I said in the Introduction that this book was divided into three sections representing the different phases of producing a book, its planning, its writing and finally, its delivery. The section titles you see here differ slightly, however, and say simply: ‘Plan’, ‘Write’, ‘Deliver’.
Why? Because words matter. An appreciation of their subtle power is vital for anyone who seeks to use them. ‘Writing’, ‘planning’ and ‘delivery’ are all nouns, static, descriptive terms we use to denote things. This is fine for a description of how a book is organised. But a section title is an invitation to dive in and act. So instead I use verbs here, exhortative ones in this context that could just as easily be written as ‘Let’s Plan’, ‘Let’s Write’, ‘Let’s Deliver’.
Verbs are anything but stationary. They denote movement, vitality, effort and dynamism, all attributes that will be needed to see you through the difficult and testing task ahead. Self-doubt and negativity are not just threats to the completion of any writing project. They’re an insidious poison that will seep into the text itself, instilling in it a dismal and pervasive mood visible to the reader.
Any book is a massive undertaking requiring commitment, skill, determination and an extraordinary amount of perspiration. Most people with half a feel for language and fiction can write a thousand words or so to kick off a story. Many can make it to some kind of mid-point. A few get to the end, and a small number of those few will manage to do so with sufficient dexterity to attract the attention of a publisher and see the fruits of their imagination reach, finally, the pages of a finished book. Of those only a handful will still be seeing their work published a decade or more after their debut and truly lay claim to the title ‘professional author’.
Is it talent that separates the career writer from the amateur? Up to a point. But attitude, energy and resolve matter as well, which is why those section titles are active verbs not immobile, descriptive nouns. Creating a book may appear a solitary, cerebral activity from the outside. Beneath the surface it’s a vibrant, exciting and immensely ambitious exercise, one that demands those traits of an author too. Successful writers don’t sit down to start something. They set out intent on finishing it. You need to find the same enthusiastic doggedness in yourself.
Like the books they write, authors are a heterogeneous mix, some private, some extrovert, some deeply ingrained in academia, a few (this one, for example) with scarcely an educational qualification to their name. They do, however, tend to share some similar personal characteristics.
Here are a few. Some, you will note, are contradictory, but this is a profession of eternal paradoxes.
SELF-MOTIVATED. Most of us write our first book with little if any support or clear idea of what we’re doing. Even established authors are, for the most part, lone operators, dependent on their own imagination for their ideas. You need to be able to analyse the problems you meet and find solutions without much in the way of outside help. Even when you have an agent and publisher you will find it’s not their job to fix your career beyond advice and guidance. No one can write that book but you. If you’re the kind of person who can’t start work until you see the boss casting his beady eye in your direction something has to change.
FOCUSED. Writing requires intense concentration often to the exclusion of matters that, seen from the viewpoint of a non-writer, may appear more important. You could find yourself forced to write on planes and trains to keep up your work rate or locked in a room in your home with the sound of children in the next room and the noise of traffic outside. You will have to accustom yourself to devoting your leisure hours at the computer to work, not browsing the wastelands of Facebook and Twitter. This is a vocation for the single-minded and the obsessive.
INDUSTRIOUS. A novel may involve 150,000 words of raw text or more, research, editing, revision, liaison with editors, the occasionally fun but always time-consuming round of marketing and events. If you want to write full time in mainstream popular fiction you will usually be expected to deliver at least a book a year and risk losing your foothold on the sales slots if you’re late or turn out something unexpected or not up to standard. Anyone looking for a secure and comfy job with long holidays need not apply.
PATIENT. Finished manuscript to book on sale may take two years or more from the moment a work is bought by a publisher. Add another year to that for the mass-market paperback edition if you first come out in hardback. In translation we’re talking many years more. Should your book be optioned for film or television it may be a decade before you know whether there is any chance of the project being green-lighted into production. Nothing you can do will shorten any of these processes. Accept all this and use the waiting time wisely. There is no better way than writing another book.
OPEN TO CRITICISM. First-time author or old pro, your work will be judged by others and usually found wanting in some way. How do you react? Do you throw up your hands in horror and scream, ‘But this is my book, not yours?’ Or do you listen to the wisdom of people who have been in the business for years and have a very clear idea of what does and doesn’t work? Writing involves constant learning. Even with sixteen or so books under my belt I discover something new with every fresh project. Successful authors pick up more from their mistakes than their successes. Smart ones ask a first-time editor, ‘Tell me how to make this book better, please,’ not, ‘Tell me I’m clever and that you won’t change a word.’
OBSERVANT. Books, ultimately, are about people and the universe they inhabit, about the creation of fictional characters who pass as real human beings and fictional worlds that are authentic enough to convince the reader they exist. You will never be able to achieve this small miracle unless you have the ability to listen to and try to understand the people around you, and to make notes constantly about what you hear and see and how that might affect your writing.
THICK-SKINNED. Few of us escape rejection at some stage. Those who go on to be published are often later happy to admit they should be grateful for their early rebuffs. Many books will be ignored by the critics and find little in the way of shelf space in a shop. Occasionally you will be subject to filthy reviews, particularly from the new army of so-called web critics, and rarely achieve much in the way of sales. If you crave instant public adulation or if disappointment dims your ardour, your writing career is likely to be brief and dispiriting.
REALISTIC. A sensible author understands that they are unlikely to be the next Lee Child or John Grisham, that Spielberg will not option their book, and that bestsellerdom normally takes many years and several books if it happens at all. He or she will be aware that it is an enormous achievement simply to be published, and that every book needs to be regarded as a stepping stone to a brighter future, not some desperate one-shot chance at stardom.
AMBITIOUS. You must aim high, craving a chance to sell more titles and write better books. If you don’t believe in yourself why should your agent and publisher?
SELF-CRITICAL. It’s no use trying to convince yourself that everything you write is wonderful. A serious author should be the first to find fault with their work and, whenever possible, correct that before passing a manuscript on to an editor. We all write rubbish sometimes. It’s of absolutely no consequence provided we recognise it for the drivel it is and do our best to ensure it’s never inflicted on others.
Is it reasonable to expect a novice to possess all these from the outset? No. You pick them up over the years. But you can prepare yourself for what lies ahead in some very simple ways. The first is the most obvious and pleasurable of all. Which brings us to the last universal quality to be found in all those who write for a living …
Well-read.