James Graham Ballard
15 November 1930 - 19 April 2009
My thoughts are with his devoted partner Claire Walsh and with his three children: James, Fay, and Beatrice.
We have lost a truly remarkable writer whose work outranks, by far, that of any other British writer of the latter part of the twentieth century.
Sunday, 19 April 2009
Saturday, 11 April 2009
Saturday, 4 April 2009
Time
Having just finished re-reading J G Ballard’s The Crystal World and spent a morning looking at new books, blogs, reviews, and the like; it struck me that writers no longer have time.
Ballard didn’t really hit his stride as a novelist until Crash (having already found a unique voice as a short story writer), which was his fifth, sixth, or fourth novel (depending on how you define ‘novel’ and whether you accept Ballard’s rejection of his first novel – which I don’t, sorry Jim). Whatever the facts of that may be, he was allowed the time by his publishers to develop. And he had the outlets in which he could hone his skills.
I know I bang on about magazines like New Worlds, but that was a publication that gave us a huge number of excellent writers and which took the time to look at new talent as well (thanks, Mike).
Let me reiterate a point I have made before. I do not believe there was a golden age of publishing; not in the ‘60s or at any other time. I do think things are getting considerably worse. Because I doubt very much whether any publisher would allow an author so much time to develop these days.
And there are other ways in which writers no longer have time. Unless you are extremely talented, highly motivated (bills to pay and sure knowledge that someone will print what you write), you are not going to turn out a novel in a week. It has been done and some of them are very good. On the whole, however, it takes a great deal longer.
I am powering through a pot-boiler at the moment and it will probably take me four months. If I was healthy and knew there was a publisher waiting, I would probably have it oven ready in the same amount of time. That is: drafted, re-written a couple of times, proofed and ready for the printer. More ‘serious’ stuff with a complex structure takes longer. It can take a year to eighteen months just to get a first draft on paper. All the rest: another twelve months. Then another year before it gets into print (if you have a publisher – or did I already say that?). It takes time. And rightly so.
Writing is difficult. Doing it well takes a huge amount of effort. Most writers are lucky if they have a room of their own in which to work (don’t be fooled by all those wonderful pictures in The Guardian, they don’t bother looking at mid-list and genre writers (unless the genre writer has some unwarranted mystique attached to them). Most writers have to do all the domestic stuff and then fit their writing in as and when they can. To get a novel out in a year in those circumstances is nothing less than miraculous. Added to which most authors are lucky to get an advance big enough to pay for a slap-up meal to celebrate getting an advance.
On top of all this, writers are now expected to do a great deal of their own marketing (which is a whole other discussion I’m not getting into just at the moment as I’m too tired for a rant). This takes time. Discussions, liaison, travelling, talking, signing, answering questions, most of it in out of the way places where you consider it a success if half a dozen people turn up. In addition, there is all the blogging (yes, I know, this is a blog), social networking, Twitter (not ever going near it), and all those bloody online games sites (I try to stick to word games on the premiss they are relevant to my calling, although my poker has improved enormously in recent months).
Then there is the endless round of submissions to agents and publishers (you know what I think about that – I don’t stop telling anyone who is prepared to listen). Courtesy, people, that’s all I ask. Like today’s rejection. Hand written on headed paper. Polite. Rejection still hurts (my book was perfect for their agency – honest), but I respect their decision.
If you do get published, there’s all the other stuff you have to do, including accounts and tax returns and all that wonderful stuff (unless you hit the best seller lists, then you can afford an accountant).
There are other distractions as well. Programmes on the radio about writers and writing. Ditto the television (silly me, when was the last time there was a really decent, in-depth, intelligent series about writers and writing – one that didn’t use the same old celeb pseudo-intellectuals to fawn over the same bunch of dull literati? when was the last time there was a really good, writer driven series?). Oh yes, and books. You are expected to keep in touch with what is happening in terms of literature (that is, wondering how the hell so many talentless idiots get into print in the first place and then warrant large marketing budgets, television interviews, and so on).
When, oh when, is there the time to write? When, oh when, is there time to sit and think about how develop one’s skills as a writer? Who is going to allow a promising writer the time to write? Who is going to ease the pressure of expectation from the writer whose first book is puffed to give it good sales figures and whose second book (written more quickly than the first ever is under all sorts of different expectations) is something a bit different? Who is going to have the courage to turn round and say: sod the big advances and celeb titles; sod the ritz and glitz; sod the supermarkets, big book chain stores (and behemoth online sellers) and their impossible demands. Let’s spend our money building up a good author base and promoting our author’s books so they have time to write, let’s give writers time to develop and experiment, let’s recognize that without good writers earning a living (i.e. enough to pay the rent, put food on the table, and look smart when occasionally shambling out into the light of the real world), a varied talent base, and new writers being brought on, the publishing industry (and TV, radio, film, newspapers, magazines, cereal packets, schools, colleges, and universities) will all collapse.
Let’s give writers time. Proper time. They will reward us.
Ballard didn’t really hit his stride as a novelist until Crash (having already found a unique voice as a short story writer), which was his fifth, sixth, or fourth novel (depending on how you define ‘novel’ and whether you accept Ballard’s rejection of his first novel – which I don’t, sorry Jim). Whatever the facts of that may be, he was allowed the time by his publishers to develop. And he had the outlets in which he could hone his skills.
I know I bang on about magazines like New Worlds, but that was a publication that gave us a huge number of excellent writers and which took the time to look at new talent as well (thanks, Mike).
Let me reiterate a point I have made before. I do not believe there was a golden age of publishing; not in the ‘60s or at any other time. I do think things are getting considerably worse. Because I doubt very much whether any publisher would allow an author so much time to develop these days.
And there are other ways in which writers no longer have time. Unless you are extremely talented, highly motivated (bills to pay and sure knowledge that someone will print what you write), you are not going to turn out a novel in a week. It has been done and some of them are very good. On the whole, however, it takes a great deal longer.
I am powering through a pot-boiler at the moment and it will probably take me four months. If I was healthy and knew there was a publisher waiting, I would probably have it oven ready in the same amount of time. That is: drafted, re-written a couple of times, proofed and ready for the printer. More ‘serious’ stuff with a complex structure takes longer. It can take a year to eighteen months just to get a first draft on paper. All the rest: another twelve months. Then another year before it gets into print (if you have a publisher – or did I already say that?). It takes time. And rightly so.
Writing is difficult. Doing it well takes a huge amount of effort. Most writers are lucky if they have a room of their own in which to work (don’t be fooled by all those wonderful pictures in The Guardian, they don’t bother looking at mid-list and genre writers (unless the genre writer has some unwarranted mystique attached to them). Most writers have to do all the domestic stuff and then fit their writing in as and when they can. To get a novel out in a year in those circumstances is nothing less than miraculous. Added to which most authors are lucky to get an advance big enough to pay for a slap-up meal to celebrate getting an advance.
On top of all this, writers are now expected to do a great deal of their own marketing (which is a whole other discussion I’m not getting into just at the moment as I’m too tired for a rant). This takes time. Discussions, liaison, travelling, talking, signing, answering questions, most of it in out of the way places where you consider it a success if half a dozen people turn up. In addition, there is all the blogging (yes, I know, this is a blog), social networking, Twitter (not ever going near it), and all those bloody online games sites (I try to stick to word games on the premiss they are relevant to my calling, although my poker has improved enormously in recent months).
Then there is the endless round of submissions to agents and publishers (you know what I think about that – I don’t stop telling anyone who is prepared to listen). Courtesy, people, that’s all I ask. Like today’s rejection. Hand written on headed paper. Polite. Rejection still hurts (my book was perfect for their agency – honest), but I respect their decision.
If you do get published, there’s all the other stuff you have to do, including accounts and tax returns and all that wonderful stuff (unless you hit the best seller lists, then you can afford an accountant).
There are other distractions as well. Programmes on the radio about writers and writing. Ditto the television (silly me, when was the last time there was a really decent, in-depth, intelligent series about writers and writing – one that didn’t use the same old celeb pseudo-intellectuals to fawn over the same bunch of dull literati? when was the last time there was a really good, writer driven series?). Oh yes, and books. You are expected to keep in touch with what is happening in terms of literature (that is, wondering how the hell so many talentless idiots get into print in the first place and then warrant large marketing budgets, television interviews, and so on).
When, oh when, is there the time to write? When, oh when, is there time to sit and think about how develop one’s skills as a writer? Who is going to allow a promising writer the time to write? Who is going to ease the pressure of expectation from the writer whose first book is puffed to give it good sales figures and whose second book (written more quickly than the first ever is under all sorts of different expectations) is something a bit different? Who is going to have the courage to turn round and say: sod the big advances and celeb titles; sod the ritz and glitz; sod the supermarkets, big book chain stores (and behemoth online sellers) and their impossible demands. Let’s spend our money building up a good author base and promoting our author’s books so they have time to write, let’s give writers time to develop and experiment, let’s recognize that without good writers earning a living (i.e. enough to pay the rent, put food on the table, and look smart when occasionally shambling out into the light of the real world), a varied talent base, and new writers being brought on, the publishing industry (and TV, radio, film, newspapers, magazines, cereal packets, schools, colleges, and universities) will all collapse.
Let’s give writers time. Proper time. They will reward us.
Friday, 27 March 2009
Yay!
Just passed the halfway mark in my latest effort. Going to put my feet up for the rest of the day.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
They just keep getting better
Had another… well, let’s call it a rejection. At least I know who the tosser is who scrawled illegibly on my covering letter, because they did it on my covering letter – which had their address on it.
Today I had a submission returned. My covering letter wasn’t in with it. Just my synopsis, writing CV, and sample chapters. No illegible scrawl. No letter saying ‘blah di blah, not right for us in the current climate, cliché cliché etc’. Nothing. The postmark is no use, either. It is the central sorting office in Glasgow. I have not submitted anything to anyone in Glasgow.
That’s me taking the time to print everything up according to the standards expected of a professional. I enclosed the correct postage for return. The envelopes were labelled with printed labels. I took the time and the money.
You, whoever you are, couldn’t even be bothered to make a scrawl on my letter, couldn’t be bothered to check you had put your rejection letter or compliments slip in the envelope (always assuming you had bothered to write one in the first place). You now rate lower than the semi-illiterate who managed the scrawl. I didn’t think there would be anyone lazier, more contemptuous and more contemptible than that. I was wrong.
Ironic really as these last few days I have been saying to myself, ‘you really must post something a bit more positive’. Fat chance.
I really didn’t expect agents to be falling over themselves to take on my book. It falls outside the parameters of safe work in these deeply conservative times (though goodness alone knows it is hardly innovative stuff – how a Beckett or a Robbe-Grillet would fare in these times I dread to think). However, having taken the time to read up on agents and submit only to those who might be interested and submit exactly what they ask for, I do think I have a certain right to expect I will be treated with courtesy.
All I can say to these agents (well, there’s a lot I could say) is get your acts together. Mistakes get made, but never ever forget that you are dealing with people who have put heart, soul, tears, and time into what they have sent you. The very least you can do in return is make sure you let them down easily, politely, legibly, and on a bit of headed notepaper – like the professional agents out there.
Today I had a submission returned. My covering letter wasn’t in with it. Just my synopsis, writing CV, and sample chapters. No illegible scrawl. No letter saying ‘blah di blah, not right for us in the current climate, cliché cliché etc’. Nothing. The postmark is no use, either. It is the central sorting office in Glasgow. I have not submitted anything to anyone in Glasgow.
That’s me taking the time to print everything up according to the standards expected of a professional. I enclosed the correct postage for return. The envelopes were labelled with printed labels. I took the time and the money.
You, whoever you are, couldn’t even be bothered to make a scrawl on my letter, couldn’t be bothered to check you had put your rejection letter or compliments slip in the envelope (always assuming you had bothered to write one in the first place). You now rate lower than the semi-illiterate who managed the scrawl. I didn’t think there would be anyone lazier, more contemptuous and more contemptible than that. I was wrong.
Ironic really as these last few days I have been saying to myself, ‘you really must post something a bit more positive’. Fat chance.
I really didn’t expect agents to be falling over themselves to take on my book. It falls outside the parameters of safe work in these deeply conservative times (though goodness alone knows it is hardly innovative stuff – how a Beckett or a Robbe-Grillet would fare in these times I dread to think). However, having taken the time to read up on agents and submit only to those who might be interested and submit exactly what they ask for, I do think I have a certain right to expect I will be treated with courtesy.
All I can say to these agents (well, there’s a lot I could say) is get your acts together. Mistakes get made, but never ever forget that you are dealing with people who have put heart, soul, tears, and time into what they have sent you. The very least you can do in return is make sure you let them down easily, politely, legibly, and on a bit of headed notepaper – like the professional agents out there.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Conundrum
These days, if you want an agent or editor to consider your work (especially if you are an unknown like me), the manuscript has to be word perfect. Don't you dare have a spelling mistake, or a typo, or the teensiest bit of iffy grammar. Don't even think about bucking convention and daring to use anything so out of fashion as dialect (despite the fact that this faddish dislike amongst agents has left us with a slew of books that sound like a bunch of 1940s RADA trained actors doing lower class accents). Try any of that and your submission will spend about six seconds on a desk before being shunted along to the shredder (or the post room if they can be arsed to slip your work into the prepaid and addressed return envelope, which some clearly aren't - do they steam off the stamps and use them elsewhere? isn't that theft?).
On the other hand, if you can raise a $5m advance for the US rights on your second book, guess what? Your agent and your editor will work on it for you. Allegedly.
How does that happen?
Sounds to me a bit like a few people got pissed over lunch, added a few too many zeros to the cheque, sobered up, thought 'Shit!', and are now doing what they can to the manuscript to justify such an obscene amount of money.
Yep. No other word. Obscene. Kick in the teeth to a lot of hard working midlisters. Crap from a great height on all the hardworking writers who do get it word perfect and celebrate with a box of chocolates if their advance looks like it might cover last quarter's electricity bill.
If this book is such a sure-fire bestseller (apparently literary and commercial, as if that has never been done before), why not a reasonable advance on US rights ($100k) and let the writer earn their money from royalties? Because it seems to me, OBSCENE (just in case you hadn't got the point) advances are going to make a writer lazy. Really. Why bother when you are now a millionaire and you know that other people are going to do all the boring re-writes for you?
I have no objection to writers earning a decent living and raking in the royalties on a popular book. I do get kind of pissed at this way of running the industry. You spend that kind of money on an advance, you are going to make damned sure you do all you can to sell the book. It will have a huge marketing budget, lots of exposure, lots of sales as a result (and lots of almost immediate re-appearance in second hand book and charity shops), and all the tossers involved will slap themselves on the back convinced they know how to spot a good book. Self-fulfilling. In the meantime, all that money that has gone round in a big circle and done nothing but pay for itself could have gone round in scores of more modest circles and given us a great deal more genuine choice. For that kind of money we could have had 100 new books (each with a very respectable advance) and of that 100, one could have been this so-called best-selling comlit work, and a whole range of other stuff including some genuinely innovative work.
OK. The needle's stuck. I'm sure you must be bored hearing me go on about this. But every time we get a story like this touted as some sort of success, I will snap back about the blatant hypocrisy of it all. Because it is time that people in the publishing industry stopped behaving like all the merchant bankers out there. The government ain't gonna bail you all out when your business goes belly up. Most politicians wouldn't know a book if it bit them in the arse, and those that recognise what they are really don't give much of a f*** about them (unless they are on the receiving end of one of those OBSCENE advances). No. When the publishing industry goes belly up, those of us at the bottom end of the food chain, the ones that do all the work, will celebrate their freedom from all the leeches who feed off their hard work. Then they will make use of modern technology to carry on doing what they love - writing and selling their work.
On the other hand, if you can raise a $5m advance for the US rights on your second book, guess what? Your agent and your editor will work on it for you. Allegedly.
How does that happen?
Sounds to me a bit like a few people got pissed over lunch, added a few too many zeros to the cheque, sobered up, thought 'Shit!', and are now doing what they can to the manuscript to justify such an obscene amount of money.
Yep. No other word. Obscene. Kick in the teeth to a lot of hard working midlisters. Crap from a great height on all the hardworking writers who do get it word perfect and celebrate with a box of chocolates if their advance looks like it might cover last quarter's electricity bill.
If this book is such a sure-fire bestseller (apparently literary and commercial, as if that has never been done before), why not a reasonable advance on US rights ($100k) and let the writer earn their money from royalties? Because it seems to me, OBSCENE (just in case you hadn't got the point) advances are going to make a writer lazy. Really. Why bother when you are now a millionaire and you know that other people are going to do all the boring re-writes for you?
I have no objection to writers earning a decent living and raking in the royalties on a popular book. I do get kind of pissed at this way of running the industry. You spend that kind of money on an advance, you are going to make damned sure you do all you can to sell the book. It will have a huge marketing budget, lots of exposure, lots of sales as a result (and lots of almost immediate re-appearance in second hand book and charity shops), and all the tossers involved will slap themselves on the back convinced they know how to spot a good book. Self-fulfilling. In the meantime, all that money that has gone round in a big circle and done nothing but pay for itself could have gone round in scores of more modest circles and given us a great deal more genuine choice. For that kind of money we could have had 100 new books (each with a very respectable advance) and of that 100, one could have been this so-called best-selling comlit work, and a whole range of other stuff including some genuinely innovative work.
OK. The needle's stuck. I'm sure you must be bored hearing me go on about this. But every time we get a story like this touted as some sort of success, I will snap back about the blatant hypocrisy of it all. Because it is time that people in the publishing industry stopped behaving like all the merchant bankers out there. The government ain't gonna bail you all out when your business goes belly up. Most politicians wouldn't know a book if it bit them in the arse, and those that recognise what they are really don't give much of a f*** about them (unless they are on the receiving end of one of those OBSCENE advances). No. When the publishing industry goes belly up, those of us at the bottom end of the food chain, the ones that do all the work, will celebrate their freedom from all the leeches who feed off their hard work. Then they will make use of modern technology to carry on doing what they love - writing and selling their work.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
They're at it again...
I don't know what Twitter is (other than a vague sense of something electronic) and I don't much care. I have enough trouble keeping up with new-fangled stuff like pigeon post.
However, it appears that a number of literary agents have been using Twitter to play a 'game'. They have been publishing (anonymously) the worst of the pitches they have had for books. Apparently the intention is to educate, not to humiliate. Yeah, right.
Well. Seems to me the agents who took part in this tacky display of unprofessional behaviour need to keep a few things in mind.
There is a thing called copyright. By publishing extracts from letters sent to you without the permission of the person who wrote them, you have stolen that person's work. And it is no good saying it was a quote for the purpose of education, because it is accepted practice to cite the source of any quote. What you have done is broken a fundamental trust that needs to exist in the world of publishing; namely that work submitted to an agent or publisher isn't going to get published without a contract expressing right and remuneration.
There is also a thing called professionalism. Agents and publishers constantly bang on about how people who submit to them need to be professional. This extends well beyond decent layout and the inclusion of return postage. If you want to be an author, you have to treat it seriously in all respects. Agents and publishers have made a lot of money writing books about this sort of thing (although a lot of them clearly don't take their own advice). Well, people, it is a two way street. If we authors have to be professional, so do you. You probably do get a lot of submissions that simply haven't a hope in hell of ever being a commercial success. Learn to live with it. It's the profession you chose (I doubt anyone was ever forced to become a literary agent). Don't make fun of these people. They might not be much good, but they have put heart and soul into their work and to turn round and mock them is reprehensible in the extreme.
It is no wonder that writers are looking for alternatives to the current publishing model. Print-on-demand; social networking; direct access to distribution networks; and other recent developments mean that authors can become independent, keeping a great deal more of their hard earned cash. It won't be long, dear agents, before authors are able to turn round and say to you: "We like your work, but in the current climate..."
However, it appears that a number of literary agents have been using Twitter to play a 'game'. They have been publishing (anonymously) the worst of the pitches they have had for books. Apparently the intention is to educate, not to humiliate. Yeah, right.
Well. Seems to me the agents who took part in this tacky display of unprofessional behaviour need to keep a few things in mind.
There is a thing called copyright. By publishing extracts from letters sent to you without the permission of the person who wrote them, you have stolen that person's work. And it is no good saying it was a quote for the purpose of education, because it is accepted practice to cite the source of any quote. What you have done is broken a fundamental trust that needs to exist in the world of publishing; namely that work submitted to an agent or publisher isn't going to get published without a contract expressing right and remuneration.
There is also a thing called professionalism. Agents and publishers constantly bang on about how people who submit to them need to be professional. This extends well beyond decent layout and the inclusion of return postage. If you want to be an author, you have to treat it seriously in all respects. Agents and publishers have made a lot of money writing books about this sort of thing (although a lot of them clearly don't take their own advice). Well, people, it is a two way street. If we authors have to be professional, so do you. You probably do get a lot of submissions that simply haven't a hope in hell of ever being a commercial success. Learn to live with it. It's the profession you chose (I doubt anyone was ever forced to become a literary agent). Don't make fun of these people. They might not be much good, but they have put heart and soul into their work and to turn round and mock them is reprehensible in the extreme.
It is no wonder that writers are looking for alternatives to the current publishing model. Print-on-demand; social networking; direct access to distribution networks; and other recent developments mean that authors can become independent, keeping a great deal more of their hard earned cash. It won't be long, dear agents, before authors are able to turn round and say to you: "We like your work, but in the current climate..."
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