Words with JAM August 2010

Judges: What Do They Want?

top tips from writer and competition judge, Sue Moorcroft

60 Seconds with

David Nicholls and Steven Sherrill

The Living Book

Catriona Troth on Human Libraries

The UK’s General Election and its Libraries Haiti, Six Months On NEW: Film Corner

Books we couldn’t be bothered to read

www.quinnpublications.co.uk

www.wordswithjam.co.uk

August / September 2010

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Contents Random stuff 5 Haiti, Six Months On

An update on 100 Stories for Haiti

8 Feeble Excuses, Procrastination and Displacement Activities: Meat Fetch

Things I do when I should be writing, by Perry Iles

11 The End’s in Sight for Harry Potter

Learning a thing or two from JK Rowling by Gillian Hamer

12 Dear Ed

Letters of the satirical variety

14 Success? Suck This ...

6 Judges: What Do They Want?

Sue Moorcroft gives advice on what judges look for in competition submissions

Danny Gillan takes a look at dealing with other people’s success

16 Words with JAM First Annual Short Story Competition 17 The Wigtown Book Festival

Bijou Jewel is back with chapter 2 of her extremely well written, accurate, and highly literary novel ...

20 Inspiration Techniques

Tracking down that bastard lion muse thing with Adam Bailey

22 60 Second Interviews

Jill Marsh interviews David Nicholls and Steven Sherrill

24 The Shack of Shit ... OR, is God the New Sex?

Derek Duggan on selling shit

Submissions 26 Comp Corner

Danny Gillan announces last issue’s finest, and this issue’s new competition.

A preview to one of the UK’s top literary festivals with Danny Gillan

18 Peas Release Me

19 Malice in Undieland, Chapter 2

Lorraine Mace recalls how her characters take over ...

27 It’s (Not) Christmas

The perfect gift for your friends and family this year ...

Contents | 3

38 Dogs Can’t Look Up

Quite small stories 28 Girl on a Riverbank

A quite small story by Pamela Scott

30 Mr Darcy and Other Domestic Disasters

Danny Gillan’s research into research

39 Just Do It ... Getting Started as a Writer

Overcoming procrastination with Anne Stormont

40 Save Our Libraries

Shortlisted for the Jane Austen Short Story Award, Clair Humphries looks back at the inspiration behind her entry

Looking at the effect of the general election on Library services, with Catriona Troth.

Sheila puts on her white coat to take a look at the synopsis The Charter

35 Feeling Rejected?

A look at the work of rejections, with Lorraine Mace

36 What Not to Tweet: Part 2

Diving into the hash party scene with Dan Holloway

Lorraine Mace answers your questions on writing

48 What We Think of Some Books ...

Pencilbox/ backpack 32 Sheila Bugler: The Synopsis Doctor

47 Question Corner

43 Learning Not to Judge a Book by its Cover

Catriona Troth takes a look at a new sort of book: The Living Book. And its home: The Human Library

Reviews of The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson, Blood and Pudding by Katelan V Foisy, and Fever of the Bone by Val McDermid

51 Film Corner i.e. books I couldn’t be bothered to read

Adam Bailey reviews The Road

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From the Editor Sheila Bugler won a place on the 2008 Apprenticeships in Fiction programme. Whilst publishers debate her first novel, she is working on her second novel and spending way too much time indulging her unhealthy interest in synopsiswriting.

Derek Duggan is a graduate of The Samuel Beckett Centre for Theatre Studies at Trinity College Dublin. He lives in Spain with his wife and children and is not a tobogganist.

Danny Gillan’s [Deputy Editor] award-winning Will You Love Me Tomorrow was described as one of the best debut novels of 2008. He finds pretending to be a writer far less tiring than pretending to be a musician, as he did in his youth, though the fringe benefits don’t always compare favourably. www.dannygillan.co.uk Gillian Hamer is a full time company director and part time novelist. She divides her time between the industrial Midlands and the wilds of Anglesey, where she spends far too much time dreaming about becoming the next Agatha Christie.

Dan Holloway is a founder member of the Year Zero Writer’s collective (www.yearzerowriters. wordpress.com), and organiser of the Free-e-day festival (www.freeeday.wordpress.com).

Perry Iles is an old man from Scotland. If he was a dwarf, he’d be grumpy. He lives in a state of semi-permanent apoplectic biliousness, and hates children, puppies, kittens, and periods of unseemly emotion such as Christmas. He pours out vinegary invective via a small writing machine, and thinks it’s a bit like throwing liver at the wall.

He tells anyone who’ll listen that this gives him a modicum of gratification.

Lorraine Mace [Deputy Editor], a columnist with Writing Magazine and co-author, with Maureen Vincent-Northam, of The Writer’s ABC Checklist, has had her work published in five countries.

Winner of the Petra Kenney International Poetry Award (comic verse category), she writes fiction for the women’s magazine market and is a writing competition judge. www.lorrainemace.com JJ Marsh - writer, teacher, newt.

Kat Troth grew up in two countries, uses two names, and has had two different careers. One career she has spent writing technical reports for a non-technical audience. In the other, she attempts to write fiction. She tries always to remember who she is at any one time, but usually finds she has at least two opinions about everything.

I commented in the last issue about how sunny it was outside. I’m now feeling rather pissed off that the hosepipe ban is still in place considering it’s been nonstop rain here in the UK the last few weeks. You might have sun in the south, but up here in the north we’d like to make use of all the water we have, thank you very much.

I also feel I should touch on something I’ve found both extremly annoying and rather amusing this morning.

A large hefty box was on my doorstep by a driver from the courier company TNT. I believe they are worldwide, so some of the overseas readers will probably also know who I’m talking about. Anyway, this monstrous box was left on my doorstep as I was in the shower (I was in the shower, not still in bed, honest) and when I finally answered the door, thinking it was something I’d ordered the day before, I opened it.

It wasn’t for me.

I had a look on the label and it was for the same number house two streets away.

Well, due to the massiveness of this box, I wasn’t carrying it round there, and having had just about enough of couriers cocking up deliveries to last me a lifetime, I phoned them up to come back and collect it and take it to the correct address.

‘We are very sorry. I shall have someone from customer services phone you back in five minutes,’ they said. Hmm, okay, but I thought this was customer services. Never mind.

A very polite lady phoned me back to tell me it was ‘in their terms and conditions to leave parcels with a neighbour’. A FUCKING NEIGHBOUR???

I replied something to the effect that I wasn’t a neighbour as I lived two streets away, the box was far too heavy to carry anyway, that it wasn’t left with a neighbour, because clearly the driver had got the wrong street.

Plus, dumping a box on someone’s front doorstep and expecting them to sort it out for you is hardly ‘SIGNING FOR IT’.

I told them it was going to stay sat on my doorstep until they came and collected it. If it got wet, tough shit.

Something along those lines.

My point, anyway, is that if you are requested your full MS by a large publishing house or extremely reputable agent, don’t sent it via TNT. Clearly they can’t be trusted to a) deliver it to the right address, or b) be a bit less fucking cheeky about quoting their terms and conditions to someone who just happened to be landed with a parcel on their property. I think I might go and throw some parcels over the gates of one of their depots, tell them I was leaving them with a neighbour, and it’s in my terms and conditions that they go and deliver them for free.

That’s enough ranting from me. I’ve run out of space to tell you what’s happening this issue, but by now you’ve probably read the contents, so you’ll be fine. Enjoy!

JD Smith [Editor] lives and works in the English Lake District. She uses her publishing house Quinn Publications as a source of procrastination to avoid actually writing.

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Six Months On

by Trevor Belshaw

On January 12th, 2010, a devastating earthquake struck Haiti, a quake that created 1.5 million refugees in the blink of an eye.

The figures are still guesstimates, but up to 300,000 people died and another 300,000 were wounded. Bodies are still being found in the 20 million tons of rubble that used to be a city.

Six months on and little has changed, while we’ve been watching the world cup and electing governments, the people of Haiti have been largely ignored. Back in January the TV showed little else but pictures of the devastation, now we hear nothing, it’s history, it’s time to move on to the next disaster.

I hope anyone reading this post doesn’t think this way. The people of Haiti are still in desperate need of assistance and you can do your bit to help by offering a donation to the Red Cross or one of the other relief organisations.

There is, however, another way to help and this way you get something to go with the feeling of well being.

Last January, a writer called Greg McQueen, saw those dreadful pictures

on the TV and decided that there must be more he could do than chuck a fiver in a bucket. He was a writer, he knew lots of writers, there were plenty of them in the Internet groups he belonged to. What if 100 of those writers donated a story?

They could put out an eBook and sell it, with the proceeds going to the Red Cross appeal.

Greg posted his crazy idea on Twitter and sat back waiting for the negative responses, but what came back both surprised and delighted him. Not only did he receive encouragement by way of email, but instead of 100 stories, 500 dropped into his inbox. Writers from all over the planet got in touch to say that they would like to do their bit to help the people of Haiti. It wasn’t only unpublished writers who got involved, published novelists offered stories of their own, editors from online magazines offered their services to edit the half million words that had been sent.

Smashwords.com stepped in to host the eBook for free on their website and Bridge House Publishing offered to publish the book as a paperback. The result was possibly some sort of record.

The project had gone from the original idea, to a published book that was available to buy from Amazon or a High Street bookshop, within six weeks. The process can take anything up to two years normally.

Greg and the authors began to advertise the book. People were interviewed by their local newspapers and radio stations, others held book signings.

An offer was even made to translate the book into Portuguese for the Brazilian market. Last, but certainly not least, some of the stories were made into an audio

book.

The book has raised thousands of pounds for the Red Cross appeal so far and there is plenty of scope for it to raise thousands more yet. The book isn’t ABOUT Haiti, it’s FOR Haiti, inside you will find stories of hope and stories of love, some are amusing, some are more serious, there is also an excellent story for children.

So, if you feel you’d like to do something for the people of Haiti and get yourself a damn good read in the process, pop along to any of the sites listed below and you’ll be able to order the book, or download the eBook. Keep it by your bedside and read a different story every night, then you can sleep soundly knowing you have done your bit for the people of a devastated country. www.100storiesforhaiti.org w w w. s m a s h w o r d s . c o m / b o o k s / view/10591 w w w. b r i d g e h o u s e p u b l i s h i n g . co.uk/100StoriesforHaiti.aspx The Audiobook can be found at: Audible.com ITunes BBC Audiobooks America

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Judges What do they Want?

by Sue Moorcroft

A full inbox, a filing tray of fat envelopes, a box thudding onto my doorstep – competition entries R me! Each one is a potential joy and here are my tips on how you can make certain that your story fulfils that potential ...

I’m the head judge for Writers’ Forum’s Fiction Competitions, the head judge for this year’s H E Bates Award and I work on other competitions, too.

So I see a lot of short stories that have been especially written for a particular competition.

And a lot that, all too visibly, haven’t.

I’m a great fan of recycling work but I don’t think that the recycling is an excuse for tatty manuscripts or off-target stories.

So do print your story out afresh.

And if the theme of the competition is animals, please don’t send in your fantastic concentration camp story into which you’ve inserted a bunny to hop over the central character’s foot on the last page and think that the judge will consider that ‘a story about animals’. If you’re writing for a themed competition, keep that theme to the forefront of your fertile mind. Make it part of the point that your story’s making.

Although it seems painfully clear to me, I’m going to say it, anyway: follow the rules. Yes, I know, groan, groan, you’ve heard that a thousand times. But still I get entries where 1500 to 1700 words is

required but the writer has sent in 2004.

Why? Please don’t!

Disqualification follows, the entry fee is lost.

If only an upper limit is given, ie ‘up to 3000 words’, don’t feel that 3000 is your target. It’s a limit. Still send your story to fat camp and shave off all its whiskers because judges won’t be impressed by stories of 3000 words if only 1000 of them were needed.

My absolute top tip is for you to write a stonking first page. Make it unputdownable. Grab the judge by the heart and mind. The judge will see lots of stories where all the pages are stonking so they won’t shortlist a story unless it’s alight all the way through.

If your story hops into flashback half way down page one and doesn’t return to the frontstory until the last page, you probably don’t need the beginning and end. Don’t make your poor story look backwards for almost all its length! Give it action and forward momentum by making what was the flashback into the story.

Similarly, remember that it’s much more involving and immediate to have the story taking place ‘on stage’ with the characters acting and speaking than have some observer report to the reader what was done and what was said, after it’s all over.

Don’t run away from big scenes by making them take place off stage, either.

This one drives me nuts! I’ve loved the story, reach The Big Moment and find that it’s conveyed to me by a change of scene and: ‘So what happened when Ernest discovered that Doris was taking lapdancing classes?’

Mildred put down her coffee cup and leant forward, confidingly. ‘Well, he was livid! Doris tried to explain that it was all for his benefit but there he was, accusing her of living a sleazy secret life and there she was, blubbering her denials …’

Let me see that scene! I’ve earnt it.

Let me hear the accusations from Ernest’s own lips, let me watch the tears raining down Doris’s rosy cheeks. Don’t shut me out of the good stuff – the action.

Because I will just drop your story in a box with all those others that didn’t make the shortlist, no matter how beautiful your writing, how three-dimensional your characters, how clever your plot.

Some writers love open endings.

Luckily, some judges do, too, especially those judging the more literary competitions, but, if you’re leaving the judges to draw their own conclusions, make sure you’ve given them enough material on which to draw. ‘Open ending’ doesn’t mean ‘just get to a high point and stop’.

Me, I’m into endings that pay off, that tell us what happened before you let your characters go. Sizzle – don’t fizzle.

Your work is going to be read with dozens, maybe hundreds, of other entries. It needs to stand out to be a winner but please don’t see orange paper and a peculiar font as the way forward.

Anyone who reads enormous numbers of words will appreciate a restful white paper, black ink and a plain font in 10 or 12 point.

And, if your story’s to be returned, a stamped addressed envelope into which your work will fit. And which sticks.

Good luck! Competition success enhances any writing CV. Publishers love success.

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Revenge and love: it’s a thin line The writing's on the wall for Cleo and Gav. The bedroom wall, to be precise. And it says 'This marriage is over.'

Wounded and furious, Cleo embarks on a night out with the girls, which turns into a glorious one night stand with...

Justin, centrefold material and irrepressibly irresponsible.

He loves a little wildness in a woman and he's in the right place at the right time to enjoy Cleo's. But it s Cleo who has to pick up the pieces of a marriage based on a lie and the lasting repercussions of that night.

Sue Moorcroft will be selecting our three winners from this year’s Words with JAM Short Story Competition. Sue writes short stories, serials and novels – her third novel, Starting Over, was published in November 2009, with All That Mullarkey to follow on 1 June 2010.

She’s both editor of and contributor to Loves Me, Loves Me Not, a short story anthology celebrating the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s 50th Anniversary.

Also a creative writing tutor, Sue’s first ‘how to’ book, Love Writing – How to Make Money Writing Romantic or Erotic Fiction, was published in January. www.suemoorcroft.com

Torn between laid-back Justin and control freak Gav, she s a free spirit that life is trying to tie down. But the rewards are worth it!

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Feeble Excuses, Procrastination and Meat Fetch Displacement Activities Things I do when I should be writing by Perry Iles This month, instead of writing, I’m playing Meat Fetch with my daughter and the cat. Here’s how to play: you’ll need some sticky tape, a pack of wafer-thin ham, a cat, a child and a kid’s archery set (you can use real archery sets if you have spare children and/or cats).

Tape an individual piece of ham around the shaft of the arrow and shoot it high into the sky. Watch your cat chase it, eat the ham and bring the arrow back.

Endless fun for the summer. I tried it with

little piggies to heaven. God probably isn’t Jewish, then. So that’s the long, yawning expanse of the summer holidays sorted. Especially now that there’s no interesting sport going on until the start of the football season, so I can sulk at the underperformance of our national squad of overpaid twats for another summer while my cat brings home the bacon in the way that Wayne “He’s fat, he’s scouse, he’ll rob your fucking house” Rooney and Andy “I went to Dunblane Primary and all I got was this lousy flesh-wound” Murray never seem to manage.

As far as tennis is concerned, the needle on my give-a-shitometer doesn’t so much as twitch, but football is important. My daughter realises this. At eight, she’s lived through two world cups now, and is beginning to comprehend what I mean when I tell her “Sweetheart, I know you’re my daughter, but this is football.” And so to our dismal efforts in South Africa (What is this Rainbow Nation shit? Methinks thou dost protest too much, guys. Oh, hold on, some of

which Blofeld always wins. It’s always possible that I may be underestimating the importance of girls to the beautiful game. We could actually let them play.

No, they’re always too busy at this time of the year watching plucky little Tim or whatever the fuck his name is playing ping-pong, but I think the ladies hold the key.

We have WAGs – wives and girlfriends. The Germans have FUFfers – frauen und freundinnen. Painstaking internet research on my part has revealed that theirs are better than ours, which no doubt holds the key to the German team’s footballing superiority. So what we need to do before the next World Cup (as well as offering referees two for the price of one at Specsavers and free fucking Labradors) is up our WAGquality and undermine the German civilian population. It worked for Bomber Harris a few decades ago, so there is a precedent. But how do we do it? We could send John Terry over on a low-level shagging mission in the hope

We have WAGs. The Germans have FUFfers – frauen und freundinnen.

Painstaking internet research on my part has revealed that theirs are better than ours, which no doubt holds the key to their team’s footballing superiority.

So what we need to do before the next World Cup (as well as offering referees two for the price of one at Specsavers and free fucking Labradors) is up our WAG-quality and undermine the German civilian population. the dog, but it had an attack of stupidity and ate the arrow as well as the ham. On one occasion my daughter shot the arrow into the sky and the ham flew off. She inspected the fallen arrow, said that the meat must have stayed in the sky and decided that it was her way of sending

my best friends are indigo.) But how will we ever beat the Germans? Only by totally realigning our tactics and strategy, and placing an entirely new emphasis on our approach. The World Cup is like a nightmare James Bond Film in

that he’d be a better Schweinsteiger than Bastian. Beforehand, we could load him up with doses of herpes and chlamydia like a dirty bomb so that all the FUFfers would be up on blocks for the whole of the next World Cup. With the women out

s

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of action, the German attack would be reduced to using their right hand like the bunch of Carsten Janckers they are.

So with the team sorted, how do we achieve WAG superiority? We need to use our initiative. It shouldn’t be too hard. Let’s face it, we’ve managed two World Wars and one World Cup already.

What do we have? Victoria Beckham and a few interchangeable members of Girls Aloud and the Saturdays. But the likes of Posh and Louise off of Eternal don’t cut the mustard any more. They’re old and past it and have cellulite issues and the kind of static tits that don’t look good sitting perkily below a neckline that looks like an alligator’s scrotum. Cheryl Cole doesn’t qualify any more. If the bloody woman can’t put up with a few bruises, some missing teeth and a bit of serial infidelity for the sake of the beautiful game, she has no right to hang around the team dressing rooms like Ulrika Jonsson on grab-a-granny night.

But there is a role for Ulrika. She’s a resource. She could be the Fabio Capello of WAGS – a kind of team manager.

Jess to Fabio’s Postman Pat. Her first job would be to find some Brazilian supermodels with the kind of lips that look capable of sucking a golf ball through a hundred yards of reinforced hosepipe, then she could get FHM and Nuts to run reader competitions for participation in the training programs.

She’d have a four year period to develop new WAG talent, possibly with the help of lottery funding. Maybe the Sun could make its Page Three file available to Ulrika and the England WAG selectors.

The WAG team needs professionals in attacking roles and depth in midfield.

We need a whole bunch of cosmetic surgeons, a hundred gallons of nutraceramides and Plenitude, a good photographer, the latest edition of

Photoshop, a publicist and a bunch of first-rate Page Three Stunnas who are able and willing to flip the twins out at the opening of an envelope, like Samantha Fox and Linda Lusardi used to before they got old, caught God or went lez.

And now for the coup de grace, the final thing that will tip the balance in our favour and send the sausage-eating squareheads running for the hills. We need the Yanks. Forget the French – they’ll lie about anything to save their skins and Carla Bruni is already under contract to the German team (with the full knowledge of Sarkozy.

What a fucking slapper). The Italians are already looking around for someone to surrender to, so we need the big boys. Or to be more precise, the girls. We need American women, with their perfect teeth and lovely blondeness and their gorgeous bouncy tits. Can we ask Brad if we can borrow Angelina? Is Miley Cyrus eighteen yet? What kind of shape is Britney in these days? Where are those California Girls that the Beach Boys and Katy Perry want to kiss? Come on, the Septics owe us one after scoring that bloody goal that relegated us to second place and forced us into another match with the Germans. Bring in Hugh Hefner and the girls of the Playboy Mansion.

That’s high quality silicone there. Call round the Betty Ford clinics and wring out Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton. Can you imagine them up against the German FUFfers? No contest. Fuck off back to Berlin, you pig-ugly, snaggle-toothed, hairy-armpitted, stubble-legged, saggy, love-handled, spotty, wall-eyed European brood-mares.

I predict a 5 – 0 victory the next time we meet. Then we need to take a look at how to beat the handballing, diving Argie bastards. Their girlfriends are mostly livestock, so having better

... the likes of Posh and Louise off of Eternal don’t cut the mustard any more.

They’re old and past it and have cellulite issues and the kind of static tits that don’t look good sitting perkily below a neckline that looks like an alligator’s scrotum.

WAGs wouldn’t help on the four-legsgood, two-legs-bad basis (although we could let our players do the WAGS in pairs to get them into the mood). In the final analysis, I think our tactics with Argentina should be brute force. Take the what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-in-myback-garden approach that worked when they tried to repossess the Falklands.

Rather than a 4-4-2 formation, we could just assume the shape of an aircraft carrier approaching from a distance and then sit back and watch while they run screaming into the distance like a bunch of seventeen-year-old conscripts doing the hundred metres run-like-a-girl.

We’ll need to get uber-WAG Margaret Thatcher sane for the event. You’ll find her in the Autumn Days Nursing Home, telling bored minimum-wage carers that she used to be a Prime Minister. Snatch her milk off her and wait for her to crawl along in pursuit, although I’d watch out for bowel control issues these days. Hey! She’s on all-fours. Throw her to the Argentinians, she’ll go down in history as the ultimate sacrifice and we’ll all forgive her as we watch Diego Maradona and Carlos Tevez spit-roast her all the way to heaven. A surprise ending for the former politician there, as she does her bit to reclaim the Jules Rimet Trophy for the land of hope and glory. And as a fringe benefit, the image of Maradona and Thatcher at it like knives finally eclipses the old eyelid-nasty of Major and Currie.

We could lend them Tracy Emin’s bed for bouts of drug-fuelled incontinence, and all that poo-sex would have the Germans take their eyes off the ball too.

So that’s us, sitting on top of the world where we belong. Thatcher achieves a measure of atonement while we play Meat Fetch with the Yanks.

They’re overpaid, oversexed and over here, thank God. No, don’t thank me, I’m already getting my reward seeking out new potential among our colonial allies.

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The End’s in Sight for Harry Potter...

… so let’s learn a thing or two from JK Rowling before we wave Harry and co. a final goodbye.

by Gillian Hamer When Joanne Rowling dotted the final sentence on the final page of the Deathly Hallows, the seventh and final novel in the Harry Potter series, I wonder if she imagined spending the rest of her days writing for leisure, with the clear waters of the Indian Ocean lapping at her toes, while her considerable fortune continued to grow on its own merit.

Did she, I wonder, ever really think it heralded her retirement? Was that after all what she intended, by drawing a very public final line under the Harry Potter phenomenon?

We all know the background to the story. It will probably one day be made into its own Hollywood film.

Struggling single mother, writing in her trusted notebook in Nicolson’s café, in Edinburgh. We’ve all lived with her meteoric rise to global stardom.

What I’d like to do is analyse the aspects of the success and see what can be learned.

Since the hysteria of the final book, Harry’s fan base has continued to grow.

In November this year we have another epic landmark, the release of the first half of the final film, The Deathly Hallows.

The second, and closing, half will be released in July 2011. The film will no doubt cause the same intense media interest, and be organised with the same military precision as every book, film and press conference that has gone before.

It will be a sad end for many Harry Potter fans who have grown up alongside Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint.

But from a writing perspective, what can we learn from JK and the boy wizard? Okay, it may not lead to multimillions in the bank, but what secrets and tips should we look for to help us achieve even the smallest successes in our own writing.

Opinion is wide and varied. So I’ve decided to look at it from three separate perspectives: business, writers, children.

Big Business

There are innumerable articles available in the corporate world that examine in minute detail the reasons behind the success of JK Rowling and her boy wizard, and try to look at ways to achieve the same in their own area of expertise.

Leading business analysts scream the bullet points: Movies earned in excess of $1.6 billion ; $750 million in DVD and broadcasting rights; 400 items of ancillary merchandise available; third on the all-time best seller list, behind the Bible and The Thoughts of Chairman Mao. But cut through all of the complicated jargon, and the conclusion of business analysts worldwide seems to come down to one tiny word – Brand.

Although it’s important to remember that Harry Potter’s original popularity was spread by word of mouth, rather than mass advertising, it is now one of the most remarkable brand stories of recent decades. Surely there can’t be many people on the planet who haven’t heard of ‘the boy who lived’ or ‘he who shall not be named.’

The success of creating a brand that appeals to all ages, all sexes, and all nationalities has rarely ever been achieved throughout history. And experts

agree - that has been the key ingredient in maintaining the steam roller of success.

Of which the recent opening of a twohundred-acre theme park, The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida is only the latest high earner, and an immediate triumph – despite reservations and objections beforehand that the attraction should have been based in the UK. So, big business? Sure. But we’re writers, right? So, let’s look at the reasons for the success from a literary perspective.

Writer’s POV

When I began to put this article together, I asked a group of fellow writers for balanced thoughts on the Harry Potter books. No one in my immediate circle of family or friends had anything but admiration for the author, but I was sure some of my more talented literary buddies would look down their noses and rant at me with a green-eyed scowl.

But no …. …‘Every member of my family has read every one of the books, and I wept at the end and felt sad to be saying goodbye to that world ...’ … ‘As a writer, I think some of the final books could maybe have been pruned down if JK hadn’t already been so successful, but as a mother I know those books taught my kids that huge books were nothing to be scared of …’ … ‘I would say the HP novels are like finding a room with comfy sofas and a tray of creamy hot chocolate and buttered toast just for you …’ … ‘I am sure that the books have literary flaws. But so do the twelve books in the Swallows and Amazons series.

I have no doubt that Harry, Ron and Hermione will last as long as John, Susan, Titty, Roger, Nancy and Peggy …’

And I have to admit I agree. Putting aside my editorial hat, I forgot about adverbs and adjectives, and absorbed myself in a world of wonder that I’d probably not experienced since the heady days of devouring every Famous Five book. I liked her values, enjoyed the oldfashioned narrative, and not once did I screw up my nose in distaste.

In my opinion, Rowling’s writing

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improved in leaps and bounds between the first and last novels. She may have struggled with pacing at times, but she never lost her reader, never bored them, never ceased to make us smile when required, or shed tears when she wanted us to. And in my opinion her biggest and best attributes were her imagination and wicked sense of humour.

So, clearly from a writing perspective, the author ticked pretty much all the boxes, to the extent that even fellow writers are impressed. No mean feat, that!

But what of the most important point of view, that of the little people who Rowling must have originally had in mind as her readership when she penned her first book.

Children’s Wise Words

I believe the most important aspect as to why children all round the world embraced Harry was simple. He is a child out of place. An orphan that no one

wants. So a child from any culture, any background, any class, can identify with him, however foreign that world may be to him or her.

And this led on to the feeling of development. The reader was growing up with the characters, experiencing the same problems that they could also relate to – first love, bullying, good vs. evil, social prejudices. And because Harry had it tough, and yet he was the good guy who always came out fighting, it gave children in all kinds of backgrounds the same determination to succeed.

It was children who started this phenomenon. Word of mouth in school playgrounds, telling each other how fantastic the novels were, did more to launch JK Rowling than any over-priced ad agency could ever have achieved. I’m sure she will remain forever grateful, and I’m certain that’s why she dedicated so much time to setting up websites for children and involving herself in schools and awards.

And she deserved the success, because she knew her market and she gave them what they wanted. This is a vital message for all of us to take away and ponder.

So, when we all rush to the cinema in November this year, let’s take a moment to remember that struggling writer in that Edinburgh café. And next time the words won’t flow, or a rejection email spoils your day, try to take just one single ingredient in this recipe of success and look at how it could help your own writing in even the smallest way.

And keep in the back of your mind that there are reputedly over a hundred publishers and agents out there who said ‘No’ to the book that has led to a brand whose monetary success in the industry may never be beaten; now a template for businesses around the world.

And yeah, go on, allow yourself a good snigger at their expense, and then pick yourself up and start again.

Dear Editor

Letters of the satirical variety Dear Editor, I was wondering if you could give me some advice. I’m trying to find a How To book on how to write a How To book. I have looked all through On Writing by Stephen King and amazingly there doesn’t seem to be a chapter about this. I found this very distressing as I’m sure you’ll understand because I am one of those writers who can’t update my status on Twitter without consulting this marvellous book.

Can any of you help Ain? Ed

Can you or any of your readers help out?

Dear Editor, I am writing in response to Ain Alring’s letter printed in this issue. I have pondered her question carefully and wracked my brains but in the end I had to conclude that the answer to her question is No, I’m afraid not. Sorry about that. Hopefully

Thank you most kindly, Ain Alring

Dear Editor, I recently read one of the letters you printed with great interest. Unfortunately I can’t remember which one it was now.

Yours etc etc, Al Simer, Something-chester

someone else will have better news for you.

Yours truly, Bunty Barr, Paradiseshire Deer Editer, 4 yeers I hv strggeld wiv litracy + taut I wuz tick n all in anyways. But a phew weks ago I got facebook n now I see I is bttr den avvrage. So I is now gunna tri n reed yur mag al bowt reedin n all in anyways.

Tanx, Tim Wat

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Dear Tim, Dats gr8. Gud look.

Ed

Oh you people and your hilarious bloody names. Well, let me tell you you’d have to get up pretty bloody early to get one by me.

Dear Editor, Just on a point of order – I happen to know that someone who has written in to this fabulous letter page has been less than honest. Now, before I reveal who it is, I would like to afford the guilty party the opportunity to own up and apologise.

Yours truly, Major K Hunt, DSO and Bar.

You know who you are.

N Anee

N Anee

Dear WWJ, I’m afraid Ms Alring has managed to find one of the very few weaknesses of On Writing by Stephen King. It is a very well constructed piece of work and I particularly enjoyed the recent edition with the extra chapter about how often you should mention On Writing when posting on writing forums. I’ll never forget my surprise when I read through it for the first time and it turned out to be a big spider living in the sewer and not a clown after all.

Hopefully the next edition will include the sort of thing Ms Alring is looking for.

Oh, and a section on cookery books.

Fingers crossed, Miss Ive Bongos, Dear Bloody Editor, Well, I must say, I’ve bloody well had enough of the so called ‘comedy names’ that seem to be cropping up with alarming regularity in this section of your magazine. I have spent forty years in the army and let me bloody tell you that rarely have I come across such bloody adolescent nonsense. I’m sure you thought you were being really clever as you tried to slip one by us but let me tell you that I have a near encyclopaedic knowledge of the geography of the Empire and there is no bloody place called Paradiseshire any where. Not anybloody-where.

Dear Liar, I’m waiting. Time is running out.

Dear Editor, I would like to assure Major K Hunt that I am a long time resident of Paradiseshire and if he would be so good as to get in touch I, Bunty Barr, will try to give him a taste of Paradiseshire.

Thank you, Bunty Barr, Paradiseshire

(Very

definitely

in)

Dear Words With Jam Editor, I’ve tried everywhere else and now I just don’t know where to turn so I’ll ask you – what the fuck has happened to Lilt, the drink with the totally tropical taste? My local Spar hasn’t had it in ages and I really miss the clever blending of pineapple and grapefruit – in fairness it was the one that I loved to savour. I’ve read On Writing by Stephen King from cover to cover but the answer just doesn’t seem to be there. Perhaps I have an old edition.

Can someone please help?

A Teesman Dear Liar, Last chance.

N Anee Dear Editor, Okay, okay, it’s me. I’m the liar. Enough of the third degree already. I do know where you can get a definitive work on

how to write a How To book. I recently acquired a copy of Stephen King’s brand new book entitled On Writing On Writing in which he goes through the process of writing On Writing in unbelievable detail. I have an advance copy but I can already confirm that people will mention it in every second post on every forum dealing with writing a How To book.

There’s also a very interesting chapter near the end detailing how although they are still manufacturing Lilt with the totally tropical taste unfortunately it all has to be sent back in time to 1985 to satisfy demand there.

Sorry I lied but I was sworn to secrecy by the publisher, so please don’t tell anyone where you heard this.

Yours sincerely, Bunty Barr, Paradiseshire

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Success?

Suck This

by Danny Gillan

EDITOR’S NOTE: Mr Gillan has been warned on numerous occasions that while he is allowed to post anything he writes for WWJ on his blog AFTER the magazine has been published, doing it the other way around is frowned upon and may result in my taking his by-line away. I’ve chosen to forgive him just this once. I’ve also made it clear that ‘sorry boss, I was drunk’ is not an acceptable excuse.

It’s a fact of life that we all know someone who’s done better than we have. There’s no such thing as top or bottom in life, just endless rungs on the ever fraying rope ladder. Eventually that ladder will undergo a catastrophic failure and we’ll all tumble down to oblivion together. Does it really matter where we were before we fell? Are we so shallow that we care who falls first; who’s above or below us when the shit finally hits the razor tipped

fan and we’re sliced into nothingness?

Fuck yes, it matters.

I played in a band at school with a guy who’s now the bass player for a very successful, internationally famous group regularly pulling in crowds in the tens of thousands throughout Europe. He owns a ranch in Texas. He has horses, for fuck sake! He grew up in Toryglen, he’s a ned!

I obviously wish him all the very best in life. I also want to kick him in the face.

Jealous? Yes, yes I am. Fair enough, I reckon. I’m sure his horses will protect him if I ever get close enough to threaten actual violence, he’ll be fine.

I had the crushing joy of watching

for years to get to where he is today - in demand on both sides of the Atlantic.

Prick.

What about writing, does the same nonsensical hatred of success apply? Of course it does.

Back on that withering ladder, I jumped a couple of rungs by winning a competition that got my first book published a few years ago. Those rungs quickly disintegrated, bringing me right back down to dirt before anyone made the mistake of envying me. Or did it?

Not too long ago a fellow struggling writer mentioned something about being chuffed that someone in my position liked his stuff. My position, I thought.

What the hell does that mean? Then I realised he thought I was successful

Every time I see a new forum topic with a title like ‘Snagged an agent!’ or ‘Just got a short accepted!’ or even ‘Got a three book publishing deal with a proper publisher who pay advances and everything!’, I shake violently with delight. another guy I was at school with act in not one but two of the top rated shows on TV in the same weekend recently. One was a US show and the other was British.

The thing they had in common was that they were both not only popular but also good (unusual these days). And he was brilliant in both. He’s a great actor, and I know for a fact he’s worked his arse off

because I’d been published. For utterly altruistic reasons I chose not to disabuse him of this opinion - it wouldn’t be fair to shatter his illusions, I reasoned. Nothing to do with me liking the idea of someone thinking I was ahead of the game. Or, more pertinently, someone being a bit jealous of me. Obviously I felt it would be rude to mention the mammoth sales my novel achieved - well into the tens of,

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oh, tens, by now.

The fledgling writers’ community is relatively small, and any perceived success is quickly shared and congratulated, at least publicly. Every time I see a new forum topic with a title like ‘Snagged an agent!’ or ‘Just got a short accepted!’ or even ‘Got a three book publishing deal with a proper publisher who pay advances and everything!’, I shake violently with delight.

Jealousy could be useful, though. I could write a new story about a really jealous writer or something - it’s all potential material.

The reality is that - and yes, I do think I speak for all of us here - there’s at least a wee bit of us that says How come they got it and I didn’t? How did they get so lucky, the bastards?

Because it has to be luck, doesn’t it?It can’t be because they happen to be a better writer than I am, that’s ridiculous.

It can’t be because they’ve worked harder and longer, that’s nonsense. It has nothing to do with the fact they spend months tweaking and editing every word, every phrase, every sentence. Surely it couldn’t be the case that they’re simply more talented than I am? Nah, it’s just luck and they’re a bunch of bastards, that’s all.

Hopefully it’s only a little bit of my brain that thinks that way and I’m not overly bitter and mid-listed. I’d like to think I can learn from people who find

their way round the maze and make it yes, there may be practical things they’ve discovered that might make the path that bit smoother, but, in reality, I hope I can

point in pretending it’s just down to luck, it isn’t. It’s down to talent and graft. And, sometimes, luck. Having both talent and graft on your side doesn’t guarantee success, but if we don’t have both in our arsenal then we have no right to complain.

Luck is just, well, down to luck. No point worrying about that.

I think I’m a brilliant writer, but I like me. It’s not unlikely that my view of my own work is a wee bit on the biased side.

It’s entirely possible that I’m just not good enough to get properly successful. Does that mean it’s time to give up? No, it means it’s time to get better at this thing I enjoy doing. Or stop doing it and do something useful instead.

But, if I want to get better, moaning about how jammy Russell Brand, or that guy/girl from school/online friend is isn’t going to help.

So, here’s a call out to all us wannabe writers - stop pretending celebrities have stolen our chances at getting published, or that the good writers just got luckier than we’ve been. Try to be better writers.

If you’re the best writer you can be you’ve already won, anything else is gravy.

Dan Brown’s still a cunt, mind. And as for that T*%y C*^%£n from school …

It’s very easy to point out that Jordan or Dan Brown or whoever can’t write for tofu, but they’re not actually the competition. The competition is the many, many writers in the world who can write and write superbly. And the fact is, we know some of them. I know many writers way, way better than me who haven’t made it yet (and I hate them all). see where they went right with their work when I’ve gone wrong. I, at least when I’m sober, hope their example can help me become a better writer, not just a better salesman.

Because that’s the real truth, let’s not pretend. It’s very easy to point out that Jordan or Dan Brown or whoever can’t write for tofu, but they’re not actually the competition. The competition is the many, many writers in the world who can write and write superbly. And the fact is, we know some of them. I know many writers way, way better than me who haven’t made it yet (and I hate them all).

Unless we actually want to write shite there’s no point in getting upset when shite writers get ahead. And there’s no

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First Annual Short Story Competition Let's keep it simple, eh? We're looking for the best short story of up to 2,500 words. Please note that we are looking for the Best Short Story, not bribes. If you wish to send vast sums of money, tickets for sell-out concerts, rare signed first editions, feel free, but as the stories will be judged anonymously, it won't help you much.

Prizes 1st Prize - £300 2nd Prize - £100 3rd Prize - £50 For for information visit www.wordswithjam.co.uk/competition

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The Wigtown Book Festival 2010 a preview with Danny Gillan Those of you who weren’t drunk at the time may remember that in the first issue of WWJ we ran a piece about the 2009 Wigtown Book Festival, and how much fun it was.

Well, guess what - it’s nearly time for the 2010 Wigtown Book Festival. I know! It only feels like just under a year ago since the last one! Bizarre.

This year we thought we’d do a preview for the festival to give you a heads up. We do this purely out of a desire to expand our readers’ literary experience and definitely not because we hope the festival organisers will give us a couple of press passes in exchange for the free advertising. Honest.

The festival will run from 24th September till 3rd October The full programme is still being sorted out but we have advance notice of many of the writers who will be appearing and what some of them will be promot… I mean, discussing. In no particular order: Ian Rankin Iain M Banks on his new Culture novel, Surface Detail Richard Holloway

Margo MacDonald Val McDermid James Robertson on And the Land Lay Still.

Jenny Colgan on The Good, The Bad and The Dumped Andrew Greig Alasdair Gray Jackie Kay on Red Dust Road Phyllida Law on Notes to My Mother-in-Law Allan Massie on The Royal Stuarts Peter Hain on Nelson Mandela Gervase Phinn Martin Bell Irma Kurtz on Happiness Sally Magnusson on Iceland Barbara Dickinson on her autobiography I’ve heard of most of them, result!

As well as the above, we can also look forward to several one off events, including the Festival Ceilidh (self explanatory), Des Dillon’s Tall Tales (sounds interesting), Wigtown’s Got Talent (no idea, could be dubious) and a Jim Haynes Dinner Party (yum).

Events will be held in a number of venues in and around Wigtown, including the castle, a ruined church and St Ninian’s Cave as well as the main festival marquees and local bookshops.

Here’s what the organisers say far more eloquently than I ever could: In the shadow of the Galloway hills and a stone’s throw from the Solway Firth, the royal burgh of Wigtown is Scotland’s National Book Town. It has often been described as a sort Hayon-Wye with a kilt: the ancient market town has more than 15 bookshops. It’s also home to the Wigtown Book Festival (24 September to 3 October 2010), the largest annual literary gathering in Scotland outside Edinburgh.

Now in its second decade, the VisitScotland Thistle-award winning festival has almost doubled in size over the past three years and its reputation has grown as well. Last year, The Guardian picked the event as one of the UK’s top five literary festivals. The Scotsman has been equally enthusiastic. “It may only have a population of 1,000,” its reporter wrote, “but Wigtown doesn’t just punch above its weight when it comes to attracting big name authors, it punches above pretty much everybody else’s weight, too.”

One of the things that makes this festival unique is the level of community involvement. Set up originally as part of a project to reinvigorate a (then) rather down-at-heel town, it relies on dozens of local volunteers. More than 10 per cent of the town’s people give their time. The result is an event that oozes friendliness. Visitors tend to get the personal touch.

Although I couldn’t be bothered to rewrite the above, I agree with every word. Wigtown is a wonderful town, with wonderful book shops and people. Make the effort and head over, even just for a day. You won’t regret it.

The WWJ Outward Bound Excursion Team are hoping to make an appearance on the final weekend of the festival, so if you go along and happen to spot a couple of dodgy looking characters with hangovers in the corner of one of the venues, give us a shout. (Actually, what the hell am I saying, it’s going to be full of writers and literary types - they’ll all be skulking in corners with hangovers.)

Further information can be found at www. wigtownbookfestival.com or on 01988 403222.

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Peas Release Me!

by Lorraine Mace

The voices in my head are getting to be a real problem. They just won’t shut up.

As a result, I think I might have added to the French nation’s belief that all Englishspeaking folk are slightly insane.

I’m sorry to say that I’ve just had the embarrassing experience of being caught talking to a packet of our local supermarket’s finest petit pois. I hadn’t realised I’d actually spoken out loud until the woman on the other side of the frozen food aisle moved away, looking fearfully over her shoulder and muttering.

She looked as though she was praying.

So was I – praying that she wouldn’t call security and have me locked up.

It’s pretty crowded in my head. I have characters conducting vicious arguments, others chatting amicably, content to wait for their turn to star, yet more nattering in the background, leaning against a metaphorical wall and looking nonchalant, all the while hoping to attract my attention. I can understand people who claim to commit murder because insistent voices told them to. The people who live in my head are forever issuing commands.

The voices take over when I’m doing something fairly mindless, such as shopping for food, or strolling through the forest. Not that they shut up when I’m engaged in a task which requires my

full attention, but they do at least have the decency to whisper until I’ve finished.

The loudest voices at the moment are forcing me to grapple with a new opening for a crime thriller which I’d ditched years ago. It was my first novel and, to be frank, the initial draft was rubbish.

The second was only marginally better, so I put it away and pretty much forgot about it. The only problem was that the characters have refused to forget about me. Right out of the blue, years after I’d given up on them, they’ve turned up again, demanding to be heard, and usually at the most inconvenient moments.

It doesn’t matter what I’m doing.

Washing, ironing, cooking or even writing about something not remotely connected to the novel, there they are, shoving their way to the fore. I was supposed to be finishing a health article this morning, but it’s hard to write about warding off the flu when a crazed serial killer is whispering his evil secrets in your head.

It’s even harder to concentrate on good nutrition when the defenceless victim is begging you to save her, but you already know she is going to end up chopped into tiny pieces! I felt too much of a hypocrite writing anti-viral advice when I’d condemned the poor girl to a slow and painful death, so I downed tools and decided to go shopping instead.

Which brings me on to the tale of the petit pois. Just as I’d reached the frozen foods aisle, the intended victim demanded a rewrite on the grounds that she had more to offer the novel than just a gory death scene. She’d been working up to it all through the drive into Ribérac, getting particularly vocal while I struggled to release the trolley in the car park. Her demands to be allowed to

live became ever more vociferous and really put me off my stride; to the extent that I picked up a new air freshener for the loo in a fragrance that I know gives me headaches. The killer, meanwhile, was making nasty remarks about her appearance and implying that losing a limb or three would be an improvement.

It was at this point that characters from my children’s novel decided to enter the fray. Now, it’s one thing to have killer and victim engaged in a slanging match, but when that is carried out against a counter conversation held by elevenyear-olds, then it all gets a bit off-putting.

I had to stop the victim from getting ideas above her literary station.

Without thinking, I picked up the bag of petit pois, looked sternly at it and said: “You’re going to die. So stop whining and get ready to be mutilated.” I glanced up to see the French lady staring at me across the freezer. I can only hope she doesn’t understand English, but I fear she most probably does. Before I could explain, she made the sign of the cross and scurried away.

Amazingly, the voices went quiet for a while. Absolute silence reigned for a few blessed moments, but then my intended victim whispered, “Peas, release me, let me go.”

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Malice in Undieland Chapter 2

by Bijou Jewel

Aryt*, misunderstood by her crap square family, cries in her room and does a wish. A ropey slapper, Mate Koss, appears out the mirror and whisks her to ...

Chapter Two “Mate, I’m like, dizzy and that?” shrieked Aryt, as they spinned down a cortex into Undieland (although she didn’t know it was Undieland yet.) But she was soon going to find out. (That it was.)

“Look around, babe,” murmured Mate, like a slutty cat mainlining cream. They was right in the middle of A Fashion Show! Despite it was full of A-list babes, every eye boggled when they saw Aryt. Even the Batty Boys.

Aryt freaked out. Like, ten minutes ago, she was having a total tantric in her bedroom. Now, all eyes was on me! And she looked jardroppingly fit.

‘Champagne?’ asked a permatanned pervert.

Some natural intestine told Aryt he was a right knicker-sniffer.

“Is it drugged?” asked Aryt.

(Toadily savvy, see, as well as sassy and stroppy and similar stuff.)

“Not unless you want it to be,” leered Leatherface. “I’m Clint Lagerlout, coochure designer and handbag-faced sex god.”

“Wowser,” simpled Aryt, cutely.

“My purse is one of yours!”

“I wish your purse ** was one of mine,” growled the surprisingly handsome, sun-kissed, rich old goat.

Aryt wasn’t under no allusions.

If she let him get a leg-over, she

might get a leg-up. “Tell me more,” she lisped lustily.

Alana Kristyson was well worried about this vulnerably-virginal green-ears. She’d seen it all before (because, let’s face it, she’s bus pass material, I mean, bless an’ all, but she’s got more lines than the Tube.)

Anyway, I digest.

Worriedly Alana comes over, and took Aryt’s arm.

“Greetings, Newby,” she goes.

She had a right weird expression that had nothing to do with fills or peels or Bottocks. Just like a heavenly light. Inner knowledge, pure love and a vision of the whole beautiful universe.

You got it.

She was on E. “Mr Lagerlout does not have your best interests at heart,” whispered Alana Kristyson.

“But I need a Sugar Daddy,” tinkled Aryt, her voice tinkling like wind-chimes (not the ones what really get on your tits) but all lush and tinkletastic.

“I’m your Spiritual Beauty Guide,” announced Alana. “Mate’s spannered. All that Fairy Dust.

Come with me - I can help you find Inner Beauty.”

“Awesome!” squealed Aryt, overjoyedly. Not that Aryt needed any kinda makeover as she was already maxing her momential.

Clint Lagerlout was well-pissedoff, like biting his cigar in half, slamming his fist on the table, and stroking his pussy crossly. The tempting trio of two legged it into

the World’s First Eco-Hummer.*** Stopping off at FU-Bar to inhale some oxygen, vodka and organically putrified fags****, The Face of the Future and The Face of the Suture layered their plans. And they was well intresting. And dodgy. And so wickedly page-turning and exciting, you ain’t got a clue.

* I already given you a written warning about the pronounciatience.

Remindya, I got a legal team what is well bored since the last pap-slap incident. ** He meant her flange. *** If they ever make one, right, I reckon I’m due the ad contract and a free one (obviously!) for coming up with the idea and Leo di C will give me a green award and ask me to star in an environmental disaster movie with him. **** Eat OR smoke. It’s that simple. Nothing tastes as good as a Marlboro feels.

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Inspiration Techniques

by Adam Bailey

The muse is a wandering lion whose noble roar is mostly heard in that moment before sleep. Which is all well and good for civilians who don’t mind drifting off before their mind wakes up in full glorious technicolour, but writers don’t get that luxury. Writers spend their nights writing. Somehow trying to harness the dream and its strength to get inside humanity’s head and reveal its secrets, fears, rages, and Charlize Theron needing help with her bikini, again.

Easier said than done. Because unless you’re Stephen King and galloped enough coke in your twenties to ride on bareback well into your sunset years banging out a new book every other season, writing usually means just staring at the computer with total brain freeze.

Mumbling about lions.

Somehow, then, what writers must do is track down that bastard lion muse thing, shoot a tranq dart in its arse, ship it home in a cage, and under the rule of the whip have it performing circus tricks within the week. Cue big top applause.

Writers call this Artificial Inspiration.

There are various techniques.

Thinking outside the box

Because fiction is basically making shit up as you go along anyway – something which motivational speakers inventing terms like ‘think outside the box’ specialize in - the box referred to here is actually the shoebox under your bed, inside which, seething, is your rejected work. Thinking outside it means staying positive despite being a writer trying to hack a living into the barren rock of existence. With a bloody biro!

On the business side of writing thinking outside the box means submitting your short-story in Courier and not TNR 12. On your own head be it.

Walks

For centuries writers have taken walks.

These can be in parks, through woodland, or even along rivers, but it all depends on the optimal route to the DayJob.

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Deadlines

Nothing gets you writing more succinctly than deadlines approaching like unavoidable icebergs: It’s sink or swim, Buster. With stress levels rising to the type of altitudes vultures circle you from, and panic nibbling your bits like army-ant scouts, in a final thrust of professional pride you Show Character and Complete The Piece. Which is typical, the first time you actually manage to reveal convincing character and it’s a non-fiction article about snail-keeping.

Still. Good job, Sir. Of course though, what actually happened back there is that from the moment the editor set down the deadline, your quality-control, the guy in your head who passed all those exams, he just downed tools and swanned off, a la Michael Douglas in Falling Down, drifting to the nearest gun shop. And while he was out there righting Big Picture wrongs, the rest of your brain got on with The Wordcount.

You produced then, a finished article rather similar to the ones you used to read and think, I can do better than that - in the days when you thought writing was a couple of martinis then fencing Hemingway with a Marlin-snout. And that the writer’s life, if lived full, took a full life to write. Including clever chapter titles and tangential footnotes about Norman Mailer’s secret ‘gay waiter’ dreams. Well it doesn’t. That’s nonsense.

A writer’s life is 24-hours. On-my-deskfirst-thing. Growl Rah slam phone down.

And that’s just the editor at Snail Keeping Weekly.

So your passable-copy is published and somewhere a child reads it and thinks, I can do better than that. And the

eternal cycle of writing continueth. Poor little sucker.

Love

Unlike how-to-write books and nice stationary, you can’t just go out and buy love, unless you use a Russian internet dating agency. Basically you have to wait for love to fall out the sky, like a huge heart-shaped piano that leaves you a squishy mess with a bunch of flowers sticking out, leading the way. That is a bunch of flowers in your pocket?

As with all things love has its ups and downs. Unlike a lot of things love has its in and outs too.

There are two types of love. 1) requited love. On the one hand you are presented with a captive to read your poems at. And unless your tastes are rather specialized it’s likely your new gf isn’t as old as your Nan, thus she has no excuse to nod off before the end of the first line. Your new love has to sit it out.

Knitting is allowed, so too ironing your boxers. Reading Vogue definitely not.

The downside is you’ll have to buy presents; for these are the food of love. Because what love is, basically, is a gleaming ship, like the Titanic, gliding across the surface of the world. And you’re down below shoveling boxes of chocolates into the furnace. In short then, drastic reductions to your weekly shop of how-to-write books and nice stationary.

So why not try 2) unrequited love?

In fact, apart from publication or having a mafia-sized family that means more than just Nan buys your selfpublished masterpiece, more than all this, unrequited love is the writer’s greatest

prize. Its anguish will leave you spinning like an artistic centrifuge of the Woah Is Me variety. The downside is that from however afar you watch your love in question, there’s always a chance you’ll be caught, especially loitering in quiet roads with high-power binoculars. Try instead then, falling in love with a tree.

See if it cares. All the anguish, without the injunctions.

Read more next issue… including how a healthy, exercise-filled life is truly inspirational. Also, how a debauched, drink-sodden existence is truly inspirational.

Adam Bailey is British and likes traveling.

He is here: twelve.three@yahoo.com

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60 Second Interviews with Jill Marsh

Each month, we David Nicholls David Nicholls trained as an actor before persuade, tempt making the switch to writing. His TV and coerce (or bully, credits include the third series of Cold Rescue Me, and I Saw You. He was harass and blackmail) Feet, co-writer for the film adaptation of Simpatico, which starred Nick Nolte, two writers into Bridges and Sharon Stone. David’s spilling the contents Jeff bestselling first novel, Starter for Ten, was selected for the Richard and Judy Book of their shelves.

Twelve questions on books and writing.

Plus the Joker – a wild thirteenth card which can reveal so much. Be honest, what do you put on YOUR chips?

Your intrepid reporter, Jill

Club in 2004. David wrote the screenplay for the film version, released in 2006, starring James McAvoy, Rebecca Hall and Dominic Cooper. He also wrote And When Did you Last See Your Father (2007), with Jim Broadbent and Colin Firth and a much-praised modern adaptation of Tess of the D’Urbervilles (2008), with Gemma Arterton for the BBC. His second novel, The Understudy was published in 2005. His most recent, One Day, is currently being filmed with Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess in the roles of Emma and Dexter. David also wrote the screenplay.

He lives in North London with his partner Hannah and two children, Max and Romy. http://www.davidnichollswriter. com/

Which was your favourite childhood book?

The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier.

Where do you write?

At home three days a week, the British Library the rest of the time.

Which was the book that changed your life?

Great Expectations.

What objects are on your desk, and why?

A radio, a pot of pens, unanswered letters.

Which book should be on the national curriculum?

Great Expectations.

Do you have a word or phrase that you most overuse?

Terrific, a terrible word.

Is there a book you were supposed to love but didn’t?

I think Wuthering Heights is an insanely over-praised piece of nonsense.

What have you learned from writing?

Perseverance pays.

Which book do you wish you’d written?

Tender is the Night.

What will be written on your gravestone?

Just the facts.

Which book/writer deserves to be better

Random Stuff | 23

known?

A fine American novelist, John Williams.

His book Stoner is a masterpiece.

What are you working on at the moment?

The movie of One Day.

Which pizza topping best represents your personality?

A slow, steady Margarita.

Steven Sherrill

Steven Sherrill is an associate professor of English and Integrative Arts at Penn State Altoona. He is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop in Poetry and received a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship for Fiction in 2002.

His poems have appeared in numerous publications including The Best American Poetry, The Kenyon Review, River Styx, and the Georgia Review.

His first novel, The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break, has been translated into 9 languages. His second novel, Visits From the Drowned Girl, (2004), was nominated

by Random House for the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction. The Locktender’s House, novel three, was published in Spring 2008. His new book of poems, Ersatz Anatomy, will be published in November of this year.

Steven lives in Pennsylvania. http://www.personal.psu.edu/ kss15/

Which was your favourite childhood book?

Favorite is hard to pin down, but I know my brain was shaped by Dr. Seuss, by nursery rhymes, and by the horrific Gustav Dore images in the Bible for Children books my mother insisted I read.

Where do you write?

Currently in the (finished) attic studio in my house. The window overlooks the town, and Locke Mountain rises in the distance. That said, I take pride in not needing a specific “place” to work. Only silence.

Which was the book that changed your life?

Two, actually. No, three. First, the literary parody of a porn novel, Candy, co-written

by Terry Southern and someone I can’t recall just now. I distinctly remember how dangerous it felt simply holding the book (under my 8th grade school desk).

Next was Another Roadside Attraction,

by Tom Robbins (which led me to his others, and to Vonnegut). Then came Ted Hughes’ Crow. Almost every poem in the book takes (present tense) my breath away.

What objects are on your desk, and why?

Well, we’re moving and I’m about to purge everything on the desk and start fresh! But, I tend to keep things that are significant to the book I’m working on at the time. For the Minotaur, I kept a copy (stolen from a book) of this beautiful (and poignant) George Frederick Watts painting of the minotaur taped to my wall. I also had the last few paragraphs of Shipping News, by Annie Proulx taped beside it. For The Locktender’s House, I had a small piece of stone that I took from an abandoned lock not far from home. I swear I could hear rushing water every time I pressed it to my ear.

Which book should every child read?

Any book their parents (or anyone else, for that matter) tells them not to read.

Is there a book you were supposed to love but didn’t?

Joyce and Faulkner (you pick the books).

What will be written on your gravestone?

No gravestone for me. No place to visit, or to contain me. But if a phrase had to accompany my scattering energy I suppose I’d be happy with either “Wow!” Or “What the fuck?”.

Do men and women write differently?

My ex-wife is a poet. My current (and right) wife is a poet. But I think writers write differently than other writers. The distinctions I seem to notice, between the genders, are in content rather than process.

What are you working on at the moment?

Final revisions of a young adult novel, called Strum Hollow. I’m also beginning to put together a collection of short stories (new and old). I want to finish that before another novel.

Truthfully, though, I’m spending most of my time playing ukulele and banjo (both instruments from and for the fringe), obsessing over Shape Note and Sea Chantey singing, and trying to teach myself Tuvan Throat-singing.

What art forms do you actively avoid?

I have a difficult time engaging (or being engaged by) most dance. Particularly ballet. Opera too. And I’ve tried. Sincerely.

I suppose I have a pretty solid lowbrow constitution. Wagner is liable to put me to sleep, but I’d drive a hundred miles for a good motorcycle race.

Random Stuff | 24

The Shack of Shit OR ...

Is God the New Sex?

by Derek Duggan

We’ve all heard the old maxim – Sex sells. And maybe it does. But there’s something that can guarantee massive sales with much greater certainty.

Shit.

Yes, that’s right Missus, shit. Shit sells.

Shit books sell these days like hot, well, shit. I’m not saying putting a picture of an actual turd on the cover will necessarily help your sales although it’s worked OK for Jeremy Clarkson. No – you’ve got to ingest a shaky concept, wash it down with a weak story, have a couple of two dimensional character chasers, and shit it out all over about four hundred pages.

Then come up with a catchy title – The Shadow of Da Vinci’s Coded Wind – or something and you’re off to a flying start.

Of course, this is what a lot of aspiring writers seem to be doing anyway, so why aren’t they all published and making a fortune?

The answer is simple – it has to be the right kind of shit. You might think you’ve written a shit book with a paper thin plot and characters who give stereotyping a bad name, but you may have missed a couple of things.

The first trap many would-be writers fall into is this – they believe this statement – Never underestimate your audience. This is the biggest blunder a

lot of rookies make – the golden rule is in fact – Never ever overestimate your audience. Never.

For quite some time I wondered if English was the first language of the writer (and, indeed, the editor).

Let me tell you about a book called The Shack by William P Young.

Basically (and it really is pretty basic) it’s about a guy whose daughter is abducted and murdered while on a camping trip. Pretty horrific you might think, but actually it is so badly written that parts of it are laugh out loud funny.

Anyway, God sends him a note and the protagonist, Mack, goes off to meet him/her/it/them in the very shack where his young daughter was butchered. Just let me point out here that me not believing in God doesn’t have any bearing on whether or not I can enjoy a book about one. I don’t believe in hobbits or elves but I still enjoyed Lord of The Rings.

And Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse is well worth a read.

For quite some time I wondered if English was the first language of the writer (and, indeed, the editor). I'm afraid it rather weakened a lot of what any of

the four Gods in this book had to say when their English was so poor (one entire piece revolves around the words respond and responsibility as if one was the verb form of the other.) One of my favourite bits of poor English was when Mack ate some '...nominally tasting food.'

Just speaking for myself, but I've never eaten a nominal. And so on - the book is full of this sort of thing.

In fairness the writing makes Dan Brown look like Dickens.

But so what, right? I mean, big deal.

There are plenty of shit books and this is just another one. Except this one is a bit different – printed on the cover are these words - Over seven million copies in print. Still, so what? Everyone who has read it will recognise it for the badly written heap of steaming arse gravy that it is, right? Ah, but remember the golden rule - Never ever overestimate your audience.

I logged onto Amazon and Living and Social expecting to see appalling review after appalling review and sure enough, there were some stinkers floating about – some even said it was the worst book they’d ever read, but that is only because they obviously haven’t read Running Wild

by Michael Morpurgo. However, this sort of thing was far outweighed by literally thousands of humans (although I use the description loosely) queuing up to say

...thousands of humans (although I use the description loosely) queuing up to say how this book had changed their lives. Seriously. I’m not even exaggerating.

CHANGED. THEIR. LIVES. That’s what they said.

how this book had changed their lives.

Seriously. I’m not even exaggerating.

CHANGED. THEIR. LIVES. That’s what they said.

So, how did Mr Young manage this?

(And let me make it totally clear that I don’t hold anything against him – far from it. Good luck to him. I’m sure he’s laughing all the way to the bank – if I was him I’d wear an I’m with stupid tee shirt to my signings). The answer is simple – he obeyed the golden rule – he didn’t overestimate his audience. He judged them perfectly and gave them exactly what they wanted. And what do they want? That’s right, missus, shit. As someone once said – Teaching someone to read is not the same as educating them.

I’ve picked out The Shack but I’m just using it as an example. In reality I’m spoiled for choice. But what’s wrong with this? I mean didn’t Willy Wonka himself say in that movie where Gene Wilder plays him – A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men - ? He did, but he also said he’d been to Loompa Land so where does that leave us?

So basically what you have to do as you sit down to write your next effort is worry about the lowest common denominator and not the highest. Remember, no idea is too shit, no character too shallow, no plot too thin.

Or just have fun and write a book you’d like to read yourself.

Regardless of the writer’s level or ability, there is something extremely daunting about putting together a submission. It doesn’t matter if it is an article for a magazine, or short story for a competition, a humorous anecdote, a play or TV script, a novel or non-fiction book, “The Writer’s ABC Checklist” will provide answers to questions you didn’t even know you should ask.

With its A-Z format, references can be found quickly and effortlessly. Unfamiliar terms are explained and bullet points at the end of most sections provide a quick reminder of the main items covered. This unique book is packed with writing tips and is something no aspiring writer can afford to be without.

AVAILABLE FOR JUST £6.99

Click to visit Amazon.co.uk RRP £9.99 ISBN 978-1907016196 Published by Accent Press Ltd

Submissions | 26

Comp Corner with Danny Gillan

Last issue we asked for some funny, bitter or just plain daft fictional book dedications and below are the results. I think we’ve proved beyond all doubt with this one that writers, as a breed, aren’t in the least bit bitter. Not at all.

Special mention goes to Trevor Belshaw for blatantly ignoring submission guidelines and sending in a veritable essay of vitriol. We commend your commitment, sir. (But next time stick to 30 words!)

THE WINNERS For my therapist, John. If he’d done his job and sorted my head out, I wouldn’t have needed to write this book.

Derin J Attwood derinjattwood@orcon.net.nz I simply must say a big thank you to Bugsy (may he rest in peace) whose sacrifice provided so much insight for the murder scenes.

Tracey Dockree I’d like to thank the third of my five split personalities, Jimmy, for writing this novel & the fifth, Leonard, for proofreading. You other guys really didn’t help.

Ceri Enfys Mcclellan To my ex, Charlie. If only you hadn’t farted off with my half-wit sister we could have shared the royalties. Enjoy life in the chav lane, darling.

Sharon Boyle I dedicate this novel to the literary agents Alter-This and Edit Moore, publisher Fee Up-Front and my one-time writing group, My Turn First, for their lacerating criticisms, yes guys you know who you are. Promise I’ll do the same for you one day. Finally I must thank one particular member of my family, my mother-in-law, the finest example of a tough-love critic that you’ll ever find. Cheers guys.

JW Hicks I’m not going to thank anyone for their help - it’s all in their wage packets.

This is all my own blood, sweat, tears and spell check, for which I thank ‘Word’ it has done more for me than five years at Grammar school.

Anne Wilks A big thank you to Nicola for her malodorous comments about how ‘people like us aren’t clever enough to write books’. As well as being completely wrong (look at the author’s name on this book Nicola) you have also proved yourself to be definitely unclever. Or successful. So thank you, as this is the last time you’ll see your name in a bestselling novel.

Yasmin Keyani This book is dedicated to all those who worked so hard to make my journey to publication such an interesting and rewarding adventure. It’s for all the agents who steadfastly refused to reply

to my query letters, the publishers who told me the story was, ‘engaging, but not for them.’ It’s for my postman who suffered a triple hernia carting the rejection slips and returned manuscripts from said agents and publishers up my two hundred metre driveway.

It’s for my wife who regularly asked, ‘why the hell do you bother?

You’ll never get into print.’ It’s also for the committee members of a local writers group I joined, who, after I had attended ten manuscript reading meetings, told me that I was in the queue to read, but would have to wait a while longer, because we were getting to the exciting bit of Elsie’s story about her father’s exploits as a coalman in the Second World War. The fact that she had read from it at every meeting for three years was, I was assured, down to pure luck.

This dedication includes the people who commented on the blog, where I posted early snippets of the book. A special mention goes to Mr Alf Obnoxious-Git, who told me that he regularly thought up better stories than mine while sat on the bog after a night on the curry.

I’d also like to thank the London agent, who, after working with me for nine months and five full rewrites, told me that she was no longer interested because the story had, ‘lost its soul.’

Madam Agent. I’m glad you missed out on your ten percent of my thirty grand advance. I’m overjoyed that you won’t get a penny of the projected 500,000 first year sales, or a percentage of the clamouring overseas market. I’m delighted that you won’t see a dime from the planned movie and spin off, TV series. It really was a shame to see your company go bust, I cried all the way to the bank to pay in my latest royalty cheque.

Thank you one and all.

Trevor Belshaw http://www.trevorbelshaw.com Some worthy winners there, I’m sure you’ll agree. Perhaps the need to get a bit more fresh air now and then, but worthy none the less.

This issue’s challenge comes courtesy of regular contributor Michelle Elvy, who suggested the idea of micro-relationships. Once we’d asked her what she meant we agreed it was a great idea. So, here’s what we’re looking for: In thirty(ish) words or less, we want one character to describe their relationship with another character, without ever actually detailing their connection (ie no ‘mums’, ‘dads’, bruvs’, ‘bosses’ etc.) First or third person is fine, but it must be a character’s thoughts/words, not the author’s. It doesn’t have to be a direct relationship (mum, dad, bruv, boss etc), maybe they’re friends, enemies, lovers, co-workers, competing cave dwelling cannibals. It might be done purely through one character describing another’s appearance, or through a short dialogue exchange or simply some internal thoughts. Whatever works works, as my writing teacher would no doubt have said if I’d had one. The main thing is we must be left in no doubt by the end of your entry exactly what your character thinks/feels about the other.

Usual rules apply (are you listening, Mr Belshaw?).

Email submissions to danny@wordswithjam.co.uk

Submissions | 27

It’s (not) Christmas! the ideal present for your friends and family this year...

How would you like to write something and NOT have it published? Would you be at all interested in submitting a short story, or maybe a poem, a recipe, some hints and tips, an essay even, to a Christmas anthology that will be guaranteed not to make you any money whatsoever; that won’t get you a publishing credit; won’t be available to buy online; will appear on the shelves of no shops anywhere? It won’t even have an ISBN number. Sounds good, eh?

Wait, come back. At least hear us out.

Here’s the plan – last year our editor put together a festive themed anthology for some of us to give our friends and family as Christmas presents, and the idea is to do the same this year. There will be two editions; one for the oldies and one for the kids. They will be fitted out with fancy bespoke covers and lovely fonts and things inside, just like real books.

The difference is that they will be a one off. They will be professionally bound and printed on high quality paper, but only once. It won’t be print on demand, there will be no second editions, you’ll only have one chance to get your hands on copies. Orders will be taken in advance and that’s how many will be printed up.

This is very specifically NOT ‘publication’. We need to make that explicitly clear - it’s not going to make anyone famous or get them a publishing deal. It’s just a nice idea for a fairly unusual Xmas present for all those awkward buggers who are a nightmare to buy for.

Price per copy will be kept as close to cost as possible while making sure we don’t bankrupt ourselves.

So, what do you think? If you’re interested visit

www.wordswithjam.co.uk/christmasbook

Short Stories | 28

Girl on a Riverbank

a quite short story by Pamela Scott

E

very lunchtime after that I waited for Rosie.

at me.

I sat on the grass by the riverbank shaded by an old oak

After I’ve eaten the sandwiches I have my yoghurt. It’s

tree. I’d spread my lunch out carefully on the ground; my

usually a strawberry one. I love everything that tastes like

corned beef sandwiches wrapped in foil, a ripe yellow apple,

strawberry so mum’s always buying me stuff. One time she

small yoghurt and a carton of apple and blackcurrant juice.

gave me a cherry yoghurt. It was horrible. I gave it to a dog

I’d take my shoes off and dangle my toes in the freezing

an old woman was walking and it did a big pooh. The old

cold water. I’d study the ripples on top of the surface, a family

woman was sitting beside me at the time and we couldn’t stop

of ducks gliding through the water, some kids playing with a

laughing. I almost rolled into the water. It’s sad being here

rubber ball, a hyperactive dog and two swans that were always

without Rosie. I don’t really want my yoghurt.

fighting.

I have the apple next. I hate them but mum always makes

I’d unwrap the sandwiches first. They were carefully made

sure I have my 5-a-day. She read somewhere that apples have

by mum the night before and cut into small triangles with the

a lot of vitamins and are good for your bones or something.

crusts cut off. Mum knows I hate crusts. She usually put

She buys them all the time. There’s this place where she can

corned beef inside them. It’s the cheapest and mum doesn’t

get them really cheap. She makes apple jam and apple pie

have a lot of money. She told me dad took it all when he left.

all the time. I don’t mind them because sugar’s been added.

Sometimes if she has money left over from her giro I’d get

Sometimes she buys me bananas but only if they’re turning

ham in them. One time she saved up and bought me some

black and going cheap.

Haslet. It was delicious.

Rosie used to have a different kind of fruit every day.

I think every footstep on the path behind me is her so I

Lunch was magic waiting to see what she brought out of her

keep jumping up and turning around, only to see an old lady

bag. She always gave me a piece because she knew I didn’t like

out walking her yappy dog or a woman I recognise from the

apples. I tasted lots of different kinds. Bananas, mangoes,

street pushing a pram.

cherries, blueberries, peaches, Satsumas, pears and kiwi fruit.

This spot under the oak tree was ours so she knows where

She hasn’t been here for weeks so now it’s apples all the time.

to find me. We spent every lunchtime here. We shared our

I miss Rosie.

food, fed the ducks, patted the dogs and dangled our toes in

We carved our names into this tree. She stole her daddy’s

the water. I don’t know why she stopped coming here. Maybe

penknife one day and we did it after lunch. ‘Rosie and Maggie

I did something to make her mad and she’s fallen out with me.

were here. Best friends forever’. Looking at the carving

I hope she hasn’t. She’s my best friend in the whole world.

without her here makes my stomach all sore.

We’re like sisters. We cut our palms with glass and had a

I drink the juice last. It’s always the same. Mum gets it

ceremony and everything. I don’t know why she’d be mad

discounted at a place called a cash and carry. I think it must

Random Stuff | 29

Pamela Scott writes poems, short stories, the occasional script, and is working on a novel. Crab Lines off the Pier was published by Indigo Dream Press. She reached the final round of judging in ‘The Brit Unpublished Writer of the Year’. ‘Scriptor 8’ will be published by a small press magazine in October. And two of her poems have been selected for publication in ‘The Strand Book of International Poets 2010’. Scott has recently been short listed for the ‘Global Short Story Competition’ and ‘The Newark Poetry Society Competition’.

sell food and stuff in big boxes. We have crates of apple and

leave me alone. We’re blood sisters. Friends forever. She

blackcurrant juice. I like the blackcurrant taste but the apple

wouldn’t go away. I don’t know why mum’s lying to me. I hate

leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Rosie used to have different

her. She doesn’t like me being friends with Rosie so she’s lying

kinds of Capri Sun every day. She’d share them with me too.

to stop us from playing together. I won’t let her keep us apart.

I’ve seen Rosie’s mum and she looks sad all the time. I

Rosie will come back for me. We’ll eat lunch under this

heard my mum say she’s always crying and had to take some

tree and play in the water. We’ll be best friends again and

time off her job because she was so upset. I don’t know

everything will be okay.

what happened. Maybe Rosie had a fight with her mum or something. Rosie’s house is next door to mine. There’s never a light on in her bedroom anymore. We used to make faces at each other across the way now no one makes them back.

Sometimes when I’m finished my lunch I turn around and watch the path behind me in case she’s running late. I don’t want to miss her. She might not see me sitting under the tree and run past. I watch all kinds of people. There are groups of big kids kicking a football, young and old people walking their dog, women out jogging and families having picnics or flying kites. She’s never one of them.

Maybe I should stop coming here and just eat lunch in school. I don’t want to miss her. This is our place and I don’t want anyone else messing with it. Maybe if I wait here for a long time and am very patient she’ll come back. Maybe this is a best friend test. If I’m real quiet and patient under this tree she’ll jump out and yell ‘surprise’ then we’ll laugh, roll around on the grass be friends again and everything will be all right.

One time I heard a sad story. A girl fell in the river one afternoon and drowned. She was my age. They think she was trying to climb this tree and fell off. Mum said the little girl was Rosie. She was crying and hugged me. I don’t believe her.

Rosie was my best friend in the whole world.

She’d never

Just you wait and see.

Random Stuff | 30

Mr Darcy and Other Domestic Disasters

by Clair Humphries

I never thought my first published work would be inspired by sewage.

Neither did I think I’d be a finalist in the Jane Austen Short Story Award 2009, as the drama of an overflowing waste pipe seemed far removed from the sensibilities of a Regency romance.

However, rule number one in creative writing classes tends to be: ‘write what you know’ and what I knew most about in 2009 was sewage. Alongside pest control, DIY damage limitation and numerous other domestic disasters my husband and I experienced while restoring our ‘dream’ home.

We’d bought our house in 2007.

Previous viewings flagged up three points: re-wiring, re-plastering and hasty removal of the swirly, pub-style carpets which had infiltrated every room (even the kitchen). Undeterred, the three of us – my husband, the estate agent and

I – nodded our heads, agreeing that as it was the height of the property boom and we hadn’t won the lottery, the house was a good buy. Plus it had Potential.

This, I knew from countless property programmes fronted by bossy, posh women in big coats, was a Good Thing.

The TV shows made it look easy: cramped galley kitchen? Grab a sledgehammer and knock through. Dodgy seventies décor?

Paper over to create tasteful feature walls.

Fuelled by optimism and a desire (on my husband’s part) to utilise an as-yetuntapped armoury of power tools, we started our project. I envisaged a lovingly restored family home once the builders and electricians had done their thing.

What I hadn’t envisaged was a mouse infestation, sewage leak or the evils of asbestos – but that was yet to come.

our rooms lacked doors and/or walls, while the swirly pub-style carpets proved a constant distraction. Another distraction was also making its presence known: we had mice. And lots of them.

Initially, we blamed any odd noises on creaky floorboards, or the rumblings of an unfamiliar heating system. Until the droppings appeared… Panic ensued, with white faces and hysteria all round, until our burly tattooed builders recovered themselves and adapted to their new working conditions. Our neighbour was also infested – both with cockroaches and mice – which convinced us to seek professional help. Enter Ron, our local rodent disposal expert. Pest control, according to Ron, was not just a matter of chemical warfare, but a process of understanding the creature’s complex

Thus, the soundtrack to my writing became speed garage, hip hop and drum n’ bass – which would have been irritating, had I not been trained in the art of pest control. Following Ron’s advice, I’d manage to achieve a Zen state by accepting loud music as an essential motivational aid to their labours. Which worked up until a sledgehammer came crashing through our kitchen wall.

We moved in and my writing stalled; to paraphrase Virginia Woolf, it helps to have a room of your own to work in and that was the problem. For months,

psychological state. We had to learn to think like a pest, to analyse its needs and intellectual motivation. I was sceptical, but Ron’s enthusiasm was infectious;

Random Stuff | 31

clearly, this was a man who loved his job.

Every visit was an exciting new challenge, he told us – and he was determined to see it through, literally, to the death. Plus we lived near the town centre, so it saved on parking when he dropped his wife off at Sainsbury’s.

I retreated to my laptop. At least it was portable; I moved from room to room, fleeing distractions which were made worse by the arrival of a new neighbour. As our renovations wound down, hers began in earnest. She installed her own set of builders, with their own set of power tools and, for approximately eight hours a day, a radio on which to blast out dance music anthems of the nineties. Thus, the soundtrack to my writing became speed garage, hip hop and drum n’ bass – which would have been irritating, had I not been trained in the art of pest control. Following Ron’s advice, I’d manage to achieve a Zen state by accepting loud music as an essential motivational aid to their labours. Which worked up until a sledgehammer came crashing through our kitchen wall.

Further setbacks occurred: gas leaks, boiler trouble, the discovery of asbestos. With each crisis my husband would respond in an admirably practical manner, using his power tools to patch and mend. My way of coping – less admirably practical – was to write, and The Jane Austen Short Story Award came at just the right time; distraught after a

blocked loo incident, I made the hero of my entry a Mr Darcy-like plumber who saves the day. Fortunately, the judges had a sense of humour and selected it for their anthology, which was how I ended up last July attending the prizewinners’ lunch at Chawton. The house, where Jane Austen wrote her most famous novels, was beautiful, as was the surrounding land, complete with free-ranging sheep – although their presence did make approaching the house somewhat tricky.

I arrived at the lunch feeling I’d come full circle: from a story inspired by sewage to a car park ripe with sheep dung. It was a pleasing symmetry of sorts. However, far more pleasing was the knowledge that finally, our house had become a home.

Complete with a room of my own to work in.

Pencilbox/backpack | 32

Sheila Bugler: The Synopsis Doctor The Charter

Gilly’s first version was well-written and very clear. However, I thought it was overly complicated and, subsequently, too long.

I made some comments and suggested areas to cut. I also suggested Gilly paid more attention to the key plot elements rather than getting bogged down in detail. I thought the entire Martin Cole section could be deleted, and the Prague section needed a good pruning. Finally, I asked Gilly to cut down the number of characters as I found it quite confusing.

Gilly took all my comments on board and sent back a revised synopsis that was much better – shorter, clearer and easy to read. We played around with it a bit more until we came up with the final version (below) that we’re both delighted with.

THE CHARTER – VERSION 1 Sarah Jane Morton’s father is dead. She fled his alcoholic obsessions as a teenager, but now she must leave the comfortable and affluent life she has built for herself, and return to her childhood home in Anglesey.

From beyond the grave, her father drags her back into his world with a mysterious letter telling Sarah he was murdered because of discoveries made while researching for a new book about a local shipwreck, The Royal Charter.

After the funeral, a shadowy figure of a girl leads her to the body of her husband, Dominic, who has fallen down a cliff.

Hurrying to reach him, she slips and breaks her ankle, ending up in hospital where she discovers she is pregnant.

Sarah cannot believe Dom’s death was accidental, so reports both deaths to the local police. After failing to get constructive help, Sarah determines to carry out her father’s instructions alone, and goes in search of information about her family’s involvement in the wreck.

She hears voices, and senses someone around her father’s home, Charter House. Is she being haunted? Could it be the ghost of a young girl her mother told her about as a child? The same young girl who guided her to Dom’s body?

Hooked by the lure of mystery and of paranormal events, Sarah obeys her father’s written instructions and heads to Prague, to meet a friend of his, hotel manager, Erik Kovar.

Erik passes on a note from her father, which leads her to Carla Slavik, an ex-pupil and research assistant of her father’s.

Carla tells Sarah her father discovered that much of the gold recovered from the shipwreck had gone missing. One of their ancestors Charles Stewart (a survivor of The Royal Charter) was accused of the theft. Charles, deranged by the loss of his wife and daughter in the tragedy, built Charter House on the cliffs overlooking the wreck site. He died in a mental asylum, but the gold remained hidden until it was discovered by Sarah’s father.

Sarah comes to believe the ghost she sees at Charter House is Charles’ dead daughter, Angelina Stewart.

Carla confesses that she became pregnant by Sarah’s father and gave birth to a boy, Tomas, Sarah’s half brother, who is six years old. The revelation causes Sarah’s demons to push her over the edge, and after an alcohol-fuelled breakdown in the middle of Prague, she is rescued and cared for by Erik Kovar, who convinces her that she needs Carla’s help to solve her

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father’s riddle.

Detective Inspector Daniel Lewis begins to believe Sarah’s paranoia has real motivation. The Welsh police order an exhumation. The post-mortem proves her father was poisoned.

Together, Sarah and Carla unravel a series of clues in Prague which lead to her father’s will and finally an ancient Welsh map and verse. When Sarah survives an attack and bungled robbery at her hotel, it is clear they are not the only people that know about the gold.

Sarah and Carla travel back to Anglesey. Immediately her dreams and visions begin again. Sarah is convinced Angelina is acting as her spirit guide, warning her of danger.

After becoming trapped in a freak snow storm, Sarah discovers the body of Martin Cole, her father’s gardener, who has supposedly committed suicide and left a note confessing that he murdered Professor Williams. Sarah is convinced he has been murdered to cover the real killer’s tracks.

The women begin to unravel the complicated clues left by her father, along with a fellow professor, David Gillingham, a member of the Anglesey Archaeology Trust. This leads to a series of archaeological digs on the island. At each dig a time capsule is found containing a clue.

When the pieces are collected it names a remote island.

Sarah hires a local fisherman, Huw the Boat, to take her and Carla out to Seal Island. In a tower on the island, where they expect to find gold, Sarah finds macabre paintings that her mother painted in the last months of her life. A final letter from her father reveals that her mother had not died in a car crash as Sarah had always believed, but taken her own life because of his infidelities.

When they arrive back at the boat, Huw is missing. Sarah becomes concerned by Carla’s agitation, and when a stranger barges into the cabin, things begin to make sense. It’s the same man who followed and attacked her in Prague. His name is Janco. He is Carla’s husband, and the real father of Tomas.

Carla confesses she made up the whole story, blinded by greed for the gold. She admits to seducing Martin Cole to assist her, but was forced to murder him after intercepting a letter of confession to Sarah. Also, it was Janco who killed Dominic, after an attempt to blackmail him failed.

Janco forces Sarah to sail the boat at gunpoint and threatens to kill her, smashing the radio when she tries to send a Mayday message. She decides she has no option but to run the boat aground off the rocks on Point Lynas. The same spot as The Royal Charter was wrecked.

Sarah drives the boat on the rocks, and manages to grab hold of a lifejacket among the wreckage. Hypothermia sets in and she blacks out. She awakes in a Coastguard helicopter, alive but confused. Huw the Boat is also there having been rescued from Seal Island. No other survivors have been found.

The final clue leads her to the missing gold in the vaults of Llanallgo church, where a memorial to the victims of The Royal Charter can be seen today in the churchyard.

Sarah settles down at Charter House, with her new daughter, Angelina.

The Charter - Final Version Sarah Jane Morton’s father is dead. She fled his alcoholic obsessions as a teenager, but now she must leave the affluent life she has built for herself, and return to her childhood home in Anglesey.

Her father drags her back into his world with a post-humous letter alleging he was murdered because of discoveries made about a local shipwreck, The Royal Charter.

After the funeral, a shadowy figure of a girl leads Sarah Jane to the body of her husband, Dominic, who has fallen down a cliff. Hurrying to reach him, she slips and breaks her ankle, ending in hospital where she discovers she is pregnant and Dom is dead.

Sarah cannot believe Dom’s death was accidental, so reports it to the local police and tells them about her father’s letter, but no one seems remotely interested in her story. With its unexplained noises and the sense of something odd around her father’s home, Charter House, unsettles her. Is the place haunted? What about the young girl who guided her to Dom’s body? Is she a ghost?

Hooked by the lure of mystery and paranormal events, Sarah, following her father’s written instructions, heads to Prague. There she meets a friend of his, Erik Kovar.

Erik introduces her to Carla Slavik, an ex- research assistant of her father’s. Carla explains that Sarah Jane’s father had discovered the location of gold that went missing after the shipwreck– and traced it back to his ancestors, Charles Stewart.

The same man who built Charter House.

Carla later confesses she became pregnant by Sarah’s father and gave birth to a boy, Tomas, who is six-years old.

Meanwhile in Wales, Detective Inspector Daniel Lewis begins to believe Sarah’s story. The Welsh police order an exhumation of her father’s body. A post-mortem proves he was poisoned.

Together, Sarah and Carla unravel a series of clues in Prague which lead to her father’s will and, finally, an ancient Welsh map and verse. When Sarah survives an attack and bungled robbery at her hotel, it is clear they are not the only people that know about the gold.

Sarah and Carla travel back to Anglesey. When she starts to have dreams and visions, Sarah, becomes convinced Angelina, Charles Stewart’s daughter, is acting as her spirit guide, warning her of danger.

Helped by a member of the Anglesey Archaeology Trust, the women follow the rest of Sarah’s father’s instructions.

These lead to a remote island. Sarah hires a local fisherman, Huw the Boat, to take her and Carla out there. In a tower on the island, where they expect to find gold, Sarah finds macabre paintings that her mother painted in the last months of her life.

A final letter from her father reveals her mother had not died in a car crash as Sarah had always believed, but taken her own life because of his infidelities.

When they arrive back at the boat, Huw is missing. Sarah becomes concerned by Carla’s agitation, and when a stranger barges into the cabin, things begin to make sense. It’s the same

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man who followed and attacked her in Prague. His name is Janco. He is Carla’s husband, and the real father of Tomas.

Carla confesses she made up the whole story, blinded by her greed for the gold. She admits she murdered Sarah’s father, and that Janco killed Dominic.

Sarah tries to send a Mayday message but Janco smashes the radio. She decides she has no option but to run the boat aground off the rocks on Point Lynas. The same spot as The Royal Charter was wrecked.

She drives the boat on the rocks, and manages to grab hold of a lifejacket among the wreckage. Hypothermia sets in and she blacks out. She wakes in a Coastguard helicopter, alive but confused. Huw the Boat is also there. No other survivors are found.

The final clue leads her to the missing gold in the vaults of Llanallgo church, where a memorial to the victims of The Royal Charter can be seen today in the churchyard.

Sarah settles down at Charter House, with her new daughter, Angelina.

Gilly’s comments Before I start, I should qualify my experience with writing synopses. It’s bad. I’d place it alongside sticking pins in my own eyes in terms of it being an enjoyable experience. I never know where to start – or where to finish. Long or short? Names or not? End with a hook or give the whole outline? Grrrrr !

So, having already begged help with the synopsis for my crime novel, The Charter, and rewritten it at least half a dozen times – I thought it would be interesting to see if anything more could be done to get it to a standard where I’d feel proud to send it out to agents or publishers.

And, I think, with Sheila’s help I may just have achieved the impossible!

By nature I’m verbose, and while in my books I can seem to edit out the waffle, synopsis writing leaves me cold. So it came as no surprise that the first thing Sheila did was cut all the unnecessary padding. The final word count is just under seven hundred, whereas the first version topped a thousand.

The next problem was deciding what did and didn’t make sense once we’d chopped out all of the guff. That was a little more tricky, but after three attempts, I got the thumbs up from Sheila, and I’m really pleased with the result.

Synopsis, blurbs and query letters are the bane of a writer’s life in my opinion but this experience has made me fear them just that little bit less. And next time I write a synopsis I have this template to guide me. Thanks Sheila!

HAVING A SYNOPSIS HANGOVER? Each issue Sheila will be helping an author look at their existing synopsis and working with them, giving advice and support, to give their novel the best possible chance of catching an agent’s attention.

If you would like the chance to feature in the next issue, email your synopsis to editor@wordswithjam.co.uk now.

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Feeling Rejected?

by Lorraine Mace

Let’s say an envelope lands on your mat.

You recognise your own handwriting, and your heart sinks.

Or the email you’ve grown old waiting to arrive finally drops into your inbox, but instead of good news, it says no thanks. Isn’t it easy to believe that your world has come to an end?

I know how you feel. I’ve had my fair share of manuscripts coming back so pristine it’s obvious the paperclip holding the pages together hasn’t even been removed. But let’s cheer ourselves up by looking at the experiences of a few friends of mine who have also suffered.

Well, they do say a misery shared is a misery halved.

One friend thought she’d made it when an agent was so excited about her opening chapters that he insisted on her sending the full ms so that he would receive it in time to read on a long journey. She complied and waited to hear back. And waited. And waited. When she eventually called to find out what the agent thought of her book he couldn’t even remember who she was. Ouch!

Another friend was devastated to receive the following email: “Dear

Author, we do not want your novel.”

What made the rejection so wounding was that he hadn’t even submitted any work – just a polite query asking if he could send the opening chapters.

The quickest rejection I’ve heard about came from an agent who replied: “After carefully reading your manuscript, we feel that your work doesn’t quite ‘click’ with us.” The rejection email was timed at less than five minutes after submission.

Wow, that agent must be a fast reader.

Still, I suppose that’s better than waiting a full year, as another friend did, only to be told: “I’ve had a chance to read your work now and no one in our agency is going to offer to represent you.”

Then there is the poor author who received an enthusiastic reply to her opening chapters, with lots of advice for changes that the agent would like to see. He invited her to resubmit after the rewrite, which she duly did. The response wasn’t quite what she’d hoped for: “I love your writing, but perhaps this isn’t the right novel.” She asked if she could submit a different novel. The answer? A single word: “No!” Love is such a fickle thing.

But the prize for most bizarre rejection has to go to another friend who was convinced he’d been taken on by an agent only to be rejected three days later. He’d gone through the ritual of a query letter and been invited to submit his opening chapters – so far, so normal.

An email, saying the agent loved the work and his writing style and to send the full ms, dropped into his inbox a couple of weeks later. He then went through several more weeks of nail biting and the usual rollercoaster of hope and despair.

The next email couldn’t have heralded

better news: “I love your book. Let’s meet for lunch. When are you free?” His stomach did double somersaults and his brain fizzed. This was it, surely? Unless he did something dreadful, like showing his man bits at the table, then he had an agent.

The lunch went off like a dream.

After two hours of discussing his future, he said farewell with her words ringing in his ears: “I love your book. I am sure I can sell it.”

Three days after that she sent him a generic rejection email. When I questioned him, he insisted his man bits hadn’t made an appearance in the restaurant, but had no idea why the agent had dropped him. As far as I know, he’s still waiting to discover the reason.

As bad as rejections can be, at least they are not intended to be personal. It’s our work that’s being passed over, not us.

Although I think the author in my final rejection story might have taken his to heart – I think I would have. Not a friend of mine this time, but something seen on the letters’ page of a magazine.

Apparently the author was so convinced his novel would be accepted, he submitted it not only with a title page, but also included credits, acknowledgments, a dedication and the words: “The characters in this novel bear no resemblance to anyone living or dead.”

When the manuscript was returned, written underneath that declaration was: “More’s the pity!”

Now that’s what I call a rejection.

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What Not to Tweet Part 2

by Dan Holloway

Diving into the Hash Party Scene ...

So now you’ve spent 2 months tweeting away, meeting new people and exploring the twitterverse. Almost certainly you’ve already discovered most of what I want to say this time, but I’ll say it anyway. I want to have a look in more detail than I did last time at some of the parts of twitter that I’ve found particularly helpful for me. Not necessarily in terms of sales, or downloads. That’s not really what twitter is about for me. Rather, these are the places where I’ve met some amazing people, many of whom I’ve gone on to learn huge amounts from in the blogosphere, lots of whom are now friends on Facebook, and a fair few of whom I’ve gone on to meet more than once in the “real world” and form friendships with. I also want to take a look at what an incredible source of raw information twitter can be for the writer.

#Chat Hashtags

One of the very best things about twitter is that it’s like one humungous party, only one where you get to choose the people you speak to, a party chock full of people yet if you only have 5 minutes you can go straight to the tiny group you really really want to speak to – even if you have no idea who they are.

Rather than looking for anyone wearing a pink carnation and carrying a copy of The Times, or relying on secret handshakes, the way to find the interesting conversations on twitter is to use the chat hashtags.

A hashtag is the # symbol, and in the twitterverse is also used of the words

preceded by the symbol. By placing a # in front of a word or phrase (with no spaces) you create a link in your tweet.

Anyone who clicks on that word/phrase in your tweet will bring up a timeline that features all and only tweets containing the same phrase (provided it also has the # to start with, simply type the phrase into search, then click on the # phrase to keep updating your timeline). You are instantly transported to the conversation you want to join, and can use the # to start your own c o n ve r s a t i o n s (you will find some wonderful whimsies such as #cheesebooks where people incorporate cheese names into book titles, so Huysmans’ A Rebours becomes A Reboursin – you get the idea – hilarious and utterly addictive).

Not only are these “chat”s fun, and great for meeting people, they can offer insights right into the heart of the publishing world. It was one such hashtag chat that made me sign up for twitter in the first place. Back in the spring of 2009, there was an uproar amongst writers, a mass outrage against the agenting profession.

Nothing new there, then. Only this time there was a difference. Agents had been

discussing the reasons they rejected authors’ queries. Again, nothing new there. Only… Only they’d been having what they clearly imagined was a private discussion, in the open forum of twitter, using the hashtag #queryfail and as the day wore on their discretion and inhibitions wore off, and all kinds of snarks emerged that lost quite a few agents quite a lot of face, and had authors claiming they were being treated with contempt and disdain.

So big was the brouhaha it dominated the literary blogosphere for weeks, and seeped into the press. But to be at the heart of it (and, to be fair, to learn some very valuable lessons for your pitching, you had to be on twitter).

Many of the hashtag chats on twitter don’t spring up on a one-off basis like #queryfail did, or emerge randomly like #cheesebooks but take place at the same time once or more each week. These can be as valuable as meetings of your writers’ group, only much easier to get to, drawing on a much wider pool of knowledge and ideas, and without the initial icebreaking awkwardness. Pretty much whatever genre you work in there will be a regular

there was an uproar amongst writers, a mass outrage against the agenting profession.

Nothing new there, then.

Only this time there was a difference. Agents had been discussing the reasons they rejected authors’ queries. Again, nothing new there. Only…

Only they’d been having what they clearly imagined was a private discussion ...

Pencilbox/backpack | 37

chat session (from YA, through SF to screenwriting), but the best place to start is with some of the more general ones. These tend to be timed so as to be convenient for the US working day. This is great for people in the UK, because you get to meet US-based agents, editors, and publishers, but at a time in the evening that means there’s no conflict with your working day (because you’d never tweet from work, right?).

For starters I’d recommend #LitChat which meets every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 4-5pm EST (9-10pm BST). It’s run by the lovely @LitChat (real name Carolyn), and every week the discussion is themed – there have been weeks on historical fiction, reinvention as a writing device, and indie fiction.

Most weeks, Monday is spent on general chat, Wednesday focuses on specific books, and on Friday there is usually a host published author who will answer pretty much anything you care to ask.

It’s a fantastically informative, sometimes lively, always friendly session at which you’ll make many acquaintances, and, over the weeks, some good friends.

The other chat groups I’d recommend for newcomers are the vaguely themed and fairly general #writechat which meets from 3-6pm EST (8-11pm BST) and is hosted by @WritingSpirit and #followreader which meets at around the same time on a Sunday afternoon, and is very useful for sharing marketing ideas.

Another hashtag that people use all the time, which is very useful for meeting fellow writers (both by searching on it, and by using it and therefore being found in other people’s searches) is #amwriting which brings me rather neatly to a delicate but important point:

twitter netiquette

This can be an absolute minefield for the newcomer to twitter, wanting to make the most of their new toy but ending up inadvertently upsetting people. It’s not actually hideously complicated – most of the time common sense and courtesy will see you through. But the following points are really important: • The #amwriting hashtag (which is how we got here) is used, as should

be obvious, for people to talk about what they’re writing at the time.

People will give updates on their word count, tell you they’d rather be at the dragon boat race, explain how much tea they’re drinking instead of writing, all sorts of stuff to do with the day to day grind of being a writer.

A few people will add it to a tweet just so people searching will find it.

For example “#amwriting the sequel to Madame Sadie’s House of Honeys, which is £8 on Amazon”. In other words, what is intended as a means of being sociable is used as a marketing tool • That kind of marketing never goes down well on twitter. It’s against the friendly, informal ethos. You wouldn’t try to flog your book like that at a party, after all. By all means tweet that you have a book out, or drop into conversation that you’re a writer, but don’t pretend to be chatting when you’re actually marketing. It’s part of the One Big Rule of the internet – be yourself.

#fridayflash

I want to finish off with one of the great ways twitter crosses over into the wider internet world, and acts as the formation of communities of colleagues and friends that take on a life way beyond the confines of twitter. #Fridayflash is a writing hashtag that’s used, as you’d guess, every Friday.

But it’s used to form a centre for a conversation and group that works in the internet at large. Every week, a group of tweeters will write a piece of flash fiction, and post it on their blog.

They all write on the same topic, which can be found in the days running up by searching for #fridayflash. As soon as people post the piece on their blog, they tweet the link along with the #fridayflash hashtag. Over the course of the (rather long – a cyber day lasts 48 hours, don’t forget) day, everyone involved wanders round their colleagues’ blogs, reading and commenting on as many as they can.

You won’t get detailed feedback (there are only 48 hours, after all, even in a cyber day). But it’s a fantastic way to

meet people who do what you do, and get to know them in a little more depth. You will also discover some great blogs along the way, get to meet some of the loveliest and most helpful writers on twitter. And pick up a vast store of information in a very short space of time.

Another party scene you should look out for on twitter are the occasional get-togethers hosted by @annetylerlord which she announces on twitter, and hosts on her blog, and can involve anything from Beat-inspired jam sessions to cookins. Look out also for the impromptu parties held by poet and novelist @ sheenaignatia who has recently been celebrating the launch of her Summer Shorts collection with a series of virtual beach parties.

To conclude, once you get into the twitterverse with its eccentric people and equally eccentric rituals and stop seeing it as a marketing tool, you will find that it is not only informative, helpful, a way of improving your writing and your contacts in the writing world, you will also find that it can be incredibly fun. And once you let yourself have fun, and become part of the party scene, you’ll soon find the marketing stuff comes naturally. And you’ll have a bunch of great friends to boot.

Bullet Points • Find like-minded people by using the search and hashtag functions.

• Join in with regular chat sessions.

• When participating in group chats, don’t be afraid to give your frank opinion, but always be polite – remember that in 140 characters you don’t always have the chance to give a nuanced view.

• In busy chat sessions, don’t feel you have to follow everything. Find an interesting point and talk to one or two people.

• Have a go at #fridayflash and be on the lookout for twitter parties!

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Dogs Can’t Look Up

by Danny Gillan

research [ri-surch, ree-surch] –noun 1. diligent and systematic inquiry or investigation into a subject in order to discover or revise facts, theories, applications, etc.

Having been asked to do an article on ‘research’ I did what all self-respecting writers do these days and plugged the word into an online dictionary, hence the above. There were a few other definitions but I couldn’t be bothered cutting and pasting them.

They were verbs or something.

I’ve managed to write two novels and about a dozen short stories without doing any research whatsoever. I’ve had the advantage of only ever writing about Glaswegian idiots though so much of the

required knowledge was already built in.

Now and then I’ve needed to check the odd bit of geography but Google maps has always sorted that out easily enough.

To be honest, the first thought to enter my brain when the ED asked me to write this article about research was - shit, she’s not done her research.

Writing is my hobby, the idea that it might involve actual effort and work beyond making stuff up and typing it is anathema to me. Example - I have only a vague idea what ‘anathema’ means, but can’t be arsed looking it up so it’ll have to do.

My philosophy on fiction is simple - it’s fiction, so make shit up. It’s all lies anyway, who gives a crap about where the lies stop and truth comes in? If it sounds reasonable, it is reasonable.

I don’t write literary fiction, so I don’t need to worry about being literal.

I’m not a writer of historical fiction, so historical fact means nothing to me.

I don’t do thrillers, so police procedure etc is meaningless. I can’t write Sci-Fi, so science can get to fuck.

I’m not discounting the time and effort many writers put into making sure they get every last factual detail right. Authenticity is important when endeavouring to recreate, or create from scratch, a world in which you hope the reader will become immersed and enmeshed. All and more of the above mentioned genres (and yes, literary fiction is just another genre) demand this, to one degree or another.

But, you know. Relax.

Yes, a particularly pertinent bit of research can, sometimes, give huge insight to either character or plot and if that’s the case, go for it - explain exactly

how that leather coin pouch could only have been made by a mountain-dwelling Argentinean with Oedipal issues.

If it’s not important though, it’s enough that you know it, don’t burden the rest of us with your studies. We don’t care.

Story matters; characters matter; humanity matters; entertainment matters (literary fiction gets a pass on that one); emotions matter. That’s where the truth needs to be. And that’s the stuff you can’t find on Wikipedia.

The Devil is in the details. Or God is in the details. Which is it, I can’t remember? Either way I’m not religious.

The one thing not to do, however, is get it wrong. If you’re making something up, make bloody sure you’re in ‘makeshit-up’ territory. And, whatever you do, don’t make shit up about anyone who’s real and still alive.

As an example (purely fictional and plucked entirely from the air with no basis in anything that’s ever actually happened, honest) don’t say that your main character’s sister goes on a bit sometimes and can be annoying as fuck when she has a wine or two. Or, you know, that Bono is a Nazi. Like Jesus was.

Silly stuff like that.

I assume, of course, that you won’t take my word for any of this and do your own research before coming to a decision.

Don’t trust me for a minute, I just make shit up.

Pencilbox/backpack | 39

Just Do It ... Getting Started as a Writer

by Anne Stormont

Do you fancy being a writer of fiction?

Have you got the new notebook and pen or do you have a new, but empty, folder labelled My Writing on your computer? Do you have a few ideas of what you might write? Are you finding it impossible to get started?

Procrastination – the old, obstructive enemy of even the most experienced author. It might present itself as the devil on the shoulder, taunting the writer with jibes about lack of ability and about wasting time. Or, wily enemy that it is, it will often portray itself as a concerned friend. It will respectfully present other priorities more deserving of the writer’s time. Or it will insist that the writer is too tired to take up a pen or sit at a screen. It will soothe the self-doubter, saying don’t put yourself through this painful process – it’s not worth it – all that rejection and misunderstanding.

I am a recovering procrastinator and my experience is proof that even the most naive novice writer can beat the ‘P’ word.

I have wanted to be a ‘proper’ writer since I was at school. I am now in my fifties - and it’s only in the last ten years that I’ve taken it seriously. It’s true, I’ve

always kept a diary and I’ve also written travel journals about time spent in the Middle East, Africa and Australia. But it wasn’t until 2000 that I began to write in a truly creative, imaginative and sustained way.

Why did it take me so long? Well, you see, I had such a busy life – professionally, and as a wife and mother – and, besides, ordinary people like me couldn’t be writers, could they? It would be pretentious, delusional, and ridiculous to even try.

But as the new century began, I kicked the procrastination demon into touch.

For me it was a brush with mortality that presented the now or never ultimatum.

Putting things off till tomorrow was no longer an option. Yes, all very dramatic, I know, – but like Fay Weldon said recently in a radio interview - too many people live as if they’re immortal. She didn’t mean we should be morbid, but we should seize the day.

If you want to write, just get on and do it. Cliché warning – the longest journeys begin with a small step – cliché, but true. Therefore if you’re contemplating starting out, start simple. Write a letter, a diary entry, a short story, a first chapter.

Build writing into your day – like the gym session, the meeting with friends, the dental appointment – find the time, even if it’s only half an hour a day, or a week, or a month - and put it in the diary.

Keep the appointment with your muse and enjoy it.

And keep at it. Set about improving.

There are various ways to go about this.

You could take a writing course, read a writing manual, subscribe to a writing magazine, join a writers’ group – real or online. I did all of these and all

were helpful in different ways. Three specific things worked especially well for me. Attending an Arvon Foundation residential writing course got me started.

My development as a writer continued when I joined www.youwriteon.com . Joining this online community led to significant improvements in my writing and I now have a group of trusted writing buddies as a result. And the deadlines provided by entering writing competitions gave me goals to aim for and kept the indulgence in displacement activities to a minimum.

Ten years on, I’ve completed one novel for adults and am writing a second.

I also have an outline for a children’s novel and I’ve won several prizes. Although I’d explode with delight if it became possible to do so, writing is not how I earn my living. I have a rewarding and demanding day job and writing is how I spend my me-time.

Procrastination is no longer a problem because I can’t imagine my life without writing.

It’s an escape, it’s therapy, it’s scary, it’s exhilarating, it’s addictive. My only regret is that I didn’t take it up sooner.

So, if you’re attracted to writing as a hobby – go for it. Kick the ass of procrastination.

Feel the fear, carpe diem and do it.

Above all – enjoy!

In subsequent issues I’ll be offering advice, in my exalted capacity as an expert novice, on characterisation, plotting, settings - and anything else that I can think of that I’ve learned that might be of use to complete novice writers of fiction.

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Save Our Libraries

by Catriona Troth, the library cat I suggested in my last article that the election could have a profound effect on our library services, and so it is proving.

In advance of the Chancellor’s Emergency Budget on 24th June, the new culture secretary Jeremy Hunt announced that he would not be implementing £2m per annum of library spending commitments set out in his predecessor Margaret Hodge’s Public Library Modernisation Review (outlined in my previous article). This means, among other things, abandoning commitments to free internet access in all libraries and

DCMS spokesperson warned that “This is relatively small compared to what is coming in the autumn.”

Even before these cuts were announced, many councils were considering cutting back on library services. For example, in January of this year, Buckinghamshire County Council announced a cut of 10 per cent in library opening hours as part of a raft of cuts across the service. Cuts in stock budget and job losses were also mooted. More recently Hampshire has said that it intends to cut 60 jobs from the library service, leading to strikes over plans to replace professional staff with volunteers.

Guy Daines, policy director at the Chartered Institute for Library and Information Professionals

The local government budget is to be cut by £1.165bn this year. Similarly, the Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) is facing a cut of £88M, leading to 3% cuts in the funding for Museums, Libraries and Archives Council (MLA), Public Lending Right (PLR) and the Arts Council. to the promotion of library membership as an entitlement from birth. In addition, the extension of the Public Lending Right to non-print format books (ebooks and audio books) has been suspended and is to be reconsidered at the spending review in the autumn.

Then, in the Emergency Budget, the Chancellor announced cuts in both the local government budget and the Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) In The Bookseller, a

(CILIP), warns that, the Chancellor’s announcement will “confirm to virtually every local authority up and down the country that the cuts will happen and the plans they are making they will probably have to implement. Most will be ready to make some quite severe reductions. It’s going to be a rough old ride.” [http://www.thebookseller.com/ news/119135-rough-ride-predicted-forlibraries-after-spending-cuts.html]

In the meantime, a report on public sector reform by the consultancy firm KPMG, entitled “Payment for Success” has recommended that local councils should consider handing libraries back to the community, to be run by volunteers.

They argue that, “The level of community resistance to closing a library is usually disproportionate to the level of local usage because communities believe … in the future potential of the library to do great things. Devolution can allow new ideas to develop.” Speaking on the Today programme, one of the report’s authors, Alan Downey, said “Very often the cost of borrowing a book is more than the cost of buying it and giving it to the person and saying don’t bother to bring it back.”

These announcements have provoked a strong response. Andrew Motion, former Poet Laureate and Chairman of the MLA, said: “It is a foolhardy notion that a modern economy would wantonly abandon resources that support learning and help build our potential as human beings. We are at a critical time. A time for big thinking, not big mistakes that would set the country back and harm the most disadvantaged who need the best possible libraries and free access to books.”

Neil Gaiman, accepting a Carnegie Medal for The Graveyard Book, said “Libraries are our future – to close them would be a terrible, terrible mistake – it would be stealing from the future to pay for today which is what got us into the mess we’re in now.”

Desmond Clarke, writing in The Bookseller, said, “How we treat [libraries] is a bellwether of our national attitude to literacy and learning.”

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The MLA have produced their own report, “Sharper Investment for Changing Times” and archives working harder to share their resources, innovating and integrating with other services.

Tim Godfray, Chief Executive of the Booksellers’ Association has called for a cross-industry campaign. Others joining in the outcry include Miranda McKearney of The Reading Agency, Society of Authors President, Tom Holland, and author and library campaigner Alan Gibbons

Challenging KPMG’s Assumptions

In contrast to KPMG’s claim of declining usage, the recently published CIPFA statistics on library usage for 2008/9 show the first increase in books issues for twenty years. In particular, there has been 6.1% rise in lending of children’s fiction compared to 2007/8. The pattern of library usage is also undergoing a fundamental change.

Physical visits to libraries may have declined, but the number of web visits has increased 49% over the past year, up so that now almost a third of all library visits take place on-line. This reflects not just the introduction of ebooks, but the capacity to check catalogues, reserve and renew books, and make research requests on line.

To my mind, the KPMG calculation of the unit cost of lending a book seems highly questionable. It seems to assume that the only function of libraries is to lend out books, which is at best naïve and at worst wilfully blind. It neglects a whole range of services provided by libraries, including computer and internet access, training in software skills, activities like story time for young children, book groups, literacy skills, support for research (like family history searches,

local history) as well as providing access to a vast number of books and archive material that have long since ceased to be available in bookshops. Doesn’t that sound like we might be getting a pretty good deal for our money?

Volunteer Libraries

But what about the experience of the growing number of libraries in the country that have already been handed over, in whole or in part, to volunteers?

There are a number of different models of how this may be done.

In 2006, all 34 libraries under the control of Dorset County Council faced a reduction in opening hours. Two of these, Puddletown and Burton Bradstock, managed to find groups of dedicated volunteers to keep their libraries open an additional four hours a day.

Other counties have gone further.

Ten of Cambridgeshire’s 50-odd libraries are now designated as ‘Library Access Points’, staffed by volunteers and with limited facilities. Similarly, four libraries in Buckinghamshire, are now run and funded entirely by volunteers. But these are both comparatively affluent counties.

By contrast, Hackney opened a new library at Woodberry Down, in the middle of an area of deprivation and unemployment, which is run by volunteers. In setting it up, the council had in mind the chance to help volunteers back into paid work.

All of these arrangements are not without their difficulties. Julie Liddle, chair of Friends of Somersham Library in Cambridgeshire warns, “No one should underestimate quite how much hard work it is.” Tony Hoare, chairman of the Friends of Chalfont St Giles library in Buckinghamshire notes that, “Our area is a prosperous one with many able, retired folk who are keeping it afloat by spending a lot of their own money.”

And Guy Daines of CILIP says that if volunteers are being used to provide core services, they need to be held to a strict service-level agreement. “But if you’re using volunteers, then you can’t demand too much because, essentially, they’re doing you a favour.” [Quotes taken from http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2010/ mar/17/libraries-closures-volunteers-public-

services] Phil Smith, former Librarian of the Year, said, “There are a whole range of services that require a level of commitment that I wouldn’t expect of volunteers and a level of responsibility it isn’t fair to put on volunteers.”

Volunteers, almost inevitably, are reliant on the support of library professionals.

When volunteers are used to open libraries for a few extra hours, or to run a small proportion of libraries within a county or borough, then this model may work. But if the proportion of volunteer-run libraries were to rise significantly, it is unlikely that the remaining professionals would have the time or resources to provide that support. If, in consequence, the service provided at those libraries declined, then so would their usage, leading inevitably to more library closures.

“The only real training a writer has is reading.”

(Nadine Gordimer)

As writers, none of us should underestimate the importance of libraries. Prompt almost any writer and they – like Neil Gaiman, like Rowan Pelling, like Nadine Gordimer – will tell stories of books discovered in dusty corners of children’s libraries, of inspirational librarians who eased the path from children’s books into adult fiction, of imaginations fired and the seed of being a writer sown.

However easy web resources (from Amazon to the Gutenburg Project) make access to books of all kinds, free local libraries remain vital, particularly in more socially deprived areas. It remains the case that 20% of the population have no internet access at home. Furthermore, as the recession bites, more and more families will find that the buying of books becomes a luxury they cannot afford. Phil Smith called libraries, “One of the great solaces of the depression.”

It shouldn’t be a solace lost to a new generation of unemployed.

As Andrew Motion said: “A fundamental review of public services that asks the question: should children, the poor and disadvantaged be deprived of access to books because of their

Random Stuff | 42

Are you one of the army of writers whose love affair with books began in your local library?

Write and tell us about your experience. The most inspiring stories (up to 500 words) will be published in the next edition of WWJ.

circumstances, can be answered with a simple ‘no’ – turn the page.”

What Can I Do?

If you have views on how our libraries should be funded, then let your voice be heard.

You could write to one of the two government departments involved: Dept of Culture Media and Sport: Rt Hon Jeremy Hunt MP Secretary of State for Culture, Olympics, Media and Sport Ed Vaizey MP Minister for Culture, Communications and Creative Industries Dept of Communities and Local Gov’t: The Rt Hon Eric Pickles MP Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government

If you are concerned about your local library services then:

You can find out who your local MP is and how to contact them (here).

All MPs can be reached by writing to them at: House of Commons, London SW1A 0AA This page will help you find out how to contact your County or Borough Council.

And this one will help you find your local councillor.

Finally, this page provides direct links to UK Library Services But cuts, in today’s climate are inevitable and, sadly, necessary. If the worst happens and you learn your local library is threatened with closure or reduced hours, THINK. Are you retired? Someone unemployed, trying to keep a toe in the world of work? A mum coming to the end of a career break and looking for a

way back in to work? Or even a full-time writer who has realised that at least half of the time you have gained by giving up work is frittered away in displacement activities? (C’mon, you know it’s true!)

Could you afford a few hours a week to help keep that precious resource open?

If so, consider volunteering.

Finally and most importantly of all, as I have been saying month after month:

USE YOUR LIBRARY Remember that it is statistics that appear to show declining usage of libraries that help to make them ‘soft targets’ for cuts.

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Learning Not to Judge a Book by It’s Cover

an article on Human Libraries by Catriona Troth, the library cat Having looked last time at e-books, my attention this month was caught by another very different sort of book – the Living Book, and its home,

I first heard about Human Libraries via a programme on BBC Radio 4. As I learnt, ‘the Human Library works exactly like a normal library – readers come and borrow a ‘book’ for a limited period of time. After reading it they return the Book to the library and – if they want – they can borrow another Book. There is only one difference: the Books in the Human Library are human beings, and the Books and Readers enter into a personal dialogue.’

I have to admit, being a writer, my first thought when I heard about this was ‘what a fantastic research opportunity’.

Supposing you have a character who is a gang member, a homeless person, a woman vicar. What better than to sit down with someone who has been in their shoes, with full permission to ask them whatever questions you like? Okay, maybe you wouldn’t learn enough in half an hour’s conversation to flesh out a main character, but it could be perfect to ensure a minor character is more than just a flat stereotype. But was this in the spirit of the Human Library, or would I be taking advantage? I had to find out

more.

‘Take Out Your Prejudice’

The Human Library movement began in Denmark. The origins go back to one night in 1993, when a young man was stabbed in Copenhagen. Happily, he survived the attack, but five of his friends decided they had to do something to mobilise Danish youth to Stop the Violence.

In a few years, the organisation they set up had 30,000 members. In 2000, Stop the Violence was asked to organise activities at the Roskilde Festival, Northern Europe’s biggest summer festival. The focus was to be on encouraging dialogue and building relations among the festival visitors. And that was the birth of the Human Library.

Books in the early Human Libraries represented groups frequently confronted with prejudices and stereotypes, and who were often victims of discrimination or social exclusion. The ‘reader’ could be anybody who was ready to confront their own prejudice and stereotype. Since then, these initial ideas have been taken up and spread all over the world. At the same time, the Human Library movement has started to develop in new and unexpected directions.

Staging a Human Library

For Penny Snelling, organiser of a Human Library for Buckinghamshire Library Services, the Human Library is a chance to talk to someone in a neutral situation, someone you’ve maybe always wanted to know about but have never had the opportunity (or the chutzpah) to talk to. It’s a safe environment, where you have permission to ask questions.

Penny first read about Human Libraries in an article in the Guardian She was immediately excited by the idea but had no idea how she might go about running one. Then serendipitously, she was approached by a local Interfaith group who were interested in running a Human Library. Working with this group, she set up an event over two Sundays. Although the core of the

In this year, the 10th anniversary of the founding of the Human Library, it is expected that more than 50 countries will have joined the movement. Some of the latest countries to join include Switzerland, Egypt, Pakistan and Israel.

Library was to be representatives of different faith groups, they did not want to limit themselves just to that. In the event, they had a total of 32 Books, including a World War II internee, a Member of the House of Lords, both visually impaired and hearing impaired Books and an environmentalist. Over a hundred readers, aged between 6 and 73, took out books 143 times in total.

As is traditional in Human Libraries, the catalogue was written up deliberately to give the stereotype each book

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what it might reveal about themselves.”

And it’s not just the Books who are exposed. “The reader has to admit to an ignorance or a lack of understanding, and people don’t always want to do that.”

represented, which took some readers by surprise. One teenage reader came back from ‘taking out’ the woman vicar to say, ‘but she’s not like that at all’ – before the penny dropped.

I asked Penny Snelling if anything had surprised her about the day. “Not so much surprised as pleased. It was the little things. The level of interaction between the Books themselves. The feedback from the readers. The energy emanating from all these conversations, and just the general buzz.

To get a feel for the atmosphere of a Human Library, download this video from the Guardian This is a reference library. It is supposed to be quiet. We thought we might get complaints from regular users. But we had people telling us ‘this is great, you should do it regularly’.”

Did she have any regrets about the way the day went? “Only that I was so busy over the two days that I never had time to take out any of the Books myself.”

Martin Etheridge, the UK’s national coordinator for Human Libraries strongly promotes the idea of working in partnership with other agencies to set up Human Libraries. He has, for example, twice worked with the Homeless charity, Crisis, to put on events. “The biggest challenge is in recruiting books,” he says.

“Agencies can be key to that. They have access to local knowledge; they know the people, they know their stories, they can judge who may be suitable for the role.”

“Recruiting Books is quite a delicate thing to do,” says Penny Snelling. “They have to think about all the things they might be asked and how they might react,

Some great examples of the experiences of Living Books can be found in “Don’t judge a book by its cover! The Living Library Organiser’s Guide” It is very important to create a safe environment, says Martin Etheridge.

That allows people to interact with those that they would not normally have contact with. “This isn’t role playing – people are being given access to genuine stories. And it is a two-way process.

People can ask questions, skip chapters.”

Each Human Library has its own dynamic. A recent event in Brixton was held on a lovely sunny day, when few people were coming into the library. The organisers took the decision to move everyone outside and immediately the atmosphere changed. The conversations became less formal. People just passing by were drawn into taking part.

Why A National Coordinator for the UK?

The UK is the first country in Europe to have a National Coordinator for Human Libraries. So what is the role of the coordinator, and why does the UK need one? Martin Etheridge sees himself as a cross between a matchmaker and a facilitator. “Individual groups can set things up on their own, but a coordinator can bring people together. I try and give

them the confidence to learn from the mistakes from others, then let them run with it.” And he hasn’t tried to contain the growth, or restrict the direction it takes. “It is very much sowing the seeds and seeing what happens. I have no budget, so it is always about persuading people ‘what’s in it for me.’”

When he took over, around 30 Human Library events had been held in the UK, but the organisers were working in isolation. One of the first things he did, in December 2009, was to organise the first ever Human Libraries conference.

Penny Snelling was one of those who attended. “It was a chance to meet others who had run similar events and to learn about best and worst practices. For those who hadn’t yet organised an event, it was a matter of getting over what a daunting thing it is.”

The first Human Library in the UK was held at the Swiss Cottage Public Library in April 2008.

Martin has made a lot happen in a short time. He has set up a Steering Group of experienced organisers, who developed a Tool Kit to be used as a self-help guide for future organisers – something that he hopes will provide a balance between consistency and flexibility. And his latest achievement is to launch the Human Library UK Association. Membership is open to all those interested in promoting the Human Library whether as a ‘book’, ‘borrower’ or organiser. “Having the Association will allow us to raise money and attract funding.”

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If you are interested in becoming a member, an application form can be downloaded HERE. The next step is to develop the UK’s own Human Library website to promote events and share information. But he’s a man full of ideas. He tells me he’s been thinking of publishing a book of stories and case studies from Human Libraries.

And that’s just the start.

Branching Out

From its origins in the Stop the Violence movement, the Human Library has taken many new directions. Recent events have centred round corporate diversity (in a government department) and oral history (at a local town hall). This summer, there will be a Human Library at the WOMAD Festival. The National Childbirth Trust is looking into holding one (and having been involved in the NCT when my kids were born, I can SO see how that would work). The possibilities seem endless.

One example of a very different sort of Human Library took place recently at the Festival Belluard Bollwerk International in Fribourg, Switzerland. Words with Jam reporter, JJ Marsh, was lucky enough to attend: Fribourg’s Belluard Festival has a reputation for ground-breaking performance art.

When a Fribourg University student wrote her dissertation on the concept of the Human Library, it caught the imagination of one of Belluard’s organisers, Sally de Kunst. Convinced it would complement the Festival, Sally persuaded actor and director Sylviane Tille to co-ordinate Switzerland’s first Human Library.

Sylviane spoke to me about the ideology behind the Fribourg event.

“The original Danish Human Library was aimed at countering prejudice, bringing together people who might never meet. But Belluard already has a reputation for open-minded art, so we wanted to avoid the ‘freak show’ aspect of having ex-prostitutes and drug addicts available. Our intention was to have everything you could find in a normal library; fiction to biography, comics to manuals. My concern was that we’d never find such a variety of people. But a few radio ads, a flier campaign and appeals to friends of Belluard, and the books came flooding in.”

Some random examples: • Stefanie Hess, a portrait painter, takes the reader through the history of portraiture, and looks at some of the essential techniques of capturing a personality on canvas in Regarde!

• Jochen Roller’s L’ntimité de rien enjoys the intimacy of silence. Jochen spends time with his readers, saying absolutely nothing.

• Moloko Ya Kin, by Swiss teacher Susanne Pettinato, details her experiences as a primary teacher-trainer in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

• Cesarine Schneider, 13 years old, delivers fairytales in her own style. In Contes à ma façon, Cesarine improvises and embellishes well-known stories.

• Le voyage Fantastique de Khong Sang vers X destinations was a surprise addition to the shelves. Khongsak Sangkhamanon ran a Human Library event in Thailand and came to Switzerland to make comparisons. Sylviane saw an opportunity, so Khong Sang tells his story; his learnings from meditation and love for his country.

None of the participants had been a Human Book before. Sylviane met all the prospects, and made some editorial decisions. Those who simply planned to give a critique of an existing book were dissuaded. An author who wanted to talk about his novel was encouraged to talk about the writing process instead.

Preparatory workshops were aimed at highlighting the principle of the Human Library - ‘interaction between book and reader’- and the opportunity for the Books and the Dictionaries to meet.

The Dictionaries are an inspired idea. The multi-lingual students of Fribourg University volunteered their services as translators, or language assistants. Sitting with Book and Reader, the dictionary fills any language gaps. But like any human being, opinions are added, so the Book-Reader relationship becomes a three-way.

I chose to borrow a reference book, Le Plurilinguisme de A à Z by Claudine Brohy.

I took my ticket, with return time clearly indicated (I wonder if they do fines?) and awaited my Book. A linguistics professor, Claudine was happy to deliver her book

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in French, German, English or Spanish.

We joined all the other Books and Readers in a circular room with French windows leading onto the park. Each pair, or trio, sat at an individual table with an Art Deco lamp. It looked like a classy café. The low murmur of conversation meant no hesitation or awkwardness, so I just opened the first page.

Claudine’s approach, like any other manual, was that I could use the index (individual cards with letters of the alphabet), or choose a chapter from the contents, which she recited. Or just ask questions.

I tried all three. I wanted to know more about the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis; the idea that the language we speak dictates the way we think. She responded exactly as a manual ought, offering varying theories, quoting research data, but avoiding definitive opinion.

Yet she also illustrated her point, first ensuring I was familiar with the languages she planned to use as an example. In German, the word for ‘drawer’ is die Schublade, with the concept of closing, pushing. In French, ‘drawer’ translates as le tiroir, conveying a concept of opening, pulling. Thus the choice of words in literature or poetry can carry far more than functional meaning. I was impressed. My Book was personalised.

A chapter at random: Language and memory. Claudine explained the new research on language and brain damage. After head injuries, many people suffer from aphasia, or language impairment.

The speed at which they recover their language facility depends on the severity of the injury, and, recent studies have found, the order in which languages were learned.

Speakers of several languages are more likely to recover ability in the last language they learned than the first. This has an impact on identity. “Imagine if you found you could only speak German, and remembered no English.”

Letter A from the index Age Factor; the concept of language acquisition facility decreasing as we grow older.

She was fascinatingly well informed, covering sociological changes, historical trends and biological factors. But still she refrained from imposing her own opinion, allowing me to make up my own mind.

She also added a personal anecdote, about her great-uncle. He moved from Germany to New York aged 18. She finally met him and his US family when he was 70 years old. He still spoke English with a heavy German accent (she did a great impression) so she tried to converse in German. He couldn’t remember a word.

I began to see just how fascinating a Human Book could be, and found 45 minutes frustratingly short. I could have picked her brains all day. Winding up, I asked a few questions about her Human Library experience.

“The joy of the human aspect is that we communicate. I can see by the face if I need to speed up, or slow down, or simplify. And I can ask questions too.”

“I’ve had nothing but good experiences. It is tiring; I’ve done two days of five-hour shifts, so I’m exhausted but very satisfied.”

“I would love to work with a fiction writer as a research tool, why not? For one thing, I could be much more specific with my help.”

With great reluctance, I handed my Book back. The popularity of the Human Library was such that they established a reservation system, using yellow pins on the author’s picture to indicate they were currently ‘out’. This provoked one of my favourite lines from my Human Book; ‘Goodbye! Lovely to meet you! Now I must go take the pin out of my head.’

I promised to keep you up to date with our adventures in Book Crossing, so I am happy to tell you that I have had my first proper ‘catch’. A student from Oxford made a couple of journal entries to let me know that the copy of Kate Atkinson’s ‘Human Croquet’ that I left in the Jericho Café has found its way to Hong Kong.

To find out more, go to http://bookcr ossing. com/referral/Kat-WWJ

Pencilbox/backpack | 47 charge reasonable rates, but they are upfront about the fact that they are not traditional publishers. If a company hides the fees until after the manuscript has been accepted – say thank you, but no thanks.

Co-author of The Writer’s ABC Checklist, Lorraine Mace, answers your questions ...

Alexandra from Manchester was delighted to have her crime novel accepted for publication, but was later asked for a considerable contribution towards the costs. She asks: Is this normal in today’s tight economic climate? I have been assured that this isn’t a vanity publishing venture.

Sadly, all too often authors get caught out by vanity publishers who are posing as traditional publishing houses. Sometimes unwary authors are encouraged by a vanity publisher’s praise of the work submitted – we all want to hear that ours is the manuscript that has somehow made it beyond the slush pile and into publishing heaven. This is what vanity publishers rely on.

Such publishers refer to their business model by a variety of names, including partnership, joint venture and subsidy publishers. But the bottom line is this, if you are charged anything towards the costs of publishing your book - you are using a vanity publisher.

If you decide to self-publish, there are many reputable companies who

Peter from Leicester is writing a children’s novel and his question is one that comes in frequently to the Words with JAM question corner. He says: My novel is going to be written for nine-year-old boys, but I don’t know how long I should make it. Is there a set word count for different ages?

The easiest answer is that the novel should be as long as it needs to be to tell the story, but there are approximate word count guidelines which do need to be taken into account if you want an agent or publisher to consider your work.

I found the guidelines below on a large publisher’s website. They are not written in stone in that they won’t apply to all publishers, but they do give an idea of how word counts and story types vary according to the age group.

A Publishing Guide to Age Groups • Ages 6-9 need short, easy-to-read chapters, with lots of dialogue and humour. General word count 3,5008,000 • Ages 9-12 are looking for novels with strong characters and fast-paced exciting plots ranging from fantasy to tales set in schools and everything inbetween. Children from this age love stories in which a bully gets some well deserved retribution, or the villain is vanquished, preferably in a horrible manner. General word count 15,00050,000 • Ages 12 and older are no longer looking for kids’ books; they want themes that have more relevance to their own lives, such as bullying, divorce and friendship. This age group also enjoys fantasy, sci-fi and humour. General word count 35,000 plus

have a question?

Lisa from Melton Mowbray is scared to write dialogue because she isn’t sure how it should be punctuated. She wrote in with this question: I’m never sure when to use a comma and when to use a full stop when characters speak, are there any definite rules I could learn? I tend to avoid including dialogue in my short stories because I’m scared of looking like a fool.

Lisa isn’t alone in this as it’s something many writers have difficulty with. In answer to her question I have copied some of the notes on dialogue punctuation taken from The Writer’s ABC Checklist.

When the dialogue tag forms part of a sentence, you should use a comma after the speech, close the quote marks, and use a lower case letter for the tag.

“You drove me to it,” he said.

Notice that in the examples below a lower case letter is used even when it follows a question mark or exclamation mark. This is because the tag is part of the sentence, not separate to it.

“How could you?” she asked.

“You’re an idiot!” he yelled.

However, when no tag follows the dialogue you should use a full stop, question mark or exclamation mark to finish the speech and then close the quote marks.

“How could you?”

“Easily, you drove me to it.”

“You’re an idiot!”

When dialogue continues after the tag, but is still part of the same sentence, a comma is used, with a lower case letter starting the next section of dialogue.

“There are times,” she said, “when I could murder you.”

When dialogue continues after the tag, but is NOT part of the same sentence, a full stop is used, with a capital letter starting the next section of dialogue.

“I don’t understand you,” he said.

“What on earth did you think you were doing?”

Send an email to lorraine@wordswithjam.co.uk

Reviews | 48

What we think of some books ...

Floccinaucinihilipilification: the estimation of something as valueless Tacenda: things better left unsaid 5’9”: The average height of a British adult male Deipnosophist: someone skilled in making dinner-table conversation Logodaedalus: one who is cunning in the use of words

The Gargoyle

by Andrew Davidson Review by JJ Marsh Rating: Logodaedalus

Love is as strong as death, as hard as hell.

The story begins on Good Friday. Our porn star narrator, drunk on bourbon, paranoid on cocaine, crashes his car off a mountain. When the vehicle comes to a stop, upside-down, it bursts into flames, roasting our trapped hero like a pig on a spit. The whisky he spilt on his lap acts as an accelerant, ensuring his penis goes up like a candle. The car slips further and slides into a creek, the water

saving his life.

Purification through fire.

We learn much about the treatment and rebuilding of a burns victim; the use of maggots to remove dead flesh; débridement, the cutting away of putrefying tissue; and the various forms of grafts, including the use of pigskin.

We hear of his trailer trash upbringing and survival of children’s homes; and his career in the skin trade, graduating from in-demand sustainable erection to writer and producer of pornography.

Mind focused on the future, he plans his suicide in exhaustive detail.

Enter Marianne Engel.

“You’ve been burned.

Again.”

A psychiatric patient at the hospital, Marianne claims to be 700 years old, and that the narrator is her long-dead lover returned to her.

Why does he believe her? The angel wings tattooed on her back? The ability, like Scheherazade, to spin tales from feudal Japan, medieval Italy, Victorian England, and Viking Iceland? Her mission to set hearts free by carving huge gargoyles out of stone, and selling them to the rich and quirky? Or the fact that

Reviews | 49

she wants to take a man whose burns are described as ‘fourth degree’ on a guided tour of Dante’s circles of hell?

This immensely ambitious novel uses the themes of the four elements, Earth, Fire, Air and Water; it employs literary references such as Dante both figuratively and literally; its storytelling tangents demonstrate skill and intelligence; while the acrostics of first and last letters of each chapter signal a sense of humour.

But the fundamental message is a classic; the power of love to redeem. Our selfinterested, cynical misanthrope, nerve endings and beauty gone, begins to care.

“Only after my skin was burned away did I finally become able to feel.”

Profoundly satisfying, this journey to belief is seductive, through its oddly appealing characters, the classical imagery, an epic variety of settings, and the author’s fabulous storytelling. As I put it down, I gave it my highest accolade.

‘I wish I’d written that.’

Blood and Pudding by Katelan V Foisy Review by Dan Holloway Rating: Logodaedalus ISBN: 978-1-61658-930-1 Knickerbocker Circus Press, $15

Blood and Pudding is a story of two psychoneurotic teenage cousins and their troubled relationship. Holly was manic-depressive, hauntingly beautiful, and addicted to heroin. Kat was a young soon-to-be bride and pill junky.

They documented their lives furiously and lived recklessly. They had one mission: To live as much as they could in the shortest amount of time. With a double snort of crushed Xanax the journey began.

Blood and Pudding is a scrapbook of two girls dealing with depression, high school, drug addiction, first loves, and untimely death.

I was privileged to meet Katelan Foisy when she came to the UK in May to launch Blood and Pudding. Not only did I get to hang out with her, I got to take part in the most extraordinary reading.

Katelan came straight from the coach, changed into a fantastic costume as Lilith, the primal woman, lover, predator and outsider, and we headed through the streets of Oxford taking pictures of people with her, inviting them all back to a series of readings from Blood Pudding that night at The Albion Beatnik Bookstore, for which we’d created an artwork from the pictures. It was a creative whirlwind of a day during which I learned more about Oxford than in 20 years of living here (including getting to know the owner of the local tattoo parlour, a lovely guy who’s invited us for a

reading!).

Which sounds like an irrelevant anecdote, but it’s not. It goes to the very heart of what this remarkable book is about. Its message is very simple: live. Go out and fill your life with as many amazing things as you can, because you only get one. And you never know when it will be over.

In Blood and Pudding life ends rather too often. Based on the tapes Katelan kept obsessively during her teenage years, it is basically a memoir and a tribute to her best friend, Holly, a fragile, creative,

Reviews | 50

marvellous human being who crammed more into the few years she had before succumbing to heroin than most of us will achieve in our threescore and ten.

Yes, it’s a heartbreaking book, because it’s true (blisteringly so – there is very little narrative, pages at a time passing simply in transcription of the actual conversations Holly and Katelan had in the car as they upped sticks on wild adventures). Some of it is almost unreadable – the scenes of Holly’s funeral, and that of Katelan’s damaged boyfriend Brian, another victim of heroin, for example.

But it’s also funny – the story of Holly and Katelan getting kicked out of a video peep booth for pretending to play Space Invaders with the joystick is hilarious.

And that matters, because life is so much more complex than we often imagine, the facts so much more diverse.

The approach is a fascinating one, its journalistic feel both allowing the voices of the protagonists to shine through free from the gloss of memory, but also paradoxically making the reader more suspicious (is this really all that was taped?

What has been left out, and why?). But the overriding thing it achieves is stripping the book of any hint of mawkishness. This is a book about death, and tragedy, and a lack of redemption. But it is NOT misery lit, or sentiment porn. Nor do we feel any need for redemption. Redemption would be a disservice to the characters

involved.

Their deaths were tragic and terrible, and Katelan’s pain that she could do nothing to prevent them comes through loud and clear, but demanding redemption, or a message would be to do a disservice to their lives.

And that, after all is what this remarkable book is about – life. In all its magnificent, messed-up splendour.

Fever of the Bone

by Val McDermid

Review by Gillian Hamer Rating: 5’9” “So gripping that it puts your life on hold.” THE TIMES Well, I wouldn’t want to argue with book reviewers who are undoubtedly far more experienced than myself, but I’m afraid this book failed to set my world on fire.

I should begin by saying I love crime fiction. I write crime fiction. But I’ve never been a huge fan of TV’s Wire in the Blood. However, I don’t think that’s down to the writing – more the fact I struggle to believe in Robson Green in the central role of criminal profiler, Dr Tony Hill. I want to laugh at him when I’m supposed to cry. In the end, I was forced to change channels, just in case he dragged out Jerome and launched into Unchained Melody.

But as a writer, I have a tremendous amount of respect for Val McDermid and

w a s very much looking forward to her latest release, Fever of the Bone.

The plot is tight and should have been gripping. A teenager is found murdered and mutilated, and it’s down to DCI Carol Jordan to stop a psychopath who seems to be targeting random young people he grooms online.

There is a lot to like here. Strong police procedure and continued development of the key police characters; a complex killer with an excellent sinister voice throughout; interesting victims about whom we are given just enough depth and back story to make us care about their fates.

But for me there were also things that didn’t quite work to give the impact needed.

For a start, an omission of any type of forensic investigation, again relying on the mental capacity of good old Tony, which in today’s world seems improbable.

As in many previous stories, Tony has his own demons to fight, this time in researching his real father. And while I understand the reasons behind giving the

Random Stuff | 51

central characters their own side stories, by now I think we’ve dragged out every single skeleton in Dr Hill’s bulging closet.

Not to mention the will-he-won’t-he ongoing sexual tension with DCI Jordan that in my opinion has been drawn out for far too long. Just get on with it, man!

I also cringed at times with the teenspeak, and the online conversations

Film Corner i.e. books I couldn’t be bothered to read, by Adam Bailey

bordered on tedious. I’m sure the author has meticulously studied all of the dialogue, but it felt researched, not

The Road

at all natural for me. Also, the inclusion

Post-apocalyptic beat about Man and Boy walking towards the

of Facebook somehow dated the piece

sea that could only be made bleaker if they eventually arrived

and it felt as if she were taking the easy

at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. What is left unsaid is often

option rather than looking for new

strongest and it’s not made clear why the world has turned

ways of introducing the issue of online grooming.

The pacing throughout the book I found to be slow and rather too ordered.

There was a failure to build tension, even

to total shit, although since a lot of the film was shot in postKatrina New Orleans the implication is that it’s somehow the Bush family’s fault, and so entirely believable. Man spends his days dreaming of Charlize Theron naked and thinking about

though the psychopath chapters did hold

food, which suggests that all in all his post-civilization wrench

my attention, I wasn’t shocked or moved

wasn’t so big. Boy spends his days irradiating the viewer with

by any of the deaths.

almighty Cormac Mcarthy lines. Both push their entire world

When I came to the end of the book there was no real surprise or conclusion.

And there certainly wasn’t the sense of yearning I get at the end of books that really connect with me.

The author is quite obviously a huge success and has found a winning formula, with many people enjoying her books. But something about this novel seemed to scream that it may be time for her to move on. The mix of modern day crime, with modern day language, for me jarred against a plot that is a throwback to numerous earlier novels in this genre.

If you’re a crime fiction fan who enjoys bog-standard police procedural novels, then I’m sure you will delight in this story. And if you’re a fan of Wire in the Blood this certainly won’t disappoint.

For me, it’s a little too much been there, read that. Many, many times before.

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