June 2010 Archives

If you're lucky enough to have a book contract, there's a likelihood that your publisher has signed you up for more than one book. Even if there is no firm contract for a second novel, they may ask for first refusal on whatever you turn your hand to next. You're grateful, nay, emboldened by the fact that your publisher seemingly wants more. (Important word, that. Seemingly.) 'I've made it!'

If you want my advice, you'll take a sober moment to consider exactly what that contractual obligation means. Break out the champagne, yes. Celebrate your book deal - for sure! But remember.'More' is a two-way street. Your publisher has shown faith in you. Now, you will have to prove that their faith isn't misplaced. 

And this is where things can get tricky...

First of all, you'll have a deadline. The langorous writing schedule of an uncontracted debut novel is a luxury you'll never have again - or not yet, at least. Work on your first book may have taken years, as you placed the manuscript into a drawer, got on with life, and then pulled the sheafs of paper back out again. It didn't matter. With no deadline in sight, you could take as long as you liked. You had the days and the energy to hone and refine, finally presenting your manuscript as polished as a pearl (hopefully). That's a lot of time spent getting things right. Time you will never have again. An aspiring writer can kick back for a weekend, with no one breathing down their neck. A commissioned writer can kick back for a weekend, sure. But too many lazy weekends and a roomy schedule becomes a tight one. A deadline is still a deadline, and you'd better take it seriously. After all, you want to show your new publisher that you are reliable. Reliable and inspired...

You've been solidly busy on your debut novel. At the back of your head, you've often thought, 'I must get some ideas down for my second novel.' Ideas come, they go. Some work, some don't. As those ideas rise to the surface or sink, you're busy juggling lots of the other balls that have been thrown into the air with publication - revising manuscripts, checking copyedits, remembering to blog, getting yourself on the author circuit, checking in with your agent and probably still holding down a day job. Which doesn't leave a lot of time for new ideas. Make time. Because when your publisher asks, 'What next?' you want to have a good answer. You want to see that person smile.

For the first time in your writing career, professionals are watching you. They have expectations - that you can write, will continue to write and flourish, have a talent that will sell them books. But writers are not performing monkeys. If we could pull bestselling novels out of a hat, we'd all be rich. This is the real toughie. Every new book is a learning curve, with lots of wrong paths and stumbling blocks. Easy to admit when you're officially still learning. Much harder to acknowledge when you're a contracted writer. Who do you turn to when your confidence wobbles? This is where a good agent and a good writing group pay dividends. Don't think you need an agent? When you're in tears at your desk because you don't think you can do this, you need an agent. You don't want your editor to know about your crisis of confidence and your editor probably doesn't want to believe you're capable of a crisis of confidence. Agents do not exist simply to cream off the top percentage of your earnings. They are there as an essential negotiator - not just with your publisher, but with your sanity.

By the time you deliver your second manuscript, your publisher may have an idea of how your debut is subbing in with booksellers. Well? Bad? If your sales are modest, you will have to work hard to convince the publisher to stick with book two. You'd better make it a good'un. After all, you'll soon be hoping for another contract.

Enjoy your launch party, because tomorrow it's someone else's. If there's one piece of advice I could give debut novelists, it's this: remember to carry your pinch of salt around with you. Enjoy the moment, smile and shake hands, pop the corks, thank all the people you need to thank (always thank the people you need to thank). Then remind yourself that there are over 200,000 books published each year in the UK alone. That's a lot of launch parties and many debut novelists. Not all of those books will sell well. Is there someone around to keep your feet on the ground? Good - hold on to them.

Last time it was the novelty of being a 'debut'. You can't call yourself that any more. So what are you now? This is when a writer's confidence can take a nosedive. You've lost your identity. Or your identity has moved on. You decide.

Read all of the above, and you can see why some authors find their knees knocking at their desk. That's a lot of pressure, isn't it? Still having fun? The key to all of this is a professional attitude. Acknowledge the industry you work in. Network, read, research, talk to people. Then approach your second novel with the same industry and discipline that you apply to other areas of your life. Don't take three months off from writing, take three weeks. If you're anything like me, you'll soon be hungry to be back at the keyboard. Draw up a schedule. Even if you haven't been given a deadline yet - give yourself one. Put two very important elements into that schedule - thinking time and rewriting time. The biggest challenge authors face with their follow-up novel is the harsh reality that none of us know what we're going to write until it's been written. It's easy to tell a publisher, 'Oh yes, it will be a humorous psychological thriller set in a boarding school with sharks.' Less easy to pull off when your creative imagination begins to wander down an entirely different avenue. But if you plan enough, give your creativity room to breath, you will get to where you need to be. By this stage in your career (and in an ideal world), you will have a close working relationship with your agent, your editor is championing you and you have a readership. Jewels in any author's crown. Have faith in yourself. Work hard. Let your imagination take flight. Did I mention 'Work hard'? 

It's not just rock stars who have difficult second albums. Follow-up novels can be agonising. But never forget, you're always learning - on your second novel, and beyond. This world of ours divides neatly into two: those with the humility to learn, and those who refuse to admit they have anything left to learn. If you have the humility and the talent and the work ethic, you have every chance of writing a fantastic second novel. But be prepared. It won't be easy. 

Let's not be too dour. At least you won't see your work slated by a teenage NME journalist, you'll never have enough money to buy silly cars and no one will ask you to sing on a charity single. It could be a lot worse. You could be locked in a recording studio with a group of friends you've learned to hate, experimenting with some ironic country and western. You could be wearing flares...

Do you have experience of the difficult second novel? Any survival tips to share?

This weekend I had a rare experience of what is generally recognised to be the writer's most dangerous enemy: procrastination. 

I'd taken a day off work on Friday to devote to slavish polishing of my manuscript. Like most writers, I have a day job with a limited holiday allowance. So taking a day out of that limited allowance, just to be tied to another desk is not a casual decision. I should have been worked really hard, right? Wrong.

I had a lie in. Then I did a bit of sewing. Then I blogged about my sewing. Then I had lunch, an afternoon doze, and read of a magazine. At 3pm the full horror of a wasted day hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. How did I handle this? With maturity, sobriety and a philosophical shrug of the shoulders? Hmmm. Maybe. Not quite. Nothing like? 

Here's a User's Guide to Writer Melt Down:

I lunged for my netbook and posted a status update on Facebook that was a thinly disguised plea for reassurance. My writer friends came good and within minutes I was reading stories of other people's utter inability to crack on and knuckle down. Phew! It's not just me then.

Rather than drag myself to my desk, I ran out to Walthamstow market. Darting from shop to market stall, my brain fizzing with panic, I spent money. I was doing something, wasn't I? Yes, avoiding.

I texted my boyfriend with my plight. 'Well, you've had a busy couple of days,' he texted back. Kind, but I would almost have preferred an admonition. After all, I was already flagellating myself.

This one worked. All the panic, wasted nervous energy and temptations to bust into tears reminded me how important my mission meant to me. I had a deadline! I couldn't just mess about like this! I returned to my desk bright and early on Saturday morning and worked. And worked, and worked... I spent most of Sunday working, too. There's nothing like a spot of panic to focus the mind.

But I didn't enjoy that experience. It reminded me all too much of being a teenager, gibbering with fear over revision. I'm usually much more controlled than that, control freak that I am. What made me slip up? Who knows. But it's an experience I don't particularly want to repeat.

How do you deal with your moments of procrastination? There must be better techniques than Facebook and shopping. Surely ... aren't there?

I was here for the first ever Stoke Newington Literary Festival. They've been heavily promoting themselves via Twitter and a glance at their website revealed an impressive line up. (No children's authors - more on that later.) Every one of my friends seemed to be departing London for the weekend, so I decided to go alone. I'm glad I did now. I didn't have to worry if anyone else was enjoying themselves, and it only mattered to me when my trek to the box office revealed that the people staffing it had long deserted their post. 'They've gone,' a librarian succinctly informed me. Okay. I'll just mosie on to the first event sans ticket.

Back down the length of Church Street to the Lemon Monkey, a lovely vegetarian cafe, to see Sam Taylor talk about her novel, East of Islington. The novel is based on humorous columns she's written for The Oldie about her life and friends in Stoke Newington. I read this column for years as a subscriber to The Oldie (best and most radical magazine in the world?). I have a connection of my own with Richard Ingram's magazine - I once commissioned Nick Parker, then production manager on The Oldie, to write Toast - Homage to a Superfood. That was a wonderful book experience, first germinated over a pint in a pub. The best way to chat to authors, in my opinion.

I digress. Back to Sam! And here she is (stage left), with a charming volunteer, Rebecca, who was hosting the event:

Rebecca was nervous, the lovely women on the door in their pink festival T-shirts were nervous, Sam looked nervous - I was nervous for everyone. But Sam's friends had turned up in force, along with a decent gathering of us middle-class bookie types, and we all enjoyed Sam's readings and the question and answer session afterwards. I liked her thoughts on Stoke Newington: that its radical vibe is still safe because of the lack of a tube station, and that it's a much more interesting place than its neighbour, Islington, because it can still be random. I like that word.

I did have to fight the urge to shake things up a bit at the end of the session, when Rebecca totally failed to plug Sam's book. I left having no idea who the publisher was, what the publication date was, if a follow-up was planned. But baby steps, baby steps... One day I may fondly look back on memories of the first ever Stokey Lit Festival. Ah, those were the days. So naive, that they didn't even plug the book properly. Of course, it's all corporate sponsorship and portaloos now.

I then strolled in the sunshine back down Church Street to the Stoke Newington Assembly Rooms for a talk on crime fiction entitled 'Murder in the Town Hall'. This was a four-author event with Toby Litt, Louise Welsh, Mark Billingham and Dreda Say Mitchell. Am I allowed to have a favourite author? Should I reveal such bias? Oh, sod it - I loved Dreda. From the moment she walked on stage with a huge grin, to her reading of an extract from what sounded like a brilliantly edgy and accessible book, to her fabulous stage confidence. She's an ex-teacher and it shows. There's a woman who could have a morning assembly eating out of the palm of her hand. Again I had to fight an urge: to sidle up to the edge of the stage afterwards and ask, 'Ever thought about writing someYA?'

But the event had started late and a snatched look at my watch revealed it was time to go. I left, sadly, during the Q&A session to walk to Clapton rail station. I did a lot of walking yesterday, but it was so balmy that it was a real treat. A ragged line of women in saris watched from a council estate balcony as I strolled past. A corner pub blared live music. My iPhone's battery died. What, no mobile phone?! I was obliged to gaze around me, rather than peer at the Google map route on my tiny screen. It was the perfect end to an almost perfect literary festival experience. Why almost perfect, Karen? Well, there weren't any children's authors in attendance. Come on, Stokey! All those young, groovy parents in the vicinity? It would go down a storm! Must. Resist. Urge. To. Volunteer...

Thanks, Stokey!

Tea Set. Another urge I fought: to take this home with me.