Book titles and paper knickers

 Lying on a Trolley in a Pair of Paper Knickers sounds like a title in the vein of The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared. As it happens it was me on the trolley. The consultant was threading a laser through a slit in my leg. We were chatting about books, and he recommended Hundred-Y-O Man. He also said that he was drawn to the quirkier titles at the airport, which goes to show that there is something to be said for odd titles and that consultants frequent airports while writers (at least this one) knock about on push bikes.

All this is apropos of The End of book 3. It’s actually been finished for some time bar the title.

My first choice of title was borrowed from a WB Yeats’ poem, but The Stolen Child had already been taken – twice. Always check before naming your baby. There are 25 books on Amazon called Hidden or The Hidden.

There is plenty of online advice about choosing a title but it wasn't helping much. Titles seem to fall into five categories:

Attention seekers: wordy, surreal, with unexpected juxtapositions and imagery. 
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

Second-hand: Borrowed from poetry, scripture or sayings, sometimes with a twist.
East of Eden, Gone with the Wind, His Dark Materials

Generic: Strongly signals genre.
Foreign Agent, Owned by the Mob Boss

Names of people or places:
Jane Eyre, Miguel Street

Classic: I'll throw the rest in here. Mostly short and relevant without being genre specific.
Sons and Lovers, Little Women, War and Peace

I asked some readers what worked for them.

Most of my sample agreed with my nearest vascular surgeon. They liked quirky. Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe and Love Death and Vanilla Slices got a mention. Writer/blogger Anne Cater's favourite is Her Giant Octopus Moment. It’s intriguing and humorous without being ridiculous. Its author, Kay Langdale, explained how it fits her book's theme:

'The title was inspired by the Giant Pacific Octopus's reproductive habits. The female lays her eggs in a crevice of rock, and during the seven months it takes for them to mature, she protects them from sea-stars and crabs, and cleans and aerates them. At the point of hatching, she helps ease them from their jelly casing, and wafts them outwards and upwards to help them swim away. Then, not having eaten or tended to herself for the duration, she dies.

'The image related to the book as a metaphor for the devotion, dedication and selflessness frequently demanded by motherhood. The central character in the novel, Joanie, is selfish and thoughtless in her decision making, and her child, Scout, is impacted upon by her choices. At the conclusion of the novel, Joanie has a Giant Octopus Moment when she makes a decision, for the first time, which is based on putting Scout first.'

Kay’s most recent favourite title is Karen J Fowler's We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, which I agree is another cracker.

My personal favourite is By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept. It’s the most loaded title I know. It encapsulates the book and trails atmosphere. Nine words evoke a detailed visual and a hangar-load of emotion. Unable to support the weight of feeling someone sits down to cry in a vast public space. All around are the miniature dramas of parting and arrival, the flux and impersonality of commuting. It’s a flash poem. Every word works. Wept is more touching than cried; the soft blending of wet and swept speaks of uncontrolled, copious tears. It’s unusual, arresting and full of pathos. It simultaneously awakens empathy and curiosity. Why is she crying? Why there?

                                        

But longer and stranger isn't necessarily better. T S Eliot's working title for The Wasteland was He Do the Police in Different Voices. It gives some clue as to the ventriloquism of the piece but it makes me think of Spike Milligan. 'The Wasteland' sets the tone as arid, lacking in sustenance, without bearings.

Not all the favourites were attention seekers. Poet, Liz Brownlee, went for Snow Falling on Cedars for its ‘musicality, the deliciousness of cold and the comfort of the cedar smell, movement and softness, light and delicacy’.

Also, before I get carried away with Ukrainian Tractors and Electric Sheep I have to consider that my book is part of a series so it needs to match the other two which are simply names: Oy Yew and Nondula. Therefore, after due consideration, I’m going for a one-worder.

 I name book 3, Nigma.

Becoming a Public Author

On the way to my book launch I read How to be a Public Author by Paul Ewen. It’s comic gold. As preparation for an event - well it prepares you for any eventuality.

Francis Plug attends a string of stellar author events. Here he is at a Salman Rushdie talk:

‘My £8 ticket is equivalent to two and a half well-filled glasses of wine. So far I’ve had seven glasses, so I’m up. The wine table is unattended, so I help myself to another bottle before heading back into the theatre. Salman Rushdie looks over to me as I scuttle towards my seat. It must be distracting to have someone moving about like a frilled lizard while you’re trying to talk.’

Later he writes:

'Perhaps we’re currently experiencing the golden age of author/reader interaction, but I suspect, for most contemporary authors, it’s nothing but a friggin’ nightmare.’

The night before the launch I take a sustaining draught of solitude. I like people, but I burn out on sociability. I revel in the singleness of my hotel room, the mini kettle with one cup, and the narrow bed. On the telly Florence (and the Machine) leans out from the Pyramid stage and touches drifts of hands. I don’t think I will need to be hoisted by security guards. What if no one turns up?  

It’s June in England and it’s hot. English villages and fairs are made for each other. Girls have bows in their hair and stop mid run for two turns of a hula hoop. Chair legs sink into hot grass. Organisers look at their watches and move things. Tea and cake is served on mismatched pastel and flowered crocks. Winter feet are aired. Ants tickle. I have to make an effort to be nervous in such an atmosphere but I manage it. 

I check the venue. It’s a small marquee. I recognise my publisher from her picture on line. She has very sweetly brought flowers (from her own garden) chocolates and a card. She gives me piles of books to sign. People enter the humid tent, sit down and wait.

 Oy Yew is a middle grade/crossover book, in other words it appeals to all ages. We pitched the talk at both children and adults. The tent fills with adults. I'm told it’s difficult to attract MG readers to an event unless the writer is already a big name. It's a shame. Like Francis Plug I have an anarchic inner child. I relate to children.

Thankfully the adults find enough content to smile, respond, take notes and buy books. No one darts between the seats like a frilled lizard. Perhaps if I offered wine...

What I learned and some advice for first time public authors.

Read Francis Plug as preparation.

Support indie publishers. They are very nice. 

Don't carry your flowers around all day. They will wilt.

If you do a presentation with a dog, people will look at the dog and not you. (The cartoonist, Brick, secured his dog to the altar of the chapel where he was speaking).

Only thought makes things into ‘friggin’ nightmares’.

Eleven-year olds don’t decide to go to book talks. When taken by parents to culture, they trail. Eights and nines are more open. Children in schools are captive and will happily receive you as light relief.

Buy food before you get on the train else you will be forced to spend a large part of your advance on a packet of quavers.

I am now a public author. That means I am available for any event, anywhere. Lakes and mountains preferred.
Email anasalote@aol.com

Going indie: constraints of the publisher's list

Earlier this year I visited the William Blake exhibition at the Ashmolean. I thought it diminished Blake with its nerdy focus on technique. It was like studying Van Gogh’s brushes with his paintings as an aside. I skimmed the technical details and looked at the pictures.

William Blake was a copyist till he had learned his craft. Then he opened his cranium. He used the spiritus mundi as ink. He had his own vision and he made something new. There were influences from Raphael and Michelangelo, but Blake’s figures have a peculiar contained enormity which is singularly Blakish. The burden of kingliness drags striated arms, crouches with sinewed thighs, resounds with the yawning of bergs, the grinding of planets. His pins are the scale and holy terror of beyond. The infinite is seen; there can be no return to limitation.

The artist could have played safe and pandered to prevailing tastes. No publisher or gallery was calling for Blakesque submissions. Instead he scrawled scathing notes in the margins of Joshua Reynolds’ Discourses and did what he pleased. Others were pleased by it. The market came to him.
 

Writers take the same risks. The major publishers are conservative. They have a list which the writer must fit, a confining mould. Its parameters are, ‘things which have previously been shown to make money’. Innovation is acceptable from a ‘name’. Otherwise change proceeds in cautious baby steps. In general bankability trumps ability. It is rare to see something genuinely fresh, an Alice in Wonderland, an On the Road, from a large press. This leaves the small presses, webzines and literary journals as the forward edge of publishing.

My book, Oy Yew, though praised by the big publishing houses, didn’t quite fit their lists. One editor asked to see it twice and emailed over a year later to say of all the mss she had seen in that period it was the one that had stuck in her mind. Though she loved it, she was manacled by her list.

Oy Yew is a difficult book to characterise. It is a middle grade children’s novel, it is an escapist adult read, it is a search for identity, a tale of separated soul-mates, and a mystery of disappearing servants. It is both dark and comical, and its voice is more classic than is fashionable. It was written out of inspiration and not with one eye on the market. With so many list-bound editors I thought self-publishing would be the only route. Then along came Mother's Milk.

MM is an indie press with heart. Heart and head can have equal influence on the small publisher who is in it for love as much as a living. Signing with MM is the beginning of a journey. The press is personal and supportive. If you've ever received the standard rejection, 'Sorry, it doesn't quite fit our list', consider replying, 'Don't worry, I'll find a more interesting list'. Then research the small presses. We’re now at the stage of final edits and building up to launch on Jun 27th. I'll be writing more posts on the rest of the journey.

Oy Yew is available for pre-order with a £2 discount here
We are launching with a talk at Lowdham Book Festival near Nottingham on Sat, Jun 27th 11a.m. Unusually, I will be joined by my publisher, Teika Bellamy and award-winning illustrator, Emma Howitt to discuss all aspects of book production plus readings.

My Writing Process Blog Tour

First dip into the world of blog tours. I'm following on from Abigail Watkins. You can read about her writing process here http://www.writingwhilethekidssleep.blogspot.co.uk

What am I working on?

My writing life is at an exciting stage. I’m collaborating on a number of projects but my main focus has to be the Waifs of Duldred fantasy series for ages 9 to adult.

Book 1, Oy Yew, was longlisted for the Times/Chicken House Award. After some near misses with the big six I’m delighted to be working with indie press, Mother’s Milk on the trilogy. I’m currently sorting out the tricky middle section of book 2. Managed to write for a sneaky two hours at work today - I'm self-employed so only myself to answer to.

This morning we had a production meeting for a beach panto to be staged this summer in Weston-super-Mare. It's based on the 1930s poem 'Albert and the Lion.' It brings Albert to Weston where he searches for lost treasure in the company of witches, pirates and dragons. We're using puppets and actors. I've really enjoyed writing for the show and am looking forward to seeing it realised.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I think the voice is different. I see a lot of chatty writing. I prefer the language of the classics: Mary Poppins, Peter Pan, The Wind in the Willows. They are my benchmark. I aspire to Philip Pullman's readership, the literary end of the crossover market. The themes run deep but there’s plenty of humour in the mix. 

Not following the crowd is both a weakness and a strength. It was wonderful to get this email from a commissioning editor for one of the big houses. She first read Oy Yew some time ago:
I have read and considered a fair number of submissions since then, but yours has stayed with me – the characters were lightly drawn and yet fully realised, and I so enjoyed the warmth of your writing. With so many authors writing either for the older age group (teen/YA) or for this age group but going down the slapstick humour route, it’s really quite rare to find such a lovely story with such a classic feel.

Despite her enthusiasm she played safe. If your work is eccentric - try the small presses.

Why do I write what I do?

So I can go there.

I want to go to the worlds evoked by WB Yeats: twilit places of wood smoke and leprechauns. Through the looking glass, laws and limits fall away. The characters are the sort you watch with awful fascination. My best writing happens when I step through the glass and scribe.

How does my writing process work?

The Duldred books started with chimneys: they have that mysterious portal quality. Then came Alas, the chimney sweep laden with fears and guilt. Oy crept in, extremely quietly, yet somehow demanding top billing.

Some scenes come chronologically and fully formed; others have to be worked at. I’m catching at language and images, consulting the mental hoard. Characters fill out and dictate events. The ending is decided somewhere in the middle. It’s random, organic, all over the place.

Sculpting comes later. 40,000 words are cut. 5,000 are put back. I draft and redraft, adjusting a sentence when the rhythm is off,  changing a word or action that isn’t true to character, varying the pace, strengthening the plot, adding signposts.

Then I leave it for at least a month. When I can read it without blushing it’s done.