Monday 30 April 2007

Strange Dream

One of the problems in working out a plot is that you find yourself in the middle of the story during the early morning hours when you are half asleep. The sun came bursting through the window this morning and caught me in a mega battle. I was halfway between being an SAS soldier and Spiderman. Amazing what one can accomplish by lying in bed. If you want to take a look at the fourth in the secret agent Rudy Kruger series of novels try this. It's only a working title and I'm changing it daily, but Bad Blood will do for now.

Sunday 29 April 2007

Bad Day

Yes, all writers have bad days and this is the worst for a long time. A morning when I awoke at six and dripped ever deeper into an abyss of nothingness. I look at what I have achieved, a great amount, and then realise that it is almost impossible to break through the walls of publication. How notorious do you have to be to get bought up -- and how many close friends do you have to have in publishing to make that happen? I know it's a lottery and I know a lot of stuff is passed over without being closely read. But there are times when all this stuff really hurts, really penetrates the soul. I have so much more to do, and that's coming along just fine. The more writing I do the more I think why bother? Is this also going to sit around in the Post Office and email going back and forth as I read yet another crap book, often written by someone other than the named author. On this subject I got a great reject from Simon Trewin at PFD this week on the new novel. I have great hopes for it as long as I can get out of this Hell. Another great possible for THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR but I'm not saying anything more. It's a long shot but if it comes off it could solve all the problems. This is a crazy way of living. Maybe I ought to have poodled along at the Beeb until they chucked me out, as they have done for almost everyone over 50, and got a full pension and bucketloads of money for going early. However, there would be no novels and no world shattering ideas, no plays, and probably nothing else. Life, eh! There ought to be a health warning for newborn babies. That's all, folks. Oh yeah, did the writing very early this morning but unusually, as you can see, it failed to lift the spirits.

Friday 27 April 2007

THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR

This one is complete, nearly 90,000 words and incredibly beautiful. It's up for sale and will be the most successful book since The Day of The Jackal. So there,...no, I'm not going into great detail, if you want more information please take a look at this website www.rudykruger.co.uk. The William Wren of the title is simply me using a pseudonym. Warrior is a completely different book to the other three. They all have a serious point to make but are written in the modern simpler thriller style - that is, where the main characters rarely leave the page. Come on publishers, our readers can cope with them going off for a while and then coming back rejuvenated. Oh, if you're still having problems, maybe you have failed to click on the stones. Here's THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR. Enjoy.

Hello World

Since I can get my blogs up simply by typing in my name I'd best be careful what I write. You never know who might be picking me up. In case you want to know, I am the best author you have never read, but you shall do so soon. I would describe my work as being of the Dostoyevskian type, trying to tell a universal truth through a great, powerful and potent story. That's all we writers do. We're not philosophers and we're not psychiatrists. We do, though, see things that others miss, although we can be the most ignorant creatures on earth in our daily dealings. Part of us apparently living in another world. One of the strangest aspects of this work is where the stories come from. They seem to bear no relation to the material side of life, coming in strong when times get worse. They need to have security and an element of peace to be brought into this world. It's no good leaving them inside our heads. An artist has to get out there and motivate people. We have to enter their minds.

Google

Well, well...popped up on Google in the blog. Not that it means anything. You never know, some bright publisher with an eye to the main chance might offer me £70,000 for the right to publish it as a book. The midweek excitement is fading at the end of the week. Just been talking to a new friend about work, age and money. Either you've got it all or nothing. This is turning into a serious pain in the neck. I could really do with a major sale. And I've got the goods...so come on folks, buy me up and make yourself a fortune. On that score I got the best turndown letter of the lot this week from Simon Trewin. This book, that I shall not name here, is going to be the biggie. It's the one I go to sleep with -- that means it's in the conscious and the unconscious. Wish me luck, folks...

Wednesday 25 April 2007

A New Idea

I was lying in bed half asleep and I felt something strange. It has to do with being a foetus, snorkelling in the Caribbean and Bridlington. You hoping to get an explanation? Sorry, not right now. I've entered the basic details in the machine and will let everything just cogitate for a while. A lot of this stuff comes alive and then just waits seemingly for years until the time is right for it to come out and greet the world. Why is that?
Enough for now. Time I did some more work.

Waking up Full of Beans

Odd this morning. A distinct feeling of goodness has arrived. There is no real reason for this apart from the fact that the new novel is taking shape at some speed. This is another of those simple tales that seem so easy to start and once underway starting posing immense challenges. I know that I can fill this one with a hundred different scenes and yet, and yet...if I do so it will become difficult to sell. You see, modern books require the main characters never to leave the page. Ok, once or twice they can disappear for a moment but then it's back with the main story. Oh for the return of the multiple sub plots. The question for me now is how to take this further without going into my usual business of super complication. As I write this blog certain possibilities are making themselves clear to me. I like this idea of blogging in the morning. Today it happened after doing some writing. I shall try to avoid putting up the pictorial and other distractions. That was fun, though. However, I do need to remind myself that I am not a budding rock star. Too late and the wrong career. Writing is not a career. I hope you know that by now. If not, I'll explain in another post.

Tuesday 24 April 2007

Because I Can

So simple, really. This is simply because I can do this. It's bog standard thunder and rubbish video. It's called a writer's displacement activity.

Going Strong

A good writing morning. Hate the word count but it's an obsessional thing. The trouble is that when you do a lot one morning before daybreak you then start calculating how soon you will have the novel finished. That is not a great idea. Better to rush off and do something else to take your mind off the problem. Besides, you want to string it out for a while so that you can have some fun with your characters. I have no idea where this book is going but I'm sure it'll all work out in the end.

On Partners

A word of warning to the partners of writers. Sometimes we dip so far into these stories that we forget the normal niceties of the human condition. My partner refers to these moments as PAUL'S WORLD. My body is still functioning relatively normally but my mind is a long way off. Not a great idea when you're negotiating roundabouts in busy traffic. While this may have something to do with the panic of trying to get the book sorted out when the money's not coming in I think this is something that comes with practice. The more you allow your mind to work on its own as a Story Creator the more material it's going to come up with. I imagine most real writers have the same kind of total recall that I do, although it's not specific. It's a frightening thought that every moment of my life is stored inside my head.

Obsession

Rather than kick off with the novel. A few thoughts about writing. It's worth taking a look at The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield.
This Yorkshire teacher is the person who landed an £800,000 advance, the stuff we writers dream about. However, I know she's a real beaut writer because she talks about how she gave up her job and when the money ran out she kept on writing since the story had taken over her life. Read about it here. Those who live in the real world do not understand the power of stories to do this, to many of them it's just a bundle of pages you pick up in Tesco for a few quid and read when there's a slack moment. Seems the book did better in the States than over here, although the paperback isn't yet out. Nice one. There's an saying that if you want to be rich as an author become a British bestseller writer but if you want to be wealthy become one in the USA. I think her publishers ought to be more than satisfied.

Back to Work

Well, all good things have to come to an end. So, instead of concentrating on the agents I intend to have a long day off from that process of mega writing to concentrate on fiction. There is a topical thriller I am working on that is causing me sleepless nights. It's the kind of book that grabs you by the braincells and won't let go until it's down in words. This is what writing is all about. The characters are so real I can see them, but as in all the books I've written, I couldn't accurately tell you what their faces look like. Everything else about them from the clothes they wear to the way they move is as real as life. As I sit writing this I can feel their frustration at not being put down on the page. Do you want another pretty picture? Of course you do.
This is my old fire. The stuff we used to have before Global Warming kicked in.

Monday 23 April 2007

Finding an Agent

Great news. Some of them have embraced the modern technology, ie email off their websites. So, this evening quite a few have winged their electronic way to London and New York. However, no matter how easy that seems I do recall the past two I sent all the way to London. Neither got a response, not until I sent snail mail. That's a bit disappointing. There again, it could be a great way of reducing the post. Here's a calming picture.



Good. Didn't that work well. It's Windsor Castle in the Spring, in case you didn't know.
Part of me, after a darned good meal of brisket and horseradish, feels a little sorry for these agents. They may have positioned themselves as the new Literary Gods but with that comes a price. As most publishers refuse to even countenance looking at the grubby works of authors it's left to the Gods to make the choices. That must put them under enormous pressure to increase the staff so needing bigger one-off advances to pay these people, who're probably relatively cheap, doing work experience from Uni, I guess.
Don't worry, dear reader, I've not gone soft in the head. The moment of feeling sorry has now passed.

Playing with the Web


I called it this since I want to put some material up here rather than the text I am writing that looks like the stuff that came off my American Selectrix Mark III back in the late Eighties.
Here goes: so far it looks as though it's on the top. Well that will do for now. Next, the first few chapters of THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR a book that will one day be as well known as Crime and Punishment. Actually, you're getting the whole of the website. I've been playing around and made this decision. The duck stays.
Try this for size. William Wren is me folks. Have fun, and if you want to buy get in touch, soonest.

Sunday 22 April 2007

Brilliant

We computer using modern writers don't actually keep the first drafts anymore. Well, we do but you gotta be really tough as a researcher to find them. But we can always leave the ideas about the work in progress on a BLOG. So, for the first time, a blog can prove to be worthwhile. I particularly like the Blogs by the important people in the publishing business. Are you with me in thinking they are trying to communicate something they can't get over in the office. Yup. But they're still too scared to communicate with real writers. So, what's the problem? All they have to do is have a chat and gently let us down. And that's where the trouble lies. Do they want to forever be blessed with the public knowledge that they are the Decca Execs to the Beatles career? So, it's better not to talk. But what if they did strike up a conversation with a writer who became as famous as Dickens or Dostoyevsky? Ha! Now that would be a feather in their pillow. Oh to be friendly with a real literary figure. Mind you, if Dickens came along now he'd be told to go away and write about the things he knew about -- set a romance story, perhaps with an evil killer, in Parliament. The main character could be a Press Association shorthand writer. "What, Charles! You mean a tale about an abandoned baby. Sorry, that's too sad. And no, if you think working in a Blacking Factory is equivalent to Dave Pelzer's awful childhood think again. Mr Copperfield indeed.

Party Time

Hi. Even writers get to go to parties, sometimes. This one was for the partner. Some great pre-60s conversations to be had, well slightly later but we did start talking about Gene Vincent. A lovely bloke who had an incredible influence on Ian Dury and Van Morrison. I never knew he was in the taxi that crashed killing Eddie Cochrane. Didn't know it was a taxi. Poor sods, particularly Eddie. First British tour and all. Anyway, seems like Jet Harris can't get his book out despite the continued influence of Cliff. Still, we writers struggle on. I suppose Jet might be able to sell his book if he could prove that Coleen is his granddaughter by his ex-wife's....do stop it Paul. These publishers aren't stupid. Ok, what if Tolstoy had a secret....now you're being silly. Go to bed.

Up to Speed

Darn. Another early morning, guess that's the price to pay for an early night, although it kept being interrupted. The previous day's idea has been regurgitated as something rather serious. I knew this was going to happen. Why can't I just put down a straightforward pisstake without having to turn it into a Dostoyevskian Drama. Nevermind, that's me. I'm really pushing this one but don't know whether to approach the agents I have already got material with or try for a completely new one. I do wish some of the hopeless writers out there, and there have got to be many of them, and particularly those with money in their pockets, would just either give up or go away on a long extended holiday to give me a chance to catch an agent and get on with the writing. The terrible frustration is that so much time, effort, thought and money has gone into finding an agent. It's pointless even approaching publishers since they have given up on triage, as Richard Charkin put it to me, except when the author is called Ackroyd or Archer. On that point I notice that Charkin's blog promotes Macmillan NewWriting - advance free - with the story of a 68 year old Oxford Lit teacher, university and school. Heck, if someone that qualified can't get a proper deal what hope is there for the rest of us. Still, whinging don't pay the bills, as the old blues song should go. Back to work, Paul.

Saturday 21 April 2007

True Life mimicking Art

Another morning shock. A story in one of the papers that could have come straight out of the "heavy" novel I am trying to sell. I was gobsmacked. There are some major differences but the guts of the story are there including a surprise ending. Think I'll post this off with my story once again, although the only real world in publishing seems to be that of celebrity.

Woke Up Buzzing With Ideas

What a difference a day makes. Woke this morning with last night's brilliant idea reverberating around my head. Also, another really sad awful story to tell. I think I'll let that one fester in the brain for a while. It's a true story and not for mucking about with. The other, though, is exceptional. Any agents out there who want a gander at it - go babes, go. No, it's not Dostoyevsky. Quite the opposite, but that is today. I know just what's going to happen. I'll start off in the crap manner intended, and end up with some bleedin' heavy stuff. Ah well, such is writing.

Friday 20 April 2007

Rejection

The dreaded email thanking me for my submission, informing me that it would not be quite right for their list and wishing me all the best. At least they come in a friendly fashion from Simon Trewin at PFD. All very depressing. The only action to take is print off the darned submission once more and pop down the Post Office to another leading agent. Why bother with the top agents? They are the ones who are able to pick up the phone and do a deal. Clearly they have to turn down more than they accept, otherwise they would not get a day's work done. So, dear author, you have to be strong and keep trying. The extreme frustration, apart from living without money, is that time is being wasted on selling when it ought to be spent on writing. So, dear blog, that's it for today and I shall add a few more words to one of my works of art.

London Book Fair

Oh, how embarrassing. An author at the London Book Fair. I felt as though I had wandered into a church stark naked. My jacket continually found itself being moved, despite the heat, over the badge announcing the two words: AUTHOR and WRITER. I struggled on past the big publishing houses with the massive advances that would sort out my life for ever, until I eventually discovered the oasis of help for struggling writers: the agents. And that, dear reader, was as far as it went. I blithely walked halfway through one entrance until a firm hand was stretched across the badge-bearing part of my chest with a "Excuse me, Sir. You can't come in here." I was firmly pointed in the direction of the badge registration. And the only way past this Checkpoint Charlie of the modern era was to have an appointment with an agent. A meek and pathetic request to walk around, not talk, but just put faces to names was met with the fact that "They don't like that." Seems like someone had already complained and it had just turned midday on the first day. Looking around I realised that the agents were walled in as though they were some dangerous animals in London Zoo. "Sorry, Sir, but you can't see them yet. They've just arrived and have yet to face humans. When they're tamed you'll be allowed to watch them in action." So, dear reader, my feelings. Although annoyed that I could not get in to hand out my work to a whole bunch of agents at one go, thus converting the entrance fee into postage and saving a bundle, I was heartened by the power wielded by these Gods of Literature. All that's needed is for one of them to be working for me. A couple of days later I was brought down to earth by a fellow writer who wondered why the fair was required with modern communications being so good. However, I made a couple of startlingly great discoveries. I don't mean that the best and cheapest meal was a short walk down the road. More later...