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The kids are off school. Yesterday was – complicated. And right now, I have seven kids in the house with me as the only (vaguely) capable adult.

So –

A short email today, but one with a useful moral.

On Wednesday night, I did (for our beloved Premium Members) a LIVE EDIT session, in which I took four short pieces of work and started to edit them much as I would if they were my pieces of text.

When I do these things, I don’t pre-plan my edits: the point really is to offer a stream-of-consciousness view into how I approach things. And each time I start one of these webinars, I always wonder if I’ll actually have anything useful to say.

I mean, I can always find trivia – this word repeated, an over-focus on bodily movements or sensations, a tiny muddle as to just how quiet a particular location is. At the outset, those things always seem to offer rather slim pickings. Good to correct, maybe, but perhaps not worth a webinar.

Except – and Wednesday evening was no exception – these little things normally lead to something bigger. So here, for example, is the first paragraph from one of the passages we looked at:

Aside from the weather and the hooting of an owl in the distance, it’s deathly quiet. Exactly what I wanted. But if that’s true then why do I ache for the comforting buzz of Jon’s Bar? Knowing he was asleep upstairs made me feel safe somehow, like I was alone but not really. Now there’s nobody, just me and the forest. Rain beats the roof above me in place of Jon’s footsteps on old floorboards, wind the only other breath for miles.

Now, this was from a really quite good passage and the key emotional transition which followed was well and movingly handled. The author, Rian, stands a decent chance, I think, of writing something which agents will need to give serious consideration to in time.

But? Well, the bit that niggled at me first was that damn owl.

The first sentence here says, “it’s deathly quiet,” albeit that the place isn’t totally quiet because of some (undefined) weather and a distant owl.

Only then, the last sentence says “Rain beats the roof above me.” It doesn’t say “patters lightly and almost without sound”. It says “beats”.

So which is it? Beating rain or deathly silent? It can’t be both.

And then, Jon’s bar is bamboozling too. Is the soundscape of that bar:

a) A comforting buzz?

b) Silent, because Jon is asleep upstairs?

c) Nothing from the bar below, but footsteps from Jon walking around above, presumably after the bar has closed for the night?

The answer seems to be all of the above.

Now, these niggles are – I accept it – utterly trivial. The first sentence said “Aside from the weather,” so it did, if we’re being strict, make some allowance for the rain. And the thing about Jon’s bar? Well, obviously, the soundscape of that bar varied with time of day, but the woman is perfectly capable of remembering each bit of it. We as readers are also capable of figuring these things out.

But these niggles lead to another. The structure of the piece at the moment is this:

1. Deathly quiet here
2. Comforting buzz of bar (past)
3. Me and the forest
4. Jon’s footsteps on floorboards (past again)
5. Wind the only breath

So we loop back twice to Jon, in the space of eighty words. That means that none of these soundscapes can be properly described or absorbed – we’re just shuttling to and fro too often. And what’s the emotional movement here? It’s got a bit lost in the shuttling.

So, on Wednesday, we took these niggles and arrived at this:

It’s quiet here. There’s the sound of rain on the roof, and dripping off trees, and somewhere an owl, hooting unseen. Otherwise, nothing – a forestful of silence.

Exactly what I wanted. But if that’s true then why do I ache for the comforting buzz of Jon’s Bar? Knowing he was there, either serving beers or, after hours, moving around on the old floorboards upstairs, made me feel safe somehow. Like I was alone but not really. Now there’s nobody, just me and the forest. Me, the trees, the owl and the rain.

That’s ten words longer, but clears up the niggles around what exact sounds we’re dealing with. More important, it cleans up the structure: we start with the forest, then we feel a pang for the buzz of the place left behind, then we consider again our solitary state here with the trees and the owls.

In bringing a bit of order to these smaller points, we also get greater emotional clarity. The new passage now shows a flow from external observation (“it’s quiet here!”) to an emotional one (“Wow! I’m really alone here.) That movement – a deepening – goes via a contrast (in terms of sound, and aloneness) with the world the character has just left.

This matters! The character is about to plunge into a howl of pain over her lost baby. The paragraph before that happens needs to set that up just right.

The new passage does just that. It gives us silence – nostalgia – oh crikey, I’m on my own … The whole paragraph is now getting us ready for what follows.

That, roughly, is how editing almost always works.

You start with a fairly low-level worry – in my case it was beating rain vs deathly quiet.

In solving that worry, we found others (was Jon’s bar buzzing or silent or footsteppy?).

And in solving all those things, we got to something that:

a) No longer suffered from those minor niggles, but also

b) Gave us a powerful and emotionally compelling route into the howl of pain which is about to come.

Little things lead to big things. That’s how editing works. That’s why jumping on trivia is almost always important: it opens doors to things that you might not otherwise have sensed and found.

For me, the activity has a free-form quality. Sometimes, I enter my text with a mission. (Turn character A from male to female. Improve setting B. Solve the plot conundrum in chapter X.) Often, though, I just read the text and respond to it.

I find a niggle and tease away at it.

Little things lead to big ones.

The text improves.

Next week, I want to do something a bit similar in terms of plotting. I want to look at how very basic plot summaries can give us important clues about the entire novel. If you’re doing our How To Write in 6 Weeks course, you’ll know just what exercise I’m talking about and (I hope) how illuminating it is.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY: How to Write a Novel / Module #4 / Prose

Watch the lesson here (available to Premium Members)

Do your assignment:

Take a scene. Cut it brutally. Layer it up the way we did in the video. Then present your before and after efforts. (The “after” version should be a max of 250 words, please.)

Upload the result to Townhouse here. 

I’ll be very keen to see the results of both the cutting and the layering up. I’m expecting beauty and wondrousness here, folks. Oh yes, and we’re at the one year anniversary of our Feedback Friday sessions. I’ve loved them. Thanks for participating.

Til soon.

Harry.

Calling all short story writers! We’ve pulled together a list of short story competitions, awards and prizes for you to have on your radar. To the best of our knowledge, these competitions run every year, but do make sure to check with each of them directly for everything you need to know before submitting your work.

Short Story Competitions.

Aesthetica Creative Writing Award

This competition is run by the prestigious art magazine every year, writers can enter short stories up to 2,000 words. Find out more here.

Anthology Short Story Competition

Anthology Short Story Competition is open to original and previously unpublished short stories in the English language by a writer of any nationality, living anywhere in the world. There is no restriction on theme or style. Stories submitted must not exceed the maximum of 1,500 words. Get all the details here.

Bath Short Story Award

Launched in 2012 the International Bath Short Story Award has rapidly become established as one of the prominent short story competitions in the UK receiving over fifteen hundred world-wide entries each year and producing a yearly anthology of short-listed and winning authors. Head to their website to find out everything you need to know.

BBC National Short Story Award

This prize is run yearly and only open to authors with a prior record of publishing creative work in the UK. Stories up to 8,000 words are accepted and may be submitted by the author or by their agent. Shortlisted stories are awarded a prize of £600. Get the full details here.

Brick Lane Bookshop Short Story Prize

Run by the well-known and beloved London bookshop, the Brick Lane Bookshop Short Story Prize welcomes entries of original short fiction between 1000 and 5000 words. The winner will receive £1,000 and 12 shortlisted writers will be included in an anthology. Find out more here.

Bridport Short Story Competition          

With one of the largest cash prizes for a short story competition, the Bridport Short Story prize has helped many writers launch careers and achieve success. Details here.

Creators of Justice Literary Awards

The Creators of Justice Literary Awards is an annual, international contest featuring works which highlight the struggle for human rights and social justice across the world. Writers can submit one poem, essay, or short story on an annual theme. More here.

Dinesh Allirajah Prize for Short Fiction

Run by indie publisher Comma Press, this prize is open to both published and unpublished writers and aims to seek out the best established and up and coming voices in the form. Find out everything you need to know here.

Inclusive Voices Short Story Competition    

A unique competition, the Inclusive Voices Short Story Competition asks writers for stories up to 550 words and 'should feature a character with a print disability' which aligns with their mission as a charity who have been providing audiobooks to people who struggle to read print for fifty years. More here.

Mairtín Crawford Awards

For the Mairtín Crawford Awards, both published and unpublished writers are invited to submit a short story of up to 2,500 words for the short story award, with the only stipulation being that they have not yet published a full collection of poetry, short stories, or a novel. Details here.

Manchester Fiction Prize

The Manchester Fiction Prize is open internationally to anyone aged 16 or over (there is no upper age limit) and awards a cash prize of £10,000 to the writer of the best short story submitted.

Mogford Prize for Food and Drink Writing 

A unique competition, the Mogford Prize for Food and Drink Writing is an annual short story competition open to writers across the globe. The prize awards £10,000 to the best short story that has food and drink at its heart. Head to their website to find out more.

Mslexia's Short Story Competition

Run by the magazine for women-writers, Mslexia's annual competition is for unpublished complete short fiction of up to 3,000 words. Get the full details here.

Rhys Davies Short Story Competition

The Rhys Davies Short Story Competition is a distinguished national writing competition for writers born or living in Wales. The first prize is £1,000 and publication in a short story anthology to be published by Parthian Books. More here.

Seán Ó Faoláin International Short Story Competition

The competition is open to original, unpublished and un-broadcast short stories in the English language of 3,000 words or fewer. The story can be on any subject, in any style, by a writer of any nationality, living anywhere in the world. Winner gets €2,000, featured reading at the Cork International Short Story Festival (with four-night hotel stay and full board) and publication in Southword. Find out more here.

The Aurora Prize for Writing

The Aurora Prize is a national writing competition, seeking outstanding new writing in short fiction and poetry run by Writing East Midlands. More here.

The Bedford Competition

Open internationally, there are prizes totalling £4,600 and all winning and shortlisted stories and poems are published as an anthology.

The Bristol Short Story Prize

This is an annual international writing competition open to all published and unpublished, UK and non-UK-based writers.

The Commonwealth Short Story Prize

The prize is open to all Commonwealth citizens aged 18 and over entering a story of between 2,500 and 5,000 words. The regional winners receive £2,500 and the overall winner receives a total of £5,000. The winning stories are published online by Granta and in a special print collection by Paper + Ink.

The Galley Beggar Press Short Story Prize

Galley Beggar Press' mission is to 'support talented new writers, and to demonstrate the wonderful things that can be done with the short story form.' Writers supported by the indie publisher's short story prize have gone on to achieve amazing things, such as signing with agents and securing book deals as a result of taking part in the prize. Galley Beggar Press have added that their 'winners have been profiled in the Bookseller, the Irish Times, Guardian and elsewhere.' Co-run by one of our brilliant Ultimate Novel Writing Course tutors Sam Jordison, we're big fans of this prize. Get more details about the prize here.

The Moth Prizes

The Moth Magazine runs an annual short story prize open to anyone from anywhere in the world, as long as their writing is original and previously unpublished. Details here.

The Royal Society of Literature V. S. Pritchett Short Story Prize

The annual prize of £1,000 goes to the best unpublished short story of the year. The winning entry is also published in Prospect magazine and the RSL Review. Check their website for more information.

The Society of Authors' Awards

The Society of Authors runs annual awards, which are open to writers at all stages of their careers. Among them is The ALCS Tom-Gallon Trust Award for a short story (applicants need to have had at least one short story accepted for publication); and The McKitterick Prize, which is given annually to an author over the age of 40 for a first novel, published or unpublished. All details here.

Here are our top tips for entering writing competitions.

Write, write, write. Then put your writing away in a drawer.

Time spent away from your story can give you a chance to return with fresh eyes. This is crucial as it allows you to see the story the way a reader will. The next best thing is to...

Share your writing with a trusted writer friend.

We say 'writer' friend and not friends or family for a reason: constructive criticism is what you need most before you send your work out into the world. Sharing your story with someone who cares about you (and might not be a writer themselves) might only elicit good feedback. It's great to have a nurturing support system, but at this stage, you want to focus on making your writing as good as it can be.

Once you have submitted your work, follow any suggestions the competition might have.

This could mean adding their email address to your contacts so any emails from them won't be sent to spam or it could be making a note of key upcoming dates. Some competitions require longlisted and shortlisted writers to send additional words if they reach the next round.

Before you submit your work to a writing competition, make sure you have checked the following.

The competition deadline.

Competitions typically have strict deadlines to submit your work, make sure to put a reminder in your diary so you don't miss out.

The submission guidelines.

Competitions tend to have specific guidance on how to enter your work. Read them carefully and make sure to follow the rules as detailed. Remember, if you have any questions, the competitions are usually happy to answer them, assuming you have left plenty of time before the deadline.

The terms and conditions of entry.

Competitions will have stipulations around who can enter, make sure you've checked you are eligible before potentially wasting time submitting and/or entry free.

That's it from us, if you do enter any of these competitions we wish you the very best of luck.

I once wrote a book about payroll fraud. (Yawn.) The fraud in question involved some kind of messing about with employee tax deductions. (Snore.) The fraud was perpetrated using online tools for sabotaging corporate databases. (Dull, dull, dull.)

At one level, that book should not possibly have worked. It was like being trapped inside your very worst admin nightmare: dealing with government tax codes AND horrible tech stuff, both at the same time.

Suffice to say, I don’t think the book did fail – or at least, certainly not for that reason. Because I knew that the underlying subject matter was profoundly tedious, I basically avoided it. I mean, I couldn’t avoid it completely, because the crime was the crime, but I never did anything more than basic window dressing. So, for example, a character at one point says this:

“It looks like the basic mechanics of the fraud were initially set up by Kureishi. He installed software that gave external access to payroll. We’re confident he was not the ultimate beneficiary of the fraud. We simply can’t find enough money or signs of heavy spending. And the set-up looks remarkably professional. The fraud involves over a hundred and fifty dummy UK bank accounts. The money siphons via Spain, Portugal or Jersey to Belize. The Belize bank account is fronted by nominees and owned by a shell company in the British Virgin Islands. That shell company in turn is owned by a foundation in Panama.”

That’s pretty much as specific as I ever got. “He installed software” – well, shucks. That doesn’t really say much of anything. Dummy bank accounts, money siphoning to Belize – well, I have no idea how to do that kind of thing and I never got even close to an explanation.

In effect, my aims with speeches like the one I’ve just quoted were threefold:

1. Make the whole crime setup look plausible.
2. Make it look big and meaty – something that matters enough for my character to be deeply committed to the investigation. (I did that partly with the number of bank accounts, but more importantly with corpses – by this point in the book, my Kureishi character was very, very murdered.)
3. Avoid boring the reader with too much technical jargon.

You may not be writing about payroll systems yourself, but you quite likely are writing about something that involves technical knowledge – and if you are, you have some decisions to make.

Where your knowledge is actually interesting, then share it. I also wrote a book about the early oil industry and readers wanted to know how wells were drilled, what happens when you strike oil, what happens when gas leaks from a well, how wildcatting operated in those days, and so on.

Because of the intrinsic interest of the topic, I read a lot about it and shared plenty. Several specific accounts of striking oil in the book were drawn from actual strikes at the time – from huge gushers to small, but highly indicative, indicators that oil was close. Plenty of readers wrote to me saying how much they enjoyed that stuff. The former head of a major oil company wrote to me to tell me that he had an interest in the technology of the early industry and that I’d got my technical detail pretty much right. (Phew.)

But –

The reason I’m writing this email –

But –

Phones. Whatsapp. Messages. Facetime. Emails. Login credentials. Twitter. Who follows who. DMs. Verification issues. Instagram. Lost passwords. Account recovery process.

For all of us now, a lot of our social interaction is mediated through tech and much of that tech is basically horrible and boring. As a matter of fact, I think that one of the reasons why people pick up books specifically is to avoid the specific negatives of tech involvement.

With a book, the attention commitment is long not short – hours, not minutes or seconds. It’s emotional in a broad, deep, complex way, not in a “catty remark on Instagram” way. If we’re reading in print, then we’re doing so because we don’t want a screen in our hand.

All this says: you need to avoid talking about the detail of tech in your book wherever possible. If you need “convincers” – as I did with payroll fraud – then stick them in. But the purpose of those convincers is really just to say “I know this is boring, so can we please agree that I know what I’m talking about, and we can leave it at that?” That means, as short as possible, as little as possible.

You may think that this doesn’t apply to you – perhaps your book is a domestic noir psych thriller, not a book about payroll fraud or the oil industry.

But in fact, domestic noir psych thrillers are precisely the kind of area where this issue crops up.

Compare these two passages:

Tech-led

She looked at her phone and traced the unlock pattern to gain access. She navigated to Whatsapp and checked for unopened messages. There were a dozen or so messages in a school-related chat she was signed up to, but nothing from Emma. She tapped the search icon to bring up messages from Emma and was about to text her, when she saw a notice saying that the user had blocked her messages …

Emotion-led

She checked her messages – and found that Emma had blocked her. Why? Because of the Croissant Incident? But surely not. She’s already apologised for that and Emma didn’t seem like the kind of person to bear a grudge, no matter how covered in golden pastry flakes she might have been …

I hope it’s blisteringly obvious that one is terrible and one is good. My mother could basically understand the second piece of text, but she’d have no idea what the first one was going on about. Now, OK, it’s not your job to write for my mum, but the point is broader. One piece of text places tech-navigation at its centre. The other one places emotion and relationships at its centre.

You need to do the second, not the first.

These comments are acutely relevant to the kind of smartphone technology we all have in our lives now, but they’re also relevant to any kind of Boring Tech – like my payroll fraud.

If you’re writing about something interesting – navigating an ice-breaker, a 1930s gusher, Napoleonic artillery, the newsroom of a contemporary newspaper – then go for it. Find the rich detail and give us that. If you’re writing about something dull, give us the bare minimum and move away fast.

In my oil book, I remember I had a roughneck fall out of an oil derrick, bounce off the tin roof of the power-rig, and lie on the ground saying, “Would someone find a cigarette for this broken-assed sonofabitch?” I didn’t make that bit up: I just took it straight from eyewitness reports at the time.

The real gold? It’s reality – edited.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY: How to Write a Novel / Module #3 / Plot

Watch the lesson here (available to Premium Members)

Give me your plot summary, as either:

• Five bullet points (Status Quo, Inciting Incident, Midpoint, Crisis, Resolution), or
• 1-2 paragraphs

Either way, stay short. We’re focusing on the basic shape of the plot here; the detail can come later.

I know you’ve already done something towards plot, but I want you to get deeper and more specific this week. I’m looking for a further iteration of the work you’ve already done. If that means sharing something a bit more detailed than I’ve suggested, that’s fine.

Upload the result to Townhouse here. I’ll see you there. Everyone welcome.

BONUS FEEDBACK FRIDAY: 250 Words / Live Edit

I’m doing a live feedback event next week, so your task this week is really simple. Premium Members can register for it here. I want, please, 250 words (max) that you really like. Also, title and genre.

I’m going to give live feedback on this stuff next week, so if you don’t want your work torn to shreds in front of a baying mob, please mark it: NO LIVE FEEDBACK.

(Truth is, I only pick work I already quite like and I’m never that mean. But if you don’t want the live experience, then please just tell me so.)

Share your work here.

Til soon.

Harry

After attending our Festival of Writing, Jo walked away the winner of our Friday Night Live competition and an agented writer! After publishing several books, we caught up with Jo to take a trip down memory lane.

Hi Jo, thank you so much for taking the time to chat to us. Since joining us on the festival stage, winning the Friday Night Live competition and meeting your now agent, you’ve published three books. Can you take us back to that night and tell us a little bit about your experience?

It feels like such a long time ago! I’d heard Joanna Cannon talk about winning Friday Night Live and how it launched her career, and that inspired me to have a go but, ten days before the festival, I was rushed into hospital for abdominal surgery and told not to travel, but it was such a great opportunity that I ignored all medical advice (I don’t advise this, folks). I was shortlisted for Best Opening Chapter and Friday Night Live, and you can’t turn down a chance like that!

I was so nervous that I was sick before going up on stage. I knew absolutely no one there and was in a fair amount of pain, but everyone was so lovely and supportive that I came away from that night with a new writing group, many friends - and an agent!

What a whirlwind! How did your writing journey after winning Friday Night Live compare to beforehand?

I started writing the book that would become Sticks and Stones in February – seven months before Friday Night Live. I had no deadline and no expectations, and it was glorious! I must have done fifty drafts of my opening chapters because every time I got stuck, I went back and started at the beginning again, so I was really happy with the first third. It was the rest of it that was a problem!

When I signed with my agent (the lovely Imogen Pelham) the ending was still pretty raw, so she helped me work out what I wanted to say. We went back and forth for about six months before she sent it out on submission to editors. Until winning Friday Night Live, my writing was all for me but, from then on, a team was involved – and they all had opinions. There were deadlines and it quickly went from a hobby to a job. I’m not complaining – it was exactly what I’d wanted – but I felt the pressure pretty quickly. I now look at it like I’m getting all this input so we can make the book the best it can be, but back then, I felt like I was clueless.

Do you have any advice for writers entering Friday Night Live (or indeed, any competition)?

Um, try not to have life-saving surgery in the days before the competition? Seriously, though, preparation is key. Make sure your work is of the highest quality possible. Seek advice from others. Take advantage of courses, read blogs, and practice in front of the mirror or the dog. I recorded myself doing the reading until I was comfortable looking up from my cards long enough to engage with the audience.

As you were developing your craft, was there anything you found particularly useful on your journey?

Goodness, so much. For years I wrote in the metaphorical wilderness with a handful of books on writing. I didn’t let anyone else read my work, I just plodded on. It all changed for me when I started to engage in writing courses and share my work with others. I went to talks by authors and volunteered at my local book festival so I could breathe in the rarefied air of my favourite writers. I soaked up everything they had to say. Surrounding yourself with others who share your excitement for books and writing is invaluable.

Were there any surprises along the way? Or perhaps anything you wished you had known earlier, or been prepared for?

I wish I’d understood the publishing process better. Or, at all. When my first book came out I felt like an observer. I didn’t know what to expect or how much I could ask for. I assumed that everyone else knew better than me, so I accepted all of the proof-reader's extra commas and didn’t push back at titles and book covers I didn’t like. I was so grateful for the opportunity that sometimes I forgot that my opinions were valid.

You need a certain amount of knowledge to be comfortable enough to stand your ground. Now I know enough to say, ‘How about we try it this way?’ I lost my confidence a few years back (Covid, poor book sales, changing publishers). I had to remind myself why I write and rediscover my love for it. Honestly, I could talk for hours about this, but I won’t bore you here. I’ll just say that confidence in yourself, and your writing, is the key!

Now you’ve been published, is there any advice you would give aspiring authors? Or anything you might have done differently in your journey up to now?

Never stop learning, questioning and observing. Read the books, listen to the podcasts, take a course. I’m currently doing an MA in writing for Script and Screen and I am learning so much that will affect the way I write – and structure - books. As I mentioned in my previous answer, confidence is key. The more knowledge and experience you have the easier it is for you feel assured in your writing. The reader needs to feel that they are in safe hands.

Thank you so much Jo, can you let us know what are you working on right now?

One Bad Apple is coming out on 19^th September 2024. It’s a slight change in direction for me. It's less psychological suspense and more of a straight-up whodunnit about the murder of a headmaster at a prestigious boys’ school. Writing about pushy, competitive parents with secrets to hide and reputations to uphold has been so much fun.

I’m currently finishing my edits for The Vanishing Act, which will be released in September 2025. I can’t say much about that yet, but I am very proud of this one and loved writing it.

We had a good week last week: a flood of good replies, both in relation to “What do you want from writing?” and in relation to our Planning Your Novel module (which is the first lesson in the How to Write a Novel video course and completely free: access it here. You can still do the assignment and get feedback too.)

And –

I always learn something from this work. Last week was no exception.

There was a tremendous amount of interesting work in response to the Planning Your Novel assignment (you can see people’s work here.) And look: the entire point of this module and this assignment is to encourage a kind of safe play. You need to sketch out your idea for a novel, so you can see it and feel it – and change it.

In that sense, if someone gives me a page from a completed draft and I see obvious ways to improve things, then that page has weaknesses. It contains mistakes. But if someone gives me a sketch of an idea, then it can’t contain mistakes. Its job is just to exist – to make itself available for inspection. If you instantly see a way that the idea could be improved, that’s perfect. The sketch has done its job.

The planning process is always circular (plot, characters, settings, themes, plot, characters, settings, themes …). And it’s experimental. Would this story work better in Sweden? Yes? No? Or kind of? OK, so maybe not Sweden. What about Iceland? Or Greenland? A village set up to support oil drilling on the Greenland west coast? Better?

The fact is that you don’t get to the right ideas unless you give yourself permission to have the bad ones. And the bad ones don’t properly exist until they’re written down. You need to see and feel the plan taking shape in front of you.

So – no criticisms in what follows. Just observations.

First:

The pitch matters. Always.

Place your ingredients on a page in their barest, simplest form. Do you want to read that book? Would other readers want to read that book – remembering that your book will be sat next to hundreds of excellent books by authors much better known than you?

Look at these pitches:

Paleontologist + Murder + Theft of dinosaur bones

Jane Eyre + Lesbian romance + more enlightened approach to mental health

New intelligence agency + Run by women + New international crime

Now, I don’t know about you, but the first of those is obviously commercial. A murder story revolving around a niche-but-real area of crime, and one that’s of obvious interest? Yep. That works.

The next two pitches are (for my money, but you may think different) almost but not quite there.

Jane Eyre + lesbian romance: yes, perfect, it’s almost what the book is asking for. Adding a romance like that feels like an act of completion more than anything. But I got shivers of the wrong sort from the enlightened approach to mental health bit. I mean: yes, let’s in practice treat the mentally ill well, of course. But novels that have a “wouldn’t it all be better if we were nice to each other?” tone seldom make good reads – and agents and publishers know it. Now, I don’t think that basic idea needs a whole lot of tweaking to be right. I’d just want to scrub away any trace of the too-worthy from the pitch.

The last idea: yes, I’m intrigued. But the ‘new international crime’ doesn’t mean anything to me. And why is a women-run intelligence agency even needed? What’s the bigger idea underlying its creation? Again, I’m halfway there, but – if I were the author – I wouldn’t embark on writing the book until I’d got some decent answers to those questions.

Second:

Density matters. Almost always.

I came across at least two really interesting examples from your work:

One involved a couple running a teashop in the North of England, but involving some kind of story involving Welsh dragons. Now that’s potentially a nice contrast – the homely teashop, the wild dragons. But why separate them geographically? Almost certainly the book gets better if the teashop is relocated to the Cambrian mountains where (as everyone knows) the world’s best and most ancient dragons still live. The book gets better because, even when you’re in the teashop, you’re still in a location where the possibility of dragons exists. You’ve given every object in the teashop world some kind of ambiguity. Is this only a teacup? Well, yes, maybe, except that beneath those mountains outside lie dragons, and so nothing in this world is ever quite ordinary. If the dragons are a four-hour car journey away, you lose that sense of ambiguity. The book has lost just a splash of energy.

Another example: someone sketched out a novel running from the 60s to now about a mixed-race marriage in the UK. Now, there’s obvious interest there, but the story (as sketched and at least to me) felt a bit baggy – without obvious journey. That doesn’t work. So an author has roughly two choices. One, focus in on a particular time and place. Early 60s? The era of the Beatles and the miniskirt? A mixed-race marriage, with the couple based somewhere not obviously cool (ie: not Carnaby Street, London)? Yes: that clearly works. A lovely retro period feel combined with the iron tang of racial cruelty and complexity? Perfect.

The other way you could justify a 50-year stretch is by giving that journey some kind of purpose. Let’s say the couple has a daughter who goes wild – rejects contact with the mother – before reuniting as the central couple reaches old age. That way, the book is, on the surface, about the mother-daughter relationship, even though in practice the book will also study the evolution of race-attitudes in the UK.

In any case, density nearly always matters.

Geographical density. Density of relationships (a cast list that looks much the same by the end of the novel as in the first quarter). Density of time. When planning a book, it’s nearly always a good plan to close up gaps where you can.

And third:

Darkness matters, nearly always.

There was one planning assignment offered by a more experienced writer with an intriguing idea at its heart – a car crash, a ‘brother’ who’s really a son, a commune, some mental health strangeness. But … who or what was the antagonist? What did the whole story lean up against?

The writer was aware of the issue and had some (perfectly reasonable) hesitations about the exact solution I offered, but … darkness matters. Some external darkness is nearly always important. Even in what is a elegant and morally centred comic romance – Pride and Prejudice, for example – the shadows are present. (The family’s potential poverty. The potential destruction caused by the Lydia Wickham elopement.) That book without those shadows? Basically inconceivable.

So.

Pitch. Density. Darkness.

And plan – revise – plan – extend – plan – revise …

If you haven’t yet joined our How To Write a Novel course, you’re missing out. The peer feedback is abundant and excellent. Always encouraging, always thoughtful. Premium Members can just register here for free. If you’re not a PM, you can always join us.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY: How to Write a Novel / Module #2 / Character

Watch this video (available to Premium Members)

Do your assignment: Give me a 250-word scene that shows a rich, rounded character – we’re looking specifically for inclusion of multiple dimensions in the one scene. 

Everyone is welcome to take part and upload the result to Townhouse here. I’ll see you there. 

Til soon.

Harry

Hello writers, we have TWO tasks in this week's email. If you want to take part in this week's Feedback Friday, keep reading to find out how to get involved - Jericho Team

Superquick housekeeping to start off with: My How To Write A Novel in 6 Weeks course kicks off NOW. Anyone taking the courses gets a weekly video, an assignment, and peer-to-peer feedback via Feedback Friday.

The first module (on planning) is free to all. I hope you get stuck in and make maximum use of it. More information in the PSes below about what to do next.

After this first module, you’ll need to be a Premium Member to complete the course. If you’re not a PM and want to take part, check out our membership options here. I hope you join us.

Righto.

And today, I want to start with a simple question: What do you want to get out of writing?

Don’t give me the ‘in your wildest dreams’ answer. We all know what you dream of: agents stalking you, publishers sending you limos with huge bunches of flowers, a bestseller list electrified by your presence, surging crowds at festivals, your own skincare range, Margot Robbie pestering you with requests to be in your movie, Ryan Gosling inviting you to his island birthday bash …

And, OK, I’m sure that’s all bound to happen, but let’s have a sober version of your aspirations too.

If you want to answer just that simple question, then do. We’ve put together a Townhouse forum, and please – everyone, not just Premium Members – get involved. The short version of the question is just this: What do you want to get out of writing?

If you want to be more discursive (and please do!), then you might want to address any of the following questions which seem relevant to your situation:

1. Do you think your basic idea for a book is strong enough?
2. Are you going to finish your book?
3. Do you intend to get help with the book (eg: via a manuscript assessment)?
4. Do you intend to get help with your skills (eg: via a writing course)?
5. If you’ve finished your manuscript, do you think it’s strong enough to market as it stands?
6. What’s your preferred publication outcome: Big 5 traditional publication? Niche trad publication? Digital first publication? Self-pub?
7. What will you do if you get your book out there and agents aren’t interested?
8. What will you do if your self-publish your book and sales are miserable?
9. What financial outcome would make everything worth it to you? Give us a figure.
10. What other factors would make everything worth it? (eg: seeing your book in a bookshop. Holding a book in your hand. Getting some emails from readers.)
11. Does critical acclaim feel important to you?
12. Does feedback from readers feel important to you?
13. Do you intend to write more than one book? If yes, then will you be writing in your current genre or multiple ones?
14. Do you want to make a full-time career as author (ie: earn enough to live on from books alone.)
15. Do you want to make a substantial part-time career as author? (Like loads of the team at JW, in fact.)
16. Does a film / TV adaptation feel important, or is that just fantasy-land stuff for you?

Don’t feel confined to that list. If there’s something I’ve missed that seems relevant, add that into your answers.

And …

Well, when I started writing, I definitely wanted a big 5 publisher. I definitely wanted an agent. I definitely wanted to make meaningful money.

But I think the biggest thing for me was simply being a writer. I’d wanted to be an author since I was about 10 years old; I just always assumed that’s what I’d do. So being a writer for me was mostly about becoming me; anything else would have felt a bit strange, like having been born into the wrong body.

I have had my work adapted for TV. That didn’t make a big difference to me, either emotionally or financially.

I have had my work sold all over the place. That’s been gratifying, for sure, but not in an especially deep way. It’s fed my ego, not my soul, and these days my ego isn’t that fussed either.

I’ve generally had very positive reviews from critics, but, honestly, that means less to me now than it might have done once. I feel that I know reasonably well how good or bad my books are. I’m not massively affected by what some third-party thinks. If someone doesn’t like my book, that’s as likely to be a matter of personal preference as it is to be something more fundamental.

Getting really committed, insightful communications from readers? Well, that’s always been special and it’s become much more frequent in the internet age and (especially) with a bit of self-publishing.

I’ve always enjoyed trad publishing (though it has also, often, frustrated the heck out of me) but I’ve always liked self-pub too (which has been much less frustrating and more reliable in terms of income.)

I like writing fiction and non-fiction, but fiction is definitely harder – a lot harder, in fact.

I definitely want to publish more books, but I don’t have the same fever around it as I used to. (Nor, admittedly, the same financial pressure.)

I’ve never taken a writing course, but I have done courses on self-pub (well worth it) and no book of mine has ever been published without deep, professional editorial input.

So: those, roughly, are my answers.

What are yours?

Write down your answers and actually give them some kind of sense check. If you have things like “Explore merchandise range to accompany my middle grade novel”, then ask yourself how many authors you know who have successfully done this. If your answer doesn’t get further than ‘JK Rowling’, you may want to reconsider things.

The fact is that writing is hard. Getting published is hard. Not getting published is more common than getting published … and getting published in a small way is more common than getting published at scale.

So, what's the point of all this? Well, we're not in the business of daydreaming. I want you to think practically about your writing future. If you have a goal in mind, it's much easier to reach if you

1. know what that goal looks like and
2. have concrete steps that will bring you closer to achieving it.

Ask yourself: what does that journey look like? What can you do today, this very minute, to bring you closer? This could be any number of things but some ideas include: 

• Clearing a set space in your week for writing
• Improving your home-writing set up to remove niggles or distractions
• Finding beta readers (Try Townhouse)
• Getting formal expert feedback (Try a manuscript assessment, but do this only after you’ve worked hard at self-editing your work. It doesn’t pay to rush in.)
• Really structuring what your book is trying to be. Getting specific about things like your elevator pitch, your plot outline, your character plans, and so on. (That means writing things down, by the way. Thinking about these things while walking dogs won’t achieve the same thing.)
• Cultivating a writing community (Feedback Friday is a great place to start)
• Improving your writing craft. Why not dip your toe with this week's How to Write lesson? If there's another area you need bolstering, hit up our Masterclass library (available to Premium Members). There are also more rigorous, structured options like our flagship writing course. It really depends on where you are at and where you want to be.
• Doing the scary stuff. Not sure if your manuscript is ready to be marketed? Try sending it out to agents. See what response you get. Or book an agent one-to-one and ask for direct, truthful feedback

For now though, that first step could be as simple as writing out your answers to the above questions and making sure every goal has a first step you can realistically make in the near future.

Post your writing goals and next steps here. Don't want to share with the wider world? Reply to this post and let me know.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY: HOW TO WRITE / MODULE #1 / PLANNING

Watch this video (this is the first lesson in the How to Write a Novel course. It’s free to watch, the rest of the course is for Premium Members)

Do your assignment:

1. Your pitch in <20 words
2. Write 1 short paragraph of plot summary
3. Write 1 paragraph on everything else (notably character.)

Upload the result to Townhouse here. I’ll see you there. Everyone welcome.

Til soon.

Harry