Don't Judge a Writer by Their (Possibly Drunken) Appearance

I can't name names or places, as it would almost certainly be libellous - and anyhow, I'm not even sure I want to, for reasons which will become clear later.

I was in the audience at a literary festival for a panel between three novelists. Author A was the one I'd come to see, Author B was chairing and Author C was - well, someone I'd never heard of before.

In the discussion, unknown Author C turned out to be unable to string two sensible words together. When it was their turn to speak, they would ramble disconnectedly for a few minutes until they finally tailed off, followed by an embarrassed silence from the audience. Authors A and B would then look at each other as if to say "Did you understand a word of that?" "No, neither did I," and initiate another topic of conversation.

Author A, on the other hand, fulfilled my expectations by being articulate and interesting: clearly the sort of person whose book you'd want to read. Except, that is ...

I can't remember why I bought the books of all three authors to be signed after the event: I imagine there was something about each of them which appealed to me, in spite of the way the discussion had gone. And you can guess which was the one which turned out to be the best read I've had for a long time: innovative, gripping and consistently well written. Yes, it was the novel by incoherent Author C.

Author A's book is OK. Just that. I've already given it to the charity shop. It's the first of a series, and I shan't be bothering with the others. Which goes to show ... what?

I've wondered since whether Author C had made too much use of the refreshments in the green room. Certainly they spoke like someone under the influence of something. Or maybe it's just further proof of what I've always believed: that creativity has nothing to do with what you're like as a person.

Which invites the question - what is the point of author appearances? And what can we, as aspiring authors, learn about how to approach them?

Apart from the advisability of keeping a safe distance from the green room wine, that is.

The 'What Happens Next?' Factor - a recipe for success?

It's what every writer seeks, isn't it? That magic ingredient which will make a book into something people don't just want to read, they have to. They can't put it down, they wish it would go on for ever.

I keep asking myself what the secret is. All the time I'm writing, I'm partly aiming at the end product (and having fun) and partly hoping that by doing it I will learn how to do it.

And I read, and read, and read, books other people have made popular. Harry Potter. So many critical readers have picked holes in JK Rowlings's writing, but I devoured every word. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Larsson is full of weaknesses my writers' workshop wouldn't have let out the door - if he were capable of submitting an extract sufficiently succinct to qualify for critiquing - but I couldn't put the books down until I'd finished the trilogy.

Good writing alone is not enough: what you need is character. That was the first thing I learned. The protagonist has to be quirky enough to intrigue, vulnerable enough to attract sympathy and sufficiently risk-prone for us to fear for their safety - all of which apply to Lisbeth Salander. But that wasn't what kept the pages turning. As I've said before, I believe story is what really matters. For what it's worth, my vote for character, plot and skilful writing in a blockbuster goes to Suzanne Collins and The Hunger Games.

All very nice and analytical, but it still hasn't given me my answer.

Oddly enough, the most useful insight came from my own writing - not, I hasten to add, that I'm holding myself up as an example of someone who's achieved success: just that I've found a way of articulating what I'm trying to do which I find helpful, and maybe you will too.

I've been stuck for a long time trying to decide which of a small number ideas will be the starting point for my next book, and for all my doubts about it, I keep coming back to one of them. It could be because the lead character is beginning to get a hold on me (check), but the real revelation came to me when I realised I couldn't let that embryonic story go because ...

I wanted to know what happened next.

That's it. So simple, and so crucial. What drove me through seven volumes of Harry and 2,000+ pages of Larsson. What's sucking me into my own work in progress. I'm trying to express a formula for what makes a book un-put-downable. And that's it. The ability to keep the WHN (What Happens Next) question always in the reader's mind

Next time I edit an MS, I shall be checking for typos, plot holes and the WHN Factor.

What's Your Classic?

I'm really grateful to CarlyB at Writing from the Tub for drawing my attention to this.

Next week, Vintage will republish a selection of children's classics. See Carly's blog above for a schedule of interesting reflections on the event - but what intrigues me is the choice of books to be released. I'm sure it has been shaped by all sorts of restraints of copyright etc rather than being an absolute free choice, but it made me wonder what I would bring back from the past.

My own quirky choice - apart from CS Lewis - would be E Nesbit. I see The Railway Children is on the list, but I grew up with an almost complete set of vintage (with a small 'v') copies of her work, and when I was a child her most famous book was actually my least favourite. My taste was for the more off-the-wall imaginative works, such as The Amulet, Harding's Luck, Nine Unlikely Tales ... I could go on. Yes the writing style and social contexts were unfamiliar, but that was part of their charm: like the fantastical line drawings from another age under their sheets of tissue.

On the other hand, tastes change. At the charity bookshop where I volunteer there's still a market for the Little Grey Rabbit series with its pre-feminist household of the hardworking female rabbit and the feckless male hare, but it's mostly the grandmothers who buy it.

What would you bring back for your own children/grandchildren - of the present or future?

So, ebooks are bad for young children ...?

Or rather, as Imogen Russell Williams says in this article in the Guardian,

as with most technological leaps, we now need to strike a balance between the tried and tested and the sparkly new.

Thank goodness for a common sense overview of the subject, which looks at how children are reading, and aknowledges the value of both enhanced/electronic and traditional forms. According to Williams,

 the books themselves are still the main course.

It has to be. Story, story, every time, whatever form it appears in.

After a long dramatic pause ...

... I'm back.

And there I hope the similarity to a couple of famous movie appearances comes to an end: though the fact that both the Terminator and the pilot in Independence Day are male does have a certain relevance.

To explain: a week or two ago I was playing roles in three different productions. Two of them are now finished, and I've got time to blog again. It was only when I referred to the movies that I got the link to the fact that two of the roles I was playing were males, gender-swaps for me. Perhaps I should go with the flow and blog about writing from the point of view of the opposite gender, etc. ...

*No. You sat down to write about shifting between creative media. Stick to the point. You can do the other one next*.

It may appear from the little internal debate above that I'm a bit confused, unsettled. Maybe I am, but none the worse for that I think. A common writer complaint is the feeling that you're getting in a creative rut, can't see the story for the paper. Something that shakes you up can be the best thing for getting things moving again. And there's such a thing as trying too hard.

All my life I've been torn between two impulses: to make theatre (i.e. to act and direct), and to write stories. They can seem to be separate, even conflicting, although I don't think it was always so. A dramatist in Shakespeare's day would have been referred to as a poet, and people talked about going to "hear" a play. Recently the two forms have seemed to converge for me, even to support each other.

Since I decided writing was going to be my main focus, the opportunity to be in a number of plays has come my way, and when I'm in a performance (except when it's really busy, as recently) the writing seems to flow. My earlier post Where Do All the Stories Come From? may have something to say about this.

But the biggest surprise for me has been how, now that I've actually sat down and written a couple of books, the techniques I've studied in drama have helped me to do it. Exercises to stimulate creativity and build character are obvious crossovers, but the huge revelation is how much writing a novel is like directing a play. You have to pay the same attention to pace, timing, balance ... and never forget your audience.

So here I am, refreshed, inspired (?) and ready for lots of writing. Expect to see me around again.

Just one play left to keep my mind spinning, until we perform next month at least. And yes, I am playing a bloke.

Please don't read my books!

... says Terry Deary, according to the Telegraph. And, do you know what? I agree with him - not that children shouldn't read his books, but that being read in schools is a risky business for a writer.

I've caused shock and horror before now amongst fellow unpublished authors when I've said that I would never want a novel of mine to be a set book. Surely any reader is a good reader?

No. As an ex-teacher of sixth formers, I've seen too many students arrive with a dislike of an author I love in place because of  the experience they've already had of them in the classroom. Of course, they loved every text they studied with me ... *ahem*

Therein lies the dilemma, and I don't know what the answer is - or rather, maybe Deary is on the right lines. Yes, children should be introduced to knowledge of history, experience of literature, etc., in as accessible a way as possible, but at the same time we should leave something for them to discover and enjoy independently.

What do you think?

Where do all the stories come from?

Ever wondered? I started thinking about this - again - after reading an article in last week's Sunday Times. Part article, part review of Jonah Lehrer's book Imagine: How Creativity Works, Stephen Armstrong considers the brain science of creativity, and how to stimulate it. As the title The answer is blowing in my alpha waves suggests, the story of how Bob Dylan wrote an iconic number - actually Like a Rolling Stone - is used as an example.

... the singer decided to quit the music industry after a harrowing European tour, and set off to write a novel [*taking the easy option then!*] in a cabin in the middle of nowhere ... [He] wanted to do nothing much apart from avoid writing another song, but soon after arriving he ... grabbed a pencil and started scribbling.

The rest is history.


It's all to do with something called alpha waves. This isn't the place for a detailed examination of the theory - and if it were I'm not the person to do it. It's controversial of course, but seems to be backed up by some scientific research.

As Armstrong says,

In a process that has yet to be understood, these [waves] suddenly flood the right brain roughly eight seconds before an idea pops into the mind ... It is alpha waves that fire up when jazz pianists are playing [*I find that amazing*]. ... According to Lehrer, Dylan's frustration and isolation combined to trigger the right hemisphere of his brain, which drew all his disparate influences into one catchy song.

As I said, I'm not going to attempt to take on the science of this, but it does chime with my own experiences as a writer, and as a practitioner and teacher in theatre. In fact, although I'm primarily a writer now, I find I'm constantly going back to what I learned in acting - obviously about role building, but more fundamentally about creativity itself.
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Armstrong's thesis is that the capacity for creativity is there in all of us, waiting to be triggered by the right conditions. Stanislavsky understood that. He said that an actor should believe in the life of their character, as a child believes in the life of her doll. We are all born with the ability and desire to role play, to make marks and sounds and to move experimentally and joyfully, and to tell stories. These abilities get locked in by society's expectations and judgement: you are are weird if you continue to do these things, unless you have unusual ability.


I once watched a young actor perform. He was academically bright and took an analytical approach to his work, which was often sadly a bit wooden. This time he was just helping out a friend by playing against her for her assessment, and so not trying too hard. The result was one of the most moving pieces of theatre I've ever seen in the classroom. Freed of over-intellectualising, he produced something with real truth.


So what are the right conditions to produce that kind of magic? If only I knew, then I'd be able to bottle it. Armstrong quotes a number of different suggestions, some conflicting, some illegal. I'm with him totally on one: there's nothing like going for a walk to get the wheels in my head turning.

One thing I'm sorry the article doesn't address is what happens after the moment of inspiration. Novels take a long time to write. If you're constantly waiting for something from outside (actually inside) yourself to provide the impetus, progress is going to be slow. The gift needs to be nurtured.


What do you think?