Getting published (Part 3) – Or tickling the Penguin: And not only judged… rejected. Unless you’re the genius you always thought you were or didn’t realise you were, or unless you hit the zeitgeist slap bang between the eyes and bag a six-figure advance and film deal right out of the gate, you’re going to get rejected. It’s your agent’s job to get your script in front of everyone who might pick it up, the rest is in the lap of the gods. All you can hope for is not to get rejected by all of them. In my case some publishers said no thanks, some didn’t even reply (apparently this is normal behaviour – they have a lot to read and like everyone else, they’re busy). The rest said how much they loved the book and came close to offering on it, but… This was of course painful. What was interesting, however, was that word ‘but’ kept being followed by more or less the same thing… great writing, great characters, ‘but’ the crime needs more oomph. This, in itself, was advice. And just like before, I listened. The publishing editor at Penguin (Michael Joseph Imprint) had offered to sit down and discuss it. So, I sat up till 2:30am drafting a revised synopsis, took it to the meeting and met my future publisher. He loved the proposed revisions and that tipped the balance. An offer followed, was discussed, considered and agreed, and that was it; my book, my labour of love, toiled over, pushed, pulled, prodded and poked for the best part of three years now, was over the line… it was being published. Only… not yet.

Getting published (Part 1) – or realising your masterpiece isn’t: So I had an agent? Not yet. What I had was a very nice man who was willing to read my book and tell me everything that was wrong with it. The first draft of If I Should Die (and it wasn’t called that at the time but that’s for another blog) was 98,000 words. I’d been through countless drafts, tweaks and changes and I believed it was as good as I could make it. The very nice man disagreed, very nicely. And this was where I played my trump card – I was, and am, a complete novice. Cluelessness was my default position. If someone in the industry, an honest-to-god-professional, was willing to advise me, I was willing to listen. The next draft was 115,000 words, the one after that longer. Each time I changed it, it got longer, but better. The first good piece of advice I had been given along the way, tangentially from my agents wife via mine at that first coincidental chat (see blog 4), was ’don’t be precious’. She was talking about book covers, but the same applies to drafts. I chose to act on sound advice. I’d have been a fool not to.

Getting finished – and why that’s just the start: Starting may be a matter of compulsion, but finishing can be a slog. I can’t seem to help darting off and writing the exciting bits while they’re forming in my head, including the opening and dénouement, and then have to laboriously fill in all the bits in between. But whatever your approach, you still have to get the words down. It takes time. There are no short cuts. Thinking about the whole thing can be daunting. I broke it down into small bits. Like this. Every 1000 words that fell out of me at midnight brought me one step closer. Until, suddenly, I was nearly finished. The great thing about writing, I remind myself, is this: You’re making all this stuff up! It’s all coming from you, your fevered brain, your knowledge and experience and above all – imagination. Nothing is right or wrong and you can always change it later. Just write, enjoy it, the blanks will fill themselves in the end. Before you know it your masterpiece is finished. Only… when you’ve sat back and relaxed, congratulated yourself, celebrated with good company, food and fine wine and generally done something else for a fortnight, you pick it up to read and the truth hits you – what you have is not a book, it’s a draft. Reach for a red pen, and get fixing.