Kerry Hudson's Blog, page 15

Oral amnesia - that's a thing

So today I recorded a little section for a Vintage podcast to be released in March. I woke early, painted my nails and managed to find a warm layered outfit that didn't make me look like the Marshmallow Man.*

The Vintage podcasts are recorded at the Random House offices. I have never been to the offices without my heart puttering away in my chest because very time I go there I expect someone to tap me on the shoulder and say, 'so sorry, frightful mistake, we got the manuscripts muddled' and politely escort me out. 

Anyway, I foiled the system once again and was led up to an office on the top floor, filled floor to ceiling with books and two chairs and microphones. The Guardian's Alex Clark, who has presented the podcasts since the beginning, was very warm, engaging and terrifyingly clever. 

We did a short 5 minute interview. I would like to write a bit about it but can't remember a word. Except 'familial'. I have never used the word familial before in my life. I can only imagine what other deeply suppressed little nuggets of mystery emerged during the rest of the interview.

                                       

Then I did my reading. I had practised, I had little notes all over my pages, but let's be honest, very little prepares you for having to shout the word cunt in front of near strangers (except possibly an upbringing like mine but that's another story…). Luckily, against all my expectations, I loved the reading bit…c-word and all. 

As my first bit of publicity I can honestly say I actually loved doing it. I have never liked the limelight, or being the centre of attention, I don't even like opening presents in front of people but I do like knowing that someone who hasn't heard of Tony Hogan might now. I can be a shrinking violet all I like but the book certainly isn't and for the next ten months I'm nothing but its mouthpiece with nice nails.

* Yes, yes. I am aware of the absurdity of painting your nails to record something.

Proofs, Publicity and podcasts (love me some alliteration)

Proofs! I got beautiful page proofs. With my name under the title, pages all single spaced and numbered and laid out like a proper book. I spent quite a while just looking at them, thinking how funny it was that the change in format suddenly made it already something 'not mine' – how it already felt out in the world. Then I spent my evenings for a week hunched over bowls of noodles, meticulously proofing until my eyes felt like raisins rolling around in their sockets. Those who have ever read this blog will know I am not a great proofer, I was abjectly grateful for the knowledge of a professional proofreader working away somewhere doing a 100% better job than me. I sent the proofed pages off this Monday on a big padded envelope. I think I have empty nest syndrome.

PR! Last week I also met my very lovely publicist from Random House for a coffee and a chatter. I know how limited resources are to promote debut novels so it was particularly exciting to hear all the things they were hoping to do – if only a tenth of the things on that list come good I'd be very chuffed indeed. For my part I flew my true working-class-hard-graft-colours (hard to do when you're sipping a latte in Shoreditch) and said I would do anything and everything I could. Though I may implement a nudity clause.

Podcasts! So, on Monday I am headed to Random House to record a short podcast of me reading from Tony Hogan and answering some questions. Do we think that I can answer 'I really wouldn't know, I'm just a girl from a council estate' for all tricky questions? I'll report back after I have done my umms and ahhs for my half hour.

Just another new year post

Yesterday I finished my very last copy edits for Tony Hogan. I spent the day in the luscious hush of the British Library, having tea and cake while trying to work out how best to explain the layout of towerblock council flats and googling Chesney Hawkes lyrics.

Last year I travelled across Russia by train and I worked for a Sultan in a Paris Chateau. And, of course, I wrote Thirst. I continue to work on Thirst but 2011 was the year it became a real book. 

I was never more grateful for writing in 2011; it was my constant and my foundation at times when things were very hard indeed.

In 2012 there will be cover-art and proofs and publication and then whatever else will follow on from that. I will just be focussing on writing as well as I can and being curious about the world around me so I can feed the monkey on my back and stop it pulling at my hair.

I leave you with the words I plan to live 2012 by: Work hard and be kind.

And the picture that made me happiest in 2011 (because it is always worth looking up):

Here's to 2012 and all the things it may bring. Happy New Year folks.  

This is not a Christmas Story

Someone fatten the calf. Yep, the prodical returns, dragging her tail behind her and mumbling apologies of copy-edits for the first, redrafts for the second, Arts Council evaluation statements and something she does for money that involves using the term Bam-bam's in creative design briefs. See? You don't want to know the details.

Anyway, I thought I'd share a quick little story about Tony Hogan (I've christened his highly dubious charms with his own hashtag on Twitter too - #tonyhogan) because I found some old notebooks the other day….the very, very first draft of what is now Tony Hogan:

 

Once upon a time, Tony Hogan was once called The Dole Cheque Kid. I took six months off work to write it. I knew it would be about the places I had grown up: Aberdeen all the way down to Great Yarmouth taking in every town of high unemployment along the way - it made perfect sense to write my novel in Vietnam. Actually, Vietnam was very cheap and I didn't have a lot of money, so I took myself, a little netbook, no plot outline or any idea of what I was doing, off on a plane.

I lost the first chapter on a Chinese overnight sleeper bus. Well, I lost the netbook the chapter was on thanks to a stealthy knife wielding bag slasher (I slept right through). On the train back to Hanoi from the border between China and Vietnam I took out a piece A4 paper and started plotting.

Back in Vietnam I travelled the length of the country, living for a few months in both Hanoi and Saigon. I hired bicycles, went to cafes and wrote my 1000 words a day by hand, cycled to the nearest internet cafe and typed them up and emailed them home. Afterwards, I went and wrote some more, slurping down Bun Cha on plastic children's furniture in canteens playing South East Asian techno-pop. I spoke to hardly anyone for months, just me and The Dole Cheque Kid and not a thought about anyone else ever reading it.     

Anyway,  the point is that The Dole Cheque Kid has come a long way. Two name changes, many more story changes. Somehow it travelled from those sweaty internet cafes full of school boys playing Streetfighter to the hallowed corridors of the mighty Random House. I still don't really understand that bit myself.

But it started as just scribbled words on a page slightly blurred from Bun Cha noodle splashes. I was so happy in Vietnam, completely peaceful weaving in and out of the moped traffic on my little rusty bike, home to a little room where I'd sit and conjure a Glaswegian council estate, a fishwife's special brand of sweary gossip, the rawness of being young and wanting more. I'd never been so happy and I like to think, when people read Tony Hogan, they'll be able to tell that; that the hot night air tainted with neon flashes and moped fumes will have somehow snuck onto the pages of my very British book.

                                                              THE END 

My book is on amazon. If you ever loved, liked (or loathed me and want to pick apart my placement of commas) go. go now.

Go right here and ask them to tell you when you can buy it with good English (Scottish, Welsh, Irish, Mongolian I'm not fussy) pennies.

You can 'like' it if you want.

Or share it via a vast array of social network mediums. Perhaps, if I was ever very nice to you indeed, you would be happy to do all of the above. Yes? Good, we're agreed. 

…You see, I'm going to be all over this marketing thingy.

Here

Here

Here!

isbns and other moments of glory

Hello, I have nothing to report.

Actually, that is not strictly true. I did see Faulksey talk about writing novels (he's a 1500 words a day man). I ate my first ever snowy hills cake/biscuit type thing. I spent an ungodly three hours at an IKEA without even a plate of meatballs to stave off the existential crisis I got along with the load of primary coloured shite I bought there. Still with me?

…

Ah yes, there were these things too:

Tony Hogan is on the Random House website

And on Amazon…it's big (or at least exists) in Japan too.

I have an ISBN and it is *whisper it* '9780701186395'

I now feel all proper. Like I'm actually having a book published. Oh, and the edits continue. What to say about this? I am double-dutching (why does this sound a bit rude?) Tony Hogan and Thirst edits. Miraculously it seems to be working and when it is so am I - this is where I worked all weekend:

Otherwise, nothing to report. 

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes. Or edits and rewrites if you are a literary type.

 

It's been a while I know. Can I claim that Paris does not yet have internet? That the Parisians are too busy layering chic clothing in various muted shades and eating vast quanities of pastry without ever getting fat and therefore have no time for hours internet faffery like the rest of us? No? OK then, moving on.

Paris was wonderful. The job at the Chateau looking after Omani jockeys was a bit insane. I enjoyed and endured both and though I took a break from doing anything but some writerly tinkering some nice literary type things did occur while I out there. Duly reporting:

I got my delivery advance. I'd like to say that I spent it on first edition Proust. Actually, I just kept the boulangeries and vintage shops from feeling the full impact of current international economic doom. 

Todd Zuniga, writer, editor and founder of Literary Death Match very kindly introduced me to some Paris writerly folk. We all ended up talking about films but that is by-the-by.

The very lovely writer Kirsty Logan asked me to contribute a short interview on my experience of traditional publishing (as opposed to self publishing) for IdeasTap. It was my first Tony Hogan interview and it was fun.

Now, back home in wonderful/sunny/slightly nippy East London I have three weeks till I must return to gainful employment using only speadsheets and a slew of highlighters to save the world. Nothing like a deadline to getting me moving so:

I'm working on Thirst intensively - getting excited about it, starting to see it take shape properly for the first time. I'm getting Tony Hogan type feelings about it, which is something I can't really explain but it is A Good Thing. 

I got my final wee edits for Tony Hogan in a big padded Random House embossed white envelope. This is the place where the writing journey for my first novel ends and another sort of journey begins. I feel pregnant and, in fact, it will be on sale in nine months…

I am running. This is sort of about writing Thirst but sort of not. I love it. It is so good for my writing, a prefect marriage. I'm reading Haruki Murakami's 'What I Talk About When I Talk About Running' and on every page I am thinking 'YES.' My favourite quote so far is this one:

'I'm the type of person who likes to be my himself. To put a finer point on it, I'm the type of person who doesn't find it painful to be alone. I find an hour or two every day running alone, not speaking to anyone, as well as four or five hours alone neither tiring or boring.'

The man speaks my truth.

Packing, feasting, pausing real life

This is a very quick post as I am due at a Sultan's Chateau in a few hours…

Since I've gotten back from Russia things have been a bit crazy for me, not in my writing life, but in the other one I'm generally much more quiet about. So, in the long narrative tradition of packing a bag, running away and joining the circus, here I find myself drinking mint tea at the Paris Mosque. Except I'm not joining the circus - I am in Paris to work at a Sultan's Chateau for a few months. 

Occasionally something comes along at just the right moment and that's what happened with this job. So, unable to resist the lure of an adventure (and mountains of cake) here I find myself, pausing my real London life, and about to report for duty in my strange new one. 

I'll continue working on Thirst of course and will recommence my Arts Council 'time to write' in October (as an aside I can't say enough positive things about the Arts Council). I'm hoping Paris will offer fresh inspiration, there must have been a reason so many artists and writers flocked here right? If it's good enough for Hemingway….

                                      

Writer in Residence and a thought on momentum

As you know I love my manor and the Hotel Avo (@avohoteldalston) is fast becoming a Dalston institution. A family run business, owned and run by the same family who ran the post office here for years; when the post office got edged out by bigger shops they decided to capitalise on the new cool of Dalston and open a boutique hotel in the same location. They were on to a winning idea, the hotel now frequently hosts visiting DJ's or musicians playing at the Dalston Clubs but is so welcoming it doesn't leave you feeling you're wearing the wrong shaped jeans.

If any of you follow my Twitter feed (if not, you should: @kerryswindow) you'll know that a while ago I became the Hotel Avo's Writer in Residence. What began as a few jokey DM's on Twitter between myself and the Manager Sunny (who is also a writer) became me sticking a sea of tourqiose blue post-its to the hotel lounge table on Monday afternoon while working on the restructure of Thirst.

So, I sat with a coffee and wrote my (many, many, many) scenes on post-its and began the massive, mind-mangling jigsaw that is rebuilding the structure of Thirst, gave out some writing advice and enjoyed an environment free of distractions. Well, mostly free. The truth is I love hotels. I am fascinated by the guests, the staff - the holidays and business trips the casual and not-so-casual interactions of strangers in an environment made to simulate the intimacies of 'home' - you can see why a residency at a Hotel might appeal. Besides, the Avo Hotel has big windows staring straight out into the passing people traffic of a busy Dalston street. What better way to snatch a bit-part character or two for Thirst?

I know I also promised a post on momentum so this this is what I have learned recently: both long and short-term plans change. Life fragments and falls into place again, and yes, you can be stunned and shocked and humbled and then rally yourself in the course of a few short weeks. The truth in all this, when it feels like chaos, is that writing can be enduring, your constant, a foundation when you feel you have none. Then it is easy to keep your momentum. Make writing your constant whatever else changes. 

Next: Paris and ch-ch-ch-changes

She saw it coming...

I know I have been quiet. Unlike my neighbourhood Hackney, hard hit by the riots but well protected in variety of ways by the locals here. I always knew it was a strong community – just a few posts ago I spoke about the incredible tolerance amongst such a diverse mix and how it created a truly unique place to live. I knew what Hackney was made of well before the recent days tested it.

In fact, in many ways it seems I've been pre-empting myself. While I was in Russia I wrote about how a bruising of the ego can only be all the better to access the more tender parts needed when writing. A few posts before that, before Russia in fact, I explained my glass floor syndrome; how I was so happy that it made me fear an imminent shattering beneath me.

Can you see where this is going? Yes, in the last few weeks life has kicked my arse a bit. I probably saw it coming to be honest. I'm dealing with it. And that, folks, is as personal as I get in a public forum.

And Thirst? I'm still working on it but less intensively. My arse kicking at least comes at an opportune moment when I'm gathering feedback and reworking the structure of draft…2.5 now? So I requested a months break in my Arts Council activity and, ever brilliant, they saw no issue with me recommencing in September with some gained insight. I've taken some office work to tide me over - the work is easy, the people are grand, they have lots of different types of tea and I have a long commute during which I can mull things over. I love a good mull me.

Next: Momentum