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.
I'm about to take a bit of a break from Writer's Block, as I'm off to do some travelling before starting full-time freelance work in May. However just in the nick of time (my first flight - to New Zealand - leaves tomorrow night), I'm able to reveal that one of my short stories, Antlers, is to be published in a forthcoming anthology by World Weaver Press.
The book, entitled Fae, will celebrate fairy-like creatures of all shapes and sizes. As editor Rhonda Parrish outlined in the call for submissions back in September:
Historically speaking fairies have been mischievous or malignant. They’ve dwelt in forests, collected teeth or crafted shoes. In Fae, we want stories that honor that rich history but explore new and interesting takes on fairies as well. We want urban fairies and arctic fairies, steampunk fairies, time-traveling and digital fairies. We want stories that bridge traditional and modern styles and while we’re at it, we want stories about fairy-like creatures too. Bring us your sprites, your pixies, your seelies and unseelies, silkies, goblins or gnomes, brownies and imps. We want them all. We’re looking for lush settings, beautiful prose and complex characters.
Hot off the press today, Fae'stable of contents is now up on Rhonda's blog, and I'm very intrigued by the sixteen story titles that sit alongside Antlers. Fortunately, there isn't too long to find out how my fellow contributors have interpreted the fairy theme, as publication of the anthology is scheduled for this summer.
Plitvice National Park in Croatia, where I'm sure a few faeries dwell
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.
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.
In January, I wrote of joining Goodreads and undertaking the
2013 Reading Challenge. Now, just in time, I have finished the final,
thirty-fifth book (Graham Joyce's intriguing Some Kind of Fairy Tale), and so I
wanted to review a few of this year's most memorable reads.
Best nonfiction:Your Voice in My Head by Emma Forrest. I
found this memoir of mental illness a little meandering, and I would have liked
more focus on the therapist character to whom it's dedicated. Having said that,
Forrest is a frank, funny and utterly fearless writer, and the book is full of
insight and wisdom concerning a subject that, in my opinion, is not talked or
written about often enough. For example: Time heals all wounds. And if it
doesn't, you name them something other than wounds and agree to let them stay.
Best reread: The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. As I
wrote in a previous post, I was impressed all over again by Atwood's dystopian
classic, and the act of rereading it stirred up a lot of emotions about my
teenage years, and the closure of my old school.
Most surprisingly enjoyable classic: Catch-22 by Joseph
Heller. I had heard from various people that they hadn't been able to get on
with Heller's satirical World War Two novel, but I was giggling away from page
one, and had tears of laughter rolling down my cheeks by the 'flies in his
eyes' discussion. Of course, like all good satire, the clever humour ensures
the unfolding tragedy hits harder, making this both one of the funniest and
most affecting books I read in 2013. (Runner-up: Tess of the D'Urbervilles by
Thomas Hardy).
Biggest commitment:1Q84 by Haruki Murakami. When I worked
at Waterstone's, many moons ago, my colleagues were always raving about
Murakami. I'm afraid it's taken me this long to pick up one of his books - or
rather, three of them, for the surreal and unique 1Q84 was published as a
trilogy. Although I did feel the story was stretched too thinly towards the
end, I'm not sure I've ever experienced such a bonkers plot being told in such
clear, matter-of-fact prose. It's an irresistable combination.
Most disappointing read:The Unbearable Lightness of Being
by Milan Kundera. I try to finish each book I start because I truly believe I
can learn something from every story, even those I don't like. Yet I found this
novel so incredibly pompous and misogynistic, I'm not sure whether I should
have struggled through to the end. Awful. (Runners-up: Eowyn Ivey’s The Snow
Child and Robin McKinley’s Beauty. I expected to love these novelised fairy
tales, but found neither really had much to add to the stories they were
retelling).
Best children's/young adult book:A Monster Calls by Patrick
Ness. Having adored the author's Chaos Walking trilogy last year, I had high
hopes for his award-winning A Monster Calls, and still the novel completely
surpassed my expectations. I've since come to the conclusion that Ness just gets it: he gets teenagers, he gets stories,
and he gets that the things that really scare us are more complicated and
difficult to confront than any sharp-toothed, long-clawed thing that goes bump
in the night. (Runner-up: Unwind by Neal Shusterman).
Best book: The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht. Recommended by
the lovely Elodie Olson-Coons, I took to this novel straight away. I'm a big
fan of magical realism, especially when it's used as sparingly and effectively
as it is in The Tiger's Wife. I also love how Obreht has structured this
ambitious book; the way she has blended the folklore and the fantastical
storytelling with a gritty, realist narrative set during the Balkans conflict.
Obreht is, I have recently found out, just a few months younger than me. Perhaps I
should be envious of her, and the success of her first novel, but I'm not - I'm
inspired.
In my very first post on this blog, almost exactly four years ago, I wrote of attending a conference for Creative Writing MSc graduates, and learning the mantra: I am a writer. (Interestingly, an article entitled When Can You Call Yourself A Writer? has been popping up on twitter recently, and it's worth reading over at The Write Life here.) Even though I now (ghost)write for a living, it sometimes still feels a bit odd to label myself a writer. I'm not sure whether it's because many people's idea of a writer is a JK Rowling-type figure - ie hugely prolific and successful, or whether being a writer is something I've wanted for so long that I can't quite bring myself to say it aloud, lest I jinx it somehow.
This week, however, a little validation (rare in this profession, and always welcome) came my way, as I managed to set up an Author Profile on Amazon, as well as update my existing one on Goodreads:
Despite being published in Modern Grimmoire and Stories for Homes, it didn't really occur to me I would be entitled to a page of my very own on these sites until I realised others from the anthologies were featured on Amazon and Goodreads in this way. This timidity on my part took me back to the conference in 2009 that encouraged us declare: I am a writer. I think, in future, I shall be repeating that mantra to myself a little more often, in order that my next milestone as an author doesn't come as such a surprise.
Just in time for Christmas, Stories for Homes has been released in paperback. As I wrote in a previous post, the anthology was put together to raise funds for the housing charity Shelter, and features the work of sixty-three authors, all responding to the theme of 'home'.
I am fortunate enough to be one of those authors, and my short story, Unsettled, is a re-imagining of a well-known fairy tale:
She needs to cut [the branches] back, trim all of the trees that are creeping up on her house. In the early days, the young men used to help her, grumbling all the while about the decision to move so far in. It had been wise at the time: everyone had been running from something, everyone wanted to lose themselves between the branches. It wasn’t until they had built up the little settlement that they realised they weren’t the only ones hiding in the forest.
Both the Stories for Homes paperback and ebook are now available from Amazon (and would make excellent Christmas presents!) All royalties raised go directly to Shelter.
.jpg)
.jpg)