Emma Newman's Blog, page 27

Fighting to save a library and a town

On Friday I walked with a leaden heart to a public meeting held at the local council offices regarding the potential closure of my local library. I had no hope that it would make any difference. I lost my faith in politics on a national scale many years ago, and on a local scale relatively recently when I saw how one of the mass supermarket chains systematically played the system and bullied local government into succumbing to its wishes.

I wasn't going there with the hope of making any kind of difference whatsoever. I know these closures are all to do with money, and when that's the case, the heart is hardened and ears are closed and no amount of grief will do anything about it.

But something still drove me to attend. A last spark of optimism? Perhaps. But I think it was also the knowledge that if I saw that library close without having tried to do something, I would never forgive myself. I wanted to see if there was any chance of action that would prevent it. I wanted to see if we were being given a false sense of having a say in it, whilst the decision had already been made.

Setting the scene

I want to give you a little background before I go on. I live in a small town called Shepton Mallet in Somerset, south west England. It's a town on its knees. Twenty minutes down the road is a thriving tourist destination, the city of Wells with its grand Cathedral and bustling high street. Shepton feels like the town Somerset forgot.

At the top of the town is a huge commercial development that has sucked the life out of the high street. There has been little in the way of schemes or initiatives that have made any real impact on the state of the market place and its empty shops. There are shops there, don't get me wrong, I use many of them. But there are so many empty, and such a feeling of urban decay too.

The library is the heart of the town. It draws 300 people a day to the market square (figure provided in that meeting). The only other amenities in the town, aside from a tragically small number of banks, are a post office and a tourist information centre. There is no job centre, the Citizens Advice Bureau was slaughtered in recent budget cuts and there (to my knowledge at least) are no other sources of help or information for people without access to the internet. There is no internet café, no bookshop (which also agonises me) and nobody willing, it seems, to invest in the town.

It is my belief, and of practically every person who attended that meeting, that if the library in Shepton Mallet closes, it will deal a death blow to the town centre.

So, back to the meeting

There was a palpable atmosphere upon arrival. Passions were high, people were being encouraged to sign the petition and fill out the questionnaire, both of which I'd already done at the library the week before. I later found out that 3000 other people had already signed too, and we need 5000 signatures to force a full debate at district council level.  It was standing room only by the time I got through to the chamber, and my heart was pounding in response to my instinct to fight. The feeling of hopelessness was burned away at the door when I saw and felt the presence of so many other people enraged by the proposal to close the library.

I watched a presentation by a district councillor on how the numbers had been crunched on library usage to feed into the cut back plan. I could feel the roiling mass of resentment – both inside me and within the room – as we all waited for a chance to speak.

The deputy head of the district council was there to listen and take our comments to the final meeting where the decision will be made. We had the opportunity to make our views heard, but rapidly I could see the chasm between us, the residents and those making the final decision.

Speaking the right language

I had to speak. I wanted to rail at the sheer disgust burning in my gut at how "they" proposed to deny free access to books and knowledge. I wanted to shake my fist and launch a searing attack against an administration who wanted to deny my child and all of the other children in this dying town the opportunity to discover the joy of books without the involvement of money. I wanted to yell that libraries are the last bastion of learning above consumerism.

But I realised that would be useless. They know this already. I doubt any of the people on that panel, on that night, forced into making cuts, forced into facing a room full of two hundred or so furious people, actually want to close our library. Expressing my emotions would only close them up, make them put up defensive walls between us. They are human beings, and when people are threatened, they defend, and closing their ears and hearts to us was the last thing I wanted.

So I thought about the presentation. I saw how much this decision was going to be affected by numbers. So when I had the opportunity to speak, I didn't shout, I didn't show the emotion I wanted to. I asked questions about how the data had been gathered, I questioned its accuracy and I asked when the final decision is going to be made and by whom.

I got some answers. My inner raging book-devouring dragon wasn't sated, not even a tiny bit, but the cold, analytical brain that got me through difficult times in the past was feasting.

People made stirring statements that gave voice to our upset, and bonded us together. Never have I been in a room with so many people and felt one with them. It was one of the truly rare occasions in my life when I didn't feel like I was on the outside looking in. Some asked questions that were devastating – one I wished I'd asked myself:

"Have you costed the death of a town?"

These are hard times

I'm not going to go into the reasons why it's absolutely imperative to keep not just our library, but all libraries, open. That's for a later post. Take it as read that I believe that with every strand of my book-woven body. But even in my passion, I can see that these are terrible, terrible times. These cuts are just one small part of the picture. There are cuts to care for the elderly, for the chronically ill, for countless other aspects of our society.

It is absolutely soul destroying when we're told that the money left in the pot is being divided between vulnerable people and keeping a library open. And the sense of helplessness still pervades. There is nothing I can do about all the debt and the deficit and the need to save money. I'm just one person who can barely afford to keep my house and look after my family, but you know what, I am going to do something to protect my local library. That's the one thing I feel qualified to defend, the one thing I know I am so passionate about that it will over-ride my fear of doing anything in public.

But really, what can we do?

I'll write letters to the District Councillors (I already know the Town Council is 100% against the closure) and to my MP and to Eric Pickles, Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government too. I'll present the arguments on their terms, I'll explain my concerns about the way the data has been gathered and used, I'll draw attention to the impact of the closure on the town, and the impact on the hundreds of families in Shepton who, quite literally, depend upon the library to access the internet, look for work, not to mention the hugely successful reading schemes for our town's children.

There have already been the most amazing efforts on the part of people in Shepton to fight this closure, and I will be getting in touch with people I met at the meeting to see what we can do together.

But it still won't change the fact that the council doesn't have enough money. And if it's a choice between losing the library altogether, and stepping in ourselves, I would much rather we as a community try to find the financial shortfall for the library. I think it's absurd to suggest that it could be run on a volunteer basis as librarians are highly trained individuals, and running a library is a complex exercise. I'll swallow down the bile at the thought that access to books and trustworthy sources of knowledge are turning into a luxury, roll up my sleeves and do all I can to keep that library going.

Who's with me?

Life with my Sony Touch e-reader

Last year, after many months of declaring that I didn't see a need to own one, I bought an e-reader. A combination of birthday money and identifying a need made me invest in a Sony Touch PRS-600 and I am happy to say that my e-reader and I are developing a wonderful relationship.

Need? Did you really need an e-reader?

The need didn't have anything to do with e-books, it was all to do with my voice work. I was printing out manuscripts to take into my recording booth and the cost was becoming prohibitive (I have a rubbish inkjet printer) in ink cartridges and paper, not to mention the need to recycle the materials afterwards. I couldn't get away from the need to have something to read aloud from, but figured that having an e-reader would mean I wouldn't have to keep printing out all the time.

Then another good reason popped up…

I'm part of a wonderful community of writers on Twitter, and many of them only publish e-books. I wanted to support them and their writing, and as reading long sections of prose on my laptop gives me a migraine, I realised that I actually wanted an e-reader too…

Cue complete bamboozlement over the options.

Nook, Kindle, Sony and a smattering of other readers to choose from – it was daunting. But I researched the options online and settled upon the Sony for two principle reasons:

1) I don't like the way the Kindle ties you into Amazon so completely – and horror stories of books being pulled off the device put me off completely. It seemed like leasing, rather than owning e-books.

2) The Touch has a note making option that I couldn't resist, and has become my favourite feature.

First impressions

When I first got it out of the box I was amazed by how heavy it seemed. I had no idea what I was expecting, but it was the size of a very slim novella but the weight of a hefty hardback, and my little brain got very confused.

I was comparing it to a book, and pretty quickly, I realised I had to stop doing that. Most of the reasons I've heard people give about resisting the purchase of an e-reader is because it isn't the same as holding a paper book and turning a page. There's an implicit comparison between an e-reader and a book which I have come to realise (having done that myself) is useless. They are incomparable. Yes, both deliver books into your brain, but the sensory experience shouldn't be equated. Why? Because an e-reader has different functionality, is made of different materials and I think is doomed to failure if all you want it to do is replicate the experience of reading a paper book.

I've learnt to see my e-reader as something completely different, and once that happened, I started to fall in love.

Wonderful features of the Sony Touch

In terms of using it for my audio recording work, it is excellent. Text can be enlarged, which is great when you're in a dark booth and the reader is lit by two little clip on reading lights. It sits on my music stand beautifully, the only thing I have had to adjust is how I cope with not being able to line the next page up in advance to have a smooth transition from one to the next, as obviously, only one page at a time can be viewed. I'm still figuring that out, but it's not a deal breaker.

The notes feature

I loaded the first draft of book two onto the reader to do my preliminary first round read – the one in which I check pacing, glaring errors, continuity issues and whether it hangs together as a novel.

The reader was a godsend, and that was all down to the Touch notes feature. Basically, if you double tap on a word (with stylus or long fingernail) and then drag across, you have the option to add a note. Then you can use the touchpad keyboard to type in a note and then save to carry on reading.

What makes it wonderful is that when I sat down to make the first edits, I could call up the list of notes, see what I wrote, cringe, and then tap through to where the note was in the text so I could edit the master file on the computer. Intuitive, easy and saved a few pages being reprinted for the second round of editing (line edits). Yummy.

Reading in bed

I recently had a bout of insomnia and tried to finish Murakami's Wind-Up Bird Chronicle in bed in the middle of the night. It's over 500 pages long and gave me achy arms. In contrast, the e-reader is easy to hold up under the edge of the duvet. It's the little things. Though saying that, I would never give up my paperback of Murakami – or any of the others I own.

The not-so wonderful points

Formatting

I ask my voice work clients to send their books to me in .rtf format, as I've found the reader handles that well. But sadly, experiences of buying e-books and their formatting has been patchy.

One format that is particularly problematic is PDF. One book I had been looking forward to reading for a long time was only available from the publisher (a small press) as a PDF which I have developed a serious bugbear about.

If you publish e-books, don't offer PDF as the only option!

The reason why is that the e-reader by default shows the entire page, so the text is tiny. Then when you zoom in, the pages become very bitty, sometimes only one paragraph appears on the screen for example, and the header and footer contents display in odd places too.

E-pub formatted books are often better, but several ones have had entire paragraphs in bold, and huge spaces where there shouldn't be, and that seriously detracts from the reading experience.

Step in Calibre

I don't use the software that came with the e-reader as I absorbed from my research that it is pretty unhelpful. I downloaded Calibre the day the e-reader arrived and I love it. One of its best features is file conversion, and using it to convert the PDF I mentioned earlier has improved the reading experience immensely, but those headers and footers still break up the text in an irritating way.

Another book I have my eye on is only available in Kindle format (sigh) so I will be testing conversion from Kindle's format to e-pub soon too.

Incidentally, I did load the Sony library software afterwards to see if I liked it. I didn't, but that might be due to trying Calibre first. You know, like which Star Trek you like the most is often due to which one you saw first (though everyone knows that Next Gen is far superior. Right?) and are used to.

Common concerns

Glare.

There's no getting away from the fact that at some angles, reflections on the screen are distracting, but all I do is adjust the angle slightly and then it's perfectly fine. Again, my first thought was "Oh I never have to do this with a paper book, grrr!" but then when I realised it was fixable, and actually not a big deal, it hasn't bothered me at all.

Eyestrain.

I was worried that the problems I have with reading my computer screen would carry over to the reader. Happily I have had no problems there at all, and have read for several hours at a time with no ill effects. The Sony e-reader isn't backlit, which I think helps a lot. When I played with my friend's iPad, I didn't have the same confidence that I would be able to read on it for hours as the screen is lit. Didn't stop me wanting one though. So pretty…

Durability.

I do treat it like a box of eggs, as the neoprene sleeve that comes with it protects the screen from scratches but I reckon little else. I've ordered a protective case with my Christmas vouchers, which has yet to arrive. Without a case, I would be reluctant to travel with it. I keep it a long way away from my three year old…

Phew, that's easily long enough already! I put out a call on Twitter for questions and I have received these so far. I'll answer them in the next post – do you have any to add to the list?

If every book you wanted to read was available as an eBook, would you like to go 100% digital?

Do you have to use Sony software with it on your pc? And is it as horrible as SonicStage, that came with their MD players?

Do you get weird formatting issues, like @gothick found with his Kindle, even on non-free books?

What's battery life like?

Have you tried a Kindle… how does it compare? Is there a good selection of books, as you can't use Amazon?

Part 2 coming soon!

A search for perspective

As I alluded to in a recent post, I have made a massive change in my working life so that I can dedicate more time and energy to this merry writing life. Or rather, to the hard scary bits such as preparing for launches, getting reviews and the deeply awful self-promotion. Note that even when I typed that, "self-promotion" was whispered by my internal narrator, with a theatrical hunching of shoulders and sideways glance.

Over the weekend I made some rather fine (and long) lists of things to research, do, find and generally get my head around. Then I tackled some of the things that scared me, amongst which were contacting people regarding participating in the Alt Fiction convention and sending my details and a recording sample to Audible to be considered as a freelance audio-book narrator for them.

All good, I thought, I'm being brave and getting things done. Swelled with the joy of courage, I sent out a call on Twitter for any lovely book reviewers who review short story anthologies.

And in the best Twitter style, I was immediately connected with several people to approach when the time comes. Brilliant.

But then the panic set in. My vision tunnelled and I felt the familiar racing heart and sweaty forehead heralding a massive anxiety attack. And right at the centre of it was a singular thought:

People are going to review my work.

Well, duh! Of course that's going to happen. I'm being published, and that's part of the territory but oh! How scary and awful and downright terrifying it feels!

Living with the anxiety beast

So I tried to employ some techniques to deal with the panic. I remembered not to immediately get angry with myself for being afraid, and instead met it with compassion – something I learnt from being with my little man when he was afraid.

I tried to challenge the blind terror with some sensible, gentle thoughts, along the lines of:  "Lots of people have read your work and really loved it."

But it rapidly unravelled into: "Every author has to face this, and so many survive. Like… like… cancer. Oh no, wait a minute."

Then out of that whirling, muddy mess a thought surfaced, small at first, then expanding like a wonderful super-fast inflating survival dinghy, all yellow and sturdy and bobbing about in a welcoming fashion. The thought was:

"There are lots of things you used to worry about. This is just another one."

I scrabbled into the life raft and considered its message. Another list began to form.

Things I used to be really worried about / terrified of

Posting on this blog
Receiving a horrible comment (thankfully, that has never happened)
Anyone reading my work, at all. I'm talking about right back in the days when I was writing the very first draft of 20 Years Later and didn't even know what a blog was.
Analytics stats
Technorati rank (Yes, really, I did obsess about that for the first month!)
How many RTs my stuff gets on Twitter
Podcasting!

Then I realised there are some things that seem to freak other people out that have never bothered me, like how many people are following me on Twitter, and if someone unfollows. I have no idea when that happens to me as I never use the normal site, and so never see follower/following counts. (And if you have no idea what I'm talking about, don't worry. It's not that interesting in my opinion.)

So, bobbing about in my little rescue dinghy, I realised that the things I am very worried and frightened of right now, namely:

Book reviews (both seeking them out and what they'll say)
Arranging book blog tours
Arranging launch parties
Possibly attending Alt Fiction and maybe even being on a panel (if they'll have me)

…might one day float onto the other list. I might even look back and laugh, though I'm not promising anything right now.

The post about this blog's second birthday made that rescue dinghy float up at just the right time. Why am I writing about this? Well, I want to make sure my brain is fully registering it – and writing seems to get the message to parts of my brain that other beers mediums cannot reach.

The other reason is that I suspect other writers may fear this kind of stuff too, and hell, all of us are afraid of something and have had our little triumphs along the way. If only one person reads this and it soothes some fear, fantastic. There is a lot of room in this dinghy if you need to climb in too. And it has one of those ace little whistles that you can blow to get help.

So, my lovelies, I was wondering if you have an entry on your "things I used to be afraid of" list that you'd care to tell us about. I'm curious, and there's no TV or books in this dinghy…

This post is brought to you by the number 2

Today, this blog is 2 years old.

Wow.

I feel like I am standing on a small mountain, looking back at the huge climb that I've just made. Did I really struggle all that way to get up here? And look at the view! To think, there was once a time, right down there at the start of this hike when I was terrified of publishing every single post. When I first posted my prologue to 20 Years Later, sweat literally broke out on my forehead. Look back and laugh, eh?

Let's sit down, enjoy the view together and have a cup of tea.

I can honestly say that starting this blog was one of the best decisions I have ever made. It sounds grand, but it's true. In just two years this blog has given me:

Confidence to share my writing with other people
Support from lovely readers such as your good self to keep trying to get published
A career in audio book narration
A way to connect with interesting and funny people around the world (yes, you)
A space to be "out there in the world" and still feel safe
A place to air my fears and demons and realise I'm not alone
A means of sharing fiction and getting feedback

And so much more…

This year two books will be published with my name on their covers. Those books will see the light of day because of this blog, and your support. Without your kindness, your enthusiasm, your camaraderie and your encouragement, I fear I would not have persisted in trying to make the dream come true.

Thank you.

How shall we celebrate? For starters, how about you leave a comment telling everyone about yourself? Then you can all get to know each other, and find out about the amazing things you guys do. I know there are writers, artists, scientists, dreamers and other extraordinarily clever and talented people that read this blog. Some of you have only ever contacted me privately, some of you only comment occasionally, some of you speak up every time (bless you).

I would love it if each and every one of you said hello and told us all two things, about yourself, about what you do or anything else you want, and a link to your place if you have one.

Over to you!

A New Year

I almost typed in 'Happy New Year' for the title, but to tell the truth, I'm a bit late, and enough people have said it elsewhere.

I'm torn between the desire to thrash out my thoughts about the coming year onto the page, and sparing you from having to read them. I'm getting a bit bored of my internal dialogue. It sounds something like this:

Inner voice: "Blimey, there is so much in my brain about the coming year, I should blog about it."

Other inner voice: "But millions of people all over the world have already done that. It's the 5th of January for heaven's sake. People are bored already."

Inner voice: "But I haven't been bored by reading those kinds of posts written by my friends."

Other inner voice: "But you'd be writing about your year-to-come and who the hell wants to read about that anyway?"

Inner voice: "Hang on a minute, aren't you just my inner critic wearing a cunning disguise?"

Other inner voice (slightly lower now): This is not a fake beard, and there are no women here.

Inner voice: Fake beard? Who are you trying to pass yourself off as anyway?

Other inner voice: Stone her!

Rinse and repeat.

Yes, that is exactly what has been on loop in my head for the last day whenever I've felt the desire to post. That's why I'm a writer. If I didn't write, they'd need to lock me up.

Anyhoo, it doesn't get away from the fact that I have a heavy brain and a need to wring something of it out. It's happening today as I am recovering from the flu, which sadly has become an annual event now. But being laid up on the sofa for many days did give me a long time to think, and to make some very difficult decisions.

Limbo

December was a very odd month. I found myself having more time and significantly less money than anticipated, so the emphasis of the impending Christmas to be hosted at my house for the first time changed rapidly to "Homespun with effort to express love, rather than spangly gifts."

I spent a lot more time with my son than usual, nursing him and then my husband through the flu which I eventually caught. But all the Christmas stuff went brilliantly.

Throughout the entire month however, there was a monster lurking in the shadowy recesses. Yup, it's your friend and mine (drum roll) The Anxiety Demon! And he was big and fat and wondering around my mind like he owned the place.

He'd been feasting on all the events of the previous three months and the promise of 2011. He saw that November in which I almost completely burned out, sprinkled some salt on it and gobbled it up. It was followed with a nice dollop of money worries, with sautéed illness on the side, with a beautiful dessert of being able to withdraw from the world thanks to the Christmas season – the perfect base for all fears to grow from.

Nicely fattened up, he spouted day and night about how 2011 is going to be the scariest year ever. Not just one book being published, but two? Really? How interesting. He coughed up horrible "What if?" hairballs all over the place:

What if no-one likes them?

What if you get bad reviews?

What if no-one bothers to review them at all?

What if the sales are so bad they're the only two books you'll ever have published?

What if you can't do it all?

What if you get so stressed and tired you can't finish the trilogy?

I could go on, but you get the idea.

With flu and that smelly beast knocking around, it wasn't nice. But I had the time to think, and I realised that I have only one thing to do in 2011:

Try my best.

I'm not aiming for perfection (well, that's a lie, I am a recovering perfectionist after all, I'm just recognising that I shouldn't have that as the standard) and I'm not putting pressure on myself to sell a million books, and I am not going to try and please every single reader out there. All of these are impossible.

But deciding to try my best has forced me to look long and hard at how the last four months or so of 2010 went, and it became clear to me that trying my best would require more time for the writing and the promoting. So I had to make some very tough, scary decisions.

I'm not going to detail them here. What I wanted to describe is a sense of a turning point. I realised that 2011 is likely to be my scariest year ever. The dream is coming true. That's scary. And I realised that I have to make a commitment to my writing life and career in a way I never have before.

This is serious now. I'm at the stage now where writing is not a vocation that can be crammed in around the edges for me any more. It has to take priority and the only thing in my life that I am prepared to let distract me from it is my son. And my husband, but he's behind me 100% anyway.

If I don't commit now, I can't give this my best. I know that being an author is absolutely what I have to be. Right down to my bone marrow, I feel that this is career I am best built for.

So that's it. 2011 in a nutshell: I'll show up, do my best and hope that my books find their way to the people who will love them.

News! And it's good!

It's National Short Story Day today, and the winter solstice too – what better day to celebrate short stories than the shortest day (or night, depending on where you are!) after all? Whilst most of these national-whatever-something-or-other-days usually pass me by, this one is special for me. The winter solstice is one of my favourite days anyway, but today I also have two exciting things to announce.

The first is that I recorded a short story to celebrate NSSD for the lovely Adam Christopher and you can listen to it over at his place. It's a spooky tale and perfect for the long winter night, called Nine Ladies Dancing. I love his writing and it was a joy to record, so do pop on over for a treat, it's a great story.

The second is a rather splendid announcement, something that I've been keeping under my hat for about two months now… I have a second publishing deal!

This is a different publisher and a different project to the 20 Years Later trilogy. The fantastic eMergent Publishing are going to publish a super-duper new edition of my short story anthology From Dark Places.

I quietly self-published From Dark Places early in the year, always with a plan to bring out a second e-book volume and then combine them for a print edition. I'm delighted to announce that eMergent are going to be doing that for me, releasing a new edition of the current e-book which will become "Volume 1″ along with a second e-book volume. Both will be combined into a beefy print edition to be released next year. Yay!

Jodi Cleghorn, the fabulous co-founder of eMergent, has been editing the stories with me over the last two months, and it is such an incredible experience working closely with an editor I trust. I've written short stories for the two eMergent Publishing Chinese Whisperings anthologies, so I know how good she is. It's a humbling experience too, and has really polished up my quirky tales. Funnily enough, she bought 'From Dark Places' when it was released, and said to me in a Skype chat (she lives in Australia) that she thought they were 98% of what they could be, but with good editing could be 110%. I understand exactly what she meant now.

It's been a strange couple of months keeping quiet about this. At the beginning of the project, before the final contract was sorted, I was desperate to shout it out from the rooftops. But then real life got far too hectic, and that little field mouse of mine got twitchy, until my confidence fell to an all time low about three weeks ago. It doesn't help that there have been some very stressful things happening away from my writing (isn't there always?) but I have even found it hard to think about this.

But it's National Short Story Day, and for heaven's sake, I should be able to announce this and be proud and excited about the fact that next year I will have a debut novel and a short story anthology in print and out there on the market.

Nothing in this world frightens me more.

That fear has been undermining my joy about this project and I'm hoping that making this announcement will put me back on track. And I know that many of you wanted a print edition of From Dark Places when I released it, so it's fantastic to be able to tell you that you'll be getting one that is so much better than one I could self-publish, and contains an extra bonus story that has never been released before. So, more happy dances and less waking in the middle of the night with the Fear, eh? Life is wonderful and scary, full and challenging, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

What makes you buy a book?

I have emerged from a very long tunnel and am blinking at the milky winter sunshine. The last two and half months have been so insanely busy, I'm actually considering abandoning the use of the word 'busy' altogether as it just seems woefully inadequate.

I'd like to say it was all exciting things to do with writing my own books and recording audio books, but alas, a great deal of it has been due to huge amounts of client work and the fact that my husband was away for a lot of November, meaning I was spinning the "being a Mum" plate more than usual. Something immensely exciting did happen actually, but I'm not ready to talk about that yet…

Now I have some much needed breathing space before Christmas, and I find myself thinking about next year. All being well, I should be getting a launch date for "20 Years Later" in about a week or so, and that is going to shape what 2011 will be like for me.

Needless to say, it makes my chest constrict with fear. And excitement. I keep trying to remind myself that physiologically, there is very little difference between how massive excitement and massive fear actually feel. As a person who struggles with anxiety, I tend to label that fluttering in my chest as panic way before it might occur to me that I am excited – and more importantly that excitement is a good thing.

My thoughts are turning towards the challenge of having to go out there and sell 20 Years Later, much in the same way as a dental appointment looms on the horizon. I know it is coming, I know it's really important, and most probably good for me. But really, me, go out there and sell my book? I have plans for book launches in various places in England, and a few ideas for online shenanigans, but it's all still unreal on a deep level. It feels like dream I am struggling to wake from, rather than an impending reality. And I still can't quite believe how lucky I am to have a publishing deal.

So it's got me wondering about what makes people buy a book. After all, if I want to make my life all about the writing I love, I need to earn a crust from it. And that means selling books (wow, that feeling is so hard to re-label as excitement) and as many of them as I possibly can.

When I think about the books I have bought this year, the decision to buy them has been down to two major influences:

1. Knowing the author on Twitter, e.g. I recently bought "Must Love Dragons" by one of my favourite fellow Twitter-loving authors Monica Marier (@lil_monmon)

2. Having the book personally picked out for me by one of the best independent bookshop owners in Christendom. That's Mr B, of Mr B's Emporium of Reading Delights in the lovely city of Bath, and yes, he did hand pick them for me as part of my latest book spa. Sheer, unadulterated bliss. And I have loved every single one he recommended. I wrote about my first book spa here, in case you're wondering what on earth one is.

So I'm spoilt now, as I know the next time I run out of books, I'll beg an early birthday / xmas present of a Mr B's book spa, as they have got it right every single time. I'm so spoilt, I've forgotten how I bought books before…

Actually, I lie, I do remember buying The Book Thief because the cover captivated me so – but that is the only time in my life (that I recall) that has ever happened.

So, dear readers, I was wondering if you could tell me what made you buy the last few books added to your shelf. Has knowing the author online influenced you in any way? Have you been swayed by reviews on book blogs, word of mouth, people raving on Goodreads.com or impulse buys at your local bookshop? All of them? None? Can you hear the sound of panic in my voice?

I'm hoping that if I start to think about this here, in my safe place, the prospect of my book being out there in the world will seem that little bit less scary…

… and just as exciting as it should be.

The Great Chocolate Conspiracy Part 12

Great Chocolate Conspiracy

Welcome to The Great Chocolate Conspiracy!

Chocolate Digestive biscuits have disappeared from the shelves right across the eastern seaboard of the USA, and now the shortage has spread to London. Detective Chief Inspector Sam Adamson and his international team of investigators from the Metropolitan Police's Confectionery Crimes Unit (CCU) have been tasked to solve the mystery.

The next installment will appear on Friday, November 26th at Adam Byatt's (aka @revhappiness ) A Fullness in Brevity, and you can keep up on developments in the meantime by following the #GtChocCo hashtag on Twitter.

—

Adamson was huddled in the corner of the room, hands over his eyes, rocking back and forth as the coffee's aroma stretched across the room like a lover's perfume.

"They'll be poisoned," he told himself. "Or stale. Yes, that's it, stale biscuits. They're tempting me by making me think they're crunchy and fresh, then when I eat one, it'll squish instead of crunch. They think that'll make me crack, yes, that's torture; the promise of the perfect choccy digestive built up, then dashed." He rubbed his head. "And as for that coffee, that'll taste like dishwater. With lumps in it. And stale biscuits. Stale. So don't go over there. Don't pick up that coin. Don't ram it into the machine faster than you can say 'Give me the bloody biscuits'." He nodded to himself for all of five seconds before crying out "Oh God give me the bloody biscuits!" He broke down, letting the heaving sobs fill the room.

He didn't know how long he wept, but by the end of it, he'd reached a new conclusion: he should test them. If something had been added to the coffee and chocolate, better that a highly trained professional find out its effects, rather than the populace at large.

"Yes," he sniffled, getting to his feet. "I'm a highly trained professional."

Just as he was about to take the first step, there was a terrible bang which knocked him to the floor. His ears rang and the air was filled with smoke, but as it cleared, he saw a large hole in the door where the handle had been.

It swung open and a woman stepped in, looking like she was coughing but all he could hear was the awful buzzing ring.

He didn't recognise her. She had blonde hair swept back into a neat chignon, a deliciously figure-hugging trouser suit made from a tweedy material and a chiffon scarf tied at her neck. She was attractive enough to make Adamson forget about the coffee and biscuits, and worry more about what she'd make of his tear stained cheeks and grotty stubble.

She picked her way through the bits of broken door that scattered the floor between them, as she reached him he could just make out the clip of her high heeled boots.

"Good afternoon," she said, peering down at him. Her voice sounded tinny and far away, but at least he could hear her. She was most definitely British. "Sorry about the door… might have misjudged the amount I needed to blow the lock. Never mind, no harm done eh?"

He just blinked at her.

"Can you speak man?"

He coughed.

"Are you Detective Adamson?"

He managed a nod.

"Good. I'm-" she stopped, her nose wrinkling slightly. She sniffed the air, following the scent of the coffee to the machine on the table, now covered in a layer of dust. She grasped the handle of the glass jug and thrust its contents at the wall. Sam's coughing reached a new pitch.

"Did you drink any?" she asked, dumping the jug and hurrying over to him.

"No," he said, trying to say the word rather than whimper it. The coffee stain on the wall looked like a giant squashed mosquito.

"Thank heavens for that. On your feet now, there's a good fellow, we need to leave."

"Who are you?"

"Oh, I do apologise." She held out a leather gloved hand. "Agent D. Ling at your service sir."

"Agent? FBI?"

She wrinkled her nose again, he found it quite becoming. "Goodness me, of course not. I'm from the T.E.A. Foundation. That stands for Tea Eternally Available, before you ask."

He hadn't even realised it was an acronym. "Never heard of it."

"Good. That's the way we like it. Come on, I'll fill you in on the way out."

She led him out of the room into a dingy corridor.

"Where are we?"

"Grimsville Idaho."

"No, really, where-"

She stopped and turned to face him, a stern frown disturbing her perfect eyebrows. "Detective, I never quip when on a mission. This is indeed Grimsville Idaho. Population 259 and a half. Don't ask about the half, there's no time."

She set off again, he limped after her, wincing.

"The Foundation has one purpose; to ensure that the supply of tea to her Majesty's Kingdom is never interrupted."

"FRAPPÉ haven't done anything to tea, it's the coffee and chocolate supplies."

"Ah, but perhaps you don't appreciate the impact their shenanigans have had on our glorious national beverage? People have been turning to the superior option in a vain attempt to achieve the same levels of caffeination as they enjoyed whilst drinking coffee. It's put a strain on supplies, but we've risen to the challenge. We cannot, however, deal with their latest devilish scheme."

"Nishida said something about never buying another brand again. What does that have to do with tea?"

"She added an ingredient that is so addictive, with such an irresistible smell, it's even turning tea drinkers to coffee and healthy eaters to biscuits and chocolate. We predict that within the month, sales of tea will drop to zero. No demand, no money to pay producers, growers… the fine institution of tea drinking will go the way of the Dodo, and with it, civilisation as we know it."

"Blimey."

"But that's not the worst of it. The additive has terrifying side effects." They'd reached the end of the corridor, a ladder led up to a trap door. "Here, rub this on your upper lip, it counteracts the smell, the rest is willpower. Grimsville was their testing ground. You'd better prepare yourself for a shock."

"What kind of a shock?"

"Have you seen Night of the Living Dead?"

Sam's throat constricted as he rubbed the bitter smelling ointment under his nose. "Yes."

"Grimsville makes it look like a Disney." She put a boot on the ladder. "Shall we?"

Five Rules of Young Adult Fiction

I stumbled into a conversation on Twitter today in which some of my most favourite people were debating the characteristics of YA (young adult) fiction and whether their works in progress fit into it, focusing on the type of language used, and trying to pin down the age range.

It made me think about how I characterise the YA market, and the implicit rules I followed when writing 20 Years Later (and am still following in book 3) but also the fact that other people may not have the same idea of YA in their heads.

So here is my take on what YA is as an author of a soon-to-be-published YA novel. I make the point of saying that, because it may be the complete opposite of how the publishing industry, book reviewers and book shop owners may see it.

I'd like to add the disclaimer that there are many, many other YA books out there that don't follow these rules. One containing sparkly vampires springs to mind….

Rule one: Stuff has to happen

There has to be a good story, and the book has to move at a good pace. I'm not talking about Dan Brown levels of insanity here, there is room for such lovely things as character development alongside and in between action, but it has to be tight.

Rule two: The age, personality and situation of the protagonist(s) are important

In 20 Years Later there are three primary characters, all are 15 years old, and this is important. I see YA as starting at 12 years old and up, though I hate age based classification as it really means nothing – a bright 8 year old can read YA and be perfectly happy, and look at how many adults love it too. Anway, received wisdom about that age group is that they tend to aspire upwards – i.e. they are interested in reading about kids who are slightly older than they are.

That wasn't the reason I made Titus, Zane and Erin 15 by the way. They just were when the story started, but happily, that fitted well with YA expectations.

As for personality and situation, I think that the characters have to be believable and react to the world and the situation in which they find themselves in a way that a teen reader can relate to. That's a horrible generalisation, but compare it to literary fiction, which has huge tracts of the protagonist reminiscing, or thinking about a problem in a meandering way. That just doesn't fit with YA. You remember being a teen, don't you? Emotions are huge and unwieldy and stuff we take for granted as adults was big and scary. Still is for me. Maybe that's why I like writing YA so much…

Rule three: Adults may advise, but may never solve the problem

I feel very strongly about this; all of my characters have to figure it out for themselves. Otherwise it's a boring book and deeply unsatisfying, but also smacks of what an adult might want real life to be, i.e. Adult sees kid struggling and offers advice, if kid follows it, the problem is resolved, both are happy.

Well, I think more often than not a kid has a problem, the adults rarely notice (often because the teen is hiding it), or offer advice but the kid is too enmeshed in the problem or distracted by other stuff to follow it and see the wisdom. So they struggle until they get there by themselves in the end, thereby learning a life lesson more effectively – and painfully. That's how it was for me, anyway. And so that's how it has to be for my characters too.

Rule four: The reader needs to relate to the protagonist's problems

In adult fiction, the protagonist can legitimately be worried about paying their mortgage, and embark upon all kinds of crazy schemes to keep a roof over their family's heads. I really don't think a YA book could pull that off without some kind of extraordinarily clever twist, or by employing the previous rules very effectively which would be hard, considering the ideal age thing.

But that doesn't mean that YA fiction problems are limited to only the problems that teens have – I mean, blimey, the problems faced by my protagonists would fox most adults, and I can safely say no teen has ever had to face them. But underpinning their situation are the same problems faced by all teens; self-confidence, reconciling loyalty to friends with rules made by other people, dealing with a dangerous world and dangerous people within it etc.

The great thing about that rule is that adults also relate to those kinds of problems, either because they remember what it was like, but also because they still face them in adult life. Many adults have read 20 Years Later and loved it (and before you ask, they were the beta and in some cases omega readers, not buyers of the book not yet published!), and I think that's one of the reasons why.

Rule five: Use the most efficient (and not too expletive laden) language

I do agree with my Twitter friends to a point when they talked about the language they were using potentially excluding their book from the YA market. I am very careful to use only mild expletives, even when I want to write a much, much harsher version. Whilst I like my books to be gritty, I don't want to bring in all the grit and nastiness from the street, and I do sympathise with librarians and parents worrying about that kind of thing. I really don't think it's necessary either.

And by efficient, I mean tight, punchy prose. Say it, don't go on about it, and don't use words that are highbrow for their own sake. I think sentence structure is slightly simpler than in literary fiction, but again, it's not necessarily a characteristic of YA. At the moment I'm reading Heliopolis by James Scudamore, and the language and sentence structure is far from complex, but it is most definitely an adult novel.

There are all kinds of other things I could say about novel length and the like, but I think these are the core rules I followed. What do you think? Fellow YA writers, do you have any you follow too?

Four pillars of the first draft

So a while ago I gave you the geekiest view of novel writing from a practical perspective, I thought I should write something about the  emotional side before I forget it all.

Of course, I can't talk about that without talking about:

The Fear

Lots of writers have it (I'd say all but there's probably some zen-like being somewhere who has got past that point) and of course, I'm one of them, but I'm a lot less afraid of the first draft than I used to be.

Why is writing scary? I don't know. In my case, practically everything is scary, so it's nothing new, but writing does have a fear flavour all of its own. My theory is that when the story is in my head it's perfect. Then I have to press it into word form and being a perfectionist, there's a natural "Oh no I won't be able to create something as perfect as the trillion pound budget movie that plays in my head" moment.

What's important though is how to deal with it, and over the last two years I've worked really hard to figure out the best way to carry on writing, even when my guts are cramping with terror. I've talked about this elsewhere, but it's relevant: whenever I sit down to write a first draft I say out loud "I give myself permission to write complete and utter crap." Sometimes I also need to have a cup of tea and calm down, reminding myself that I'm just sitting down and writing one word after another. I mean, it's not like I'm about to perform open heart surgery. No-one is going to die if I get this wrong. And anyway, first drafts are supposed to be rubbish. Right?

Momentum

One thing I have noticed is that whenever real life gets in the way of having time every day to write, the Fear creeps back in. It doesn't matter how far into the novel I am, nor which part I am about to write. If I don't write every day, some part of me, one that I suspect is constantly looking around like a nervous field mouse, starts to fret and think silly, anxious thoughts when it's no longer just focused on the story.

That's why daily writing helps, and why a daily word count goal in particular seems to be working for me at the moment. When the fear has crept back in, wanting to get at least a thousand words onto the page can trick that field mouse into focusing on something objective and practical. "It's just a thousand words," I tell it, stroking the twitching, nervous little thing between the ears. "Just a thousand words, and they don't even have to be perfect."

Once I get going again, the mouse is so busy watching the story unfold, it forgets to be nervous. Honestly, sometimes life just feels like looking after a timid bunch of children and small creatures that have set up house inside me.

Momentum also helps on an instinctive level – when I know that 1000 words should ideally take around forty minutes to write (with a calm sea and a good wind behind you), and I'm reaching the three hours later and only 750 words point, something is up. Either it's me or the scene, but if I am fit and raring to go, then it's easier to stop and consider why the scene isn't flowing. If I'm rusty and cranking back up to my daily word count fitness, it's harder to tell if it's the rust or the scene. Does that make sense?

Immersion

Momentum also has the benefit of creating immersion – and that's why I've been so sporadic in my blog writing (sorry!) and why I am late with my next short story club story (really sorry!). When I am in deeply immersed in my current novel, everything else is just asteroids. And if that phrase makes no sense, feel free to ask me to explain it.

To exploit one of my favourite clichés, immersion is a two edged sword. It makes writing a novel so much easier – in fact, I think it's critical for my process at least to never fully stop thinking about the world, the characters and the story.

The flip side however is that it makes me awful to live with. I stare into space at inopportune moments, I keep striking up conversations with my husband about the next bit of the book, and if I don't get time to write, I turn into a grumpy, cantankerous troll who mopes around the house sighing theatrically. Honestly, I don't know how my husband puts up with it. I'm either grumpy because I'm not writing, or absent because I am…

Love

Being immersed and having momentum makes fertile soil for love; either love of the characters or love of the world or love of the exciting scene that's just around the corner. I have 30-40K or so of book three left to write, and I am already dreading finishing it. Finishing the first draft of book two made me sad, I'm expecting a mini-depression when the trilogy is over and only editing and tears remain.

It really is like being in love. I think about my characters, what they're doing and going through all of the time. When I'm walking along, when I'm in the shower, when I'm doing the housework, whenever I am not actively engaged in something else, I'm thinking about them.

I'd also like to add that I do think of other things too, don't get me wrong, just like people in love are able to. It's just that the love-object has a strong mental gravitational pull. In my case that's a group of weird kids in post-apocalyptic London. Hey ho.

One example happened last night, when the hubster and I finally got a chance to sit and watch the first episode of The Walking Dead. When the shots of the poor chap waking up and wondering through the post-apocalyptic horror were playing out, I felt my heart rate increase, found myself smiling. Not because I'm thrilled by the thought of all that death – far from it – but because it was like looking at the backdrop of 20 Years Later. It also made me so glad that I set the books twenty years after most people died – the scenes of the piles of bodies piled up just seemed too harsh for my novel. But that's another post I think!

What I mean to say is that the love of the setting made watching something in a similar genre all the more exciting to watch. Just like seeing someone with similar hair or facial features to a lover can elicit a thrill as those same neurons are lit up.

I'm rambling aren't I? Forgive me, it's been a while since I've been here.

So there you have them: four pillars underpinning my emotional experience of writing a first draft; fear, momentum, immersion and love. Blimey. That could almost be an analogy for life, if you squint and tilt your head when you look at it. I need a cup of tea. To the kettle! And don't spare the horses!

P.S. I'm afraid the release of 20 Years Later has been delayed, I'm waiting for a launch date from the publisher. Everyone keeps asking me when it'll be, but sadly I have no idea – as soon as I do I'll let you know too!