The US agent Nathan Bransford asked his blog readers what was the worst writing advice they'd ever been offered. His comment trails are always long - it's a consistently interesting blog - but this one made a python look stumpy. After I'd recovered from quotes like "Remove all your commas; editors don't like commas and they pull the reader out of the story" and "Any sentence that uses 'was' is written in passive voice", I was interested to see that the bad advice quoted which most resonated with other commenters was "Write about what you know".

I'm not the only writer who'd be well and truly out of a job if "Write what you know" became too universal an orthodoxy. My bookshelves would be pretty empty too. But it comes up time and time again, doesn't it: Aren't you supposed to? Wouldn't you be wiser to? What do you say to the command to? And not just with festival questioners facing a panel of historical or sf/f novelists, or men writing women (women writing men don't raise nearly so many eyebrows, but that's another blog post altogether). A writer friend horrified her agent by saying she was going to set her second novel in 19th century Canada: it was part of the reason that agent is now her ex-agent and the Society of Authors contract-demons have yet another fan. Her new agent loves the book.

As so often, I suspect it comes about from writing teachers - agents, editors - being faced with writing which is basically a watered-down version of the current Big Names.

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Managed to get myself to work today, hurrah – had almost forgotten what the office looked like. I’m okay, if weary, just as long as I don’t walk very far and don’t make any sudden movements. Hell, that about sums up my life plan then. And at least I’ve managed to sort out the crowd of outstanding emails in my inbox, though I feel there will be more problems on the way soon. The refresher talks timetabling is proving a sticky wicket – to say the least. Ah well ...


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Today's main feeling is definitely one of fuzziness. I'm not feeling particularly well and I'm not feeling particularly ill either. Weird really. It's as if I'm on the cusp of feeling ill but not quite there. Much like treading water would be, I suppose, if I could even swim. The cold is a little better though and I'm rather less husky than I was yesterday. Though when I attempted to go for a lie-down this afternoon, I didn't get very far due to Snorty-Nose Syndrome. Ah well. I can only hope I'm better at breathing tonight when I try for the sleep option. Perhaps a quick Lemsip is called for ...


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So, last night I went along to the UK launch of Harry Owen's new poetry collection, Five Books of Marriage. And it was great. The room was filled and everyone, it seemed, enjoyed his reading and his talk as much as me. And what a great collection it is.

I was also able to meet some cool people (Harry, obviously, included), but also the lovely Joy Winkler again, and for the first time, the truly cool Jo Bell (who, as well as being a top poet and former county laureate, is also the coordinator of National Poetry Day - as mentioned here on Thursday - lucky I did, eh!).

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Well, I'm out of hospital, phew - and I do have to say how absolutely lovely everyone at Mount Alvernia was, and that includes all the wonderful ward staff, the consultant and anaesthetist too, hurrah. And also a HUGE thank you to everyone who sent good wishes - I really appreciated it, as I was pretty scared. In case you hadn't realised ... Thank you. Mind you, I really do love having a bed where I can move the pillow end up and down electronically to the height desired, plus a little orange button that brings a nurse immediately to sort me out - ah bliss ... And the TV and ensuite bathroom were lovely too. I'm wondering about installing a little orange button that brings Lord H instantly to my side, but I suspect he will not be too keen ...


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In Listening to Copernicus I mentioned the kind of would-be writer who maintains their self-belief in their writing is good in the teeth of evidence to the contrary. I'm not talking about Beginner Writer who has yet to learn to be bad because they have yet to learn how to read their writing against good writing, understand the difference, and do something about it. Nor am I talking about Aspiring Writer who feels they get nowhere in competitions and slushpiles, because that just means they haven't got there yet. I'm talking about Apparently Deaf Writer (with apologies to all writers who are hearing impaired). Apparently Deaf Writer goes ploughing on in the same furrow and can't or won't change what they do, despite vast amounts of direct feedback from teachers and peers, and what you might call indirect feedback from reading good writing and prize-winning writing and everything else which (however arguably) plenty of knowledgeable people agree to be good.

In 'Listening to Copernicus' I suggested that Apparently Deaf Writer may be suffering from cognitive dissonance, with so much of their self-worth invested in their work being good that the suggestion that it isn't is too painful to be born. The teacher's ignorant, the industry's only interested in rubbish, the rest of the world hasn't caught up, the class/forum/slush-pile-readers are jealous or frightened, the day job is sapping their soul. (Which isn't to say that all these don't happen sometimes. But we all know people who can't entertain the idea that any bad event is their own mistake, or even fault, just as we all know people capable of feeling guilty for someone else treading painfully on a drawing-pin in Siberia.)

But for each Apparently Deaf Writer who has their fingers firmly stuck in their ears, I think there are probably dozens or even hundreds whose problem is rather that they have yet to learn to listen.

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Went to see new paintings by David Newton yesterday. His exhibition, Revolver includes a number of portraits, some of which were recently exhibited at the Admiral Lord Rodney pub in Colne. The pub website states that his work is ‘concerned primarily with the associative nature of image and context’ and that Davids main motto for his work and his life is ‘watch where you’re walking’

[... more + image]

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Well, tomorrow is the Second Big Day - my official book launch party, almost 5 weeks after Publication Day. It does spread out the excitement, and I am definitely looking forward to it, but, having invited 200 or so people, it feels to me a little like the wedding I never had (or really wanted). Everyone will be looking at me, which is not something I am used to. I will have to talk about myself, and about the book.... what will I say? I am going to give two short readings, probably flash stories from the book, that's ok, will have the words in front of me. But I am really not sure how many people will come, will there be enough food, should I have a glass of wine before or will I (as has been known to happen!) get too drunk too fast to read?!.......

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I hear a screech of tyres outside my house and look out of the bedroom window to see Sid, my agent, pulling up in his Beetle like something out of Grand Theft Auto. He hits the kerb with a front wheel and bounces up onto the pavement before jerking to a stop.

I get in the passenger side. “Just because you couldn’t afford a Porsche it’s not going to stop you driving like you could?”

“Perhaps the brakes could do with a tune up,” he muses, grinding the gears and scraping the underside of the chassis as we rejoin the road.

“You are sober, I hope? Best to check.”

“Sober and excited,” he says. “People have heard about you, Christopher. Word has spread. If Harper want to keep dragging their heels then we’ll show them we’ve got other options.”

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What I Did at School Today

(And I'm hoping that this post'll make up for not having the time to write about school visits as I promised Lexi I would too long ago.)



As I mentioned in the last post, a big chunk of yesterday was spent printing and stapling resources for the children - I use a booklet I designed, which the children fill in as part of the story writing workshop. I printed and stapled 80 copies of it.

So, today. After arriving, meeting teachers and the head I was shown to my first session - two infant classes.


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