Old Brain Juices

Right, I'm about a quarter of the way through the first draft of 'Water's Deep,' which is about 23,000 words for those who like stats. This book, so far is writing itself, and at the current rate I should have it finished by mid-April. However, I want a holiday with my good lady wife and I'm flying to Hong Kong tonight and then on to Australia and New Zealand this evening, so there I will leave it. Whilst away I'll get the old brain juices ruminating on plot issues and characters and keep my writing hand in by penning the odd article for Edinburgh Libraries and make some ground on my comic book idea.

I'll see you anon, or on the road if you're going my way. I'll send in the odd photo and blog post when I get time. Look after each other.

***
Rant by Chuck Palahniuk

Apart from never really being sure how to pronounce his surname (is it Pala-nee-uk or Pala-newark?) I’m a big fan of the few works of his that I have read. This is literary fiction, but a type that never forgets its genre roots. His work is experimental, but grounded in a style that is both readable and enjoyable. You never quite know what is going to happen, but you can be pretty sure your first impression will probably be wrong.
Rant is about many things. He is first and foremost a young man with ‘issues.’ Buster ‘Rant’ Casey is attracted to the intoxicating effects of spider and animal bites, and seems to carry within him a virulent strain of rabies which turns him into one the most successful serial killers in American history. Unless that is a lie made up by others to discredit him. Rant is also a shout and a scream from the part of an urban society forced underground, or into darkness anyway. Nighttimers are the waifs and strays, forced to work the graveyard shifts, and it’s is to this section of society that Rant graduates. They entertain themselves with Party Crashing, driving around the city, decked out in wedding gear, identifiers on the car roof as they crash into each other, in a mini destructive demolition derby.
The book is written as a series of oral histories, eye witness accounts from people who knew the boy, or have heard of him through hearsay and rumour. Some tell the truth, others just make it all up. Or do they? The truth is hidden deep in this work and it is stranger than you think. Some of if might be the truth, or then again, perhaps not.

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

If you think ‘Rant’ is confusing, try reading this massive 700 page plus tomb which is a work of fiction, written as a treatise on a missing film that might be a prank and not even exist.
‘House of Leaves’ is an academic work by a dead man called Zampanò with additional notes added by Johnny Truant. Johnny might once have briefly met Zampanò, he is certainly living in his old apartment. It’s there that he finds the manuscript and starts to read it. The work is about a film called ‘The Navidson Record,’ a documentary made by a famous photographer that purports to record the lives of his family in a house in the country. A house where walls move and a passageway to a labyrinth is discovered. This labyrinth seems to exist in a space outside of the norm and changes size and shape regularly. It might also contain a fabled beast. Several people die in its exploration including Navidson’s own brother. Some say the documentary exists and is an accurate representation of what happened. Others claim the whole thing is a scam. At the same time Johnny reads the work and adds his own comments about his waste of space life, a life that becomes dangerously unstable as the book influences his decisions and actions.
The book is experimental. Sometimes it’s written in straight forward academic prose, other times the whole text fragments to represent the maze. Footnotes and endnotes send you off in different directions throughout the book, pages of appendices instruct you about characters past lives, there are photos to decipher, poetry and collages. This is metafiction, a book of contradictions and multiple interpretations. It’s a horror story, a love story, an academic satire and a reaction to the possibilities of the printed word.
This book came out in 2000, before ebooks made it big and readers were readily available. It would be interesting to see now how this book will translate into a virtual text. The possibility of the book/internet melding into one.

Best of all, MONSTERS

A good start to "Water's Deep." I've been writing all week and the characters and situations are coming together. At this early stage the book sort of evolves organically. I let it take me where it wants, introducing plot points and characters as the book demands. This sounds a little chaotic, but I find it best to let the story do the work. If there is a novel in the idea, the characters will find it as I build a world around them. Only when I get about half way through the book will I then go back and redraft and be a bit more rigid in the story I'm trying to create.

This is the fun bit. I get to create an English town, a family out of their depth, a flood, environmental scientists and best of all, MONSTERS. I looooove creating them.

***

I was asked yesterday to do some small articles for Word UP, a mail newsletter featuring contributions from Edinburgh's reading and writing community and produced by Edinburgh City Libraries. In the UK all libraries now need assistance and help as the current government has decided in their (misguided) wisdom decided to cut budgets and slash services.

As a child growing up in a Midlands village, the weekly trip to the local library was something I looked forward to. It was in that small building that I first was introduced to comic books (mainly Asterix and Batman), music (because you could take out albums and tapes), not to mention all the new authors I was able to read. 

Libraries are precious and should be protected like endangered animals. Once gone, they are almost impossible to replace.

Not sure what I'll write about yet, but I'll put something down whilst away Down Under and let you know when they are online.

***

I've got another week of writing and then I pack up and leave for Australia and New Zealand. Can't wait. In preparation for that I decided it was time to get the hair cut. Being in India I let things get a little out of hand. So I went from this:

 To this:

Much better. Don't want to look out of place in those swanky Sydney and Melbourne bars.

***

I'll try and update from the road and perhaps get some photos up. If not you can follow me on Twitter @middlemanlost

See you when I get back.

Super-Active, Timey-Wimey, Hyper

Finished Doctor Who (new) Series 2 last night. Really enjoyed seeing Tennant's new super-active, timey-wimey, hyper Doctor after the more serious dark Doctor of series 1. Below are my tweets from the series.

• Dr. Who s2 ep1: New Earth: the Dr reborn as a saviour for all humanity and the longevity of those people.
• Dr Who s2 ep2 Tooth & Claw: The birth of Torchwood. Britain protects itself from the strange universe.
• Dr Who s2 ep3 School Reunion: Sarah Jane Smith & K-9. The universe seems so small after travelling with the Dr.
• Dr Who s2 ep4 The Girl in the Fireplace: The Doctor and the monsters go hand in hand
• DrWho s2 ep5 Rise of the Cyberman: Parallel worlds but the same old problems. The UK, one step away from going wrong.
• Dr Who s2 ep6 The Age of Steel: Emotions are what make us what are we are. Take them away and ... 
• Dr Who s2 ep7 The Idiot's Lantern: Light relief after the loss of Micky with a clever and witty @Markgatiss special. 
• Dr Who s2 ep8 The Impossible Planet: a truly adult Who; the mythos complicated with the concept of religion.
• Dr Who s2 ep9 The Satan Pit: conclusion the universe is more complicated than even the Dr can understand.
• Dr Who s2 ep10 Love & Monsters: the silly episode about those left behind, those that get a whiff of the Doctor.
• Dr Who s2 ep11 Fear Her: The power of children and imagination. The fear of being alone. The coming storm.
• Dr Who s2 ep12 Army of Ghosts: The beginning of the end for Rose. Classic storytelling with Cybermen and Daleks.
• Dr Who s2 Ep13 Doomsday: Goodbye to Rose. An epi that takes all those loose strands and ties them in a neat bow.

Waters Deep

I start writing a new novel tomorrow. A fresh start, a clean page, a new voice. This is part of my plan to write two novels in a year and maximise my time in India. It's exhilarating and just a little scary. Plus it's a reminder to myself that I've already used up seven months of the year and that time is short to finish another book (a problem compounded by trips to Australia, New Zealand and the UK - not that I plan to give them up).

The new book already has a working title. 'Waters Deep'. Whether I use this as the final title, it's far to early to tell, but I like to have a project name when I'm discussing work, so Waters Deep it is. The book is YA as I want to make my agents life easy for the time being, but its not sci-fi. This work is probably best described as YA Eco-Horror. I'm a big fan of the works of John Wyndham (The Day of the Triffids, The Midwich Cuckoos etc) and the suspense of Hitchcock and horror films that take a more mature approach to the genre (rather than simple blood and guts), and it is this vain that I plan to write the book.

Now I need my blog readers help. I've had a quick look online (a very quick look) and I can't really see anything in the YA Eco-Horror vein. So I'm asking you readers and lovers of books to suggest works to me that might be similar. I'm not interested in any of the supernatural romance type horror books (no, Twilight type lit - I'm sure its good, but it's not what I'm writing), but books that appeal to teens that pray on their darkest of fears and horrors. If you know of anything please let me know, either in this blogs comments, or via Twitter (@middlemanlost). Your help will be much appreciated.

Not Nice, Evening Dress Wearing Vampires

Because I've been travelling and then ill I was able to get a little bit of reading done. Three book reviews to follow:

The Prince of Mist by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

I really enjoyed ‘The Shadow of the Wind’. It is one of my favourite books of the last few years. So I was interested to read this work which is older but written for the YA market. It’s a very simple black and white story about old debts coming back to haunt those that made them, wrapped up in the vivid gothic Spanish countryside. I would say that it’s more of a children’s book than one for teens who might find it a little too simplistic.
Young Max is moved by eccentric father and family away from war torn Madrid to a wooden house on the coast. He is befriended by Roland who in turn is attracted to Max’s older sister. Exploring the house and its environment Max learns the sad story of the previous home owner whilst noticing strange goings on that will soon threaten him, his family and friends.
Whilst not a scary book, there are several moments of dread in the classical sense and a creeping unease that purveys throughout the work. A simple, elegant piece of storytelling.

The Osiris Ritual by George Mann

The second in the ‘Newbury & Hobbes Investigation’ series and better than the first. The original book felt a little clunky in places, with Sir Maurice Newbury coming across as a bit of a stupid toff. This book improves the character dramatically, giving him more depth and turning him into a dashing, heroic character, even if some of his comments sound a little forced at times.
A steampunk London where death can be cheated, Newbury finds himself on the tail of a rogue agent, whilst his very modern companion, Miss Veronica Hobbes investigates the disappearance of several young ladies. The two stories are of course linked by the unveiling of an Egyptian mummy and a curse.
Good, high spirited fun which builds on old characters and sets both up for a third work.

The Fall by Guillermo Del Toro & Chuck Hogan

Like the first in the series, this has TV/Movie adaptation written all over it. I imagine the only reason Del Toro doesn’t turn it into a film is he’s too busy with Hobbits and Frankenstein to make it.
Picking up immediately after the first book finishes the heroes, Eph, Setrakian, Fet and Nora are stuck in New York as hell descends and hordes of vampire rule the night. Not nice, evening dress wearing vampires, either. Their attempt on the life of the master has failed and now they must get out of the city as quickly as they can.
An action packed horror with lots of visceral elements, fast paced and punchy. It’s a fast food kind of novel, but that’s not always a bad thing. Sometimes I like fast food.

Multiple Smallest Rooms

I suppose it had to happen eventually. Everyone told me that spending large amounts of time in India will result in stomach 'issues.' That no matter how I protect myself, eventually I will fall foul of what has been called for good reason; Delhi Belly, Ghandi's Revenge and The Rangoon Runs. I tend to have a very good constitution, but the moment my father left on Wednesday morning I knew something wasn't right. I've just spent three days on the couch and in close proximity to the bathroom. Madame Vin, soooo glad we have multiple smallest rooms, has been sympathetic to my general inability to want to do anything or go anywhere.

Anyway, with out dwelling on my darkest hour (sorry), I'm now feeling much better and a lot lighter. I've just had two great weeks of visiting India seeing places as diverse as the backwaters of Kerala (all these photos are my own work):

The tea plantations of Ooty:

and of course this place:

I'll add this photo in as well, as sunsets don't get much better than this:

I'm never going to see all of India, it's such a vast and diverse place, but I at least feel I've seen enough of India to get a good understanding of it. I really need to knuckle down and get some work done now, or else this year will have been wasted.

The plan was to finish work on 'Stigma' this week but that all got pushed back when I had to spend inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom. Instead I'll start tomorrow with the hope of getting it finished by the end of the week and picking up 'Waters Deep' next week. This leaves me two weeks to get it going before I jet off to Australia for some well earned R&R.

Sounds Like a Dr. Who Character

Just a quickie. My father arrives in Chennai tomorrow and we're doing a few tours around the old subcontinent. Plan to spend a little bit of time on the backwaters of Kerala, visit the mountains to the south of us at Ooti (sounds like a Dr. Who character) and finally visit the Taj Mahal and see what all the fuss is about.

I'm doing re-writes on 'Stigma,' based on comments from my Beta readers and realised I need a better pay off at the end of novel. This will take up until the end of March, then I'll pick up 'Waters Deep' and write a first draft.

In the meantime, here's a little piece I wrote called 'The Pros & Cons of Being a Writer,' which has been published on the blog The Feckless Goblin which is looked after by the nice Mr. Kinsella who keeps the rather cool Weaponizer website.

A Little More Explicit

Two of my beta reader have got back to me now, so I'm going to start making a few changes to 'Stigma'. These will be mainly areas of the story where I need to perhaps be a little more explicit with an idea or concept. I want to get this complete by the end of next week so I can get a first version out to my agent. Once it is out I plan to pick up a new project that I have mentally titled 'Waters Deep.' This is what I'll work on for the next six months, so expect lots of watery, flood-ey, sea-ey based links here.

In the mean time I've been working on short story that seems to have died and which I'll file away until I'm in a better place to write it, a humour piece entitled 'The Pros and Cons of being a writer,' which I hope to place with a website soon and a short film based on holiday videos made last year in NYC and my love of Woody Allen. You can see the video below:

A couple of good links I've found recently for writing. The first is the Electronic Literature Volume 2 (I assume there is a vol. 1, somewhere) which has a selection of new form writings where the electronic and written word intersect. I find this interesting because, as we move towards ebooks overtaking actual real world items, the barriers between the written word, film, music and visuals are going to fall down. I haven't seen any ebooks yet that makes use of such experimental forms, but I bet someone is working on them as I type.

The second link is to Ambiance. This is an audio service that allows you to listen to the music of every day life. When deep in writing I find I can only listen to music without lyrics and therefore listen to a lot of jazz, blues and experimental sounds. Ambiance might be useful for when I want to visual a scene and want some kind of audio trigger. I'll try water for 'Waters Deep,' and let you know how it works.

****

McSweeney's 29 by Various - I must admit I'm a sucker for cool jacket design and beautifully tooled, well finished books. This is the main reason I like McSweeney's Quarterly Concern (which still has no subscription service in the UK that doesn't include paying more in airfare than the actual books). Most of the works in McSweeney's 29 left me a bit a cold. I think they're a bit too American for my taste and some of the references are lost on me (I have a vague idea who Hilary Duff is, but have never seen Lizzie McGuire, which I think is a US kids show). However, Roddy Doyle's piece 'The Painting,' is well structured and seems effortless even when it obviously isn't, and Brian Baise's opening work is a good meditation on misplaced anger. The rest however didn't really do anything for me. 

The Small Stuff

Working on bits and bobs at the moment. 'Stigma' has gone out to beta readers and whilst I've had one return already, I'm not expecting the others back until next week. I've got several things on the go that I'm trying to get into a state so that I can pick one of them up after I finish any re-writes on 'Stigma'. I want to get input from my agent on these, as at the moment I'm thinking it's only worth working on projects if they are commercially viable. I know that this sounds a little like selling out, but to be a writer full time you need an income and at the moment I don't have one. If the 'Juvie' series gets published I'll still need several more works published before I get anywhere close to that.

The small stuff is a short story idea that doesn't seem to want to go anywhere and I might just forget about, an amusing essay on 'The Pros and Cons of Being a Writer,' that I might send out to a writing blog, two novel concepts and I've also got this weird comic book idea I want to do, but I need to hook up with an artist.

My father is coming out to India a week tomorrow and we plan to do a little more travelling. I want to see the Taj Mahal and Delhi (because I don't think you've seen a country until you've been to the capital) and visit some of the countryside south of Chennai. After that it's Australia and New Zealand.

Dead Celebrities

With 'Stigma' out with beta readers I'm in new idea mode. Going through all those concepts and images that filter through my mind whilst I'm writing that I squirrel away with the intention of coming back to at some point and adding a little meat to the bones. Currently I'm thinking of a new YA sci-fi light series involving multi-dimensions, a series of YA environmental horror books, a comic book series for adults about dead celebrities and a weird fantasy Edinburgh novel. Hopefully one of them will build into something I wish to dedicate my time to.

*****


The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

If you’re interested in sci-fi books and pay any attention to reviews and book prizes you’ll already know that ‘The Windup Girl’ has been singled out for praise by most of the big reviewing magazines and won last year’s Nebula. This is quite as is should be, as the work is simply brilliant. No bones about it. This mainly comes down to Bacigalupi’s skill as a world builder. I’ve only been to Thailand once, but this book transported me straight back to those humid streets. It’s a richly observed futuristic version in which the city pulses with the energy that Bangkok exhibits today.
A multiple character story that follows the demise of the city in an apocalyptic world where food, or more precisely calories, have become the de-facto trading commodity. A world where ecological parasites and diseases, grown in company labs, have wiped out whole countries and flipped the world in favour of the East. Bangkok survived, but only by hoarding carefully selected seed stocks and shutting the country off from the outside world - a bit like Japan in the 17th Century.
The story is political and social in aspect, charting the business and economic collapse of an authoritarian state. The gambling behind the scenes as powerful individuals attempt to move the country in one way or another, always at the expense of the vast majority, play against those who are thrust into the shifting landscape through no fault of their own.
The language draws you into the world, giving characters identifiable traits, but making them live on the page. They have realistic goals, never simply reacting to the action but instead manipulating the events to get the best result for themselves.

Covered in Bloody Goo

As of yesterday I finished the first reading version of ‘Stigma.’ This is different to a first draft which is just a rough cut. This version has gone through several iterations and is the first version that I allow to see the daylight. It comes into the world innocent, covered in bloody goo and incapable of making a good cup of coffee; but it’s a start.

The novel (a term I can now really use) goes out to beta readers. These are the dear people who get to see the first version and let me know if all the effort has indeed been worthwhile. I’ve sent them a list of question, or elements to take into account when reading the book. They tend to be things like:

• Story - does it engage you as a reader? Did you guess where it was going before reading. Is there anything that does not make sense to you?
• World Building - does the setting seem real? Can you imagine it, smell it, understand how it works? Does anything not seem convincing.
• Characters - do they seem real, are they sufficiently involved in the underlying concept of the story? Do they evolve over time and grow. Have they any flaws - too simple, their actions don't make sense, are they contrived?
• Language - does it scan and read correctly? Did you find yourself stumbling over any of the sentences or paragraphs? Did you have to re-read sections of the book for it to make sense? Does the language fit the reading material?
• Spelling / Grammar - Doesn't matter how many times I re-write errors always slip in.

The beta readers are a great help to me as they are the first audience, the opening night jeerers if you will. They give me the confidence to send the book on to my agent and ultimately publishers.

All being well, they should get back to me within the next couple of weeks. In the mean time, I’ve been putting a lot of links to other writers essays and advice on Twitter. I’ve put some of these below because I know that not all of you indulge in the blue bird, plus it makes it easier for me to find them in the future. Enjoy.

• "Submerging the 'I'" by Chuck Palahniuk http://bit.ly/gZm5Me
• Is my novel really any good? And other writing pre-occupations http://bit.ly/fdnPRQ by Ziggy Kinsella
• New blog post http://12books12months.com/2011/01/30/writing-routines/ by Ali George
• 20 authors and their unique writing rituals: http://bit.ly/e4Zlid
• Write Like A Pro http://is.gd/JYw2eQ
• MIND MELD: The Future Of Publishing http://t.co/7lnwp8Q Some very interesting predications for writers! 

If You Need Me, I'm At My Desk

After the major trauma of leaving the MacBook in the safe of a hotel in Heathrow, which I only discovered after going through security, which was too late to return to said hotel and still get my flight. After the fight disasters that BA caused, not once but twice. After the rail issues caused by snow and bad weather, and after the problems with car hire companies being closed, when they said they were open - at last I'm back up and writing again.

And it feels good.

The idea is to finish 'Stigma' in its first incarnation by the end of next week. I'll then send it to my beta reader (MadameVin) whilst I work on new project ideas. Based on the beta readers comments, I might do some more work on it before sending it out to my agent. At the same time I plan to send him details of two projects that I think will have an audience. One of these projects will be written in draft form between February and July.

I also have trips planned for Australia and New Zealand and a trip back to the UK. Plus my father is coming out in February, so more travelling around India. Then at the end of July, I'm going home to Edinburgh.

That's the plan, anyway. If you need me, I'm at my desk.

You're Wrong. It's My Dad

It's back. What you say? The MacBook, I reply. Yes, due to my inability to think before 10am in the morning I left the MacBook in the Heathrow hotel safe before flying to India with no plans to return to the UK until May at the earliest.


Therefore, thanks goes out to my Dad, who is now officially the best Dad in the world (I know you probably thinks it's yours, well you're wrong. It's my Dad), and Steve and Anne for helping in the relocation process and getting it back to me in two weeks.


Tomorrow I'll blog properly about plans for the the next six months. For now, book reviews.


****
The Push Man and Other Stories by Yoshihiro Tatsumi

I first read Yoshihiro Tatsumi last year when I completed ‘A Drifting Life,’ the story of Tatsumi during his formative years as he struggled to become a successful comic book artist in Japan. He created in 1957, gekiga; a stark, realistic, cinema verite take on manga, that moved away from fantasy and portrayed the lives of the Japanese working class, more often the sort of damaged characters that exist on the edges of crime.

‘The Push Man and Other Stories,’ is the first in a series of publications from Drawn & Quarterly that plans to reprint the early works of Tatsumi, many of which are not easily accessible in the English language. This first collection, dated 1969, examines the lives of the working multitude in Tokyo, their relationships, loves and hates and sexual mores. He examines a tight, suffocating world that seems both alien in its foreigness to western audiences, but at the same time completely recognisable to any modern urbanite.

The art is thick line black on white. The faces of his characters are simple but convey emotion freely. He lavishes curving lines on both the naked female form and adds detail depth to cityscapes which stand out, full of incidence and cinematic in presentation, with just a little film noir darkness. It is not surprising that comic book producers such as Adrian Tomine find him so thrilling.

His writing style is sparse, though of course this work is in translation and it’s hard to give careful analysis based on the fact. That said, the comics are short, eight pages mostly, giving the stories a straight to the point with often a very matter of fact conclusion, often when dealing with shocking material. I’m looking forward to reading the others as D&Q plan to release one book a year.

Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake

I’ve been planning to read the Gormenghast trilogy for some time as I know it will have an impact on a project that’s been burning at the back of my mind for several years. The trilogy is one small step towards bringing that work into fruition. I already know the story having seen a television adaptation several years ago, which built up the lofty gothic heights of Gormanghast castle and introduced the Machevellian Steerpike and the new born Titus.

The story itself is small and short for a 500 page novel. In times the book hardly seems to move forward at all, but then that is the life of Gormenghast. It is rigid and constrained, the same monotonous and ancient rituals taking place each day, the stuffy, cold corridors, vast halls, towers and rooftops acting as a prison to the royal family and their servants inside.

It is then the language that sets this book apart. From the very outset Peake builds a world that though small is contained and completely believable. It is crumbling, twisted, archaic, fanciful, freezing, damp and muddy. The language builds on this so that the world becomes more of a character than those that inhabit its decaying walls.

The book is not an easy read, and by today’s standards it’s hardly a book of constant adventure and mystery, instead it reads like a leather bound book found on the shelf of some mysterious book shop, something from a time past.

Bowl of Cherries by Millard Kaufman

Every so often I read a book that having finished I assume was meant for an audience other than me. ‘Bowl of Cherries’, is one such work. I read it and all the time a little voice in the back of my head kept saying, ‘you’re not getting this.’

The book is American Jewish in both tone and concept. The sort of book that gets rave reviews in the New York Times but makes little head way with someone from the middle of England. It felt almost alien to me.

It’s a comedy of sorts, that unravels the history of why its young protagonist is being held in a dirty, hovel of a prison, all mud walls and dysentery, in a small (fictional?) kingdom in Southern Iraq. It follows the boy’s adventures as he is kicked out of university, falls in with some odd ball quacks, falls in love, works on a ranch and gets involved in the porn business in New York.

The language is hard going (I had to stop several times to look words up), as if Kaufman is showing off a lifetime of language skills, plus it reads as if set in the 1950s rather than the modern day. Surely no kid talks like this? Perhaps both of these facts are because Kaufman was well into his 90s when he wrote the book (he has since died).

It has some amusing moments, a few laughs, but more often than not it left me scratching my head.

Postcards and Chocolate Boxes

Happy new year to you all. 


I hope 2011 finds you well and you're not too worried about the demise of the Earth and all its inhabitants next year (if you're not familiar with 2012 Mayan prophecies, sorry I've just given away the ending to the Earth's story).


I am currently in the UK and enjoying it immensely. After a debacle in getting here involving snow, cancelled planes and frozen trains we attempted to follow our planned route as much as possible to see family and friends, taking Christmas in the Midlands, Hogmany in Edinburgh and a weeks holiday in Dorset. I'm currently in Durweston, a small hamlet in Dorset living in the sort of thatched cottage that would make anyone not from this country talk about postcards and chocolate boxes. I'm catching up on work by making a few changes to 'Stigma', getting it into a position for one final push when I return to India at the weekend. I'm also thinking about the next project - a lot.


I have a little over six months left in India, which is time enough to write one more novel. I'm thinking of sticking with YA and a new series. More news when I've fired up the grey cells and got them to go over several ideas.


So - If you're still on your Christmas holiday enjoy it - you haven't got long left. If you're already back at work - no fear. We get to do it all again in 360 days.


****

River of Gods is a sci-fi novel set in the not too distant future that instead of dealing with the West turns its attention to Asia. As I’m currently living in India and I’m starting to see the differences in culture and thinking, it acted as the perfect accompaniment.

India is a land divided by religion, ethnic diversity, quality of living and inbuilt historic legacies. It has seen rulers come and go, empires crumble, it’s ruled and been ruled over; but always India remains. RofG takes this diverse land and includes modern technology, arm races and avatars, climate change, modern business practice and politics into a story that at heart is about finding your place.

Seen from the point of view of several diverse characters their stories intermingle to reflect the complex relationship evident in India. No one character is the lead, each has their part to play to bring the ideas and context to the fore. The writing contains the heavy scent of heat and spice, exotic but never so alien as to be misunderstood. Starting slow it builds into a technological thriller. It also has several intriguing gadgetry that work in context and never distract from the story.

If I had one complaint about the novel it’s the incomplete job that appears to have been done in the final edit. There are several areas that could have been improved. However, this does not detract from an interesting take on a culture unfamiliar to many.

The Man from the Ministry - A Christmas Story

Every year I send out a Christmas short story. A small gift in lieu of Christmas cards, which are annoying, gather dust, fall behind radiators, fill up your window ledges with clutter and take up paper and ink that could be better used elsewhere.

This years is called 'The Man from the Ministry.'

As I'm stuck in India at the moment and unsure when I'll make it back to the UK (BA has cancelled our flight). I'm sending it out a little early.

I hope you enjoy it. 

****

The Man from the Ministry by Adam J. Shardlow

He slides onto a stool and stares glumly at the decorations behind the bar. I know the type. See them all the time, but the festive period is worse. They come out the woodwork beginning of December and drift away once the new year begins. This one sits and wipes the fine dusting of snow from the shoulders of his grey overcoat. A sober briefcase lies in an expanding puddle at his feet. With damp hair and a snotty sniff he calls me over.

I smile my best welcoming, putting on a cheerful face for the customer. I know it won’t help, but you have to try.

"Snowing out?"

Never ask a cold wet punter a flippant weather question. They don’t appreciate it. He sniffs again, louder, as if in answer.

"Well, what will it be?"

He points to a bitter pump and I start to pull his pint. The dark liquid splutters into the glass eagerly watched by the customer. This guy is miserable and radiates an irritated depression. I hope he doesn’t stick around too long as his mood is really going to put a dampener on the pubs Christmas spirit. Finished, I place the drink before him as he ferrets in a tiny brown leather purse looking for change.

“Cheer up,” I say, friendly pub banter falling from my lips. To liven him up I could give him the pint gratis, I reason, but then worry he’ll stay longer than he originally intended. "It might never happen."

He lets out a low fitful groan, as if someone punched him in the gut.

“Oh, but it will,” he laments. “It happens every year - and I hate it!” He grimaces as if to amplify how he feels about the time of year.

“Everyone’s a fan of Father Christmas,” I say with a wink. “Good cheer to all men, and all that.”

His eyes narrow and darken as if I have just made an unsavoury comment about his dead mother. Ignoring me he takes a long pull on the pint. At this rate he’ll finish it within fifteen minutes and be out of here.

“No, not a fan,’ he seems to be holding it together. “I was, and then I met him.”

I laugh out loud thinking he has cracked a joke at long last, that his mood is receding.

“You’ve met Santa. Good one.”

“In my bedroom when I was eight. Woke me up and ruined my dreams.”

He doesn’t sound as if he’s joking any more. On the bar in front of him he smears his fingers through a beer spillage, extending the puddle outwards until it forms an intricate snow flake. Realising the shape he obliterates it with a flick of the wrist. 

“Big jolly fella, wears red, gives gifts to kids. That guy ruined your dreams?”

“Not that guy. My Christmas was ruined by the real Santa. The truth behind the stories you’re told as a child. My dreams were ruined by the man from the ministry.”

****

At the sound of the floor board squeaking he rolled over in bed, dragging the blankets with him. Opening his eyes he watched the small patch of shadow and the pair of well polished black shoes, lit by the cats-eye of hall light coming from underneath the door.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?”

The boy sat up and rubbed at his eyes. It was cold in the bedroom and the touch of the cool air on his skin woke him like a cold flannel rubbed hard into his face.

“Yes.”

“Damn and blast! I knew it,” whispered the shadows. 

The boy stared hard and the darkness split and moulded itself into the form of a small man with a large moustache hanging below a ridiculous nose.

“I thought I was doing well. My card.”

A hand rotated out of the murk holding out a sliver of white card which the boy took and examined. In large capital letters, black and imposing, it read ‘DAYE’. Below in smaller letters and by way of explanation, ‘Department of Annual Youth Enrichment.’ Never having been given a card by way of introduction before, the boy didn’t really know what to do next. He didn’t have any of his own but thought he could whip some up using crayons and paper if given enough time.

“Who are you?” The boy asked, remembering some strict instructions his mother had given him about strangers.

“I’m your allotted Santa. Santa 7451, to be precise.”

The man stepped forward as the boy turned on his small bedside lamp. The one with the cartoon shade. He held out a hand to the boy, who not wishing to be impolite, took hold and shook weakly. He wore a dark suit, a crisp white shirt and a perfectly straight and narrow tie.

“You don’t look like Santa,” said the boy who was serious about Christmas and had met someone claiming to be Santa in a supermarket grotto only last week who looked more like the real thing, even though he had been wearing a fake beard. This person looked like one of the business men he had seen on the train going into town.

“I can assure you that I am.”

“Where’s your beard?”

“Don’t have one. They get in the way and aren’t regulation dress.”

“You’re not very fat.”

“Thank you. I work out. You try entering a house in the dead of night, climbing down a chimney or entering through an unlocked window whilst carrying several extra stones in weight. Not easy, not easy at all.”

“But Santa wears a red suit.”

“Ridiculous idea. Too easy to be spotted. Black works best at night.”

That kind of made sense to the boy who was a practical young man. He decided to try a different approach.

“The real Father Christmas has a sleigh pulled by reindeer. Where’s Rudolph?”

“Ha,” the man let out a little laugh. “Retired - seventy-eight years ago. Had him stuffed and hung in the ministry dining room. We use enhanced extraterrestrial tech taken from a downed saucer from Salisbury Plain, now. Works a treat but the G-forces play havoc with my back.”

“We?”

“Yes. You don’t think a single man delivers all the presents across the world in one night, do you?”

“Well,” the boy says, realising his obvious mistake.

‘No, no. Everything is automated nowadays. Far more practical. We look after the UK. The ministry being under the same Government branch as the security services. It’s them that give us the intel. You know, who’s been good, who’s been bad. The ‘Want List’ is updated and delivered by the Post Office. Even the elves have been outsourced. We use a company in China now. They’re very good, very economical.”

“So, there never was a real Santa?’ The boy felt upset at this. Upset and just a little bit hurt and bitter.

“Perhaps, once, many moons ago. Before my time, certainly.”

The boy nodded. It all sort of made sense really when he thought about it. Even if deep down a little bit of him wanted to cry.

“Anyway. Enough chatting. I have to get on. Now, where would you like this putting?” 

The small man held up a large present tied with a vivid red ribbon. The boy indicated the foot of his bed and the man deposited it squarely on the floor. He pulled a small machine from an inside pocket, which beeped as he scanned the gift on an invisible barcode, recording the delivery as ‘executed.’ 

Standing up he smiled at a job well done. ‘Nice present, that. Regulation size and value, but good quality.

‘Thank you,’ replied the boy, never forgetting his manners. ‘Do you want this back?’ He asked and held out the card.

‘No, no. You keep it. Might come in handy. Happy Christmas, by the way.’

The boy smiled weakly and turned out his lamp. 

“Yes, I suppose.”

In the darkness of his room he listened to the faint tread of the small man down the hallway, the knock of a window being closed and the quiet thrust of large engines. He turned over and pulled the covers higher.

****

He has finished his drink. The pint pot is empty. Foam slides down the inside like snow descending a warm window. He stares at it, chasing the route to the bottom. Finished, the man stands up abruptly, taking up his coat and briefcase. He smiles for the first time, slight and anxious.

“I told you,” he says it quietly, before adding “Christmas - bah humbug, I say.”

I’m not really sure what else to add. I look around the inside of the pub, the late night drinkers nestled in alcoves under mistletoe and holly, paper decorations and tinsel. They all seem to be enjoying themselves. Counting down the last night until the big day.

“Won’t you stay for another,” I ask. I think perhaps I’ll join him and take down a bottle of good single malt.

“I can’t,” he says fixing a bowler hat in place. “I have to get back. This time of the year the ministry is always busy.”

With that he turns and leaves, the door snatching closed with a burst of cold air and the smell of snow.

With nothing better to do, I call last orders.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR

What Cool Air Feels Like

With 'Juvie' finished and back with my agent I need to turn my attention to work on the second book in the series, 'Stigma.' Before I do that however, we managed to fit in a small break to a part of India called Kerala. We stayed on a lovely Cardamon plantation up in the mountains where I was reminded what cool air feels like. We also spent a night on a boat travelling the back waters and ate large prawns from the sea.

Pictures are here.

When travelling like this I pack light. A pen and a small moleskin notebook and an iPad are my only writing tools. As I try and write every day I need somewhere to jot down ideas. I prefer to work on shorter pieces whilst holidaying as I don't want to start ripping apart a novel when I should be relaxing. Every year I write a small Christmas story to give to friends and family. I was able to start it whilst watching the kingfishers diving into the dark water. I'll edit it later this week and get it out before I return to the UK. Check your inbox.

****

A quick 'how is everyone?' to friends back in the UK, particularly Scotland, where they have been having some very unseasonable early snows. I hope everyone is well and warm.

Book Reviews 30/11/10

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet - Some authors have a way with the English language that looks almost effortless. David Mitchell is one of those. His novel 'Cloud Atlas' was a huge success and I imagine this will be considered just as good.
Set in Japan at the end of the 18th Century, the reader is transported to a country with people and customs closed off from the outside world. Protected and yet stunted by ideas disharmonious to the country, Japan is a place of secrets and lies. The only connection it has with the rest of the world is through the small port of Dejima, a holding and trading post of the Dutch. Into this world comes, Jacob De Zoet, a young clerk in search of a livelihood so that he might marry his love on the other side of the world. Japan has a profound effect upon him, so much so, that his life is forever changed.
The story shifts and alters as it spans eighteen years, focusing on both Dutch and Japanese characters. It never goes in quite the direction you expect as outside forces mold the action from off the page, the same way history changes Japan from the outside. It is both an adventure story and a love story; a historical work and one of fantasy.
It is in the clear writing that Mitchell's book really works. It's never an effort to read and yet you can smell the lives of the people of Dejima. You feel close and yet removed from the action, you understand and are confused by characters actions as if it were the reader in an alien country.

The Midnight Mayor is the second book by Kate Griffin (also known as Catherine Webb) in a series telling the life of sorcerer Matthew Swift in modern day London. Swift died once and was been brought back to life merged with the sentient beings 'the blue electric angels'; creatures of magic and technology. Now someone is trying to kill him again.
The style is reminiscent of Mike Carey's Felix Castor books, though the magic she has created is wholly her own. It's clever and modern. - the magic of the city; and it's the city that shines through. Griffin has a great understanding of modern London (read her blog Urban Magic) and this is displayed in her writing.
A few scenes I found a little over written, particularly when describing magical creatures thinking, but on the whole this is a good second book in a series which I hope continues.

Their Weight In Gold

I'm just about finished on the final (final, final) rewrites for "Juvie". Once completed the typescript will be sent to my agent who in turn will send it out to those national and international publishers who have shown an interest. Having just had another would-be writer staying with us for a weekend I'd like to say one or two things about getting an agent.

There is a concept in publishing that writers 'need an agent to get published, and agents only take on writers who have been published'. A 'chicken and egg scenario' if ever there were one.

However, this isn't necessarily true.

A writer can submit direct to publishers without ever using an agent, and likewise an agent will take on unpublished authors. Both routes have pros and cons.

1. Going direct means that your novel will go straight to a publisher and save you a percentage of any money you make from a sale, but chances are without an agent the novel will start on the slush pile awaiting the eagle eye of a junior to pull it from obscurity.
2. The second route ensures your novel gets seen by the right publisher at the right time; a publisher with an interest in your themes and novel. However, if a sale happens (and only when a sale happens - never before. If anyone takes money off you before, they are cheating you), you pay a percentage.

A good agent is worth more than their weight in gold. 'Juvie' has been sent backwards and forwards between Edwin and myself about five times. This is to ensure the novel is perfect before being submitted. I thank him for this, because I know that the book is far better now than when I originally sent it in. A good agent will take their time with a first time writer, telling them where they are going wrong and what works. What is good form, what is bad. They understand that they make money if your book is a success, so they want it to be a success. A good agent is patient and sees your career as an investment.

How to get a good agent? Well, that is the million dollar question. Like everything in writing and publishing it requires skill, luck and patience. Lots and lots of patience. I know from personal experience that writers want to finish a work and then see it in print a year later. This doesn't happen. You have to persevere as much with your writing as you do with finding the correct agent for yourself. You need an agent who understands the landscape, has good contacts, spends their own money promoting you to publishers and only sends your work out when its in a the best state it can be in. A good agent should make the publishing process that little bit easier for you.

There are reference books out there that list all literary agents, but don't choose one at random. You need an agent who can work with you and you with them. Find a local agent, someone you can meet face-to-face. Go and see agents at local book events or literary salons. Talk to them, find out what they are looking for and then approach them with your novel.

With a bit of luck, you'll find the right agent for you.