E.L. Johnson's Blog, page 4

It's my book release day!

Today's the day! My historical mystery novel, The Strangled Servant, is here!

Get it now! 

​https://amzn.to/3KmwgJ4
I've been excited about this book for ages. It introduces readers into the world of Poppy Morton, my heroine, and the dashing Constable Dyngley. 

And this was a surprise. My publisher sent me a bouquet of roses to celebrate the book launch! Thank you Dragonblade!
I also got to have a writers' chat with Sandra Sookoo and Rachel Ann Smith, who are also celebrating book releases this week. I'll share this soon! Cheers
​ELJohnson

My writer's retreat... that wasn't

I think it's a turning point in any writer's career when they decide they need to go for a writer's retreat. Here's the sorry tale of how mine was a fantastic failure. Last month, my husband had some of his friends over for a board games weekend. I decided to use this opportunity to do something I'd wanted to try out for a while-- a writer's retreat! I planned to head off to the next town where I'd booked an Airbnb. Just me, my laptop and the peace and quiet. Or so I thought.

On the day, my husband had invited me to the pub for lunch with his friends, but in my mind whilst that would be amazing food, that would be hours wasted when I could be writing. So I said a polite no, waved goodbye as they headed off and waited for my uber.

10 mins before it was due to pick me up, Uber cancelled the booking. It was with a fly by night text, that disappeared once I saw it. No drivers available in my area.

I don't have a car, and it's now too late to join the group at the pub. I pack up, take some instant noodles, hot chocolate and cuppa soup sachet from the pantry, along with 2 candy bars and locked up the house. I headed down to the local Co-op to use the cashpoint there, but it was out of money. 

That blew my chance of catching the bus nearby, but okay. I walked downhill to the overground station and used the cashpoint there, which charged me money to take out money. It started to rain. I then turn to the one and only taxi available.. to find it already had a passenger in it.

Getting a little annoyed, I walked across the street and waited 15 mins for the bus. The fare cost all of £3.50.  I caught the bus, let the Airbnb host know that I was running late, and eventually got to the next town. No taxis in sight. 

I figured that's okay, I may need to memorize the route anyway, so I started walking. Thank God for google maps. The reviews said the property was only a pleasant 25 min walk from the town. 

The reviewer was wrong. 

An hour later, I had walked through town and encountered a main road with the national speed limit. This made me feel very unsafe as there was no walkway for pedestrians and so unless you want to dive into a hedge or thorny bush, you're just walking and hoping a car sees you. But I was doing this near 3.30pm, and it was starting to turn to dusk. 

I really didn't like this, so I turned off into a residential neighbourhood. It might take longer and took me tromping through muddy fields but at least I'd be safe. As my shiny black brogues sank into mud, I was reminded of how I'm a city person. 

I found my back onto the main road, sticking to the hedges as it began to get dark, when I called the host and asked for directions. Shortly thereafter I heard a voice call to me across a field, it was my host!

We met and she asked, "Have you brought any food?"

I replied yes and she said, "Oh good."

The reason being that due to the remoteness of the place, the internet connection was poor and wifi was spotty. She led me to a teeny tiny building that's not even a cottage. I don't know what to call it. Like a tiny mini tower that's all one room, except for a bathroom. My host built up the fire, showed me where things were and left me to it. 

The place itself was nice, tiny hard sofa and a stand up tv tray (but no TV), plus a large ladder that leads up to the loft that if you're not careful you'll walk into when you first enter the building. I had some lunch (a sachet of instant cuppa soup) and got to work. 

The host was right, the wifi was spotty. The fire soon died out and despite my attempts to relight it, it was staying out. Things got cold fast, and I ended up huddling under a thin blanket as I ate my dinner (more instant noodles). I'd planned to treat myself to a takeaway meal of fried chicken but that wasn't happening. When I tried to book a taxi to the train station for the next morning, I almost gave up hope, the reception was so bad. 
​
That night I got some writing done, watched a period drama on YouTube and drank some tea, then tried my best to make sure the door to the place was locked but failed, so leaned a chair against it, and climbed up the stairs into the loft. I'd forgotten to bring pyjamas or a shirt to sleep in. So I got in under the covers mostly naked, and woke up at 4am freezing.  

It was cold. I thought to myself, oh it'll be fine, warm air rises. Well so does cold air, and the loft was bloody freezing. By 7am I got up, shivered my way into some clothes and down the ladder and had a glass of orange juice. It was so cold I stood over the small space heater for warmth, as nowhere else in the big room was warm. My taxi amazingly came and after standing in the rain for a bit, I got a train to London.

I met my mother in law at the British Museum and despite a few hiccups, we had a lovely time catching up. Then we parted ways and I went to the British Library to do more writing. Every seat was taken, every outlet plugged. I finally found a spare seat on a bench and opened my computer to find...

None of my writing from last night had saved. Not a single word. Which was the entire point of the writing retreat in the first place. #EpicFail

I tried to remember what I could, and gave up at around 4.30, which was just as well as the library began to close. Thankfully I checked trains and discovered there were no trains from King's Cross, or Finsbury Park. Never mind, I took the tube to Liverpool street, to discover no trains there either. I ended up having to go to Stratford to go back home, then as my phone died, walk 45 mins in the rain across town to get home. It took me 3 hours to get home (not a normal occurance). 

My husband was like, are you okay?

All I wanted was to huddle in a blanket. I felt like I'd basically spent the weekend being cold, damp and wet, and paying far too much money to get no work done. I left a nice review as the Airbnb itself was nice, the host was lovely and I dont think she should be blamed for the weather or the poor wifi connection. But when it comes to writer's retreats, I'll think again. ​

I have a book deal!

So I've been MIA for a while and there's a good reason why. I have a book deal! 

For over a year now I've been querying The Strangled Servant, my first foray into a historical mystery set in the Georgian period. And this time, my strategic querying paid off. I landed a four book deal with Dragonblade Publishing and I'm super excited!  I'll share more details soon but just wanted to share the happy news. I literally jumped for joy at this. 

Don't get me wrong, it's taken a lot of twitter pitch parties, reading the Artists and Writers' Handbook 2020 and many Friday nights combing through literary agencies and publishers online, making an excel spreadsheet of who might be a fit, what their interests are, are they open to submissions. I sent it out to 99 industry professionals (not all at once). Out of those, 5 liked it and wanted to see more pages or the full manuscript, 38 rejected me and the rest never got back to me (so I'm labelling those as rejections). And if you want to read more about how it was going, read my earlier post from last year.

So don't give up, whoever's reading this. If you're querying, you can get lucky. Just keep trying.

Cheers
ELJohnson

What's a press officer and why is it a good job for writers?

So for those of you who don't know, I'm a press officer at a charity in the UK. 

This is something I've wanted to do for a few years, and now as the second job I started during lockdown, it's finally starting to stick. 

A press officer is a person at your company who speaks with the press. They'll handle any/all press calls, meaning they're the ones who speak with journalists, and work with them to arrange expert comment, interviews, filming, and op-eds in the media. They'll often dip their toes into social media as well, but I don't do it too much. They write and sign off press releases, expert comments, make sure all releases are in the company's house style and guidelines, and work with corporate partners to make sure the company is positioned correctly in other press releases. Sounds a bit boring, right?

Not so much. It can be fast paced and you'll have to act and be confident in what you're saying. A lot of people freeze up, and when the BBC calls, you've got to be on your game. If you dither, waste time or turn down the request, the greater the chance that they'll go somewhere else.

What a press officer can do: Get your spokesperson on the evening news
What a press officer can't do: Promise your spokesperson will be on the evening news. 

Part of my job is managing expectations, so when a campaign directors says they want an op-ed in the Times or the Telegraph, that's a big ask. You can arrange interviews for written, broadcast radio or televised guest slots, but very often these opportunities will be pulled at the last minute for breaking news, so part of the role is acting fast whilst going with the flow. 

A typical day of mine:

9am - a journalist will email saying they want a comment on a certain topic, and they've got a deadline of 10.30. That means you've got just 1.5 hours to speak to your spokesperson and get their agreement to do the comment (or not) and then draft it, bringing together your knowledge of the topic, phrasing the comment in their unique voice (because everyone' s is different) and then make it short, punchy and pithy, in time for the journalist's deadline. And that's all assuming that you or your spokesperson isn't in meetings all day or happens to see the request right away. 

10.30 -  Get comment to journalist

12pm - Draft an op-ed from a spokesperson for a media partnership to be featured in a print supplement for a national newspaper

1pm - Lunch gets interrupted. A private individual has written to our website, demanding to know why we are affiliated with another company that has recently been at the heart of a scandal in the news. This requires a swift and thoughtful response, which means I now have to work with our executive assistant, creative director and draft a formal yet genuine reply, whilst alerting the company we work with of the complaint. 

2pm - Meet with creative director and send our draft to the executive assistant. Meet with campaign director to go over ideas for promotion ahead of their upcoming report. 

3pm - Media monitoring. This is where we examine all the mentions of the company in the new for the day. This might be a random mention by a blogger, or a comment by one of our spokespeople in a national paper. 

4pm - Finalise response to the person who complained, alert the other company and send. Draft a tweet and LinkedIn post for the social media team on what one of our spokespeople said in a radio interview. 

5pm - Sign off! But not quite. I've got my press phone on at all times, 24/7. There's not often a call out of hours, but in case there is, I've got the phone in my pocket.

This can be a really fun job for writers, as it means writing non-stop and in different creative ways. You'll have to craft expert comments in different people's voices, whilst hammering home a company message. You may get stuck in crafting tweets or LinkedIn comments, and you'll need to be responsive and act fast to complaints to avoid any reputational damage, whilst being available when journalists call. 

That's it in a nutshell. 

Cheers
ELJ

My pitch got dissected on Reedsy!

Hey folks, so this is a cheerful post. A few weeks ago I submitted a pitch to Reedsy’s webinar on Perfecting Your Novel's Hook, starring Editors Rebecca Faith Heyman and Jennifer Udden. I listened to it and in the last five minutes, out of 600 submissions, they read mine!

Watch here! Mine starts at (1 hour, 2 mins 26 secs) if you’re curious.   
I sent in my hook, which admittedly is more of a twitter pitch. Normally I’d include a hook as a 1 sentence to round out the story I’ve mentioned in my query letter, but I wanted to give the editors more context, so I included a twitter pitch I’ve used in the past. 

Needless to say, they tore it apart.

This was my pitch:

Sherlock Holmes x Elizabeth Bennett: When she is framed for her fair friend's murder, Plain Jane Poppy must prove her innocence and restore her reputation. In a Georgian-era society where murderers have no manners, Poppy must abandon her ladylike ways to catch a killer.

Here it is after they dissected it:
 
Poppy’s vivacious friend is dead, but Poppy didn’t do it. Unless she wants a veil of suspicion to hang over her head for the rest of her life, Poppy must prove she is not a murderess. In a Georgian-era society where reputation is everything, penniless charity case Poppy must abandon her meek ladylike ways to catch a killer and restore her good name, even if it means risking more scandal to do it.

Thank you to the lovely editors who took apart my hook/pitch, I can’t thank you enough, and to Reedsy for showcasing this and helping me out in my writing. I urge anyone reading this to submit queries to Reedsy’s webinars, you never know if yours will get read!

Feeling inspired,
ELJ

I'm okay

So this past week threw me for a loop. I was down, depressed and in the dumps. An agent rejection hit me hard and had me seriously questioning myself as a writer. Four lovely people reached out to me with words of support, and I can’t thank them enough.

It’s important to have a community of fellow writers to rely on, and my low point revealed that. I’m really grateful to @beeplane72 @pinsnfeathers @TamaraCG and @CheetahBlack. Thank you for supporting me when I was down.

Since the rejection I was in tears, I refused to write, and I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been writing stories since I was a child (cliché I know) and if I decided to drop this, then I don’t know what I would do with myself.

But then a story idea popped into my head, and I kept thinking about it. I had something I wanted to jot down notes about. I’ve started plotting and planning, and it’s making me start to come out of my shell. I realised I might just be okay.

Last night I picked up a favourite PD James novel of mine, Death Comes to Pemberley. She writes at the end how “like many – probably most novelists, I am happiest when plotting and planning or writing a new book, and the period in between, once the excitement of the publication is over, is usually spent considering what to write next.”

She’s right, and that’s when it clicked for me, so much I said it out loud: I’ve got another story to tell. So I’m going to keep writing, in the hope that I’ll improve enough that an industry professional will want to take me on board. And with a little luck, maybe I’ll earn a little more than $13 in royalties.

Breathing a sigh of relief,

​ELJ

A crisis of faith

There's highs and lows of writing. That's to be expected. I never thought one rejection would hit me so hard.

Like lots of aspiring novelists, I drafted a novel. Rewritten, revised, had it looked over by beta readers I trust, critique partners, and jumped into the inevitable query trenches. 

But then this past Friday night, I got thrown for a loop. An agent had rejected my beautiful Georgian-era murder mystery. No big deal, right? Just another rejection. But this brought me to tears in 1.5 seconds.

I thought I was tough. Over the years I prided myself on developing a thick skin, especially in writing. I've worked in marketing and comms for my career, and now as a press officer for a charity, I write quotes and comments for journalists in short timeframes. 

But there's so many different types of writing. Novelling is my fun writing, my passion, my reason to pick up a pen. But now I don't know anymore.

The situation- I'd identified an agent who seemed perfect. They sold books that looked similar to mine, and while I'd gotten rejected from them before months ago, I'd revised and polished my novel, ironed out the kinks (or so I'd thought) and thought I'd try again. They'd liked a pitch of mine in a contest and asked me to submit, and a few weeks later they liked a tweet of mine in a twitter pitch competition. The prognosis looked good, they were interested in my work.

A short time later I got rejected, again, for the second time. This felt like a punch to the gut. All the wind went out of my sails. It was like a real kick in the teeth. Choose your sad-faced metaphor, it fits. 

I figured it's okay, I'll get out of it. I'm in a rut. Give it a few hours, I'll feel the urge to pick up the pen again or pull out the laptop. But this didn't leave me, the feeling that sank in my gut and left me not hungry, despite my stomach growling. 

I was sad. Posted on twitter. Got nice comments from other writers and discovered I have a mini support network. Really nice, really lovely people. Their kind words brought me to tears all over again. 

The next day later I got rejected from another agent that seemed promising. It didn't bother me as much because I hadn't invested so much hope in them. It was just another rejection, shake it off. 

But this has really got me questioning myself as a writer. I've had books traditionally published but the experiences so far have left me with a sour taste in my mouth. It's hard to think of yourself as a successful novelist when the royalties from your book are less than $20, or when distributors are sending back copies of your book to the publisher because it's not selling. All that time, energy, revision, editing and polishing. Thank god I have a day job.

I'm guilty of comparing myself to others, and being jealous of their success. I don't have an agent, I've never gotten an advance, and I would love it if my books wouldn't get one star reviews or make readers 'Do Not Read' lists. I'd love to actually see a positive review that's not from family or friends. 

But my sadness is my own fault. I'm the one who invested too much hope into a total stranger. It shouldn't have bugged me that they rejected my novel, but it did. My sadness is of my own making and it's left me asking myself, why do I write?

I write paranormal novels, historical fantasy, even viral pandemic novels which now won't be anyone's cup of tea for a very long time. I write about atheist witch-hunters, modern day fire-witches with succubus aunts, and discovered along the way that I can write gore very easily, but not graphic sex scenes. You know it's bad if your own family doesn't want to tell anyone about your book (publisher thought it was erotica - it wasn't). And in case you're wondering, it was my debut that earned 1 star reviews. Lots of lessons learned there.

People say to write what you know, write for yourself, write what you want to write. But my family and friends won't be interested in novels about virologists tackling Ebola epidemics and sex scandals, teen witches or wisecracking witch-hunters. No one cares about a plain smart girl in Georgian-era Hertfordshire who wakes up to find a constable at her door asking about her beautiful, ditzy but now dead friend, who had broken up their friendship the night before in the fight to end all fights. No one cares. 

I used to think that my writing was good enough to be published, that it was good enough to land well with a serious agent/publisher. Now I don't know anymore.

So why should I bother picking up a pen? 

If I figure it out, I'll let you know.

-ELJ

My year in writing – close but no cigar

:​In the season of Netflix’s hotly anticipated Bridgerton, and a world of Jane Austen fanfiction, this year I’ve been querying my Georgian-era murder mystery.

I've taken part in twitter pitch parties, entered author mentoring competitions, joined writer critique groups, made writing buddies and for the first time have become super-organised when it comes to querying.

During  lockdown, while my partner would play computer games with his friends, I would sit down with the authors & writers book and spend Friday nights researching agents and querying.  

More on that later, but for now, here’s my writing stats:

Queries sent: 84
Requests: 5
Rejections: 37
Queries still out: 47
 
That comes to a response rate of around 5.9%. Not great, (especially since they all ultimately joined the rejection group) but this is the first time I’ve queried agents instead of publishers. Here’s a run-down of some of the feedback I’ve received.

Most consistent feedback: didn’t connect with character, didn’t connect with story.

Most helpful feedback: “I liked your protagonist, but felt there were some improbabilities about the story, and wasn't sure the writing and story-telling were quite distinctive enough to attract an editor in a field that is highly competitive.”

Agents are lovely people. I’ve learned to accept the feedback as it comes and be grateful for what an agent has taken the time to write, both the complimentary and the critical.

Why? As artists we’re constantly growing and if we can’t take critique on board, we will never improve. But then you get feedback like this and your heart sings:

“I can see that you have put a lot of energy into the thinking behind this story and while I find it nicely written--I'm just not as taken with it as I would want to be. In all honesty, I'm not quite sure why it isn't "working" for me but that is just the subjective nature of my work.

That said, of course--you need an agent that will help you to develop, hone, publish and market this project with the appropriate ardor. I have a good feeling someone will make this fly and I hope you'll send me an autographed copy one day!

On the off chance that you do not connect with another agent, and have something else to show in the future--I would welcome a query.”

What I’m taking from this process: keep writing. Keep revising, polishing, and querying. From the successful people I’ve met, it takes years to land an agent, and as my very patient partner keeps telling me, it might not be this book that catches an agent’s attention. It might be the 5th, or the 12th. So keep writing, as each time I write, I improve (or so I hope).

That’s going to be my mantra for next year: keep going.

Here’s to a more productive and successful writing year. Happy 2021 everyone!

Cheers
ELJ

Looking back at 2020 – work, luck and gratitude

I don’t think you can honestly look back at this year without mentioning the pandemic. I think talking about this will be cathartic for a lot of people, so I’ll briefly add my thoughts. Right now I’m thinking about work.

From April 2019, I was on the job hunt. I’d started out confidently interviewing for roles and getting interviews pretty steadily, but the overarching feedback I got was that I didn’t have enough experience for the roles I was going for. It was a long, arduous process that put a serious amount of stress on me and my partner, as for each interview I prepared for and got excited about, each crushing defeat caused more unhappiness that I brought home with me.

I remember being on the verge of tears for most of a weekend in fear of the upcoming rejection that awaited my inbox on Monday morning. I remember interviewing for a role at a magazine and being rejected that same evening, and dropping my phone (cheap but kept in pristine condition) so suddenly the screen cracked, while I was waiting to board a plane to Edinburgh to see a friend. I had no idea that it would be the last time I’d see her for the foreseeable future, or that on the journey coming back, I’d caught literally the last plane out before the airline cancelled all flights.

Finally in late February 2020, I got rejected from a major Russell Group university and then a week later they contacted me with a job offer—their first choice had accepted the role then turned it down, so they were offering it to me as a second choice. Despite the blow to my ego I jumped at it and, gave my notice, whilst aware of a growing epidemic said to originate in Wuhan, China.

A week later the office closed due to the pandemic and the UK entered a national lockdown. That was March.

I feel absurdly lucky; I started not just one but two jobs in the middle of lockdown. That’s my overarching feeling for this year: lucky.

From the start of lockdown I started a new 6 month contract at a major UK university working in their press office and in November joined a charity working as their press officer. Cue a huge sigh of relief. It’s what I want to be doing and I’m in a really nice place. Everyone seems friendly and I’ve got a boss that works with me and supports me, which I’m now experienced enough to appreciate just how important that is to my professional happiness.

Note to my younger self—if you get bad vibes about a boss in an interview, reconsider whether you want to take that role. I’ve had bad bosses and good ones, and the latter will support and care about you as a person, not just a face they may or may not get on with. Case in point— one of my previous boss still checks in with me every so often to see how I’m doing. Not because she wants to rehire me, but because she cares, even though I’m no longer her employee.

In the meantime, I’m so grateful to be employed during a time of economic upheaval and when the UK is expected to face a major recession. I have friends who are unemployed and I send them job vacancies whenever I can.

The second major feeling I have for this year is gratitude, to the healthcare workers who are spending long hours caring for those infected, for the keyworkers like my partner who are working to keep the nation running, and to the people who are prioritising health over seeing their families this holiday season. We were going to see my husband’s mum and then our area went into Tier 4 restriction, meaning we’re not allowed to mix with anyone outside of our house bubble. We just had a massive Boxing Day zoom call with my husband’s family (picture 8 screens), which was 3 hours of enjoyable chaos.

Judging from the OMNI calculator I’m not eligible to receive the UK Covid-19 vaccine until around July to September, and I’m okay with that. I feel lucky to have a roof over my head, a partner and a cat who sits on me when I try to type (but she thinks she’s helping) and a job, one I really like doing.

I’ll do a post about writing highs and lows a bit later, but for now I wanted to share my thoughts for this year: luck and gratitude.
-ELJ

One dialogue tag too many?

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's dialogue. Maybe because in real life I'm a chatterbox.

But when it comes to writing, dialogue can keep a story going. On the flip side, lots of dialogue tags could turn off readers but without them, it can be confusing as to who is talking. So where's the happy medium? Can you have one dialogue tag too many?

Short answer: Yes.

Dialogue tags are terms to describe the speaker, so words like: 'he said, she said, they replied, the men responded, etc. Using these can help readers keep track of who is talking, but too many can be disruptive and ruin a story's flow.

Example: In a scene from my upcoming book, the MC Harold is talking with two women over a body. How many dialogue tags can you spot?

In moments, Sarah began talking. “Well boy, you’ve landed yourself in a mess all right. You know what they’re saying.”
“What?” I asked.
“That he was mad as can be.” She said.
“A proper cock.” Eleanor said.
We both looked at her.
“Mad as a popinjay.” She said, “Why else would have those marks on him? The boy must have been casting spells to the devil, and this mud is proof of it.”
“It’s just mud.” I said.
“You said it yourself, it’s not like any mud you’ve seen before. That’s cause it’s different.” She said.
“Witch mud.” Eleanor echoed.  

I use 'said' a lot in that conversation, but does it really help move the story along? Can I understand who is talking without all the tags? Here's the same passage but with some amends:

Sarah began, “Well boy, you’ve landed yourself in a mess all right. You know what they’re saying.”
“What?” I asked.
“That he was mad as can be.”
“A proper cock.” Eleanor added.
We looked at her.
“Mad as a popinjay. Why else would have those marks on him? The boy must have been casting spells to the devil, and this mud is proof of it.”
“It’s just mud.” I told her.
“You said it yourself, it’s not like any mud you’ve seen before. That’s cause it’s different.” Sarah pointed out.
“Witch mud.” Eleanor echoed.  

There's still a few tags, but with three speakers it's a little trickier to keep track of who is talking when. If you can remove words like 'said' and show the person is talking without saying they are, it can help!

Cheers
ELJ