My Return From Self-Imposed Exile
Or: Why Writing A Novel Is Very Much Like Completing a Ph.D.
A big 'HELLO' and a 'HAPPY NEW YEAR' to everyone!! And yes, I can hear you all muttering and grumbling and saying, "Huh? Who the hell are you again?" and yes, I'd also like to say a big 'SORRY!!!' for not having caught up with you sooner. Some of you left me querying e-mails asking after me and wondering how and where I was (thanks for your concern. It's much appreciated!!!), so some explanations are in order.
In short, I was working. As you know, this whole post-novel-publication period has been a massive learning curve for me. Getting out there and getting your book noticed is a vital part of a writer's life, but I've rapidly concluded that if a writer really, really, really wants to grow an audience for their work, they have to WRITE!!! In fact, I came across a quote somewhere that a writer really hasn't got much hope of attracting a loyal readership until he/she has seen 3 novels through to publication.
Since I already had my second novel pretty much done, I told my publisher that I'd try to get it over to him for the HRB January submission window. He was pretty chilled about this - he said he couldn't really get round to dealing with it in January, but that he'd try and look at it around February/March time. At this stage, I was at the Angsty, Indecisive, Completely Lacking In Self-Confidence stage of the authorial process. I knew I had a good book pretty much completed, but I wasn't sure it quite made the grade in comparison to the last one. I was worried that it wasn't sufficiently poetic. I was worried that the way I wanted the characters to come across wasn't quite working. I was worried about quite a lot of really trivial things that when added up together made me extremely anxious for the viability of the work in its entirety.
In early January, I finished off my penultimate edit. In topiary terms, I had my peacock or my cat or whatever prepared, but there were a few tufts of privet sticking out here and there which made me realise that I wasn't quite ready for Open Garden Day just yet. So I figure my next task was to take the whole manuscript, and to read it, not as a writer, but as a reader. It proved a sound move, for it meant I was able to stumble across all sorts of jarring issues, and make a mental note of them (luckily, there weren't enough for me to need the red pen at this stage). So I was then on to the final edit. This involved a more detailed read-through, making changes where appropriate, and then a quite literal read-through, where I locked myself in my office and read each section out aloud until I knew it sounded right. All this was on top of the day job. I'd work a 7 hour day, come home, then spend between 1 and 3 hours working on the novel, with 5-6 hours on the weekend.
Halfway through the proceedings, my publisher fell gravely ill. At that stage, I didn't know when he'll be fit and able to actually receive the book, let alone read it (I still don't know, either...), but by then, the process of final transformation was well underway. The pressure was off, but I'd reached the stage where I just wanted it to be completed. At the start of this process I'd been dithering about the dedication, too, but suddenly that became obvious. It would be dedicated to Eric Reynolds, my ailing editor, for if it hadn't been for the courage and the generosity he'd granted to me by investing in Fire and Sword, I would never have been reaching this stage in producing the follow-up.
The final chapter was completed last night, and I'm immensely proud of what I've achieved. I think it's up there with 'Fire and Sword', I certainly think it's unconventional as far as historical novels go (particularly those set in Scotland) and I'm harbouring that same sense of weary elation as I did all those years ago when I handed in my Ph.D. thesis for the first time. It's taken me a mere 9 years to see this book from conception to completion, and the character at the heart of it, Hugh, 2nd Lord Montgomerie, certainly endures an epic journey throughout the course of the narrative. It's a novel about hubris, it's a novel about the fickle whims of Fortune, and some day in the not too distant future I hope I'll be able to wave it off as it starts its long journey through to publication.
Now it's over, I can emerge, blinking, back into the light, and get some kind of a life again. I have done virtually no exercise, and I have not socialised, living instead like some kind of literary recluse. I have much news to share with you, about troughs and medieval pottery and Diva and the beauties that abound in the new garden. And how I've traded in a bald and much-missed robin for a hirpling pheasant we've christened 'Cocky II'. I remain painfully aware, too, that you will all have much news to share with me. You've been in my thoughts throughout what has been for everyone, I'm sure, a most unpleasant and nasty winter. I know I have friends in the south-west and the south-west of England who must have been suffering from the flooding and the high winds, and I have friends in the US who will have been enduring the horrific cold snap. Not to mention Antipodean friends who have probably been putting up with drought and bush fires. I'll catch up with you all just as soon as I can - in the meantime, I hope you're all well, and that everything's been going smoothly for you in all aspects of your lives.
A big 'HELLO' and a 'HAPPY NEW YEAR' to everyone!! And yes, I can hear you all muttering and grumbling and saying, "Huh? Who the hell are you again?" and yes, I'd also like to say a big 'SORRY!!!' for not having caught up with you sooner. Some of you left me querying e-mails asking after me and wondering how and where I was (thanks for your concern. It's much appreciated!!!), so some explanations are in order.
In short, I was working. As you know, this whole post-novel-publication period has been a massive learning curve for me. Getting out there and getting your book noticed is a vital part of a writer's life, but I've rapidly concluded that if a writer really, really, really wants to grow an audience for their work, they have to WRITE!!! In fact, I came across a quote somewhere that a writer really hasn't got much hope of attracting a loyal readership until he/she has seen 3 novels through to publication.
Since I already had my second novel pretty much done, I told my publisher that I'd try to get it over to him for the HRB January submission window. He was pretty chilled about this - he said he couldn't really get round to dealing with it in January, but that he'd try and look at it around February/March time. At this stage, I was at the Angsty, Indecisive, Completely Lacking In Self-Confidence stage of the authorial process. I knew I had a good book pretty much completed, but I wasn't sure it quite made the grade in comparison to the last one. I was worried that it wasn't sufficiently poetic. I was worried that the way I wanted the characters to come across wasn't quite working. I was worried about quite a lot of really trivial things that when added up together made me extremely anxious for the viability of the work in its entirety.
In early January, I finished off my penultimate edit. In topiary terms, I had my peacock or my cat or whatever prepared, but there were a few tufts of privet sticking out here and there which made me realise that I wasn't quite ready for Open Garden Day just yet. So I figure my next task was to take the whole manuscript, and to read it, not as a writer, but as a reader. It proved a sound move, for it meant I was able to stumble across all sorts of jarring issues, and make a mental note of them (luckily, there weren't enough for me to need the red pen at this stage). So I was then on to the final edit. This involved a more detailed read-through, making changes where appropriate, and then a quite literal read-through, where I locked myself in my office and read each section out aloud until I knew it sounded right. All this was on top of the day job. I'd work a 7 hour day, come home, then spend between 1 and 3 hours working on the novel, with 5-6 hours on the weekend.
Halfway through the proceedings, my publisher fell gravely ill. At that stage, I didn't know when he'll be fit and able to actually receive the book, let alone read it (I still don't know, either...), but by then, the process of final transformation was well underway. The pressure was off, but I'd reached the stage where I just wanted it to be completed. At the start of this process I'd been dithering about the dedication, too, but suddenly that became obvious. It would be dedicated to Eric Reynolds, my ailing editor, for if it hadn't been for the courage and the generosity he'd granted to me by investing in Fire and Sword, I would never have been reaching this stage in producing the follow-up.
The final chapter was completed last night, and I'm immensely proud of what I've achieved. I think it's up there with 'Fire and Sword', I certainly think it's unconventional as far as historical novels go (particularly those set in Scotland) and I'm harbouring that same sense of weary elation as I did all those years ago when I handed in my Ph.D. thesis for the first time. It's taken me a mere 9 years to see this book from conception to completion, and the character at the heart of it, Hugh, 2nd Lord Montgomerie, certainly endures an epic journey throughout the course of the narrative. It's a novel about hubris, it's a novel about the fickle whims of Fortune, and some day in the not too distant future I hope I'll be able to wave it off as it starts its long journey through to publication.
Now it's over, I can emerge, blinking, back into the light, and get some kind of a life again. I have done virtually no exercise, and I have not socialised, living instead like some kind of literary recluse. I have much news to share with you, about troughs and medieval pottery and Diva and the beauties that abound in the new garden. And how I've traded in a bald and much-missed robin for a hirpling pheasant we've christened 'Cocky II'. I remain painfully aware, too, that you will all have much news to share with me. You've been in my thoughts throughout what has been for everyone, I'm sure, a most unpleasant and nasty winter. I know I have friends in the south-west and the south-west of England who must have been suffering from the flooding and the high winds, and I have friends in the US who will have been enduring the horrific cold snap. Not to mention Antipodean friends who have probably been putting up with drought and bush fires. I'll catch up with you all just as soon as I can - in the meantime, I hope you're all well, and that everything's been going smoothly for you in all aspects of your lives.