I Write Like ...?

*gigglesmirk*

The Guardian recently published an article on the I Write Like website. You can paste some of your writing into the system and it assesses your style against writers included in its database and says who you most write like.

I put in two sections from Annie, the Doll, its Thief and Her Lover - one for Kate, one for Simon.

When I wrote from Kate's point of view, I write like Vladimir Nabokov.

When I write from Simon's point of view, I write like James Joyce.

I think both characters would be pleased: Kate with her high-brow pretensions and Simon with his very earthy perspective.

The website congratulates you, then asks if you would 'like to write better'.

Um.

Here comes the sun?

Due to some job interviews, two bad colds and a knee injury (my cat disables me
while I sleep) and the INCESSANT RAIN, I have not been able to get to the rowan wood to retake my cover photo.

Lame? I was. I also had a foot operation recently which has slowed me down somewhat but that's another story, and one I'll reserve for 'if I get the time to set up the foot fetish website' blog. I think that story only holds fascination value for podiatrists and certain other niche audiences. Trust me. Oh, and my mother.

Anyway. Lame? No, really, I have washed the doll's clothing and straightened out the
lace on her bonnet and I'm all set to go. The rain has other ideas. When the sun
comes out with its own hat on, it quickly hides beneath an umbrella. Should I be
surprised? This is Rossendale, after all, and we've had the last three summers drowned.

When I have my cover shot I can complete the print version and produce the PDFs of the cover and internal pages for the e-book. I've looked at the options for publishing an e-book. The simplest is a PDF. I'm no technophobe and the other
options seem ridiculously complicated to me - as I have lamented in a previous post.

We'll ignore the fact, for now, it might be my creative side rebelling against becoming more business-savvy, or my fear of success, or any of those things. Or this
post will never end.

Fingers crossed for more sun. Just a couple of hours. Please?

Writers walk the extra mile alone

It came to the point this week where I faced the challenge of preparing my novel for print.

The process made me twitch a bit. On two levels.

First, the technical process. Lulu, the self-publishing service I have decided to go with, has the pixel equivelant of reams and reams of advice, of how to, of what to, of when to.

Honestly, it's a bit of a headf*ck. I'm the kind of person who learns from doing and from being told, I like to have someone to show me how to do these things. Yeah, quite a challenge for the part of me that still dreams of an editor/publisher organising all this for me.

Secondly, I'm aware that I am the only proper critic for my novel. I'm not sure why this is. My friends have busy lives. My husband said in March, when I completed it, how he couldn't wait to read it. He's busy too.

It's more than tempting to spend time in a funk, convincing myself they haven't got the time because they think it won't be worth their time. Maybe they do think that. At the end, I suppose, we're on our own in this. Are we strong enough to take the next steps without aid and support?

My brief sojourn into HarperCollins' Authonomy was ... interesting, I did get some useful feedback on my first 10,000 words but it's a massive time-waster - what do you mean, it's polite to reciprocate reviews? I haven't got all day to sit reading other people's stuff when I should be looking at my own.

So, I am seeking to publish a story that nobody else had read from start to finish. Meeps. I am relying upon my own judgement, my own skills. What are these skills and how did I get them? Well, as a journalist I understand ruthless editing, for a start. That's a professional skill: HURRAH!

Nothing remains that should be culled, I'm fairly sure not much has sneaked through in that respect. But what about my characters, my pace, my resolution?

Prepping my manuscript for print was an exercise in self-belief. And again, I can't stress how the process of creating the file for my A5 paperback gave me that sense of making my dream real. I had done everything I knew, and everything on the Lulu checklist and it still didn't look right. I compared it to a paperback copy of The Road Less Travelled by M. Scott Peck, which is roughly the same size. Then I realised - margins! Once I had adjusted these, it resembled ... a book!

I've stopped twitching, for now.

Visualisation and writing: living the dream

A recent conversation with a fellow blogger and novel-writer exposed how my perception of my novel, in its transition from MS Word to this blog, changed.

"All of a sudden," I said, "it was real, it was no longer a secret project, it has an audience."

Novels in their early stages become real through a series of processes: from notebook to screen, screen to printed A4 page of double-spaced chapters, then a whole manuscript, then tailored to however the agents want it ...

My book is taking on corporeal form, the more I work at this, the more I plan, the more I push ahead with my plans for self-publishing.I can imagine what it will be like holding my professionally printed book in my hand.

I'm a very visual person. Most of my education has revolved around film and media, barring my most recent journalistic studies. I love film and photography and art.

During the writing of Annie, the Doll, its Thief and Her Lover, I used various visualisation techniques to "be present" within the narrative and characters.

In some cases this involved downloading pictures of actors I liked who I thought could easily play the characters, should the story ever be turned into a film.

For example, David Thewlis is my ginger-haired hero Simon; Kate began life as looking a bit like Kate Winslet, though maybe not as glamorous. Annie was depicted in her character file as an unnamed Victorian woman.

When I drew up my publication schedule and made this blog, I began to realise that the novel I wanted to hold in my hand could really be real. I feel its weight in my hand, I turn its pages and I know what it looks like.

Another turning point was when I took the cover photo. I am beginning to imagine myself at public readings, talking to reporters. It's not day-dreaming, it's preparation.

I loved one particular poignantly perceptive Doctor Who episode in the last series. He and Amy took Vincent Van Gough into the future to see why his creative toil was so worthwhile, why his self-belief wasn't just insanity and ego.

So, it might help us, in the grey moments where we struggle to believe in ourselves, to look to our intended futures and legacies.

See your audience - whether that's great-great grandchildren or international lovers of literature - they hold your book, they're are reading your story, the smiles on their lips and the tears on their cheeks are coaxed by the persistence of your voice down the ages.

We're not all Vincent Van Gough, or "insert preferred literary example here", but we still live the dream.

Self-publishing, ease of, and professional growth

Richard Rogers laments in the Observer that self-publishing puts the onus of sorting the slush from the literary upon "us", the readers.

Well, what's new, really?

Springboarding off a Laura Miller article in salon.com, Rogers notes just how bad the majority of the slush pile is.

I instantly fell in love (so fickle) with commenter AprilLHamilton for her eloquent response of: "Odd how I never hear of anyone discouraging indie filmmakers or musicians on the basis that there are many bad indie films and songs out there, yet many people have no compunction whatsoever about discouraging indie authors."

This is exactly why I have decided to self-publish. Why should I not have dreams? Why should I not question the authority of those who have so far read and rejected my manuscript? Why should I not put my metaphorical money where my keyboard is, and attempt to create my own success?

Of course, no-one is saying outright that I cannot and should not. I feel defensive, though. The article hints that self-publishing is an easy option for failures who would otherwise be snapped up by the publishing houses.

But many of us have read in the Writer's and Artist's Yearbook about how Virginia Wolf self-published, and William Blake. There are stories of self-published authors being snapped up by publishing houses who see how well their over-looked manuscript is doing (even the ocasional celebratory post on the Authonomy forum) which means that these are more than Urban Folklore to perk up our spirits.

What would I do if one of the agents currently reading my first three chapters expressed an interest? Nay, better still, found me a publisher?

I'd obviously consider it, I'm not going to get self-righteous here and pretend I would turn down a good deal. But what I would bring to the process is different to what I would have three months ago. In the process of planning my own marketing, my product, me myself as a product, I have learned how to think about these things, and would be prepared to work harder with my agent and publisher to make my book a success.

Because, in fact, all I set out wanting from them was a nice cheque and a list of what they were going to do for me, alongside the idea I would enjoy a book-signing tour of Waterstones at some point. Organised for me, of course.

Rogers wrote that "anyone with the will to type can simply upload their cherished titles on to the lists of high-profile online booksellers".

It's really not like hammering out an article and sending it through the system to the news editor on its route towards an established audience. Simple, it's not, I assure you.

Scoffing, with mixed metaphor sprinkles

I have been scoffing the rich advice of other writers on writing like someone who's been on a lettuce diet for the last six months.

I'm not so much anticipating indigestion, on the contrary: there is so much sustenance out there for the newbie author. I am indebted.

However, after reading Laurie Pawlik-Kienlen's Fear of Success - Signs of Self-sabotage in the Writing Life, I realise I need to take a few moments for self-assessment. Or, proper digestion, if I'm not going to mix my metaphors.

Don't get me wrong - read further down my blog and you'll see the reference to the state of my house. As I write, tiny tumble-weeds of animal fur are rolling across the laminate flooring in the slight breeze caused by my husband's journey from the sitting room to the kitchen. Domesticity is not an issue here, as far as diversions go.

(Actually, not-so-tiny, and one appears to have its own eco-system. Ew.)

There is no doubt I need to research self-publication, to occasionally nibble the nutritious goodies, but I also need to retain a sense of what I am trying to achieve and not lose myself in what others are saying. I have dined, I am full, I can stop eating for a few hours.

The irony is that a theme of my novel is this very thing: forgotten dreams, the forgotten magic, lives diverted and some so thoroughly derailed that those who live them can't get back on track.

Now, I used a railway symbolically in my book, so that's not such a clumsy introduction of imagery as it first appears. However, to continue the food metaphor, let's say some of my characters ordered the wrong main meal at a restaurant, others accepted the wrong dish, and not all of them have the gumption to change their minds or complain to the manager.

Anyway.

I will quickly post this to my blog, forget about it until tomorrow, and get on with the process of learning how to actually prepare my novel for ebook and print. Perhaps even jump right in and do it.

The manuscript is ready, you see. It's as ready as it's ever going to be without the input of an agent. It's been pored over, spell-checked, ruthlessly has anything remotely purple edited out.

So I need to have faith in my judgement at this time, and go ahead, push forward, and not sit here writing about it any more!

Until tomorrow.

Why manuscripts get rejected

A list of 17 reasons.