Kuddling up with the Kindle: every picture tells a story

Fighting a hacking cough and a headache today - reading an ebook. Not cause and effect. The Devil's Star by Jo Nesbo, well-suited to it with its short chapters and episodic structure.

(Still managed to write 750 words of my own book in two sessions; read considerably more between sleeps.)

I have been reflecting on the comfort of the ereader. Stark, like borrowing a library book that has lost its cover? Fine once you get into the text; it is the story that counts. But with a dry cough and an aching head, it would have been nice to flex the spine of the book and gaze at the front cover and re-read the blurb.

Book covers are like the art cards you buy from galleries and take home to stick on the fridge beneath a magnet of the Eiffel Tower or a blue dog with wobbly eyes. A shelf of books is similar to the rack of cards in the museum shop - stimulating, offering choices and the possibility of adventure. Cover art offers a way into the world of the book and is a reminder of what it is about.

Books lined up on the shelf say something about you; what's in your Kindle is anybody's guess.

ebooks: Mars Mission or a Feeble Firework?

Dreaming about self-publishing ebooks? I already have that in mind for the updated version of Badgerman & Bogwitch. But what about launching the just completed, Key to Finlac into the unknown?

What does it take to become conventionally published?

There is a lot of luck involved. Once you have written a great and well-told story, you still need your book to land on the right desk at the right time and find the right gap in the list - as critical as a Mars landing. But there is little science to it - even less for the agentless author.

And as for self-publishing ebooks?

It's as exciting as Firework Night, but you are pointing your little rocket into the heavens. You are not even aiming at a planet. Be prepared. (I was a Boy Scout.) More than likely your dream is going to fall to earth unseen.

A Walk in the Woods: Writing is not a stroll in the park.

Stick at something and you will be rewarded.

I followed my protagonist into the woods this morning. She was looking for someone she has an ambivalent relationship with. I was getting to the point of writing a scene involving a confrontation and the development of an unlikely friendship thereafter.

Just as the two were to meet, someone else stepped out from behind a tree.

This is the moment writers work for - a lot of speculative, explorative text, hoping the plot will emerge - then  an unexpected and totally surprising entrance by someone unknown to the other characters and the author himself (in my case.) On this entrance the story turns.

So you go on. A moment like this will happen again - as long as you keep writing. It is the reward for keeping the faith...and sticking at it.

The Book and the Bittern: A Lesson for the Learning

http://www.youtube.com/my_videos?feature=mheeFour days away from the new book made for a tough start today. I thought I'd left a plot tag for myself to latch on to, but I hadn't. Flummoxed for a while, I engaged in pleasant displacement activity. I nearly packed up and went birding at WWT Slimbridge.

Nine o'clock came. I had not done much but stare out of the window at the birds busying themselves around the feeders. I tweeted about a Robin chasing a Hedge Sparrow (Dunnock), drawing a lesson from nature; not quite Aesop. A Blackcap appeared on the grape vine and the fig tree; I tweeted a comment about global warming.

I made coffee.

I wrote a paragraph. I built to 504 words. Took a break, went to Tesco. Came back, stuck at it and managed to crack the 1000 word barrier before lunch.

One of the tougher writing days, but rewarded by birds. And in the afternoon I saw the elusive Bittern. Never seen one before, and maybe never will again. Its only appearance today - for ten minutes in the middle of the reed bed, heavily camouflaged.

If I'd abandoned the book and gone birding this morning, I would have missed it.

Putting the Kindle to Work: No iStrain & no dropped pages

So how successful have I been proof reading my novel, The Key to Finlac, with the Kindle? In terms of time, 95,000 words took about ten hours.

And what did I discover? 158 typos or formatting errors that I'd missed on countless re-readings on my iMac screen.  No iStrain and no dropped pages.

The Kindle lists for you all the underlinings and notes I have made as an index, so when it comes to going back to the iMac it is easy to add the changes to my final draft without sorting through lots off MS pages.

I think the Kindle is well on the way to paying for itself already. Apart from that, I enjoyed reading my book; it still kept me gripped - and that is always a relief. I like it as it is; no major revisions.

The Proof is in the Kindle: why the e-reader is an essential tool for writers

Why is the Kindle 3G Keyboard so good for proof reading completed drafts? 

• Documents transfer easily as .pdf's, (or ebook .mobi files if you are using a program like Scrivener as your word processor.)

• The electronic paper eliminates the eyestrain associated with looking at an LCD/LED screen.

• Notes can be easily added to the text with the QWERTY keyboard so changes can be made to the MS once back at the computer.

• Your MS looks like a book as the reader will see it. (In my view, if you are self-publishing a Kindle is essential)

• It is portable.

• It saves paper.

• It is cheap and with the free 3G it is a bargain.

Writing in the Rain: Umbrella not Required

What happened to agents?

Well, I had one pro-forma rejection last week, so inconsequential that I didn't bother to write about it at the time. It took the form of sticky mailing label pressed down upon an apple green index filing card. With apologies from... the message was sympathetic... of the kind that says, I'm very sorry but diary commitments do not allow me to open your village fete... I hope the rain stays off and your afternoon is successful.

So why have I become immune to rejection? Simply that I am absorbed in writing my new book, the title of which shall remain a secret... in fact I don't have one yet. And after that book is done, I have two more projects in mind.

Meanwhile, my current manuscript, The Key to Finlac remains important to me. In fact I am re-reading it on my new Kindle - and enjoying it - a good sign. I am enthusiastic about it and will find a home for it.

Meanwhile, more writing is the thing.

11.11.11 : Dystopia & remembrance of things past

Today, a number. A truly digital date for a digital age. Or magical, depending on your sensibility. I am an optimistic person, a writer for children and YA (Young Adults). I am eleven again. Looking back, looking forward, I conclude that I am a green and pleasant land person by nature and nurture.

I don't believe in dystopia. Therefore I am disinclined to write about it, just for the thrill of it or because of a market trend in many forms of modern YA media. Today we remember the light, and make a note that darkness should be kept at bay.

Nor am I a utopian, though I have a preference for nature writing, meditative poetry and optimistic stories where troubled protagonists find redemption.

The truth of things, I think, occupies the ground somewhere in between and needs to be told in an honest tale.

Burning the Kindle at both ends

I have been talking about it for years. (Keep your friends close, keep your enemies even closer.) Though I don't really think of the Kindle, or any e-reader or tablet in that way. More like new neighbours that I'm nosey about. Or maybe they look interesting and I'd like to be friends.

Yesterday, my Kindle arrived.

What a tool for a writer! At last my MS in progress will be bearable to look at on a screen, and formatted just as the reader will see it. It will look like a book. I shall be able to carry it with me. I can download it to Kindle as a .pdf or even better use Scrivener to convert it into e-book format. The Kindle is a gateway. It is an essential tool.

I have also bought the Kindle, because it is there and I need to know, and because of all that free 19th century literature. Moby Dick, Walden, & Leaves of Grass were the first works I downloaded. The Scarlet Letter will be next. It's like being in the university bookshop again; the thrill of the bargain bin!

As a writer and a reader I shall burn the Kindle at both ends.

be-book-a-lula: when writing feels like Elvis

Some days the keyboard plays rock 'n' roll. Don't ask me why. It just sings to a different beat.

On a good day I write 500 words an hour. But not all day - otherwise I'd be writing a novel a month. My quota is a thousand words or a little over, then I stop with a drum roll on the desk and and a crash of cymbals in my head. On a good day I've finished work by 10.30. a.m. having had a coffee break halfway through.

On a bad day, it's like a the guitar player hasn't turned up. 750 words after four hours; the thunder of drums in my head.

I write chapters 2,500 words long. Short and crisp like the two minute single. Memorable. A juke box-full that might become an album... eventually... hopefully.

And when that happens I feel like Elvis.

bursting the ebabble bubble

Is mixing tweets a bad thing- I tweet both birds & books? My audience is different for each, if I have an audience. Pick 'n' Mix is an enjoyable thing, but look what happened to Woolworths. Do I need twin Twitter accounts, like I need three bank accounts and four camcorders?

Email, ebook, ebabble, ebabel, e-enabled, press esc(ape).

Stop.

I have joined the blogging debate. (At least momentarily - because we only have a moment whilst doing other more important things.) Deploy a restful screensaver and some ambient music.

Think.

In the writing game there is pressure to Blog, Tweet, be Linkedin, interview oneself on YouTube (I have a birding channel - surprise), be the face of a book.

There are so many words out there: voices to be heard, like everyone singing a different song on the tube all at the same time.



You might also like to read the excellent blog by Sarah Duncan: Platforms are for Trains not Writers.

Sugar Lumps of Encouragement - Honesty is a Hard Pill to Swallow.

Another day, another nice contact from an agent. She sounds charming and is very kind. Neighbourly even. Concerned. The email arrived like a handwritten note put through the door. There she goes down the front path. A cheery wave goodbye from an unobtrusive distance. Going shopping. Actually that's her job.

As emails arrive in my mail box, they seem increasingly like get-well cards. Glad you are making progress. Hope you'll be out and about soon. I think there's some hope for you yet. Keep taking the medicine. You could always try another practitioner....

I cast no blame. In a former professional life I have composed notes like this myself.

Like get-well cards, messages from agents, don't really get to the root of the problem, they skirt around the embarrassing or difficult issues. They cheer you up for an hour or two; they don't do much to make you well.

At the end of the day, getting better or managing the condition comes from within oneself. The only medicine that really works is a regular dose of writing.

And so of course that is exactly what I go on doing.

Poetical and Charming - Writing for a Less Lyrical Age

A licked finger pointing at the sky; a cool breeze tempting a cloud into an Indian Summer. To go indoors or stay outside a little longer and catch a cold? A Puzzle.

I have always thought that age, like the wind, is a continuum, with ebbs and flows, that eventually peters out. The reality of publishing is that age comes in marketable chunks, like the National Curriculum, and there are little gaps in between, or at least murky grey areas of fog where books might become lost.

It is lovely to be associated with lyricism & charm. And the poetical.  (The words of a well-known publisher about my book.) But it would be nice to be lashed to the rough mast of teenage fiction or dream in the lazy hammock of the 10-12's. At the moment I am at the end of the plank... staring into the fog.

Or maybe not.

The story is the thing and it should be able to slide up and down a continuum of age, if it is good enough. Having just been rejected with charm and grace by that well-known publisher I talked about earlier, I need to reflect on whether my story is bright enough to illuminate the dark gaps that lie between twelve and thirteen, and penetrate the fog that is fifteen.

A puzzle.

In a queue, not even on hold.

It's something of an Indian Summer on the writing front. Words have drifted in on a warm breeze the last couple of days. Easy living. Optimism. Not about publishers and agents, but about writing again.

I am enjoying these days of hearing nothing from agents and publishers. I should be more anxious. I would be if it wasn't for the writing of a new book.

The Key to Finlac sits beside me in the shade. The earth will move around the sun. Agents will be agents. No news is simply no news. It means I am in a queue, not even on hold.

My Indian Summer may last a few weeks more and maybe the new book will be so advanced it will keep me warm throughout the long cold winter.