I've moved

to http://laura-wilkinson.co.uk/

please follow my adventures (ahem!) there.

Baking bread and other arts

Well, well, it feels like yonks since I was here, at my little blog, rambling about writing, living, creating and other nonsense.

And indeed it has been a goodly time. They’ve been odd months: busy, unsettled, flitting from one project to the next without feeling like I’m getting my teeth into any one in particular, with the exception of BloodMining.

So…February I made a tentative start on novel #3, interrupted periodically by minor fiddling with the third draft of novel #2 and considering submitting it. Praise be, I decided against.

March I spent redrafting BloodMining for my editor, Gill, and deluded though I may be it feels like a better book. I’ve yet to hear back from her, so let’s wait and see, eh? During March I was also busy submitting some shorts to exciting places like Ether books, and I even had a go at a piece of flash. To my surprise and delight ABCtales editor Tony selected it as a story of the day. God love ‘im.

April began with a strong desire to get back to novel #3 and I’ve managed to squeeze out another chapter. However, novel #2 – once again unnamed having decided that my second title was as rubbish as my first – has pulled me back big time. A character from novel #3 – one whose company I’m enjoying tremendously but don’t yet know intimately – likes to bake, especially bread. She enjoys kneading and pulling and stretching a stodgy, indigestible lump of dough and turning it into something delicious and satisfying. I feel that this is what novel #2 needs. The raw ingredients are there; I need to bash it around some more and bake it in a pre-heated oven for just the right amount of time. So novel #3 is on the back burner again (ouch). Also, it’s holiday time and almost all of my time is absorbed with the kids. When I begin something, like this, I’m interrupted constantly and frustrating though this can be I’m very aware that I ignore the little blighters more than I should, so I’m considering not even trying to write any fiction this week and giving myself over to the Gingers. Perhaps they deserve it.

Dress dilemma and a lovely lunch

Had a good meeting with members of the Bridge House team in Bangor today. They were professional, friendly and enthusiastic, and they treated me to lunch, which was definitely an unexpected treat. Recently, I’ve read Jane Wenham-Jones’s excellent and humorous wanna be a writer we’ve heard of, and she recommends that new writers take their publisher to lunch to ensure loving attention to their book. This works at large houses where your publicist may have ten or twelve books to look after at any one time… but I’m BHP’s first novel, and it seems that they’re going to work very hard on it.
Anyway, I was more nervous than I expected to be and had a minor what-the-hell-will-I-wear paddy. Writers are meant to be exotic, eccentric creatures, aren’t they? And the truth is I’m neither. At a writerly event last year the room was swarming with birds of paradise floating around in plum and turquoise velvets, flowing capes and oversized, feathered hats, silver-tipped canes (honest), and statement accessories. I looked like an estate agent who’d stumbled into the wrong party. In the end I went with tried and tested just be yourself and donned my usual get-up of jeans and smart(ish) top, finishing off with my fake fur yeti coat. No one laughed when I walked in, and I was comfortable. So all’s well.
Timelines for editorial, design and marketing were agreed, and I was delighted to discover that I’ll have some say in the look and feel of the cover. Hurrah! Another benefit of a small house. I have friends published by biggies who loathed and despised their covers, back cover blurbs, straplines etc. And I might too, but I’ll only have myself to blame…

Old-fashioned diaries

Although I’m a fan of technology and use outlook more than any other calendar, I absolutely have to have a paper diary to carry round with me. Also, it doubles as a mini-journal, and reminds me to take notes whenever an idea or thought strikes (not as often as I’d like). No matter how great an idea I find if it’s not committed to paper there’s a strong possibility that it will slip from my mind, and I’ll be wracking my brains later trying to retrieve it. My Mslexia diary arrived on Friday – well done Mr Postman, as it’s very icy here on the hill – and although I find the head girl tone of the magazine irritating on occasion I one hundred per cent love the diary. The first I bought in 2005 when, after years of writing non-fiction, I committed to writing fiction. Buying the diary was a symbolic gesture to take my work seriously (if not myself). I have six of them now, and they remind me how far I’ve come and how far I’ve yet to go. GingerOne and Two are off now so chances are I won’t blog again before Christmas. So Merry Christmas everyone and here’s to 2011.

So close and yet so far, and other clichés

I heard today that my first novel, BloodMining, (yes, the one I'm trying to sell) was short-listed in the 2010 Cinnamon Press Novel Competition. I’m delighted and gutted all at the same time. Delighted (and a little amazed) that I made it that far, and gutted that I didn't make the final hurdle given that there's a cash prize and publication for the winner. Publication being the main thing, naturally, though cash isn't to be sniffed at in these recessionary times. Or are we officially out of recession by a cat's whisker now? I'm hoping that the novel isn't going to be one of those ‘also rans’, 'almost published' etc. By way of consolation judge and Cinnamon editor Jan Fortune-Wood said, ‘The writing in this competition was the best we’ve ever seen to date and all the novels in the final list of ten were of an excellent standard – any of them would have made it into the final five in previous competitions.’
Excuse me while I just scream… (the finals usually get published by Cinnamon)

Thank you ABCtales...

for choosing my piece as your Story of the Week. It gave me just the lift I needed yesterday morning. I've been in a weird place this week. Not feeling great, health wise, and a big dip in confidence and faith in my work. In a dark moment I picked up the first novel and read a few pages. Ohmagod! Think it's more than deeply flawed; I will give it another once over when two more rejections come in, or once the first draft of number two is complete. Also, I am starting to feel that the second one is going the same way, after what felt like such a good start. I need to get a firmer handle on one of the supporting characters; I feel like I've lost her and it's troubling me. Anyway, what a moaning minnie I am today. Didn't get enough sleep last night after a very interesting art event - Pecha Kucha, meaning chit-chat in Japanese - curated by Blank Studios and the wonderful Blast Theory. No doubt all will seem brighter in the morning, and thank you again Tony - ABCtales editor - you made my Friday!

Can't stand up for falling down

Well, here we are in leek and daffodil month and I’ve heard back from three of the six agents I wrote to in mid-January… All have said pretty much the same thing – No. Sign of how few new clients we’re taking on rather than your writing, personal, don’t give up, keep at it, other agents may feel differently… So with the three rejections before Christmas that’s a half dozen. Yackerty-schmackerty.

I understand that agents cannot, and will not, give reasons why something hasn’t ticked all the boxes for them, but it’s really hard to know whether or not to keep sending it out, especially given that, in truth, I’m not sure that it’s publishable. I’ve enough experience and I’ve had enough positive and encouraging comments from readers, writers and professional editors (not to mention the Virginia Prize long-listing) to know that I can churn out some nice prose when I put my mind to it, but whether or not I can produce a 100,000 word plus tale with a coherent plot, convincing characters that we care about, interesting ideas and that all important X factor remains to be seen. My big niggle is saleability, given that I’m playing with genre and I’m not Margaret Atwood or Susan Hill (I bloody wish), and agents and the big publishers like to put new writers in boxes. Ho-hum. Perhaps I ought to start approaching the independents given that although they publish far fewer books, they are said to take more risks (or some of them do). So, I’m sticking at it for some time yet – at least the entire year, I think - as well as scribbling away at my second novel, which I’m having far too good a time writing to trust it at the moment. There’s no pleasing some people, eh?
I read a Japanese proverb in this month’s Writers’ Magazine. ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight’. So here am I standing up for the seventh time.

New Year, New Book

2010... Year of the Tiger, and so it should be a good one for me. Let's hope so, eh? Now that the big thaw has started I can move around in less than six layers and, more importantly, I can feel the tips of my fingers, so I aim to bash away at the old laptop and get on with the next book. Working title Transformers.
Nice start to the year - two stories are to be published this month. The first, The Deepest Cut, here in Telling Tales magazine. The Long Mile Home is out soon in Beautiful Scruffiness magazine, edited by poet Katie Metcalfe. Details to follow...

Another day, another rejection

Strange one this. Or maybe not? Maybe this is common. I don’t know yet.
Anyway, I received a ‘thanks, but no thanks’ from a small Kent-based agent the other day. So what’s odd I hear you cry? Well, I received the email at lunchtime the day after I’d posted my submission package… So they’d had it for a maximum of four hours.
Either this agent doesn’t receive the usual gazillion MS a day like most others say they get, and hence their slush pile is so miniscule (non-existent) and they have so little to do for their existing clients that they have the luxury of being able to read each submission as it drops onto their clear desk, or they bin them straight away, unread. If so, fair enough, but why not make it clear on the website that they are not looking to take on any new clients unless they are JK Rowling or Dan Brown? The email was so standard that I wondered if the package had been read. (It must have been opened, they had my email address). It wasn’t even topped or tailed. No ‘Dear Laura/Ms Wilkinson/Misguided Fool. No ‘Yours sincerely/yours dying of boredom having just read the turgid nonsense you laughingly describe as the opening chapters of a novel’.
Perhaps the work experience kid charged with the daunting task of ploughing through the slush pile read it, chucked it on the ‘You’ve GOT to look at this’ pile, but it slid off, unnoticed, onto the ‘Chuck IMMEDIATELY’ pile? Ha ha. Perhaps someone read the synopsis and thought ‘Cobblers’, or read the opening paragraph and thought the same? After all, I will choose a book in a shop in this manner. Who knows? Perhaps many agents are, as the fabulous Mr Edit says, plain rude? I’d like to think not. In optimistic mood, ‘til the next time…

The Whispering Wall

A short story of mine, The Whispering Wall, is published this month, November Issue 09, in First Edition Magazine. You can find copies at all good bookshops. Well, WHSmith and Borders at least...

You'll find the website here - http://www.firsteditionpublishing.co.uk/

Fancy a literary splash?

Fiona Robyn is going to blog her next novel, Thaw, starting on the 1st of March next year. The novel follows 32 year old Ruth’s diary over three months as she decides whether or not to carry on living.

To help spread the word she’s organising a Blogsplash, where blogs will publish the first page of Ruth’s diary simultaneously (and a link to the blog).

She’s aiming to get 1000 blogs involved – if you’d be interested in joining the splash, email her at fiona@fionarobyn.com or find out more information here.

Thank you!

----------------------------
http://www.fionarobyn.com/
http://www.plantingwords.com/

A Personal Odyssey

I've not blogged for a long, long while but I am feeling the need once more. And why I hear you cry?

For nigh on two years I have used almost every bit of free time writing and, more accurately, rewriting a novel. Like many who write I harboured a dream of writing a novel for years. For many moons fear held me back. That and two young boys and a full-time job. I continued to write non-fiction - journalism, copywriting, reviews and the like - and even wrote a small selection of short stories, with a moderate degree of success. But the novel existed in my head only. Finally, I read Jacqui Lofthouse's marvellous The First 30 Days, a brilliant guide to ending procrastination and getting a thousand words a day down on paper, or pc. It worked for me. Less than twelve months later I had a first draft and another eight months on I had a fifth draft that I was, if not exactly happy with, at least not desperately ashamed of. No doubt it is flawed, but it is 100,000 words of a coherent story, and I'm proud of it.
The whole thing started as an experiment - to see if I could do it - and I was always open to the idea that I might not be able to. It was only when I reached the 60,000 word mark and realised that I knew, finally, where the story would end that I admitted that I would complete a novel. Good grief.
What a journey it was. I learnt so much and, most importantly, I enjoyed the process. So much so that I am starting my second book and seeking representation for the first. Hence the blogging again. I will record the next stage of my journey here on A Scorpion Scribbles...
The story so far.
I have submitted a one page synopsis and the first 10,000 words along with a brief covering letter to four agents. I sent my submission package to three in the first instance - around five weeks ago - and pledged that as the rejections come in, another package would go out. So, I have had one rejection so far. And if one is to believe the stories by literary luminaries like Sarah Waters and Joanna Trollope I have 29 or more to receive before the six figure deal is struck and the Brooker prize awarded (ahem)! Although it was disappointing it was at least not a rejection of the 'have you considered taking up horticulture as a hobby Ms Wilkinson?' variety. Onwards say I.
Of course, being human I am beset with doubt and easily depressed by (the increasingly frequent) newpaper reports detailing the death of the publishing industry and difficulties faced by debut novelists struggling to get published. But I am a realist, and do not dream of giving up the day job and revelling in a life spent at the pc pouring out bestseller after bestseller. It would be a dream come true to have the book published and read by more than a few hundred people. Keep your fingers, toes and anything else you can think of crossed for me.

I'll keep you posted...

A review of The Loudest Sound and Nothing by Clare Wigfall

There is something of the fairy tale around the publication of Clare Wigfall’s collection of short stories – you can read about it on her MySpace site http://www.myspace.com/clarewigfall - and so it is gratifying to report that indeed there is magic in her words. If not happy-ever-after endings.

‘Safe’ is a haunting, menacing tale set in present day Britain about the mysterious disappearances of newborn babies and a plague of malevolent rodents, seen from a new mother’s point of view. There are overtures of The Pied Piper of Hamelin and Wigfall cleverly ensures that we are never certain how much of it is the product of a disturbed, or chronically sleep deprived, mind.In ‘The Party’s Just Getting Started’ Wigfall brings Adam, Eve and Adam’s first wife, Lilith, to modern day LA. ‘Night after Night’ transports us to shabby, post-war Bethnal Green where Joycie’s husband is arrested for a heinous crime. And in ‘The Ocularist’s Wife’ we are taken to a besieged nineteenth century Paris.

The sheer breadth of variety and style on display in The Loudest Sound and Nothing is enough to impress. On top of this striking diversity, you can add plaudits like beautifully crafted, an original voice, erudite and fresh. And this is a debut collection.All seventeen tales are meritorious, and deliciously surprising. Wigfall packs a mean punch into the shortest of stories - there is no excess flab in her work and she proves beyond any doubt (if you were ever in need of any) that less is most definitely more.

If you like resolution in your tales you won’t find it here. These stories are laced with ambiguity, and their depth and power lies in the silences, the ‘nothings’, which Wigfall leaves to her reader's imagination.Unforgettable, dark stories covering the prosaic and the extraordinary, often in the same breath. Wigfall is a talent to watch.

The Loudest Sound and Nothing by Clare Wigfall, published in paperback by Faber and Faber, £12.99