James Ellis

Rolling the pastry

I call it ‘rolling the pastry’. And it’s not a metaphor for something rude. So those of you that thought it was, read no further. You will be disappointed. It’s about writing – again.

I sit down, I start typing and when I look up a few hours later I’ve got about 1000 words sitting on the page. A good days work. Time for a break – walk the dog, strum the ukulele, trim the hedge (none of these are euphemisms either. What is wrong with you? Although in fairness, I haven’t got a dog).

Anyway, when I go back to my desk there it is: a big lump of text waiting for me. It’s time to roll the pastry. This is not editing, it’s simply smoothing out the scene. That initial freewheeling feeling of words just tumbling out can be saved for tomorrow; now I can be more thoughtful, more considered. And as I go through what I’ve written I add a bit here, change a bit there, explain, illustrate, write – and instead of 1000 words I end up with a nice even layer of 1500 words. I haven’t taken the story any further, I’ve just made the scene I’ve written more digestible. It is very satisfying.

Of course, this is before the editor’s knife cuts it away until there’s not enough left for a jam tart. But that’s work for another day.

I am unblocked

I spoke at the fabulous Bath Writing Events (@WritingEvents) the other day. It was my first outing and I wanted to make a good impression. I made notes, rehearsed against timings, hoped I wouldn’t run out of things to say. And then the night before I spotted an unusually long hair growing out of my eyebrow and I thought using a beard-trimmer would be the best way to deal with it. I showed up at the event with half of my eyebrow missing. Fortunately my hosts were too polite to mention it. This morning I went for a walk and I fell over in the mud.

2017-02-23-photo-00004546 — Muddy but eyebrow concealed…

I mention these two events because they are examples of things just happening, and this brings me, indirectly, to my blockage: I couldn’t get started on Novel Two (catchy title?).

I know what it’s going to be about and I know (roughly) what’s going to happen, but I wanted a loose structure in which to to start writing it – some guiderails to keep me from wandering too far from the path but loose enough to let the story grow naturally; for events to just happen which had yet to be conceived; for the writing to have room to take over. Room for someone to fall over in the mud or shave off their eyebrow, for example.

But that word Structure. It kept getting in the way. Three act, five act, seven act; set-up, conflict, resolution, inciting incident, rising arc, plot points; Plot A, Plot B, midpoint, ascending action… aaarrrgh!! Stop, stop and stop. Please. Enough with the structure. I can’t write with those things staring at me. They take away all the fun. It’s just semantics, I know, but I wanted something… less formal.

So I went back to basics. Stories start and they finish. Was that enough? But ‘once upon a time they lived happily ever‘ isn’t a gripping narrative. So, okay, I supposed I could put in a middle bit too.

‘Once upon a time there was a person who lived somewhere and everything was really good or really bad, and so they decided to do something and everything got even worse or better, and then it all changed so they did something else and lived happily or miserably ever after. The End.‘

That would do. That was as much structure as I wanted. A reusable and very loose framework. I knew that within, there lurked all the context and character introductions and themes and catalysts and climaxes and so on, but those italicised lines were all I needed to get going.

Now I’m writing scene after scene and some go in the beginning bit, and some in the middle, and some at the end. And things are happening which I never expected. It’s working for me. I even have a rough idea where the beginning ends and the end begins. Although, I don’t mind if they don’t. I’m 20,000 words into the first draft and averaging about 1500 to 2000 words a day. I have a minimum goal of 5000 words a week and I’m on target to complete draft one by mid-June, if not earlier.

At least that’s the plan. Tomorrow, before I start writing, I intend to sharpen all my kitchen knives while sitting on a unicycle… What?

I’m in control and I’ve got a spreadsheet to prove it…

It’s been a month now since I began my new life as a full-time writer and things haven’t progressed as well as I’d hoped. On the plus-side, I have registered as self-employed and cleared my ‘to do’ list of anything that wasn’t directly to do with writing – other than ukulele practice, of course. I have completed my feedback on my friend’s novel, put the PhD idea on the back-burner and prepared for a reading later this month. Oh yes, and I’ve sketched out a short-story for a BBC competition. I’ve even been in touch with Unbound and should be getting the page proofs (press ready files) for The Wrong Story to review in the next day or so.

That’s all good. But on the negative-side I have only written one word of my new novel. One word. 1. It is a good word but it needs company. My friend’s novel has 104,000 words. So I’ve constructed a spreadsheet that lays out the challenge. It’s colour-coded with lots of formulae and conditional formatting and pivot tables and all that stuff. It took ages. Then I looked at all the how-to writing books I’ve got, and googled all the how-to writing articles that are out there, and fed that data into my spreadsheet too. That also took ages. But now, just by entering a date, I can calculate when I need to have written the structure, plot points, chapters, characters, scenarios, big scenes, little scenes and upside down scenes of my new novel.

So, let’s see… ah yes. According to my spreadsheet I have to stop faffing around and get writing immediately. Hmmm, I knew that already but I suppose it’s nice to see it laid out in a column.

No distractions

It’s Monday morning. The house is very quiet and I have completed every domestic chore I can think of – ironing, washing, cleaning, mopping the floor, walking the dog. I don’t even have a dog. Note to self: get a dog. Now, I’m ready to write. Novel Number Two. N#2. I’ve given myself three months to complete the first draft.

But now I’m writing this, and this isn’t the novel at all.

I have to get better at this discipline-thing. Last month I had a job and a regular income. Now I don’t. I know. I know. Let’s call it a social experiment; a period of no distractions. Write, write, write. The house is really tidy, by the way.

Discipline and routine, that’s what’s needed. A regular routine. A disciplined regular routine. Of Writing. A disciplined regular writing routine. A regime. A disciplined regular writing routine regime. Regimented. A disciplined regimented regular… did I mention that I’ve almost mastered The Bear Dance on the ukulele? I mean I can get through it. Sometimes. Slowly. If no-one’s listening.

Okay. Enough. Come on, James. Game On. If you’re going to be a professional, you’ve got to be professional. You can do this.

Here we go. The novel.

Hey, the postman’s just come. Excellent.

A cure for the common cold

You have razor blades in your throat and water-filled eyes and bubbling nostrils and you’ve become deaf in one ear and you can’t talk without coughing yourself inside out, and every now and then you sneeze and sneeze and sneeze until your nose falls off.

You have a cold.

Some people wrap their heads in gauze and carry on regardless; others share their wet, watery germs with as many people as possible; others stay at home hidden beneath a pile of damp tissues; a few turn to alcohol and other recreational options. However you handle it, there comes a point in the evening when you’ve just about had enough of the wretched thing. Here is a suggestion for when that moment comes.

Run a hot steaming bath and fill it with bubbles. Close all the windows and take something interesting to read – I would suggest one of the graphic guides from the wonderful Introducing Books team (@graphicguides).
While the bath is running squeeze the juice of one lemon into a glass tumbler, and keep squeezing until there is no squeezing left to be done.
Add a spoonful of honey – not set honey but that runny honey stuff that somehow gets all over your fingers.
Add hot water until the tumbler is half full and stir vigorously.
Lie in the bath amongst all the bubbles and the steam, and drink the drink and stay there until you have hardly any energy left at all.
Get out of the bath, dry yourself, and climb into a freshly made bed with clean sheets and a thick duvet.
If appropriate, spray Difflam into your throat.
Think of nothing.
Sleep.

In the morning you will wake up cured. If not, repeat each evening until you are.

Please vote on the 23rd

It would have been lovely, wouldn’t it, if we’d been able to have an inclusive debate in which the pros and cons of remaining in, or exiting from, the European Union were aired and discussed and respected?

But we didn’t.

Instead we have had a highly polarised, venomous argument in which political leaders, elected and unelected, have thrown their weight about and dominated the debate, and left me feeling that the last few weeks have been more about their career aspirations than any consideration for what is good for the British people, and for the people of other countries. Which is a shame because this vote is much more important than any politician’s career, and it is much more important than any general election.

This vote is about us: the populace, the masses, the multitude. And ironically, the nasty nature of the arguments has elevated the debate from a pragmatic question of sovereignty and economics, to something far more reflective.It has become an act of defining ourselves, our country and our continent. And it is as much a vote for our children and grandchildren as it is for ourselves because we are deciding on the type of country and world in which they will live for many years to come.

So no matter how disenchanted you might feel by this whole process, and how weary you might be when trying to find objective facts on which to base an opinion, and how nauseous you become every time you hear the same old rhetoric, please hang in there and make the effort to vote on the 23rd, wherever you intend to put your X. Because if ever there was a decision to be made in which every vote will count, then it is this one.

Go leaflets, go!

From an anthropological perspective (and try saying that with a mouthful of toffee) it’s interesting how people react when I ask them to pledge support for my novel. Some I feel I offend simply by raising the subject. Others ask for more detailed information – certificates of authentication, my licence to write, recent police records, that sort of thing – and one said they might pledge but only after reading the book (that threw me).

But most people just say ‘yes’ and it makes me want to hug them. Over twenty people from my Masters course jumped in without demur. A similar number of friends and colleagues from work stumped up their hard-earned cash and scarcely broke sweat. Friends, family, well-wishers and other writers, other Unbounders, attendees at public readings, have all shouted ‘yes’. My first friend at primary school, from 50 years ago, to whom I haven’t spoken for over 30 years, and whom I found on Facebook and promptly mugged, threw in his money with a humbling generosity. (Have I got all my whoms right here? They are tricky devils. I work on a he/she, him/her basis.)

As I write, 104 people have pledged 70% of my target. There’s a mighty hugfest brewing.

Now it’s time to launch the next stage of the campaign: Project Leaflet. Yes, I’m going old-school: leaflets in cafes, leaflets in libraries, leaflets in bookshops , leaflets through letterboxes – you name it, I’ll leaflet it. If it moves I’ll hand it out, if it doesn’t I’ll stick it on. I am sorry a small tree died to make this possible, but I will plant a new one in its honour this autumn.

And here they are! Waiting like paratroopers to be deployed. Go leaflets, go!

You are so very very big…

“Let us praise God. Oh Lord, oooh you are so big. So absolutely huge. Gosh, we’re all really impressed down here I can tell you. Forgive us, O Lord, for this dreadful toadying and barefaced flattery. But you are so strong and, well, just so super. Fantastic. Amen.” (Michael Palin as the chaplain in The Meaning of Life)

Fair enough. But look what stunning architecture such flattery creates…

Wells Cathedral

I do like the Python approach, though. Here’s my own prayer in a similar vein.

Dear God.
You are so big and we are so small.
Please don’t tread on us or eat us.
Sorry we are so rubbish.
You are much better.
Sorry.

A quiet night in

It’s official: I have tinnitus. So the cracks, pops, whistles, groans and the constant background hiss, like a layer of cicadas inside my head, are here to stay. For a while at least. Probably. There is ambiguity.

I’m told tinnitus is a symptom and not a condition – causes include noise-induced hearing loss, the side effect of drugs, psychological issues and wax. I had hoped it was wax. Anybody who has ever had their ears flushed out will know what I’m talking about. I go swimming just to encourage the build-up of wax, just so I can have my ears flushed.

But it’s not that, and although it’s possible my tinnitus is the result of an ear-syringing habit, I suspect it’s more to do with the Seventies playlists on my iPod. All those synthesisers and twenty-minute guitar solos have taken their toll and denuded my inner ear of hair cells – which would make me both bald inside my head and bald on top of my head. Damn you, weak follicles. Am I the first person to link tinnitus to male-pattern baldness?

I need to work out how I’m going to say tinnitus. Tiny-tus is out; and although I like the more widely used tinny-tus I am drawn to the strident tin-nightus. That’s a pronunciation I can shout, which is fitting given the increasing level of interior noise. I’ve got tin-nightus I will say with an antipodean inflection. I suppose there’s also tinnight-us, but that sounds too intimate.

During the day other sounds mask the beeps and whistles inside my head and, as with a ticking clock, I am not always conscious of them. And even if I am, somehow my brain can accommodate the duality of interior and exterior sounds. Thank you, brain. Every year I have a full medical check-up which includes a hearing test. I sit in a soundproofed booth with headphones on and listen for tiny pings and beeps. Even though my head is filled with other hums, hisses and clicks I can still pinpoint those exterior sounds. It’s the aural equivalent of feeling beads in cotton wool.

It’s at night when I lay down to sleep that things really get going, and I’m surprised my tinnitus doesn’t keep the neighbours awake. At night a full experimental orchestra kicks off including double bass, bassoons, church organs, industrial generators, steam traction engines and rocket launchers. Not only that, I snore like a hog. It’s an internal and external cacophony.

My doctor said that tinnitus can come and go but if it gets worse I should go back to see her. I will. There are support clinics, websites, distraction techniques, medicines and even musical and sound products available to mitigate the symptom. Apparently, a third of all people are affected by tinnitus at some stage in their lives. So in my opinion it’s an under-researched symptom. In extremis, tinnitus can cause great misery. In extreme extremis those internal sounds can take on a more sinister and frightening quality.

However, as I write this, things are fairly calm. The cicadas are creating their uniform hiss from one ear to the other but that’s about it. Outside my head there are real sounds: cars passing, the wind blowing, distant voices. I can’t imagine what it is like to be in utter silence. I’m sure I once was; I haven’t had tinnitus all my life, have I? But I don’t know. Maybe I have.

In the scheme of things the tinnitus I have is no big deal. It’s a very manageable symptom and nothing to complain about. I’ll continue to go swimming and I’ll continue to listen to that awful music. It’s not affecting my concentration and it’s not affecting my sleep, although from my partner’s perspective that last item is not so good. I think she would like to push all the snoring inside my head. And that would be fine with me because I’m certain the orchestra is missing a percussion section.

For more information on tinnitus, follow this link: http://www.tinnitus.org.uk

Why Unbound is the right choice for The Wrong Story

Two years ago I started writing my first novel The Wrong Story. Now, bar the final edits, it’s complete. To some extent I thought the journey was over: I’m a writer, I have written. Veni, vidi, vici.

But of course, the journey has only just begun. There is the little matter of publication and distribution. Engaging with mainstream publishers can be a bruising experience. The simple fact is, with diminishing margins and outlets mainstream publishers are less willing and less able to be adventurous with their lists of new authors. We all know this and I accepted it as a universal truth: that is the way it is. Get over it.

But I am learning that it doesn’t have to be that way. I was introduced to Unbound, the trading name of United Authors Publishing, a curated crowdfunding publisher. Unbound are like a mainstream publisher in that they edit, advise, provide high-spec graphic design, run marketing campaigns and publicise. They also distribute through Penguin Random House, which, let’s face it, is pretty good. The difference between Unbound and the traditional publishing model is that their production costs are covered through crowdfunding – people pledging money. This mitigates risk and gives a good view of the potential market.

That all sounds very now, but to be honest I hated the thought of asking people, including friends and family, for money. However, the more I thought about it the more I got it: it wouldn’t be me that would be getting funded, it would be the project, the book. And that, for me, is what this whole journey is about.

I remember standing up for the first public reading of one of my short stories: my legs turned to jelly, my mouth became drier than sandpaper and it seemed quite likely that I would fall over. But none of that mattered because having people hear the story was more important than my physical collapse. I would read it from the floor if I had to. I get the same feeling now when I think about seeking pledges. I want people to read the book.

Of course, the ‘curated’ aspect of Unbound’s business model means that they are as choosy as any mainstream publisher. With all the care and attention I would give to any submission, I pitched my story and then waited in that familiar silence for a yes or a no. But Unbound are fast and after only six weeks (which included the Christmas holidays) they responded – and to my deep joy it was a yes.

So now the journey continues. The contract is signed, I have my own pages on the Unbound site, a ‘shed’ in which I can talk to all my pledgers, a video (oh dear), a sample of the novel, a synopsis, a biography and so on. Unbound are very active on my behalf in pushing the project, but the bringing in of pledges is largely down to me. So I’m getting on with it – tweeting, emailing, going to readings, handing out flyers – and doing all the things that have to be done in order to get the book out there. And it’s exciting. I feel energised and I feel involved in the entire lifecycle of my book. I’m discovering that being an author is not just about writing.

It helps enormously that Unbound believe in The Wrong Story as much as I do. It also helps that I genuinely believe in Unbound – they’re responsive, committed, helpful and very enthusiastic. They’ve got a great list of authors and through their crowdfunding model they’re able to promote a stunning array of titles, one of which made the 2014 Man Booker Prize longlist. It is very now, and it does feel very right.

Looking back, when I was first introduced to Unbound my immediate question was, why would I choose to crowdfund my book? I now realise the question I should have asked was, why wouldn’t I?

To help make The Wrong Story this year’s bestseller (hem), please follow this link and pledge here: https://unbound.co.uk/books/the-wrong-story

For more information on Unbound, please follow this link: https://unbound.co.uk