Posts filed under 'Writing Chat'
Bill Hussey: Well, Joseph, we’ve discussed The Idea. The germ is in place. After a bit of story development next comes research. How do you approach research?
Joseph D’Lacey: I usually approach it with a very long, sharp object and give it a quick poke to make sure it’s safe to proceed. It usually isn’t – I’m not very keen on research, I’m afraid. Reminds me too much of being at school. That said, there are some subjects you have to look into if you want to avoid producing badly informed fiction. I usually do most of my research online. How about you?
BH: I start from the basis of my outline – this is really the next subject in our discussion I think – but once I’ve developed a skeleton outline of the story I can extrapolate from that what kind of research is needed. For example, in Through a Glass, Darkly I knew I’d have to research a few areas: metempsychosis so that I could put together a convincing ritual, police work and the life of a Roman Catholic priest. The voodoo stuff I could do online. The police stuff – I went into my local police station and just made a nuisance of myself. Eventually, they decided not to arrest me and were very nice about giving me the info I needed. I think when you’re writing stuff like police procedure in an otherwise fantastical story it pays to be accurate – the realism of the cop stuff will add credibility to the story as a whole – so try to get it right.
JD’L: It’s fascinating to me that you managed to get some time in your local police station without actually committing a crime first. Well done! Apparently, Stephen King did the same when he was researching his novel ‘From a Buick 8′. The only stipulation the police gave him was that he didn’t paint them in a bad light. For MEAT I wanted to get into a slaughterhouse and see what was really going on. But that would have meant lying about why I was there – no meat packer is going to let you in just so you can bad-mouth their business. MEAT, therefore, and everything slaughter-related within it was researched online. Thankfully, plenty of other people have already recorded enough undercover footage for me to have hours of material to work from.
For Garbage Man it was much the same deal. If I’d told a landfill site operator I was writing a novel about the dangers of burying waste, they’d never have let me in. Once again, much of the information came from online research. However, I was lucky enough to meet a few people who worked in the industry and were willing to let slip the realities for me. But what you say about accuracy is very important. I’ve just read ‘Every Dead Thing’. In one scene, two characters go scuba diving in a bayou looking for bodies. The author talks about ‘sucking oxygen’. Divers don’t breathe oxygen – they breathe air. Whilst it was a riveting novel, that inaccuracy pulled me right out of the story. Can’t afford to let that happen knowingly, can we?
BH: Absolutely not. Although I think, in some cases, small slips can be forgiven. I read a great book a few years ago – forgotten the title – about a guy circumnavigating the South Pole. Great research throughout – really convincing. Then I heard that the author had received a letter saying the sailor’s fob watch wouldn’t have been made until 3 years after the story was set. That kind of anally retentive nit picking is unnecessary I think.
JD’L: True, nit picking sucks – and is probably a sign your reader, by firm choice, isn’t invested in the story. But you never know who’s going to read your book. The fact is, we have to draw the line somewhere in terms of the extent of our research efforts. How much time do you think authors should spend on research, Bill?
BH: It’s a crucial question I think. It’s also something that doesn’t seem to be taught that much on writing courses but is, in my opinion, as important to a working writer as style, pace, dialogue etc. I really enjoy research and consequently, in the early days of TAGD, I made some big mistakes. I spent 3 weeks researching the witch trials of the 17th Century for example. Totally unnecessary for the story – but I just got caught up in it.
I think a writer needs to set strict parameters as to how much time he will set by to research his subject. For a working writer time is money.
JD’L: Yes, and there’s always the danger you’ll do research instead of writing. To my mind, that’s a bad thing. After all, for many writers, getting to their desk in the morning and staying there until they hit quota is hard enough. It’s all too simple to say you’re doing research and then spend a few months messing around and stuffing your head with trivia you’ll probably never use. I like to feel I have enough information not only to lend credence to the story but also to fully immerse me in an idea. Then a bit of atmosphere begins to leak from the fact into the fiction. Beyond that, I’m probably just wasting time.
BH: Spot on – writers generally will do anything to avoid actually writing. Doing research is the most legitimate excuse you can come up with. Having said that, I think research is very important, and not just sitting in a library browsing dusty old tomes and stuff. If your story is set in a specific place, do your best to visit it. The Absence has a millhouse as its setting and I spent 2 days just walking around Lincolnshire watermills, breathing in the atmosphere. This is a kind of tactile research – touching the brickwork, smelling the damp air. It all ends up on the page somewhere and adds something to the reality of the story.
JD’L: I love it that you took time to become part of that landscape, Bill. I don’t think I’ve ever intentionally done that for the sake of fiction. Not yet. Many a time, a place I’m familiar with will crop up but that doesn’t count. I think this must be how you pack so much mood into your fiction and I think it’s something all your reviewers and readers have been struck by. On the subject of ‘how much research?’ I’m far more likely to do too little. A lot of the time, I really feel the urgency to just write the story.
Smaller aspects of accuracy can always be ironed out as part of the editing process. If you’re burning up with a story, use the energy to get the bones on the page. Let’s face it, you can do research any time up to your deadline, right?
Let me ask you this, have you ever picked a subject that you know will require zero research purely so that you can devote all your time to writing? If not, is it something you’d consider?
BH: I’ve never written something that has required no research at all. In fact, in this regard, I’m a bit of a masochist. Example – I could have made Richard Nightingale – one of the central characters in The Absence – a solicitor. I thought about it. I used to be a solicitor and I know that world. But I’m bored rigid by that environment (probably why I left it!) and I’m interested in other people and their lives. So I made him an art dealer and set about researching that. It’s time consuming – it slows me down – but I get a kinda kick out of research and always feel a bit richer when a book is finished and I’ve caught a glimpse of another life.
I’m also very paranoid about getting things wrong – another reason I probably still spend too much time on research!
JD’L: Again, it’s different for me. I’m tempted to write without the need for research and I often do in short fiction. I love the feeling of a story coming entirely from the imagination – perhaps that’s one of the reasons I love to write. And, when I read a good story that is very obviously pure fantasy, well-communicated but directly from the mind of the writer, I adore it. I also adore it when I manage the feat myself. To be honest, Bill, I think research frightens me a little. I think it somehow makes me feel I need to be academic when there isn’t an academic bone in my body. I also feel sometimes that it isn’t truly a part of the writing process. What am I saying here? I suppose that, for a fiction writer dealing with real-life subjects, research is a necessary evil.
BH: I agree somewhat. Research isn’t writing but I feel that, certainly in the longer form, research is important. I think you’ve got to treat it as a practical thing – as vital in its way as buying paper and ink cartridges. Without it I don’t think I could write. Maybe I treat research as a safety blanket to wrap around myself before I start writing. I’ve said in interviews that I don’t believe in writer’s block – never had it – nor do I believe in the tyranny of the blank page. I think I’ve never had these problems because, before I start, I have my outline and my research. It gives me the confidence to get on with the job of writing.
That aside, can I suggest one very practical research tip?
JD’L: Please do.
BH: Be nice to people.
JD’L: That’s imperative. No one’s going to share with you otherwise, right?
BH: Absolutely – it sounds obvious but it’s something I’ve seen writers and researchers in general get sooo wrong. They go into police stations or wherever and start demanding to be seen or dropping off questionnaires without putting together a polite note first. If you need some piece of info, 9 times out of 10 you’ll get it if you ask politely. I’ve got a great relationship with the librarians at my local library. I’ve nurtured it for 10 years. I’ll go in and chat to them – genuinely because they’re lovely people. But they go beyond the call of duty for me because we get on. I can even call them up and ask them to check a fact for me and they call back.
I had a similar experience recently with a company that builds wind turbines. I needed info for book 3 so I met up with them at a local event and gave them some free books and chatted nicely – hey presto – I got a contact with the managing director. So be nice, folks!
JD’L: This is excellent advice, mate. You know what? You’ve enthused me. You’ve turned me around. I may pick a subject that requires loads of interaction with loads of people in pursuit of the facts for my next work. I know that’s coming off flippant, but I really mean it. I can see an idea forming already…Ah, research! Why was I ever so worried about it?
BH: Don’t, Joseph, this way madness lies!
JD’L: Too late! It’s a book about voluntary euthanasia. There’ll be no online research for me. This time, I’m going to roll my sleeves up and get involved!
December 1st, 2008
Over the course of the next few months these sorry scribblers will be talking about the construction of the novel, from the blueprints to laying the foundations, from shoring up that load-bearing wall to the final decorative flourishes upon the architrave.
They begin with The Idea…
BILL: So, Joseph, what’s the Big Idea…? Sorry, that came off needlessly aggressive. My question is that dreaded by all writers – where do you get your ideas from?
JOSEPH: I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that. However… the simple fact is I have no shortage of ideas. They come to me all the time, like flies to poop, and I write them in a notebook. Boring, I know, but true.
BILL: Ah, the ideas notebook. I always have good intentions when it comes to the ideas notebook. I try to carry mine around with me but generally leave it lying about at home. At the end of most days, I find my pockets full of receipts, restaurant bills and sweet wrappers covered in incomprehensible babble with things like ‘What if there was an X in the middle of X and the whole X had no idea it was buried there.’ Then it’s just a matter of deciphering what the hell I was talking about… But the germ, Joseph. The germ of a novel or short story. Where does it come from? Meat, for example…
JOSEPH: It’s a good question. And the answer is lots of different places. The opening of Meat is an exercise I did in a creative writing class several years ago. Pared down, reshaped, edited all to hell, of course. And I’ve always thought about the ethics of taking life in order to survive. To make the idea striking I took the rather obvious step of putting the occasional human through the process of slaughter. How about you, Bill? Where did Through a Glass, Darkly surface from?
BILL: It’s interesting you talk about that ethical dilemma that inspired Meat. Through A Glass… came from a similar place. It originated in a moral debate I had with a staunchly Christian friend. The conversation ranged across mercy killing, embryo research, holy war. At one point my friend asked the age-old question – ‘What would you do to survive? If it meant breaking every taboo, every moral code you hold dear. To save your skin, what would you do?’. It’s a fairly standard moral maze question but it gave me a scenario: a man with an insatiable lust for life is dying of a morbid illness. He is offered a chance to live but at a terrible cost…
But like you, Joseph, I think ideas can come from anywhere. For my next book, The Absence, it was simply a matter of place inspiring story. I had visited Cogglesford Water Mill – one of many very old Lincolnshire mills. The atmosphere of the place just caught hold of me and I fashioned a story around that setting. But here’s a question – instead of waiting for the muses to descend, have you ever sat down and thought ‘I’m going to come up with an idea today’?
JOSEPH: Yes, indeed, I have. When I spent a year overseas and unemployed, I wrote like the devil was after my soul (caught me now, hasn’t he? Damn that Master Petherick…). I did all kinds of ‘exercises’ made up very randomly. Some of them became publishable stories – e.g. ‘What they want, (what aliens really, really want)’ sold to Far Sector but was nothing more than a forcing of the alien theme in any direction I came up with on the spot. But for novels, Bill, doesn’t an idea have to be stronger than that? This is a loaded question by the way, so point it away from yourself…
BILL: The novel idea needs to be strong, sure. But are we talking about the finished, lovingly polished idea here rather than the germ? I think the germ can be a fairly small thing – full of potential, exciting enough to make you skip about the room a bit, but I don’t think it has to be fully formed at the initial stages.
At the risk of this coming off like an advertising blurb for future projects, I’ve recently started 2 new books. The first was inspired by watching wind turbines being built off the coast of Skegness. The second was a line from Dracula in which Mina Harker imagines the Count among ‘the teeming millions of London’. Fairly bland beginnings but they have inspired stories. Both were at a time when I was consciously casting around for ideas rather than waiting for those overrated muses!
I suppose my question is this: does an idea have more legitimacy as a ‘novel idea’ if it comes from those muses rather than being deliberately sought?
JOSEPH: Not in the least. Bollocks to the muses, I say, Bill. We have to rely on ourselves. Any idea is a worthy idea if you do a good job with it. Even a fairly drab, one-dimensional idea can become a feast for the reader. The simple ‘Good vs. Evil within a single character’ became the legendary Jekyll and Hyde.
Here’s something everyone can try. I give it freely so don’t say we at HR are stingy. (Besides, a Bloody Books car battery attached to your tongue makes you want to wag it…) On a piece of paper write fifteen types of employment, fifteen themes and fifteen locations. Cut them into single pieces of paper and put them in three envelopes (could be three hollowed out skulls, of course). Pick one location, one theme and one occupation. Write the obvious story that emerges from mixing these three things. Magic! I’ve written novels like this…
BILL: I think one of the most important things when it comes to ideas is to read as much and as widely as possible. Reading voraciously is important for writing in general – it improves your skills in regard to characterization, pacing, descriptive passages, mood-building etc, but it’s also important as far as coming up with ideas is concerned. You might pick up a suggestion in a novel, for example, that you can tease out into a full idea of your own. And not just novels – read newspapers, magazines, tour guides, even pamphlets while you’re waiting in the doctor’s surgery! And don’t be snobby in your reading – bad books and red tops are just as good a source for ideas as literary novels and broadsheets.
JOSEPH: I agree. Read as much as you can of whatever you can whenever there’s a spare moment. Although, I have to say that it’s particularly in reading fiction that I really feel I learn about how not to do things and what I ought to aspire to.
But ideas are just out there for the taking, aren’t they? Like mosquitoes over a southern swamp. Why people ask where ideas come from I will never understand.
If I can add one last point it’s that when you have an idea you MUST write it to its conclusion – even if you think it’s utter dross. Otherwise you’ll never discover the nuggets of gold in the grimy ore of your mind. If the idea turns out to be worthless at least you’ll have had some valuable practice in stickability. Best case scenario is you turn out a piece you can be proud of.
BILL: Absolutely. There are ideas within ideas, and the writing up of a bad idea can produce those golden nuggets. Well, I think we’ve said all we can on The Idea. Next time: the joys and frustrations of RESEARCH.
JOSEPH: Research? What the hell’s Res– YAAAAARRGGGHHH!!! (Holy butt cheeks, that is one looooong trident the master wields…) Of course. Silly me. Now, I remember what research is. Boy, am I looking forward to that topic.
BILL: Blimey, that’s a nasty looking puncture wound you have there, Joseph. Well, three puncture wounds. I think you’ve severed your femoral artery – you’re losing a lot of blood. I’ve got some Savlon and a couple of bandaids around here somewhere.
JOSEPH: Thanks, Bill. You’re a pal.
November 3rd, 2008
I’m glad Bill brought this subject up. He’s absolutely right in what he says about how people buy books. It’s an attraction thing, just like choosing a lover. Psychologists understand the generalities which men and women find attractive. These generalities appear on the covers of magazines and sell them in their millions per day. We call these generalities models. We call them celebrities.
Of course, selling books can’t work in exactly the same way but similar psychological principles apply. Discovering the secret of what is attractive in the right way to as many people as possible is the name of the game. If not, all books would have plain covers; titles alone would be enough to send people digging for their wallets.
Seeing the cover of your debut novel is a special moment, as you’ll have picked up from Bill’s response to first seeing the cover for Through a Glass, Darkly. MEAT’s first draft UK cover had a matt finish. Only the hook shone metallically. The colours were darker and rustier. The original strap line was ‘What’s the worst thing you can imagine?’. The unedited review copies went out with that strap line. As we neared publication, the line became ‘You are what you eat’.
The overall cover design was simple, stark and pertinent, fitting the title exactly. I loved it. Something Bloody Books set out to do was ‘de-ghettoise’ their horror titles: get them front of house in the major chain stores. And this they achieved right out of the gate with MEAT – despite a cover that screamed ‘horror!’. I was delighted to see my novel on the 3 for 2 tables in Waterstones and Borders. However, I suspect Meat’s cover polarised browsers. To the horror fan, it was a definite maybe, especially with a Stephen King quote blazoned above the book’s title. But, to more mainstream readers, I think it became a definite no-no. So, while sales were good, we only attracted the hardcore horror fans willing to take a punt on an unknown author. It’s only now, as word spreads about the research behind the novel that other less horror-centric readers are jumping on the band wagon. I suspect a much wider range of readers found the cover of Through a Glass, Darkly a more tempting prospect.
Comments from some reviewers suggested the UK cover of MEAT was practically a spoiler. Others hinted the jacket was at odds with its contents.
The Hungarian and German translations of MEAT are very similar to Bloody Books’ original. However, the French cover is a shot of a wooden chopping block and a meat cleaver. Barely a trace of blood. And they’ve called it ‘Les Bouchers de Dieu’ (The Butcher’s of God or God’s Butchers depending on your take…) Personally speaking, it’s a far less striking cover but perhaps this is a good thing. As with all things in publishing, time will tell.
Contrary to all I’ve said so far, I also believe that really good books will not lie down and be ignored, even if they have unappealing covers. Books which are able to satisfy a wide audience and which move readers in a lingering way, these books will be talked about and word will spread. There will be foreign sales and there will be reprints.
One final thing to mention about covers:
Bill talks about being involved with the choosing of the design. This is a rare thing indeed, believe me. If you’re not selling books in the tens of thousands per week, it’s very unlikely you’ll be consulted on cover art. Sure, it’ll be in your contract that you’ll be ‘consulted’ but the reality will be that your publisher is likely to consult you when it’s too late to make changes. Bill and I are incredibly fortunate to have a found a publisher like Bloody Books. They talk to us every step of the way. Of course, their say is final when it comes to covers – they’re the ones taking the financial risk of publishing our books, after all – but I can honestly say BB is a rarity among publishing houses.
I’m damned glad I can say that.
(And Master Petherick sipping a little of my blood of a Friday evening seems a small price to pay.)
Knowing Bill has received his cover for The Absence, the proposed cover of The Garbage Man can’t be far behind. I can barely contain myself…
October 28th, 2008
Okay, maybe I’m getting slightly ahead of myself here. Joseph and I are about to launch into a series of discussions on the business of writing a novel, from ‘the Idea’ straight through to the final edit. In the journey of the novel the decision about cover design is, if not the last consideration, pretty near the end. However, in the world of modern publishing a book’s cover is almost as important a factor in the finished product as the merit of the book itself. Many highfalutin’, so-called literary writers would balk at what I’ve just told you. They would stand by the age-old adage that one should never judge a book by its cover. They’re the very same folk who are dismissive about the importance of plot and pacing. My answer to that sort of thinking is quite simply: get real! You want to write? Well then you’ve got to write books that people want to buy. Publishing is not (and never should be, in my opinion) a charitable cause in which people with a few bob throw their money at scribblers who simply want to ‘express themselves’ on paper. Publishers are not modern day patrons of the arts: they are businessmen. Sure, the best of them are invested in the quality and integrity of the books they produce, but those books need to make a profit. With this in mind, the decision on a book’s cover is a vital one. Because, and let me make this very clear,
VIRTUALLY EVERYONE JUDGES A BOOK BY ITS COVER!
That may not be fair – I’ve read many excellent books that have appalling artwork slapped on the front. It may not even be very wise on the part of the reading public. But it is the truth. In this helter-skelter, fast-food gobbling, coffee-on-the-run world most people just don’t have the time to hang around in bookshops for hours perusing the shelves. Incidentally, that’s why you see so many blurbs saying ‘the next Dan Brown’ or ‘in the style of John Le Carré’. People know what they like and need a pointer as to what else they might fancy. They just don’t have the time to investigate. The same principle applies when it comes to covers. Remember after The Da Vinci Code came out how many sinister, vaguely monastic covers you saw springing up all over the place? Again, I’m not saying this is right, but it is the commercial reality of publishing today.
Covers are immensely important. They have to grab the reader without being garish – they have to pull you in without assaulting your senses – in their own right, they have to tell at least part of a story. I didn’t realise the importance of covers myself until the artwork came in for Through A Glass, Darkly. Luckily, the design was perfect from the outset – just a little yellowing of the image was required. The email from Bloody Books that contained the artwork had been copied in to a dozen or so other people, asking for advice and opinions. This was a committee decision, as I believe most cover decisions are. Why? Well, without a good cover your book just ain’t gonna sell, baby. With that in mind a publisher will solicit as much advice as possible before he commits.
So what makes a perfect cover? Don’t ask me. It’s like my agent said during the early stages of publication of TAGD – ‘You don’t have any cover ideas? No problem, you’re a writer, not a bloody graphic designer.’ That said, I think I have gained a bit of insight into the art of the process over the past year. I would say that the cover of a modern novel – be it horror or any other genre – needs a simple, bold image. Covers that are too busy tend to confuse rather than engage. Obviously that image needs to have some relevance to the book and yet not be too obvious. For example, you’re writing a story about zombies taking over New York. You’ve called it Undead in the Big Apple (hey, I’m not here to give away cracking title ideas, okay?). If this was my novel, I wouldn’t go for an image of lumbering corpses surrounding the Statue of Liberty. Take another less obvious image from the book – a broken wristwatch with the hint of a reflection in the cracked face, for example (don’t like that? I refer you to my agent’s observation cited earlier!). A strong image that does not bear an obvious relation to the book’s title will engage the reader’s curiosity – start them asking questions about how it fits into the story. With TAGD the cover was deceptively simple – birds in panicked flight, soaring away from the dark fingers of a tree, a shaft of sunlight breaking down upon them. Only when you reach the end of the book do you come to a scene that… ah, well, no spoilers. I loved the idea that, once the reader had finished the book, he or she could flip back to the front and see the significance of the cover image.
Horror covers are becoming less obviously ‘of the genre’. Very rarely do you see fanged spectres and hairy lycanthropes cluttering up the fronts of new horror books. Take, for example, the cover for Joe Hill’s Heart-Shaped Box reproduced here. It is a simple, arty cover, sinister without being grotesque. There are images here from the book – images to intrigue. This kind of cover may have been used because the genre is trying to reinvent itself – to get readers who wouldn’t normally pick up a fright fest to dip their toe. The same thinking is used when publishers employ the term ‘dark fiction’ rather than ‘horror’ – it’s a ‘don’t scare off the punters’ mindset. Some may argue that this is a dishonest tactic but I would suggest that, if the novel has any subtlety to it, then why not employ a defter touch? While our core fanbase is strong, horror deserves (and needs) new readers. A good cover can draw them in. I know this from my own experience of talking to Waterstones book buyers and reading groups. Many people who would never have considered reading horror confessed that they were intrigued by TAGD’s less in-your-face artwork.
The main reason I’m blogging about the cover is because I’ve just received the design for my new book, The Absence. As with TAGD, it is gloriously beautiful: a bold, dark, creepy image, sepia-tinted and full of lurking menace. I think it should pull in the punters. I hope so anyway! This time it takes a central location from the book and conjures up just the right atmosphere.
Finally, if you don’t believe what I’m saying about the importance of the cover, then next time you’re in a bookshop just watch the people browsing. They will pick up the book and glance over the cover. If the artwork sparks their interest they’ll flip to the back cover blurb. Even if the blurb grabs them they will rarely, in my experience, then head straight to the check out. They’ll go back to the cover and take another look. The cover is the hook and a good cover sells.
October 27th, 2008
I wonder how often a first novel really is a first novel. Does anyone have a statistic for this?
I’m willing to bet vital portions of my anatomy that almost all first novels are, in fact, second, third or fourth novels. If not, I’m even more certain a ‘first novelist’ will have done two, three or four novel’s worth of work. At least. Perhaps it’s only my experience – and I’d like to hear about it if yours has been different – but publishing a ‘first’ piece of full-length fiction (horror or otherwise) seems to be a matter of writing several others beforehand.
Some innate talent ought to be present, I suppose. An appreciation of words and stories might help. A knowledge of your target market is a good idea. But the rest is sheer legwork. In other words, writing.
A lot.
Or maybe I’m wrong…
Subjectively speaking, MEAT was my sixth novel over the course of about six years and only the first to be published. But I’ve been writing ‘with a view’ for about ten.
So, if you’re working away wondering if it’s ever going to happen, you should probably keep at it. Write, write, write – no time spent on your craft is wasted.
And if your first novel really was your first, let me know, you lucky (or very talented) devil…
September 29th, 2008
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