Writing rules

An early criticism of my novel (yes there was one - more than one, but we won't go there) was that there wasn't enough character description - the reader felt like she couldn't 'see' my main character clearly, and that I should include more physical description to bring her to life.

Harrumph, I thought. Sophie Kinsella, author of the popular Shopaholic series, purposely didn't write a description of her central character, Becky Bloomwood.

In a recent interview she said she deliberately never described what Becky looked like, partly because she wanted everyone to relate to her and partly because when she's writing, she's not looking at her, she's looking through her eyes at the world, and didn't think in real-life anyone would ever look look in a mirror and say, "Wow, my shoulder-length, blonde-streaked, shiny hair looks fab today!" though she might say "Wow, my hair looks fab today!"

(As an aside, it's been a long time since I looked in a mirror and said, "Wow, my hair looks fab today!" I'm well overdue for a trim. My daughter tells me it's turned to 'wisp' again. That never happens in novels.)

In another book - the chilling but deeply impressive The Mother's Tale by Camilla Noli - the main character doesn't even have a name, never mind a description. And yet ...

I didn't realise until I read that interview with Sophie Kinsella that Becky Bloomwood didn't have a description, because I'd pictured her so clearly in my mind - I had to go back and check, and it wasn't until I was reading the author notes at the end of The Mother's Tale that the lack of a name even registered. Which taught me something.

I'm thick.

No, it wasn't that.

To break the rules, you have to be experienced enough to carry it off so the reader doesn't notice. My reader noticed.

Sob.

And no, since you ask. I haven't heard from Lovely Agent yet. I'm sticking with the old adage 'no news is good news' until I hear otherwise.

And the winners are ...

Thanks to Elise for a great interview and for all your comments and questions.

The winners of the draw are Fia, Womagwriter, Abbi and Joy

If you'd like to email your address to me, Elise will send you a copy of The Wrong Sort of Wife/Your Roots are Showing.

Well done!

Guest post - Elise Chidley

Today I’m delighted to welcome author, Elise Chidley to my blog. Elise has written two wonderfully warm and witty novels, The Wrong Sort of Wife and Married with Baggage, and I absolutely loved them both. Intelligent and romantic, as well as funny, they’re peopled with characters you can’t help warming to.

Elise is giving away 2 free copies of The Wrong Sort of Wife and 2 copies of the American version, Your Roots are Showing. If you’d like to leave a comment below I’ll pick the winners at random on Sunday!

So, without further ado …


Elise, when did your writing career begin?

I’ve been writing for a living since my first job as features writer with a national women’s magazine in South Africa, but I started writing fiction after my third child was born. At that stage, I was telecommuting as a staff writer for a publisher of health care magazines, writing three feature stories a week. The pressure of these deadlines, coupled with looking after three small children, was just not sustainable. So I became an unsalaried worker, banging away at my keyboard with no guarantee of ever seeing a return on my time and effort. It was scary and liberating!

What inspired The Wrong Sort of Wife, and did you have a clear idea of the market you were aiming for?

I was inspired by the house we were living in, in Kent, at the time. I ended up using it as the model for the very awkward house Lizzie moves into when she separates from James. As I looked out across the weed-ridden garden, I felt overwhelmed, and then—because I’m always writing stories in my head—I started imagining the challenges of moving into that house as a single woman with kids. The story fleshed itself out around that image. I knew I was aiming for the market that used to be called ‘chick lit’, but I wanted a bit of cross-over with the kind of women who enjoy writers like Joanna Trollope.

Are you anything like Lizzie, the central character?

The story isn’t autobiographical, but I think I share many characteristics with Lizzie. I hope I’m a bit more technologically savvy, and not quite as much of a softie as she is. Like me, she’s a writer—but that was only because I had to give her a profession she could pursue from home.

Can you describe your path to publication?

At a stage when my manuscript wasn’t quite ready (but I thought it was) I started sending it out to agents. I had several encouraging responses, and even some requests for ‘partials’. One agent in particular, out of Bath, sent back some really useful criticisms and suggestions. I edited and rewrote, and eventually landed two agents on the same day! The process of finding a publisher was much faster. My agent sold the manuscript to the first editor who looked at it, in a two-book pre-emptive bid.

The Wrong Sort of Wife is set in Gloucestershire in England and your second novel, Married with Baggage, in America – how crucial is setting in your novels?

So far, I have found myself choosing settings that I know very well, that I can picture visually as I write. (I’ve lived in Gloucestershire and in Connecticut.) I think that’s why I’m writing contemporary women’s fiction and not historical or fantasy. I like to see the layout of the house, the street, the town in my mind’s eye. Sometimes setting becomes part of the plot, as in Married With Baggage, where the American context is another factor that causes the (English) main character to feel very much a fish out of water in her new role as stay-at-home mum.

What’s your normal writing routine?

Routine? What’s that? Every day is different for me, but mostly I run around first thing in the morning getting the kids out of the door, then deal with the worst of the mess in the house, then sit down in front of the computer. I do a lot of thinking and plotting while occupied with other tasks, like laundry. As a matter of fact, the best place for plotting, for me, is when I’m having a long soak in the tub.

Do you plan a detailed outline before you start a novel?

With my first novel, I had no outline. With the second, I had one that I ignored. With the third (which I’m just beginning; I was diverted by a sudden urgent need to write a young adult novel—still unfinished!), I’m going to map out the characters and conflicts before I start, but I don’t think I’ll try to hammer out every last detail of the action.

What are you working on next?

I’m just starting a third romantic comedy that I’m really excited about. I won’t talk about the premise because I’m scared of jinxing the whole project with too much discussion. But I will say that it’s going to be set in Gloucestershire again.

Do you still write short stories? I read on your website that you’ve won awards in the past.

Short stories are tough to write, and they’re tough to sell. I haven’t attempted one in years.

What’s the best thing about being a published author?

The best thing is hearing from readers who loved your book. Seeing it on the shelf in a bookstore is also a massive thrill.

Which writers inspire you?

As a teen, I consumed Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer rather indiscriminately. I loved their wit, more than anything. I also love I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith—oh, and Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons. I devour anything by Marian Keyes and Catherine Alliott, and I loved Slummy Mummy by Fiona Neill.

Any advice for aspiring authors?

Don’t give up. Hard slog and tenacity count for a lot in this profession. And remember that rewriting is key. Also, never forget that ‘write’ is a verb. Don’t dream it, do it.

If you've got any questions for Elise, ask them in the comments box and she’ll pop by to answer them.

Teknology

Technology's a marvellous thing for a writer - endless info at your fingertips, access to lovely blogs and writing forums and groups - it's enhanced my career (if you can call it that) no end, as well as presenting me with online friends and endless ways to procrastinate. But in terms of telling a story, especially one with a hint of mystery, it can be a hindrance.

There were so many times when I was writing the novel that I thought ... hang on. All she has to do is Google him and she'll know everything there is to know. Because that's what people do these days. Or ... wait a minute, why doesn't she just whip out her mobile and phone him? Because EVERYONE has a mobile phone. It wouldn't make much of a story though. Girl meets boy, isn't too sure about him, checks him out on t'Internet and they live happily ever after.

It wasn't realistic to make my main character a techno-phobe, as she runs her own business. And that was another thing - I suddenly thought, shouldn't she have her own website? And wouldn't Whatsisface be on Facebook? (He's not really called Whatsisface by the way. That would be silly.) And wouldn't she have sat-nav in her car if she travels around a fair bit??

What it meant was I had to be extra inventive and come up with ways round these things - and I don't mean changing the setting to the early seventies, although it did cross my mind at one stage.

It made me think how much easier, but less interesting, life would have been for Miss. Marple and Sherlock Holmes if they could have Asked Jeeves whodunnit instead.

Maybe I'll write an historical novel next time.

An historical? A historical? Now I'm confused. Again.

AND ... relax

Well, that was ... intense.

I've finally emerged from the dark editing cave I've been inhabiting for the past month, peopled with characters from my novel demanding I make them better - more likeable, more believable with better hair. They even wanted their storylines strengthening with more bits added on, and new chapters for them to run about in, the cheeky devils. Anyway I listened carefully, thought hard, realised they had a point and got on with it.

Things I learnt from my time in the cave ...

A lot more about editing, even at this stage.

That when I'm up against it I'm not even tempted to procrastinate.

I CAN write thousands of words a day.

That having a wonderful friend - and husband - who can read your words and scoop up those pesky typos and inconsistencies (not that there were MANY, I hasten to add) and be supportive is a wonderful bonus.

Getting up earlier means there's time to squirt bleach down the loos and aim pots at the dishwasher occasionally.

Strangely, even though I haven't done much cooking - certainly over the past week - I've put weight on. Odd that. Mind you I haven't walked Mollydog as much either, so that can't have helped. I've also been dreaming in text and dialogue, which is a truly bizarre experience.

Anyway, the edits are done and dusted and the manuscript back with Lovely Agent and all I can do is wait, fingers crossed, and hope she doesn't hate it.

In the meantime I shall integrate myself back into society and re-introduce myself to the family. I might read some blogs and watch a bit of telly and stop leaping up at odd moments shouting things like "candles in glass globes!" and "his chain! It should be GOLD!"

I may even bake a giant cake for you all. Any preferences?

The invisible story

I was thrilled to receive my copy of the Swedish magazine containing one of my stories this week.

I flipped through it a couple of times, admiring a recipe for what looked like cream buns on the way, but ... nothing. I expected to recognise my name, at least.

After a bout of prolonged confusion I emailed the editor and it turned out they'd sent me the wrong magazine. Allers, instead of Allas. They're going to send me the right one, which is nice, and I'm looking forward to translating their translation on Google and reading what they've made of it!

Also, the Lovely Agent has been in touch and thankfully 'loved' the rest of my book.

Bearing in mind she'd only read 3 chapters when I signed the contract, this came as a massive relief to say the least. There's editing to be done. It's 80% there, but needs work, so there's still a small mountain to climb.

I'm ready though - with walking boots and rucksack and a thermos of tea, and enough cake to keep me going 'til I make it to the top and ... oh, enough of the mountaineering analogy. You know what I mean.

I may be some time.

Still Snowing!

We thought it had gone for good, and then it came back - deeper and whiter than ever. We're snowed in yet again and STILL haven't learnt our lesson and stocked up on essentials.

My daughter and I put on our furriest underwear this afternoon, saddled up Molly and battled our way to the village shop, which is a good two miles away.

Despite advertising itself as The Heart of the Community, it was shut. Shut! You'd have thought they'd have been rubbing their hands at the thought of some local trade for once. The last time I was forced to shop there (when the car was off the road for a couple of days) the bread they gave me came from an enormous chest freezer out the back - I swear there was a dead body inside - the tins of dog food looked pre-war and I was told to "just take" the bag of self-raising flour as it was so far past its sell-by date they'd "only have to chuck it away."

Anyway, unable to accept we'd walked all that way for nothing we lurked outside for a few moments after detecting a light on inside and a small dog wandering around near the counter, and brazenly knocked on the door.

The owner - a grumpy woman who peers over her glasses as if she'd rather not see people clearly - appeared and reluctantly allowed me to scuttle in and make a few purchases - namely a paper, some pre-war dog-food and a loaf of bread from the freezer. It was probably there the last time.

So now we're huddled round the radiators, eating soup and praying the power doesn't go down as it has in some places.

It's a chilly start to the year, but at least I've no excuse for not getting on with Novel two - I can't even get into work.

On the other hand if the power does go off at least it'll stop me checking my emails every three and a half minutes for news from Lovely Agent - the suspense is killing me.

Snowy days

We're well and truly snowed in at the moment (third day running, I think I've forgotten how to drive) so no excuse for not writing. This does count doesn't it?

It's the sort of weather I remember having to walk three miles to school in during Northern winters, when I were a lass, the snowdrifts nearly up to me neck. (Well I'm only little and I was even littler then.) It doesn't happen often round here and I've happily gallivanted through frozen fields with Molly and negotiated knee-deep snow to get to the nearest village shop, but the novelty's wearing off.

It's all got a bit Victorian, what with the power going on and off and running out of basics like bread and semi-skimmed. If only you could milk a dog and power a computer with candles.

It's added a festive feel to things though - putting up the tree with soft flakes falling past the window made me feel rather whimsical, but I'm hoping it's gone by tomorrow. I've still got Christmas shopping to do, and at least three of us need to go to work. I haven't seen Teen Son 1 since last Thursday. He was staying with a friend and couldn't get home - still can't. He must need a change of pants by now.

If I don't get back on here in the meantime, I'd like to wish you all a very Happy Christmas, say thanks for reading and being so wonderfully supportive all year and wish you all the very best for 2010.

Back in the Real World

I daren't keep dwelling on the Lovely Thing that has happened. Even though I've now met Lovely Agent, who is every bit as lovely as I'd imagined and has said lovely things and has even sent me a lovely Christmas card. I'm just too scared of jinxing it all.

My inner reality checker has finally put in an appearance - I'm surprised she left it this long. Agnes I call her (though she prefers "Madam"). Formidable woman with terrible taste in shoes. Uses lots of lacquer to stop her hair doing something unexpected. She's a terrible party-pooper. "There's a long way to go yet Missy, so don't go getting Ideas," she keeps saying, wagging a finger.

I don't like her, but she has a point. Although scooping up teenage-boy-pants and feeding them into the washing machine every day is good for keeping one grounded, I find.

In the meantime I'm trying to focus on novel 2 (when I'm not doing the washing and arguing with Agnes) and putting off the dreaded moment when I have to once again untangle the Christmas tree lights and wrestle them into submission.

Mince pie anyone?

Christmas comes early

A few hours ago I signed on the dotted line, so I guess it must be true.

I have an agent.

A real one, with teeth and hair and fingers and everything.

I daren't say any more in case it turns out to be a freakish mistake, but inside I'm marching along to a brass band with my pants on my head, singing "When the Saints Go Marching In ..."

Heaven knows why. They're not even my best pants.

Just wanted to let you all know, and make it a bit more real.

Shady lady

A customer sidled up to me in the library looking shifty and asked if I could help her look for a book.

Judging by her hushed tones, flushed cheeks and the nervous glances she kept flinging over her shoulder I assumed she was looking for information of an "intimate nature" - a book about piles perhaps, or something ingrowing. Unless she was on the run from the police and wanting a place to hide.

Or looking for our adult literacy collection. People are often embarrassed about admitting they don't, or can't, read very well.

Just in case, I adopted my most helpful expression (think therapist with a hint of favourite auntie - but stunningly attractive.) After a recent similar request I ended up in a long and hushed but illuminating discussion about autism with a lovely grandma looking for books on the subject after her grandson was diagnosed.

Imagine the sense of anti-climax when she asked in a whisper if we had Jordan/Katie Price's latest autobiography - "the one since the divorce." If not, what about the "style" book?

I try not to judge people on their reading tastes. Whatever roasts your chestnuts as they say. Oh, apart from those people who read pile after pile of "True Crime - The Bloodier and More Gory and Gut-Churning the Better." I do worry a little about those people.

It's interesting that the customer sounded ashamed though. I half expected her to ask for a plain paper bag to put it in, and whether we kept our copies under the counter.

As it happened, all Jordan/Katie Price's books were out on loan. Even the "novels."

She's ruddy popular, damn her.

Onwards

Well, the novel is Out There in the big wide world and to stop myself obsessing about how it's getting on I've made myself start a new one. It feels weird, getting to know a new set of characters, but the idea leapt out at me on one of my dog walks and demanded to be written. I'm enjoying it so far, but keep getting distracted by things going wrong in the house. Mice behind the bath panel making a horrid smell - that sort of thing. I'm resigned to the fact that we'll never be critter-free living where we do, but I suppose it's a small price to pay for being in the country and having lovely walks and views all round.

Elsewhere the lovely Colette has awarded me a ... well a lovely award, quite frankly. Made my day it did and the rules state I must pass it on, which threw me into a frenzy of indecision. I've decided TomFoolery deserves it for (among other things) her envy-inducing photography. Enjoy!

Away with the fairies

Over on Trashionista Anne Rice has declared that angels are set to be the new vampires, and the new trend in literature - good news for anyone currently writing about them.

It got me thinking whether there's anything that hasn't been big in fiction yet.

We've already had werewolves, vampires, ghosts, wizards, witches, zombies, mermaids, and all manner of mythical creatures. Oh, and humans. There can't be anywhere else to go, can there?

I rather like stories where common themes are explored from unusual or fantastical angles, providing they're made believable; the woman who's now a ghost trying to find love, the man who falls to earth and learns how to be human (Starman anyone?) The husband who comes back as a dog like the one in James Herbert's novel Fluke, and if they're funny even better.

Werewolves and zombies don't do it for me I'm afraid, but what about superpowers? I don't think they've been done before - in films yes, but not in women's novels. What about a woman who can make herself invisible, or warp reality, or change form or ... manipulate the weather (don't knock it. I'd love to be able to make it sunny every day!) Hmmm, food for thought ...

Anyway, if Angels are the new Vampires, I'd like to put in a shout for Fairies as the new Werewolves.

You read it here first, Anne.