An Update

I seem to have become rather lax about blogging lately so, without further ado, here is an update of my literary activities of the past few months... 

August in Edinburgh is, of course, totally dominated by the festivals, and it’s an amazing time to be in the city – let alone live in it. The highlight for me is always The Edinburgh International Book Festival (EIBF), which never fails to attract world-class authors, and this year was no different. Below are a few of my highlights:

• Patrick Ness is basically the king of YA fiction at the moment - and deservedly so. In person too, Ness is funny, engaging, and has a lovely rapport with his audience. I also appreciated the fact that he spoke a lot about writing as a process, and the following are just a few things he said that stayed with me:

On not having time to write: 'Writers don't write, they write anyway. You find ways to write.' 

On self-belief: ‘You can be a writer - no one ever told me that.’ 

On how his stories take shape: ‘I'm a great believer in if an idea's good enough, wait and things will stick to it’

• Sarah Maitland and Kirsty Logan write original fairy tales, Maitland fusing hers with scientific theory in her book Moss Witch, and Logan creating her own lyrical, sensual fiction in The Rental Heart and Other Fairytales. Given that I frequently use traditional stories in my own work, I really enjoyed hearing about their different approaches to this kind of writing.

• I have never read any of Lydia Davis’ fiction, but her event (chaired by a delightful Ali Smith, whose work I love) made me realise what an oversight that has been, for Davis is truly a master of the short story form (an excellent example of her newer work is Letter to a Frozen Peas Manufacturer). 

• The wise and witty Sarah Waters talked mainly about her new novel, The Paying Guests, and I was particularly interested when she discussed how her historical fiction develops: she reads extensively around the time period she wants to write about, and then lets the story emerge from her research. Also, her event’s chair, Muriel Gray, was fabulous (‘Sarah, this book kept getting me all hot and bothered. I had to think of Jeremy Clarkson to calm myself down.’).

• Haruki Murakami was one of the biggest names at this year’s EIBF. I wasn’t sure what to expect from him, though having read three of his books I should have guessed: Murakami was quirky, witty, with a mischievous streak - he had his audience in the palm of his hand.

Meeting him after the event was even better. For privacy, he was signing books behind a strange arrangement of sheets, rather like a blanket fort. My partner (a highly reluctant reader on whom Murakami has somehow worked his magic) and I queued for a good hour to see the author, and then simultaneously froze when we ducked into all the linen and came face-to-face with him. Unfazed by our silence, Murakami chuckled, ‘I am looking forward to a beer after this,’ and – finding our voices at last – we hastily encouraged him in this endeavour. 

Banter about beer with Haruki Murakami? We felt like the coolest people on the planet.

After all that excitement, September had a distinctly back-to-school vibe, especially following the fun of the festival, and I enforced a strict ‘new term’ routine on myself. Each weekday since then, I’ve been trying to finish my freelance ghostwriting by lunchtime, so in the afternoon I can spend a couple of hours on my novel, short stories, or writing admin (ie tasks like trawling the internet for competitions or sending stories off to anthologies). Unless a pesky deadline comes up, it’s not a bad system, so I’m going to try and stick to it for the foreseeable future.

October was dominated by one of the aforementioned pesky deadlines, and most of the writing month was spent pulling my hair out over perhaps the most difficult short story I’ve ever written. Hopefully I will be able to find it a home one of these days...

And finally, November, which I will remember as the Month of the Novel. First of all, I finished my second full-length ghostwritten book. Obviously, I can’t talk about it too much, but it’s been a very enjoyable project, and working on it every day has given me some much-needed structure since returning from my travels, so I will miss it a fair bit.

In terms of my own writing, this was also a big month for my novel-to-be. A while ago, I realised my old draft simply wasn’t working, and therefore much of ‘new term’ has been spent trying to rethink its structure, plot, characters – most of it, really. I think November was the first time I felt like I was making progress with this often disheartening task, helped in no small part by Edinburgh City Council’s wonderful two-day writing course, 'Start Your First Novel'. Run by Alison Summers, the sessions were great for reviewing (and learning) the process of developing a novel from scratch, and so made it much easier for me to look at my new ideas from a fresh perspective. 

Seven Weeks of Freelancing, Seven Things I've Learned

The other day, I realised that I'm nearing the end of my second month as a freelance ghostwriter. This has come as something of a surprise, not least because in my mind I'm still on my travels, frolicking across white-sand beaches in the sunshine, and sloshing around cocktails while I laugh about all the books I've had time to read... But no, I do appear to be back in Edinburgh now, where there are very few sunny days and quite expensive cocktails, and I actually seem to be working. 

In fairness, the job itself is not all that different from what I was doing in Geneva, it's the experience of ghostwriting from home that I'm having to get used to. And already, I've learned that there are several things I need to keep in mind, in order to have a productive working day - or rather, any kind of working day at all.

1) Morning tea is essential to morning work: My partner has a Proper Office Job and therefore leaves the house at some unholy hour each day. I have managed to 'persuade' him (read: 'subject him to a merciless campaign of moaning, pleading, sulking and bribery') to make me a cup of tea before he goes. The positive effects of this pre-breakfast beverage on someone like me, who struggles to think before noon, cannot be overstated. In fact, one day, when the kettle broke... No, I can't talk about it.

2) Get dressed: This is pretty good advice for life, actually. But in a freelance context, what I say to myself is this: no matter how good you feel in your adorable New Girl-style pyjamas, for goodness' sake put on some proper clothes. Because pyjamas make it easier to go back to bed, and if you go back to bed... Well, there's no one around to make you tea anymore.

3) Flat-hunting is not conducive to writing: Sadly self explanatory.

4) The internet is your friend: Research! Advice! News! Opportunities! Instant communication! Supportive writerly people!

5) The internet is your enemy: The following are some genuine questions my friends and I have asked one another on Facebook etc. during work time over the past seven weeks, each prompting thought-provoking and time-consuming discussion:

• What shall we call our pub quiz team?

• How did they trick Carrie Fisher and Harrison Ford into appearing in the next Star Wars film?

• How shall we celebrate World Gin Day?

• If we camp in the Trossachs, what is the likelihood of being entirely devoured by midges?

• Who, according to Buzzfeed, would play your dad in a film?

• When/where/how shall we watch the Game of Thrones finale?

• Will there be ice cream?*

(*This one provoked the most chat, I'm not even kidding.)

6) Just keep swimming: Dory is obviously the wisest character in Finding Nemo, if not in all of Pixar, because we know she wasn't just talking about swimming. Me, I am just talking about swimming: it is the only kind of sport for which I have any enthusiasm or talent, so I find a good break from the computer screen is to go and thrash around in the local pool for a while, and become weirdly territorial if anyone else comes into the 'serious swimmer' lane.

7) It's, erm, kind of great: There are obviously downsides to working from home; the lack of real company is a big one, and the amount of discipline I have to muster just to start typing in the morning is pretty momentous. But when I reach my daily word count, and I'm happy with what I've written - that's a good feeling. As is, seven weeks in, realising I'm already more efficient, I'm finishing the ghostwriting earlier each day, and I finally have some time - precious, much-anticipated time - to start concentrating on my own writing.

‘Well, I’m back.’

Sam and Rosie's house, Hobbiton (New Zealand)

Since mid-February, I've picnicked at Hanging Rock and second-breakfasted in Hobbiton; I've partied with Maoris and hiked with Vietnamese villagers; I've fed kangaroos and wallabies by hand, and been feasted upon by more mosquitoes, sand flies and leeches than I can count; I've climbed to the top of an Angkor temple to experience a sunset, and I've crawled through a Viet Cong tunnel to experience a mild panic attack. Then there was the diving (scuba and sky), the jungle trekking, the missed flight in Sydney, the lost tooth in Melbourne... and a thousand other barmy, totally exhausting and utterly wonderful adventures in Australasia and Asia. In fact, during the last three months, it seems like one of the only activities I haven't managed to cram in (outside of a travel journal) is writing.

Which was exactly the plan. Part of the reason I went travelling after leaving Geneva was I felt overworked and in need of a break (sometimes not an easy thing to take, when half your job is in your head). So while I'm hoping that the time away will be good for my fiction, first and foremost it's been good for me.

Besides, I didn't give up stories entirely - I don't think I could. Whether you want them to or not, new places and new people bombard you with stories, some you might anticipate and some that are completely unexpected. While I won't be writing an account of my travels, exactly, I have some literary bits and bobs from the trip I'm hoping to share with Writer's Block over the next few weeks.

Picnic time? Hanging Rock (Australia)

Plus there's plenty to look forward to, right here, right now. I'm back in Edinburgh and about to start writing and ghostwriting full-time, which is very exciting/terrifying. Fae, the anthology featuring my short story 'Antlers' is to be published by World Weaver Press in July (a post to follow on that one shortly). Then there's the fact that, without setting pen to paper, I've been having a good old think about The Novel and some other writing projects during all the long bus/boat/tuk tuk journeys of late, which may have given me some much-needed perspective. And I suppose, at the end of the day, gaining a little perspective is what travelling's all about.

Au Revoir, Genève

The Schynige Platte: a nice spot
for some writing

For two and a half years, I have spent my days tidying stories in a turret. I have lived in a wood-panelled room – a land-locked ship’s cabin, I like to think – and I have watched the drifting of the clouds and the phases of the moon through the windows above my head. I have walked to a market each Sunday, or else taken a tiny orange train up a hillside to visit my cousin and his family. I have explored: cities, lakes, woods, summer mountains on foot, winter mountains on skis. I have become used to the unfamiliar, not just languages and cultures that aren’t my own, but the sound of church bells in the morning, the smell of cooking cheese or vin chaud in the street, the sight of little old men walking giant chess pieces around giant chessboards in the park… Reflecting on it all like this, I realise how wonderful and strange my time in Switzerland has been, almost like something from a story in itself. And now it is coming to an end - as all stories must.

I have always been driven by the desire to write – and the hope that writing could one day make up the bulk of my income. My Literary Consultant job here has been fantastic, but now I have the opportunity to put aside the editing and administration and concentrate on freelance ghostwriting and my own stories. And I know the place to do that is not in this charmed but expensive and faraway city, but in my beloved Edinburgh – my home, to which it is time to return.

View of Grand Rue, Geneva Old Town, the street on which I've lived and worked

Despite feeling fairly confident about this decision, it's breaking my heart a little, leaving Geneva while I'm having such a good time. I think perhaps it would help to dwell on the negative: the endless bureaucracy here, for example; the lack of sea; the customer service that borders on abuse. But I can’t. Switzerland, despite its reputation as a rather twee and snoozy little country, is an extraordinary place - not least for the fact its people once had the bright idea of dipping bread in booze and melted cheese. 

The mighty Matterhorn

It's also beautiful. I remember learning about  nature inspiring feelings of the sublime when studying Gothic literature at university, and I have felt that sensation again and again in Switzerland. When I hiked around the Schynige Platte above Interlaken last summer, or under the Matterhorn’s domineering shadow in early Autumn, the sights made my heart soar. I think I now understand why Julie Andrews went twirling off towards that mountainous horizon singing all sorts of silliness about musical hills – she just couldn’t keep it in. If you have never been to Switzerland, I urge you to visit at the first possible opportunity.

Of course, it’s people that really complete a place, and I have made some amazing friends out here. Geneva is a transient city, where most only stick around for a few years (or even months), so I’ve been very fortunate in this regard. Whether we’ve been indulging in thimble-sized glasses of wine in expensive bars, or slobbing out in front of TV shows in each other’s apartments; whether we’ve been lounging in the sunshine at the Perle du Lac park, or zooming down ski slopes in the biting cold - my friends and I have experienced this mad and magical place together. 

In many of these friends, and especially in my colleagues, I have also found kindred, creative spirits. We’ve swapped new story ideas, we’ve made colourful spreadsheets of competition deadlines together, we’ve read one another’s fiction – first drafts, fourth drafts, last drafts – and offered our comments. We’ve been there to share in each other’s successes – and commiserated in the face of a few, inevitable setbacks. We even made it official, forming The Pen Poppers writing group for regular practice, feedback and encouragement. As I have said before, writing is such a solitary occupation, I find it best to try and share as much of the process as possible. 

Skiing with my creative colleagues
(and two of my favourite Geneva people), Helen and Elodie

Which leads me onto my writing in Geneva. One of the reasons I want to pursue the next stage of my career in Edinburgh is that I have been a little starved of writing opportunities (as opposed to writing people) in Switzerland. But, in a way, being cut off from the UK literary scene has encouraged me to connect more in cyberspace. In the past few years, I have set up twitter and LinkedIn accounts, dedicated more time to Writer’s Block, completed Nanowrimo twice, joined two Reading Challenges, acquired Goodreads and Amazon author profiles. Now I think about it, I’m not sure I would have made my online presence quite so known, had I not felt far away.

I know I’ll return to Switzerland, both physically and in my writing (I’m already noticing a lot more mountain scenery popping up in my fiction), so I’m sure this is not the last time I’ll talk about my experiences here. But I wanted to get at least some of it down before I went, because I know it’ll seem different in a few weeks, and more different still a year or two down the line. So this is how it is right now, on the brink of leaving Geneva - and this is how I am: happy, grateful, inspired, better organised, more focused, more like a writer, even a little more worldly. And, conversely, because of all that, I'm also ready to go.

Jumping for joy at the top of Mont Salève

Ghosting, Introduction: What is a Ghostwriter?

When I moved to Geneva a couple of years ago, I went to a few getting-to-know you events in order to avoid becoming a complete social outcast. Because of the corporate-humanitarian focus of this city, I always felt something of a curiosity amongst all the frighteningly ambitious young bankers and jaded UN interns at these drinks, especially when the inevitable question came up again and again: what do you do? And I learnt, after a few evenings of clutching at an overpriced glass of wine and trying to make conversation with - shudder - strangers, I could answer this question in two ways...

Answer One: I'm a Literary Consultant. I work in a Geneva-based publishing house doing editing, proofreading and coordinating the administration.

Answer Two: I'm a ghostwriter.

Both are true. Answer One is my day job, Answer Two is my freelance work. But I'm sure you can imagine which one always provoked the better reaction.

But what is a ghostwriter?* Although it varies from job to job, generally a ghostwriter is hired to write or rewrite a piece of text - whether that be a book, short story, report or article - by somebody who will be credited as the official author.

Going back to those drinks, this explanation has prompted some incredulity in its time: Is that a thing? I've never even heard of that.

By this point, I've found the easiest way forward is to mention the multitude of celebrity autobiographies that grace the bookshop shelves and bestseller lists. Of course, there are a lot of ghostwriters of fiction out there (myself included), but I would imagine the biggest pool of work lies in biographical writing; the self-penned stories of actors, sports stars, businesspeople and so on. In fact, I think most people would be surprised how many books out there are written, at least in part, by someone other than the named author.

And it's not a bad thing. That's another issue that arises from the ghostwriting conversation: there tends to be judgement - not of me, but of the clients - as though it's somehow shameful to have put your name to something you haven't bashed out on a keyboard, word for word. It's not. Plenty of individuals have stories to tell, but not necessarily the time, skills, education or even the confidence to tell them without a little help.

I'm hoping to return to these issues and more in an (occasional) series of posts entitled Ghosting. Firstly because the three and a half years I've spent as a ghostwriter have hugely affected my own creative writing - almost entirely for the better, believe it or not. Given that Writer's Block is intended to track my writing progress, it would be strange not to talk about it.

I also freely admit to not knowing a huge amount about the world of ghostwriting myself because, for obvious reasons, much of it is shrouded in secrecy. In Ghosting, I'll be talking about my experience in general terms, to protect the anonymity of my clients, and I would love it if other ghosties could come forward and do the same, in order that we might learn a little from one another. After all, I suspect there are a number of you out there, haunting the internet, so do give me a wail or rattle your chains in my direction if you feel so inclined.

*Incidentally, many don't need me to explain the concept of ghostwriting to them, because they've seen the Ewan McGregor film The Ghost Writer, or read the Robert Harris novel Ghost on which it's based:

In my experience, the profession is not nearly as exciting or dangerous.

Vintage Script and Historical Fiction

I recently discovered that one of my short stories, It'll All Be Gone Tomorrow, had been chosen for publication in Vintage Script, 'the writing magazine for all things vintage, historical and retro.' Now, the edition in question - the quarterly magazine's spring issue - is available to order.

It'll All Be Gone Tomorrow describes two chance encounters between a man and woman, one at the end of the 'golden Edwardian summer' in 1913 and one a decade or so later, during the 'roaring' twenties. Both of these points in history have always really interested me, especially when held up against one another. As I wrote for Vintage Script's website: 'The First World War brought about huge social change in Britain, especially for women. In It’ll All Be Gone Tomorrow I wanted to explore the periods directly before and after the war through a female character who has unexpectedly triumphed during the turbulent days in between.'

What I didn't add, however (lest the editor change her mind and take out my story!) is that this is actually my first attempt at historical fiction. I've always enjoyed reading it, but ever since I began playing about with fairy tales during my Creative Writing MSc, most of my short stories have had a magical (or magical realist) feel. When the idea for It'll All Be Gone Tomorrow hit me, I treated it as a bit of writing practice, not confident of its chances of success, so I'm both pleasantly surprised and very excited to be included in this anthology.

Three Steps Forward

At the risk of sounding like one of those ‘Review of the Year’ programmes (you know the sort: they splice together footage of mildly interesting events from the past twelve months and invite d-listers with nothing better to do to tell us how very fascinating/funny/tragic/unacceptable it all was) I’m going to try and summarise my year in writing. For I’ve neglected this blog for six months and, certainly writing-wise, rather a lot has happened.

I’ll start with my writer’s group, WOW (Writers on Wine). For the first half of the year, it was an enormously encouraging way to get stuck into the first big edit of my novel – and an opportunity to read some fabulous work by my contemporaries. Sadly, the WOW members are now somewhat scattered, with Lizzie and I having both moved away from Edinburgh, and I miss those evenings very much – both creatively and socially. However, I hope that one day we can share stories and drinkies once more, and until then I cannot thank my girls enough for giving my novel a good kick up the arse

Yes, I’ve moved from Edinburgh, which was a wrench - a huge wrench, in fact. I lived in Edinburgh for exactly four years, during which I made wonderful friends, had wonderful experiences and, for the first time, felt like a real writer. Yet when I was offered the Literary Consultant job in Geneva (a freelance version of which I have been doing for a year or so beforehand) it came at the perfect time. The UK seems to be full of doom and gloom at the moment, especially in employment terms, so it wasn’t too hard, deciding to escape to the land of Toblerones and cuckoo clocks to be paid to write.

As though I didn’t have enough on my proverbial plate with a new job, the move to a new country and trying to master a new(ish) language (how I can be so criminally bad at French after five years of it at school, I have no idea) I decided to do National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) again in November. As strange as it might sound, I don’t particularly like the writing part of constructing a story. I love the ideas stage, I enjoy tinkering around with a text once it’s on the screen, I adore scrolling through a lengthy document and marvelling over how many words I’ve written, but actually bashing out the first draft… meh. I can take it or leave it. The advantage of Nano, in which you have to do a ‘barf draft’ of 50,000 words in a month, is that the initial writing part is over nice and quickly. In a year of scribbling that has felt quite serious at times, with editing my novel and doing a Proper Grown Up Writing Job, Nano gave me the opportunity to pen a silly story about dancing, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

So there they are: three steps forward, no steps back. Never one to be completely satisfied, I would have liked to have done something a bit more substantial with my novel… But hey, there’s always next year.