speaking, where they are breathing, what the emphasis is, where the rhythm is. That's why it's important. And you don't want to look lazy, careless or stupid either, do you?

Sticking My Neck Out

I've just done a whole load of tutorials and I'm exhausted. I've read 29 pieces of work and given one-to-one feedback on each and every one. It's hard work but can be so rewarding. There's the student who sent me some revised work and, oh, it's just lovely writing and now she's sorted out the story line it glows. There's another student, and we talked about a problem she had in her writing and I could see it suddenly clicked, she got why it didn't work, and what she could do about it.

Actually, most students are receptive. They want to get better and, while I don't for a million miles think I'm the final arbiter on what is "good" or "not so good", I have read a lot of student work over the past ten years and have a fair idea of how common problems can be solved.

But occasionally there comes someone who is defensive. It doesn't matter if their writing is good or bad, they're so busy defending it they can't listen to anything any one else says. The worst example I had came some years ago when a student told me that as far as he was concerned his work was perfect and he wasn't changing a word. How wonderful to have such confidence. And how crippling, because he wouldn't listen to even the mildest comments suggesting a bit more clarity. He understood his writing and that was enough for him, despite at the same time, his desire to be published.

I always back right off with a defensive student; there's no point in wasting my energy. But I do wonder how they think they're ever going to get better if they don't, won't, listen? I like to think that the defensive students will never get published, but of course I have no idea if that's true or not - the future hasn't happened. And I know that life is unfair and some of the students I've had who have worked their socks off have yet to succeed.

But being a writer is about listening as well as writing. Listening to the rhythms of language, listening to the way people speak and what they say, listening for the things they don't say, listening for the difference between a clunky sentence and one that sings. How can you ever expect to write if you don't listen?

Telling and Showing

Show don't tell is the creative writing tutor's mantra. Here are three ways you might be telling, and how you'd change it to showing.

1. This was Susannah's way of pretending nothing was happening. Or This was Susannah's first time at the zoo.

This was... It's a very distanced voice, keeping us at arms length from Susannah and how she feels. What about instead...

Susannah stared into middle distance, ignoring what was going on in the seat next door. Or...Wow. So here she was at last, at the zoo. Jeez, it stunk! She'd never imagined that.

2. Telling emotions. She was nervous, she was happy, she was frightened, she was overwhelmed. I've got a CW book somewhere that suggests hunting down every 'was' just to check it's not telling about an emotion, but that might be going a bit too far. Other words to watch out for as 'telling' indicators include seemed/seems and feeling/felt/feels etc. Instead, think how you could show that emotion, perhaps through speech, perhaps through actions, perhaps through physical reactions.

Her eyes darted about trying to locate the quietest, most out of the way place at the party, but bodies pressed in all around her.

3. Description that's not in the character's viewpoint, or that doesn't show their attitude.

Spike considered the scene, weighing the options in his mind as if his brain was a fulcrum for scales that could fall either way. Or...

Which was best? Left or right? Spike hesitated. Shit. He had to get this right, but which was best?

Of course, sometimes it's better to tell, and not show, but that's for another post.

Restoring Houses and Novels

So we're standing in the rubble of what used to be my house, with every internal wall gone, and the builder says to me, 'It has to get worse before it can get better.'

And I stare back and think - there are kitchen cupboards to choose, and worktops that have to go with the flooring, which I haven't yet chosen either, and the fireplace to be decided on, and the electrician wants to know where he should put the new sockets which means I have to think about where I might want to plug in a lamp or a computer and then there's the question of keeping the picture rail and what to do about the stairs and the bannister rail and - Argggh! Will I have the energy (and cash) to ever make it better again?

Bit like a novel, really. You've slaved away over it to finish the first draft, you've put it away, then you've come back to it, and realised that everything is in the wrong place, the characters don't work, the central character is whingey, in fact the whole thing should be ripped out and that will mean more questions and...well, sometimes it seems easier to put the manuscript back in a drawer and start something else.

I've done major overhauls of three novels before they reached their final form, and by major I mean major - 90% going on Adultery for Beginners, not sure for the other two, but they both felt as much effort as turning round an oil tanker that was going the wrong way up the English Channel. I don't think it's entirely coincidental that they were my first three and that I've got, well, cannier, as I've written more.

But that's not much help if you're still on your first novel. For me, first drafts are such hard work I simply can't leave them, I have to persevere until they're better. Somehow I have to find the energy. Like the house, they have to get worse before they can get better.

Off to CHESTERFIELD tonight, at the library at 7.30 as part of the Derbyshire Lit Fest. (Details on p 49 of the brochure). Come and meet me and Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson and Veronica Henry - and if not then, we'll all be at Birmingham on the 23rd.

Lessons from Robin Hood 3

I was so looking forward to seeing the new Robin Hood film. Gladiator, with the same star and director, had been one of my favourite films of the past decade. A Knight’s Tale, with the same screenwriter, had been another. (Will in Nice Girls Do was very much based on Heath Ledger playing the main character.) It was, for me, a dream team. How could it fail…?

Lessons from Robin Hood: Character motivation

Robin is about to go off and fight. Marian asks if he’ll come back. ‘I love you Marian,’ our hero declares, getting the biggest laugh of the evening in the cinema I was in.

Why were we laughing? It should have been touchingly romantic. And it would have been, if there had been any run up to his declaration apart from seeing Cate Blanchett undress behind layers of gauze and a couple of rides around the countryside.

Very few characters in the film had any motivation for their actions, but poor old Robin had least of all. There was a bolted on sub-plot about his father, as if half way through filming they’d suddenly realised they needed to pay lip service to motivation, but it was so crudely done, they might as well not have bothered.

I often see lack of character motivation in student writing. Characters suddenly think thoughts that have sprung from nowhere. They do random actions. I ask why, and the answer is often that the writer needs them to get from A to B. That may be true, but if it’s unmotivated, it shouldn’t happen.

(Although there is the old John Guilgud joke about his being asked during rehearsal what his character motivation was – the answer being, we open on Thursday.)

Characters need to have a reason why they behave as they do. Stories are about solving problems – the character wants X, but is prevented by Y, so they do Z. They are motivated to act by what they want and haven’t got. It could be love, it could be peace, it could even be a puppy. But whatever it is, it needs to be there.

Next event - CHESTERFIELD! 10th June, at the library at 7.30 as part of the Derbyshire Lit Fest. (Details on p 49 of the brochure). And then it's Birmingham on the 23rd.

Lessons from Robin Hood 2

I was so looking forward to seeing the new Robin Hood film. Gladiator, with the same star and director, had been one of my favourite films of the past decade. A Knight’s Tale, with the same screenwriter, had been another. (Will in Nice Girls Do was very much based on Heath Ledger playing the main character.) It was, for me, a dream team. How could it fail…?

Lessons from Robin Hood: Plausibility

Fantasy is part of the deal when writing fiction, but it needs to be plausible within the world of the story. The real life Commodus wouldn’t have dreamt of fighting with a gladiator, but it’s fine in the film Gladiator because we’ve established that he’s a) bonkers b) obsessed with proving his worth on the battlefield c) jealous of gladiator Maximus. Robin Hood, despite having a legendary figure as the lead character rather than an actual one, just isn’t plausible.

Three examples:

* The yeoman archer is suddenly able to ride a horse, pass as a nobleman and fight as well as any trained knight. In A Knight’s Tale, it’s plausible that Will can do it because he’s been part of a knight’s entourage since a small child. It’s not plausible for Robin to do the same, and even less for his fellow archers.

* Sir Walter greets a perfect stranger and for no apparent reason, invites him to take the place of his dead son. Oh, and by the way, do sleep with my daughter in law. What?

* Later, Robin turns up at the barons’ council – late, but no matter, because those proud noblemen are just longing to listen to some bloke they don’t know and let him be leader.

Because none of it is plausible, it becomes silly. In the Harry Potter books, we know that there isn’t really a parallel wizarding universe, but it’s so meticulously detailed we happily suspend disbelief. Could anyone really sustain a publishing company with travel books for people who didn’t like travelling? I doubt it, but we believe it’s possible in The Accidental Tourist by Anne Tyler. Again, it’s the attention to small details that make us believe.

Characters can’t do stuff just because it’s convenient for you as a writer. It has to be plausible. If you want them to save everybody’s life by swimming through stormy seas, establish early they can swim and make the distance one mile, not five hundred.

Next event - CHESTERFIELD! 10th June, at the library at 7.30 as part of the Derbyshire Lit Fest. (Details on p 49 of the brochure). And then it's Birmingham on the 23rd.

Lessons from Robin Hood 1

I was so looking forward to seeing the new Robin Hood film. Gladiator, with the same star and director, had been one of my favourite films of the past decade. A Knight’s Tale, with the same screenwriter, had been another. (Will in Nice Girls Do was very much based on Heath Ledger playing the main character.) It was, for me, a dream team. How could it fail…?

Lessons from Robin Hood: Character consistency

The film opens with a battle siege and one Robin Longstride. He’s an archer, he’s brave, and is the leader among his immediate group of friends and fellow archers – who number three. After the first battle we see him playing the old cup and ball trick on the other soldiers, drawing them in with a nice line in banter. One of them accuses him of cheating, but it looks as if he hasn’t (he could, of course, have got lucky…) and a fight ensues. King Richard breaks up the fight, and asks his opinion of the crusades, and Robin answers honestly. So we’ve established he leads among a small group, he’s verbally articulate, can be tricky and has an eye for the main chance but is essentially honest. This is all important character stuff.

Fast forward. In Nottingham our hero has morphed from Mr Jovial into Mr Brooding. Okay, so Russell Crowe does a mean line in brooding, but it’s not what was established earlier. In fact, relatively little of that initial character seems to survive apart from the leadership skills, and even that has grown to unbelievable proportions – it’s one thing to be the leader in a gang of three mates, another to lead an army. His character in Gladiator had been in charge of the entire Roman army, so it’s consistent that he could command a smaller group of men without blinking an eyelid. It simply doesn’t work the other way.

For characters to work they need to be consistent. Sometimes you don’t win them all – one reviewer for A Single to Rome complained that it was inconsistent for Natalie to give up her swanky lifestyle so easily, when I hoped I’d established that the swanky lifestyle was never the real Natalie, she’d moved away from who she really was and, by the end, was returning.

That’s not to say characters don’t change. They do, in fact, they must. But it must be consistent with who they have been. A shy character may learn to speak up for themselves, but it’s unlikely they’d suddenly become the life and soul of the party. Anna, in Nice Girls Do, tries this, and manages for a while (fuelled on coke) but it wrecks her health and happiness, and she reverts to her old self, albeit a more confident version.

We make our judgements on character by what people do, their actions and reactions. You can, as writer, manipulate characters so they become more consistent – for example, Robin could have shown surprise at his new leadership skills, relished the challenge, then enjoyed his success. That would be consistent. Suddenly waking up one morning as a great leader of men, isn’t. And I don't care if Russell Crowe says he's going to beat me up - at least it would be consistent.

Next event - CHESTERFIELD! 10th June, at the library at 7.30 as part of the Derbyshire Lit Fest. (Details on p 49 of the brochure). And then it's Birmingham on the 23rd.

Imagination...

I was listening to Terry Gilliam being interviewed on Radio 4 for the Film Programme a couple of evenings ago and was struck by many things he said. One in particular resonated. He was talking about the sudden, tragic death of Heath Ledger half way through filming The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus. It looked as though the film would have to be cancelled; he thought the film would have to be cancelled as there seemed no way round the unavoidable absence of the main actor. And then, he said, he imagined how he could do it, and having imagined how, the actual doing was easy.

This is often the way with re-writing. You know there’s a problem but you can’t work out a solution. You try this, you try that but nothing works. Suddenly, perhaps one morning as you wake up, or you’re in the shower and – whoosh – there it is: The Answer. And when you know what the answer is, the actual writing becomes easy. It may take time, but the path is clearly ahead of you.

When I’m stuck with a writing problem I think about it a lot, but often don’t write much. I know that, given time, the answer will come to me. Actually, that moment when you suddenly realise you know what needs to be done is one of the best bits about writing. As Terry Gilliam said, all you need is imagination.

Next event - CHESTERFIELD! 10th June, at the library at 7.30 as part of the Derbyshire Lit Fest. (Details on p 49 of the brochure). And then it's Birmingham on the 23rd.

Why I Teach Creative Writing

At a tutorial in Oxford on Tuesday a student said as he was leaving, I can't understand why someone like you, a successful novelist, teaches. I mumbled something about enjoying it, but he didn't look convinced. So, Mick, this is for you. It's what I should have said.

Life isn't about money - heck, if that was what interested me, being a novelist would be a daft choice. We all need money to live on, but after a certain point, it's about consumerism. I don't care about going on flashy holidays or having a smart car. I have no interest in designer labels or eating in the best restaurants or living in a big house.

What I'm interested in is writing and reading, and talking about writing and reading, and being with people who like writing and reading. I like the mechanics of writing - why does X work, and why doesn't Y? I like doing things like crosswords and sudoku and story analysis feels pretty much the same to me. I like playing around with structure and character, I like seeing the patterns fall into place. Teaching is an outlet for that. I come up with exercises for students that examine the mechanics of writing, they do them, and then we discuss the success or otherwise. It's endlessly fascinating.

I also get a lot out of the students. There's nothing better than seeing someone improve - I was reading some student work yesterday that had been revised and was so excited, she'd absolutely nailed the story. It's so satisfying when that happens. And the students I teach are usually alert and interested and want to improve and nearly as obsessed by writing as I am. (This is why I don't teach British undergrads any more because they usually aren't.) Classes are energising and uplifting. And occasionally there's the adrenalin rush of feeling you're out lion taming, although that happens less and less as I get more experienced.

And then there are practical considerations. I'm published today, I may not be tomorrow. Publishing changes, writers go out of fashion, get blocked. Teaching provides some stability in an uncertain world. It also gets me out of the house and away from the computer and into the real world meeting a range of real people. Writers can become isolated: the job involves hours of sitting on your own in an imaginary world. It suits people who are introverted and not especially sociable. It suits me. I'm never happier than when I take a week out and go to an isolated cottage to write. Teaching forces me to be out there in the real world.

Some people like football. Some like choral singing. I like teaching. That's all.

Next event - CHESTERFIELD! 10th June, at the library at 7.30 as part of the Derbyshire Lit Fest. (Details on p 49 of the brochure). And then it's Birmingham on the 23rd.

How I Got Into Teaching Creative Writing

Jessica asked me this and I thought - whee! there's something I haven't blogged about before, which is brilliant when you're a daily blogger and always terrified the ideas are going to dry up.

I had written six books about careers in the media aimed at school leavers before deciding what I really wanted was to write fiction. So I started with short stories and applied for an MA in Creative Writing. I didn't have a job to go to after the MA and I was broke, all my hopes were pinned on getting a fabulous publishing deal but even I realised that that might not happen. Teaching creative writing had a lot of appeal but I thought no one would ever want me. Then I discovered that a woman in my MA workshop group who I thought was a) the worst writer and b) an even worse critiquer was teaching creative writing.

That gave me confidence: however dreadful I might be at teaching, I had to be better than her. But I didn't do anything about it until I went to a talk on getting published. The speaker arrived late and, while she was sorting herself out, instructed the audience to talk to the person next to them to start networking. So I asked the bloke on my right what he did, and he said - and I am not making this up - "I teach creative writing in Devizes but I want to give my class up when I find someone to take it over." "Me!" I squeaked. "Me!" He gave me the contact details of who ran the courses and said he'd recommend me.

So I applied, and was offered the class, and jumped through the admin hoops, got CRB checked, went on a special day about disability access, and another about health and safety, and then not enough people enrolled so the class never happened. But I'd been fired up enough to write to six other colleges and universities within a hour's drive of me, saying I was looking for work as a creative writing tutor. It was February, a good time to write as that's when the schedules for the coming year are planned. Three never replied but three did....

I was offered an evening class at Norton Radstock college for that autumn. I got my publishing deal the same week as I taught my first class which gave me a bit more confidence, but I was still terrified. Because of their system they couldn't repeat a class so I did Beginners in the autumn and Advanced in Spring and that was it for Norton Radstock.

Bath University offered me a day course and after that went well, I began teaching a novel writing course. I did that for about two years, and might be teaching it today except I got fed up with the administration and walked out, the only time I've ever done that. (Note to self: Do not start ranting. Stop it now.)

Bristol University ran two creative writing classes in Bath, one that I'd been on before the MA and another which was always on the verge of failing. About six months after my initial letter they got in touch and said they'd take the chance on offering me the class for a term to see if I could turn it around. And eight years on I'm still there, Friday mornings with a duplicate class in the afternoons and there's still a waiting list.

I went on to teach on the BA Creative Studies at Bath Spa, the Creative Writing Diplomas at Bristol and Oxford Universities, and various undergraduate BA modules at ASE, which is a branch campus of Franklin and Marshall College in Pennsylvania, USA. At one point I was teaching sixteen hours a week, which was too much and my writing suffered, so it's now a maximum of six.

Starting in October I'm the Royal Literary Fund Fellow at Bristol and I'm not sure how that's going to work out with the writing time. I've decided not to teach at Oxford next year, although I loved the students, and I'm doing just one course for ASE. But the Friday class will carry on until I run out of ideas or students. And at an Oxford tutorial on Tuesday a student asked why a successful novelist like me taught, so I might do that tomorrow.

Next event - CHESTERFIELD! 10th June, at the library at 7.30 as part of the Derbyshire Lit Fest. (Details on p 49 of the brochure). And then it's Birmingham on the 23rd.

She knew that she was a Happy Thatter

The more that you write the more that you realise that you have some little quirks. I like that. Hmmm. Perhaps I should rephrase that. The more I write the more I realise I have some little quirks. Yes, I'm a happy thatter. Give me an opportunity and I'll give it a that. I don't mean to drop in thats here, there and everywhere but, like sufferers from Tourette's, I can't help myself. That is literally my problem.

Of course, none of my thats are, strictly speaking, wrong. They make grammatical sense. They are correct English. But they clutter up my prose like nick-nacks on a Victorian mantelpiece. The speech rhythms are clunkier. Take the Anthony Trollope title He Knew He Was Right. How much more stylish that He Knew That He Was Right. One version works, the other doesn't and all that divides them is an innocent little that.

Most documents I write I have to run a speedy search and destroy mission for superfluous thats using the Global Edit facility. It takes ages, but I'm happier as a result, and my prose reads just that little bit more easily. (That one passed the that test.) One of my writing friends is fine on thats. Her problem is adverbs. Another has a fondness for exclamation marks. We all have our writing problems. I know I am a Happy Thatter. What's yours?

My next event will be speaking at Corsham Library, Wiltshire with fellow New Romantics Lucy Diamond and Veronica Henry 3rd June at 7.30pm. Come and join us!

Writing about Writing about Sex

I wrote a piece for the Guardian's BooksBlog on writing about writing about sex. Afterwards I realised that it was a piece written with the benefit of hindsight: This is what I try to do. But when I started writing, I hadn't thought any of those ideas let alone formulated them into something close to rules. Instead I was making it all up as I went along.

I've always been interested in writing about relationships, so sex seemed a natural part of that. I wrote what I imagined my characters might be doing and what their emotions were without thinking of what my potential readers might think. It was only later that I realised that some writers become hamstrung by their worries of what their mother/father/partner/children/neighbours/friends might think. It cripples their writing, and no wonder, if that bunch is forever peering over their shoulder and commenting on what they've written.

Writing about sex should, ideally, be like having sex. You shouldn't write about sex if it makes you anxious or unhappy. It's not compulsory. It's an optional but, in my opinion, important element of human relationships. It should be something that feels natural and comfortable to you and happens in a non-judgmental environment. Let's face it, it's difficult to enjoy sex fully if you're worrying about your spare tyre or stretch marks, the same way that good writing is inhibited if you've got the critics sitting on your shoulder.

But the wonderful thing about writing about sex - about all writing in fact - is that you can write without inhibition because no one need see it. You have full control. Your characters can do whatever you fancy them doing, and they'll never answer back. And after it's all over, if you don't like it you can press the delete button, and there - It's gone. Your mother need never know.

My next event will be speaking at Corsham Library, Wiltshire with fellow New Romantics Lucy Diamond and Veronica Henry 3rd June at 7.30pm. Come and join us!

Writing without Chapters

A chapter is a useful tool for the reader. It divides the novel up into easily manageable sections so the reader can spread out the contents over several days or weeks, perhaps a chapter before bedtime.

A chapter is a useful tool for the writer. It divides the novel up into easily manageable sections so the writer can spread the labour of writing the darn thing. It makes it easy to plan a book - say, three scenes per chapter of about 1500 -2000 words each scene, and twenty scenes - and there you are. Novel written.

Except it's not that easy. A chapter is not a useful tool for good story telling. A chapter is not a useful tool for rewriting. A chapter is not a useful tool for rearranging. Okay, I'm going to go headlong against those who like to plan out their novel before they start writing, but in my opinion a chapter is not a useful tool for writing a novel that works.

Writing by chapters inhibits creativity by arranging it into nice chunks. It's the Tick Box approach to writing, no deviations allowed. I've heard writers say that they couldn't possibly move this scene some place else, even though they can see why it's been suggested, because then the chapter would be too short. And rewriting is often out because it upsets chapter balance. And the amazing cliff-hanger which will have the readers turning the pages faster than a Zeotrope machine can't possibly go there because it is ordained that the chapter finishes six pages later on.

Sectioning the novel into chapters is about the last thing I do before it goes off to my editor. They may be between 1000-6000 words, but I'm looking for variety in length and brilliant chapter ends. As the novel gets towards the end, the chapters become shorter to help pick up the pace. Above all, the chapters go where it suits the story-telling and not the other way around.

My next event will be speaking at Corsham Library, Wiltshire with fellow New Romantics Lucy Diamond and Veronica Henry 3rd June at 7.30pm. Come and join us!