WASTED – Nicola Morgan

I’m thrilled to welcome back the lovely and talented Nicola Morgan. Today she talks about how writing books is quite similar to sky-diving. Her latest is called Wasted and you can buy it here. And the book even has its own blog here.

Not Sky-Diving But Writing by Nicola Morgan
It’s fair to say that we writers rarely stop moaning and that our emotional relationship with our work is, erm, volatile. I had no idea it would be like this. When I was unpublished, and miserably so, I thought that there were only two possible states: the crushing defeat of rejection, or the boundless heaven of publication.
I soon discovered that being published opens a whole range of emotions. Many books later, I’ve learnt the pattern, for it is a pattern and it seems to be a pattern that most writers recognise.
First comes the idea for a new novel. Fabulous! (Literally, one might say). It hits me on the tongue like sherbet. If I’m in a supermarket, I will stop mid-aisle. Walking the dog, I’m likely to ignore the worst canine behaviour. At this point, I’m thinking, “Yesss! Why didn’t I think of this before?”
Next, I fluctuate between excitement and a more prosaic, “Hmm, but such-and-such might be a problem later.” But over the following days, as the characters grow in my head, excitement mounts and doubts fade. I am about to start to write.
Which is damned terrifying because it’s the start of a long and unknown journey. When I sat down to write the first page of Sleepwalking, my third novel, I actually said aloud, “Oh God, here we go,” taking a huge breath to summon the strength. Many blank pages stretch ahead, and they won’t fill themselves.
But then I get into the swing of it. It becomes exciting again. It feels like gutsy writing at this point, risky, open-ended; it’s easy to get “into the zone”. I come to breathe the characters. New ideas arrive, new colours join the pattern, with no requirement to know where they are going.
Until the middle. Oh hell, that middle. It sags. Flaws are revealed. A creeping doubt becomes stronger. It’s not working. What if I can’t solve it? Have I wasted all that time? I can’t sleep properly, wake early and toss ideas around in my head. It’s horrible. And horribly lonely, because no one can help.
There are only two ways, as far as I know, to get out of this stage:
         1) Remind myself that I’ve had this in every book and each one has worked in the end.
         2) Get away from my desk and walk. Then write. Just write.
Next comes joy as that saggy middle is tightened up, problems solved. And suddenly I’m hurtling towards the denouement, tying everything up, noting changes that I’ll make later. End in sight!
The satisfaction of writing that last sentence is intense. Many of us have to shout it out, go on Facebook or Twitter or the phone and announce that the last sentence is done. It doesn’t matter that I know I’ve got lots more tidying up to do, even re-writing whole sections – that’s easy.
During the editing there are fluctuating emotions, too: one moment I think it’s worked, next I think I’m deluded, the whole book is rubbish. Then my editor sees it, likes it, even loves it, and I am happy to lap up the relief.
Now comes a long period when I don’t have to worry: no one else has read it apart from agent and editor, and they liked it otherwise they’d have said so, so it must be OK, mustn’t it? I forget about it, start writing something else. While no one else can read it, I can’t have negative feedback, can I?
Copy-editing comes and I put my book in the hands of experts, to make sure there are no silly mistakes. Proof-reading, all of us, a team. It feels very safe, very unreal.
The moment of signing it off is another terrifying one – but it has to be done. I try not to think about it. Publication still feels unreal anyway.
And then suddenly it doesn’t feel unreal: it’s approaching. The marketing people start talking about what they might do (though they usually haven’t read it at this stage) and it all begins to feel more real.
And scary. I’ll rephrase that: it’s bloody terrifying. This is when I have exposure dreams – you know, the sort of dreams where you’re in a toilet with no door, or you’re walking down the street partly clothed?
At this point, no one outside the publishing company has read it. And of course they’re going to say they love it. They’re paid to. So I start to worry that real readers won’t like it and will say horrible things on Amazon. I now have real fear for my new baby. What if everyone hates it? What if I end up being ashamed?
Finally, here we are. Wasted will be published on Monday. Gulp. But you know what that emotion is? Pure excitement and pleasure. It’s too late for fear, too late for angst and the possibility of failure. Just leap out of that plane and sky-dive. There’s no turning back once you’ve jumped.
Not that I’d ever really sky-dive, you understand. Writing a book is quite enough for me.

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“Nicola Morgan is an award-winning author for teenagers, with successful titles such as Fleshmarket, Deathwatch, Blame My Brainand Sleepwalking. She prefers to forget that she also used to write Thomas the Tank Engine Books… When she’s not writing, she loves speaking in schools, and at festivals and conferences in the UK and Europe,  She also enjoys messing around on Twitter or her blogs. Nicola blogs for writers at www.helpineedapublisher.blogspot.com and has set up a special blog about her brand new book, Wasted – you can join the activities and contribute in lots of ways at www.talkaboutwasted.blogspot.com”



Talking: Books

Over these past few weeks I, along with Caroline Smailes and Jon Mayhew, have been forming a plan.

A plan for a series of events. Events that will be relaxed, informal and fun. We wanted them to be accessible and informative.
So what will you get if you come along to one of these events?
You’ll get the opportunity to listen to a short story writer (that’s me), a children’s author (that’s Jon) and a novelist (that’s Caroline) chatting about all things books. From the seeds of ideas, to how we write (how we definitely DON’T get cross when things aren’t working), to the editing process, how publishing works, all the way to the finished book, and probably beyond. Your questions will be welcome throughout.
Sounds good, no?
Our first event will be at Chester library on June 9th, 7-9pm. I’ll announce future dates here when I can. In the meantime you can join the fan/events page on Facebook by clicking here, and you can read the full details below. I am really, really looking forward to this. We hope to see you there!
Talking: Books. An evening with Jon Mayhew, Nik Perring and Caroline Smailes.

Join authors Jon Mayhew, Nik Perring and Caroline Smailes for an evening exploring the world of writing and publishing. A children’s author, a short story writer and a novelist, these three published authors will take you on their journey from beginning to book, answering your questions along the way.

Date: Wednesday, 9 June 2010

Where: Chester Library

Time: 7-9pm

Cost: £3 library members / £4 non members (including refreshments)
People should book tickets in advance, from the Information Desk at Chester Library, or reserve a place by telephoning 01244 977380.



A Week Of Broken Things

Well, it’s certainly been one of those weeks.

First my iPod decided it couldn’t be arsed talking to my computer and refused to be fixed by any of the suggestions on Apple’s wonderfully helpful site (I say wonderfully helpful because all of the suggestions take bloody hours to do and have been bugger all use).
Then, on Thursday I fell over. I tripped up a kerb (yes I know, and yes I had had a drink but was far from drunk). So after a spectacular fall (we’re talking Superman impression here) and a rather awkward landing I have (according to my research) sprained my elbow. That hurts. (It’s also a shame no-one saw.)
And I discovered that my arm wasn’t the only thing that got knackered in the fall. I give you Exhibit A: my glasses,which were in my jacket pocket at the time. 
Which, actually, is an interesting one. I’d gone over to a friend’s where we were about to watch the brilliant I Will Smash You *(oh the irony!). I pulled my glasses from my coat’s inside pocket and there made my discovery.
It’s also interesting because I bought them at a similar time to the suit I’d decided I’d not wear after last Tuesday (I talk about it here). I wonder if a part of me did it on purpose. It would not surprise me.
So, all in all, a frustrating week. And that’s not mentioning how busy I’ve been and how I’ve got behind yet again. 
I hope next week’s better. And that I make it through it in one piece.
***
* The film went down a treat. My friend described it as ‘amazing’ and I would not disagree.

Photo

So, as I said before, on Tuesday my writing group, along with photographer Katherine Elizabeth Lewis, handed over a cheque for the £200 we’d raised through sales of our 20 Photos 20 Stories book to Jo from the Alzheimer’s Society.

And here’s what it looked like:

From left to right: Jenny Martin, Sandy Milsom, Karen Crook, Jo Hawkins, photographer Katherine Elizabeth Lewis and me.

Katherine Elizabeth Lewis was also kind enough to donate one of the framed prints from the book (the cheque’s the smaller one she’s handing over!).

Mining Memories

Now, this is cool.

One of the people I teach at my writing group, the lovely and talented Jenny Martin, has put together a collection of poems, Mining Memories, for the benefit of the Coalfields Regeneration Trust.

And last night she was able to show us the finished product. It’s been printed and whatnot by Silverwood Books, and I must say they’ve done a really splendid job. The book looks gorgeous (and I know that the poems inside are great as well – they’re all very moving).

It’s published on May 11th and to celebrate Jenny is launching it at The Beacon in Whitehaven, on May 11th, 1pm – 3pm.

You can pre-order from Amazon here.

Big Moments

I’ll tell you what this post was going to be about.

It was going to be about the presentation of the cheque for £200 my writing group, and authors and poets, and Katherine Elizabeth Lewis had raised for The Alzheimer’s Society.

And it was going to be about my Doctor Who suit.

You see, I bought it four years ago (without, I must say, any notion it was like the one the last Doctor wore). It was going to be the suit I’d wear when promoting my first book. And wear it I did. I had the most brilliant and rewarding time working in schools, reading my work, signing books, running workshops. It was a brilliant, brilliant chapter in my life. But what followed was a whole load of rubbishness. A lot of pain, a lot of being let down and being bent out of shape. Realisations that I’d been doing things in the wrong way and, in a few instances, for the wrong people (seriously, the things you compromise for certain people defies belief at times).

So tonight was going to be the last time I wore it. It was going to be a funny kind of celebration of all the good bits from the last few years but, probably more importantly, it was going to be me shutting the door on the bad bits. It was going to be an important moment And it was.

That was what this post was going to be about. But.

I was talking to the very lovely Jo who works for the Alzheimer’s Society. She’d come down to my writing group so we could give her money. She was saying how pleased she was with how much money we’d managed to raise, and she was talking about what great ideas it’d given them for fund raising in the future.

And then she told us how useful the book (which contains flash fictions and poems written to photographs) had been. She told us how people who hadn’t spoken to their carers (wives, husbands, sons, daughters) in weeks or months have often sat down with the book and engaged with it. AND SAID SOMETHING! The book I’d help put together, with all the brilliant contributors, had actually made a difference. I’m still proud and really moved.

Jo said that the faces of the carers, when that happens, are quite something.

I’ll bet they are.

Now, isn’t that a big moment?

***

And the contributors, who deserve another big thank you, are:

Sue Heathcote, Caroline Smailes, Vanessa Gebbie, Joy Winkler, Lorrie Porter, Jenn Ashworth, Tania Hershman, Lynda Iverson, Jo Bell, Steve Howe, John Lindley, Barbara Challenger, Betty Challender, Jenny Martin, Katherine Elizabeth Lewis, Karen Crook, Sandy Milsom, Anne Brooke and Gay Horton.

***

Jo’s also agreed to write something for the blog on exactly how the staff at The Alzheimer’s Society have used the book – I’m really looking forward to reading  that.