100 untimed books: right away

55. right away
55. right away

This prompt made me think of gentlemen’s gentlemen, of Jeeves and Bunter. But the only Wodehouse that I have in the house is Psmith in the City, and I’ve already used Sayers. So I thought I’d broaden the idea out to all the sidekicks, to the ones who exist as a sounding board for their main characters and the ones who are several steps ahead of them. The ones who exist because somebody in this book needs to be in touch with reality, and the ones who exist because the main character couldn’t cope without them.

So here’s to you, Bunter and Jeeves. Here’s to you, Passepartout. Here’s to you, Captain Hastings. Here’s to you, Doctor Watson and here’s to you, Miss Moneypenny. I’m glad somebody wrote you some books of your own.

100 untimed books

Late to the #IndieAthon party

indieathon-9

On Monday my mother texted me to say ‘Looks like ASITW is very timely’. I texted back to say, ‘Haha, it always is’, and felt slightly smug about being with it for once.

Yesterday I looked at Twitter and discovered that I’d missed a good thirty per cent of an initiative that’s very relevant to my interests, as they say, and now I feel less smug.

#IndieAthon is a month-long celebration of self-published authors and small presses. The organisers have this to say:

Throughout the month you can read however many books you want, not all of them have to be for the readathon of course, but the goal is to read as many indie-published or self-published books as you want! The only limitation to what you can read is that it has to be either self-published or published by a small or independent publisher to count for the readathon. The books can be old, new, popular, unpopular, fiction, non-fiction, anything!

We also would really like you to post reviews of the books you read on Goodreads, Amazon and wherever else you want to post it! Reviews are so important for authors, and especially for smaller authors it can make a huge difference!

There’s a bingo card and everything!

So, hello, #IndieAthon, here I am, sneaking in through the back door, hanging my coat over a chair, grabbing a drink from a tray, and pretending I’ve been here all along.

Um. Er. Yes. Hello. I’m Kathleen Jowitt, and my book Speak Its Name* was the first self-published book ever to be shortlisted for the Betty Trask Prize. I’m in the middle of preparing my second novel, A Spoke in the Wheel, for publication, and that’s my excuse for not having looked at Twitter properly all month.

I’m self-published and very glad of it. Why? One word. Freedom. Self-publishing gives me the freedom to do my own thing, and to do my own thing at my own pace. I’m only answerable to myself. I don’t have to worry about whether anybody actually wants to read a book about a Christian lesbian university student finding her way out of the closet, or, if they liked that, whether they’ll then be interested in a disgraced professional cyclist.

I don’t have to please other people to get my book into print. I just have to put the work in myself. I’m free to experiment, to tell the stories that nobody else tells.

And I’m free to do my own thing at my own pace. I’m the only person who gets to set me deadlines. If I decide that something needs an extra six months’ work to get it really good, I’m free to put those six months in. Conversely, if I have a spare couple of hours and I want to get going on the back cover copy or the front cover design, then I can do that. I don’t have to wait on decisions from anybody else.

Sometimes it’s a scary thing, this freedom. It means taking responsibility for every little thing. Every word that makes it into the finished book is there because I put it there, and it stays there because I didn’t take it out. I can – and I do – ask other people to read for inaccuracy and insensitivity, but the decision whether or not to respond with changes remains with me. The cover, typesetting and formatting, are exactly as good as I can get them.

Any errors or infelicities remaining, as it says on my acknowledgements page, are my own. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

In good company

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A Spoke in the Wheel stands at 69,591 words, and I think it’s done. It’s gone through a ream of paper and goodness knows how many drafts.

So far, I’ve had comments from seven people on one or more of those drafts. Some were on early drafts that frankly I’m blushing to think about now. Some were on what was, up until yesterday, the very latest draft. Some of those comments have been detailed, line by line, word by word. Some have been more general. Some have been delivered in person, some via email, some over the phone. Some were on very specific aspects of the book. Some were on the thing as a whole.

(Nobody picked up on the fact that I had two Chapter 10s. Or Chapters 10. Whatever. I caught that just now.)

Some of them have me muttering, ‘Oops!’ Some of them have me muttering, shamefacedly, ‘Oh, good point.’ Some of them have me muttering, defensively, ‘Well, it works on the eschatological level!’ Some of them I just don’t agree with. Some of them flat out contradict each other.

Two novels’ worth of experiment have left me with a workable approach:

If two people whose judgement I trust make the same comment, I act on it.

One person might miss a reference or misunderstand something, or simply fail to see what I’m trying to do. But if two people say the same thing, I don’t argue.

I might not make the change that either one of them suggests. I might change something to make what I originally meant to say clearer. I might delete an entire scene to get away from it.

And I can be one of those two people. If one person’s comment has me muttering, ‘Oh, good point,’ then the chances are I’ll be changing something, even if nobody else mentions it.

And here’s the other important thing:

If someone who knows more than I do about the subject I’m writing about tells me that I’ve got something wrong, I act on it.

In this book, I’ve changed things after being advised on How Wheelchairs Work, How To Go Running, Things One Might Purchase To Improve One’s Bike, and How Prescriptions Work, among other things. No doubt there will be something that all of us have missed, and if I’m lucky it will be something as innocuous as that chapter heading, because, for a self-publisher more than anybody, the buck stops here.

That being so, I am most sincerely grateful to all my editors, beta readers, nitpickers, whatever you want to call them. Their work, their patience, their enthusiasm, their encouragement, make the writing process much less lonely and the work so much better. Without them I don’t think I’d ever finish this book. Indeed, the next thing on my list is to write the acknowledgements page.

100 untimed books: shelving

87. shelving
87. shelving

One reads the Thursday Next series as much for the literary snarking as for the plot. And shelving is part of that snarking.

‘The sub-genre of Literary Smut has finally been disbanded with Fanny Hill and Moll Flanders being transferred to Racy Novel and Lady Chatterley’s Lover to Human Drama.’

We diligently wrote it all down…

Entirely coincidentally, this is the top shelf of my bookcase. I will confess that I have cropped this picture quite severely in order to make the dust less obvious. That – besides a dreadful picture – is what you get for taking photographs above your head.

My own system of shelving is bound by the physical constraints of book size and shelf height. I try to keep series and authors together, but otherwise it’s a free-for-all. To the left of Jasper Fforde there’s Damon Runyan; to the right, Archy and Mehitabel.

100 untimed books

The final stretch

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On Thursday I got the last email through from my horde of editors, beta-readers, and nitpickers. At least, the last one that I’m going to pay any attention to. At least, the last one that I’m going to pay any attention to until I’ve got the manuscript prepared for print, at which point I’ll bring in a proofreader. And I’m only paying attention to this one because I’d already heard most of the comments over a pint the previous week and decided that they were things that I could fix.

Because I’ve reached the point where I am just about ready to be done with this book. Next time I will schedule the launch for September or October, so that I’m not doing all the preparation during my busiest time at work.

Work know about my writing now – and are very supportive of it. Sometimes terrifyingly so. ‘Kathleen can run a creative writing workshop! And a self-publishing one!’ somebody said the other day. I responded ‘Self-publishing is mostly hiding under the table and crying.’ I haven’t yet reached that stage. Not quite. However, I really am very tired and very aware that I could have made this easier for myself.

The feeling of just having had enough, though, that’s one that comes with every book (at least, it’s been two out of two so far). As the last of the comments come in I find myself wanting somebody to say,

‘It’s fine. Stop worrying. Just put it out there.’

They don’t. They won’t. Quite right, too. I didn’t ask them to. I asked them to find things that needed fixing, that didn’t ring true, that held up the pace, and they’ve done that. And the thing about self-publishing is that there’s only one person who can tell me that it’s time to put it out there. And that person is me.

I’m not quite ready to say it yet. But I’m very nearly there.

100 untimed books: closer

49. closer
49. closer

This has been my favourite Lent book for a very long time, and, as I slowly work my way through past series of Star Trek and get round to reading sci-fi classics that I’ve been hearing out forever, it only becomes more so. The metaphors of exploration, of setting out into the unknown with little but faith in the merits of the endeavour for sustenance, of coming to terms with mysteries that must always be beyond our comprehension, resonate deeply.

Lent is often a difficult time of year for me: it’s the very beginning of spring, and I find myself thinking that everything should be fine now that we’re out of winter, but in actual fact it takes my body a while to catch up. Remembering that Lent isn’t actually meant to be easy helps. Sometimes it’s something to engage with; sometimes the best I can do is hope to endure it.

It feels as if I’m getting further and further away (from what? from reality, from what I want to be doing, from the Divine), but in the end it brings me closer.

100 untimed books

A Spoke In The Wheel has a cover, and other exciting news

front cover asitw 1

Three things make a post, or so they say. Well, I can manage two and a half.

Firstly, and most obviously, A Spoke in the Wheel now has a cover. My very grateful thanks go to those who took their personal conveyances to bits so that I could take photographs of the wheels.

The thing itself is on track (odd metaphor, for a bicycle/wheelchair book!) to be launched (even odder metaphor!) on Saturday 5th May. (That way there’ll be something to do if the Giro d’Italia is boring. Which it might be. There’s been so much controversy around where it’s starting and who’s starting it that the race itself could be a huge anti-climax.)

Secondly, I’ve been asked to judge a writing competition to celebrate the public service union UNISON’s 25th anniversary. I don’t talk much about the day job over here, but I’ve been working for UNISON for eight years now. Most recently I’ve been in Learning and Organising Services, which oversees training for reps and learning for all members – generally speaking, continuing professional development or building confidence.

One of the most wonderful things about what we do there is getting to meet people, who, having assumed or been told all their life that they can’t, suddenly discover that they can. That’s what learning is about, that’s what this competition is about, and I’m really looking forward to reading the entries.

And – here’s the half, because it’s very closely related to the above – I’ve written a blog for Unionlearn about finding the time and the confidence to write. It’s over here.