A work in progress...13

Today is my birthday and I'm 42 years old. I got a card from daughter saying happy birthday "stupid punk" and one of a dinosaur on the front from my son. Sums it up really.
I have been writing from a very early age, I can remember writing cowboy stories when I was very young. I once wrote about a rape in one of my stories and I remember my dad going mental when he read it. Aged 8 or 9 I didn't understand the the exact meaning, but he never bothered to explain it to me - he ripped up the story and gave me a good hiding. I can't remember it putting me off, but I never persued writing as a career. I also learned to read at an early age. Treasure Island was the first book I ever read - and I read that with my dad, so there was some positive aspects of our relationship. After bumming about in bands I got into journalism, which seemed a happy compromise, but it took all my energy as I worked really hard and reached almost the top - or as far as I wanted to go. I remember when I met my wife 20 years ago I said I wanted to be a writer, and I feel that everything I have done is to get me to this stage. That's why I find writing so easy - of course it's hard work and intense, but I enjoy it and it doesn't seem like work. My journalism training has helped because I am a disciplined writer but I love the fact that I have creative freedom. I have written lots of poetry in the past, mainly because that's all I had time for and I enjoy the internal tension of the two disciplines struggling to get themselves heard in my writing.

A work in progress...12

Very busy at work, so not much time to blog or write. The constant writing and revising of one section is driving me insane - I'm not sure I'm going to even use it in the book and I'm beginning to wonder how I got down this avenue. The Royal Horticultural Society sent me a link on how to construct a violin. I sent them a polite request for help with research and the material they have sent is fascinanting - to do with the wood used for the insturment. Why on earth I'm writing about the intricacies of building a violin I don't know; I seem to be heading off on various tangents, letting my imagination run wild and I'm continually surprised the way the story is unfolding. The journalist in me wants to rein these thoughts in, while the poet is saying 'keep going, keep going'.

A work in progress...11

I didn't do much writing on the train today. The weekend was tiring - good friends of ours, Al & Elisabeth came to stay so we were busy entertaining. Al and I stayed up watching Glastonbury live on TV until 3am on Sunday morning and I was still feeling the after effects this morning. They bought me a DVD of the making of Smile by Brian Wilson as a birthday present. I mentioned that the kind of breakdown he expeperienced while making the album is similar to what the main character in my book goes through - so the DVD should be good for research and inspiration. I'm beginning to think the book is maybe becoming too complicated - it feels as though I am writing two books at the same time, and not sure I'll be able to tie the two together in a coherent form. All the scenes seem somehow disparate, maybe it will come together once all the narrative is complete. On a deadline at work this week, so I must try and focus all my energy there. I'm finding it very hard to concentrate on anything else but the book, I'm really enjoying writing it, but the process is mentally draining.

A work in progress...10

Two weeks since I left my MS with the agent, still no word. I've got lots of revisions and notes to write up, but have a busy weekend so I doubt whether I'll spend much time on the book. Ideas just seem to flow and my writing, when I get chance, is contantly improving. I'm meeting my wife and we're off to the Frida Khalo exhibition at the Tate Modern this afternoon. The Tate Modern may feature in the ending of my novel. not sure yet. I find the the old Turbine Hall so inspiring - so hopefully I'll come away full of ideas. We may also go and check out the new Tracey Emin exhibition in London. As my novel is about an artist, I'm putting the afternoon down to research.

A work in progres...9

Hot. Too hot to write too hot to work. I don't seem to have achieved much this week. I have been making lots of notes and revising along with researching on the internet, but do not feel as though the novel's progressed. I have another week of being busy at work, afer which I should be able to devote more time to the novel. Still not heard anything from the agent, which is also a niggle, I'm trying not to think about it, but I can't help it. Everyday I pass his office on the bus on my way to work and imagine my manuscript slowly making its way up the slush pile. It's probably still at the bottom - he's probably on holiday at his villa in France, leaving me sweating for the rest of the summer.

A work in progress...8

I met up with Helen last night, whom I met briefly in Hong Kong a couple of years ago. She's a writer and has had a couple of books published. I showed her the first three chapters of my book before I sent it to the agent and she genuinely liked it and was very encouraging. She commented that my work seemed well researched and asked if I was an artist - I'm not but my main character is so it was a positive sign. She basically told me to hang on in there and not be too disappointed if I'm turned down by the first agent; she thought my book had a good chance of being accepted. Work is very busy and there seems lots of commitments on an evening so I'm not writing as much. I'm not too worried as I have most of July off and I intend to finish the book by end of August. For now I want to concentrate on the writing, my goal is to write about 80,000 words. I must stay postitive and keep focussed, I feel so close to achieving my ambition and I'm really enjoying writing.

A work in progress...7

Some days my writing seemes so pedestrian, I write like a journalist instead of a poet. Progress is slow. The trains are hot and insufferable, and the ones out of Waterloo on an evening are full of noisy tourists heading to Salisbury and the west country. I seem to be stuck on one section of the book, which is throwing up quite a few surprises, so I must stick with it.

A work in progress...6

I managed to do a bit of revision over the weekend and that was it. There's not much time to write when you have two small children who demand your attention after not seeing you all week. Funny, the times when I have spent on my own away from the family I don't produce anything. I realised long ago that they are my inspiration and I try and devote as much time as possible to them. Working at home is a problem though, as I don't have a dedicated workspace. My wife uses the only available spare room as a studio and I have to write either in the lounge, on the kitchen table or at a desk on the landing outside the kids' bedrooms. The kids regard me as just another plaything and I'm often decked out in a pink wig or assailed with plastic insects as I try and write. My chair has also been used as a tunnel for a train track, and quite often I have to endure the Grease soundtrack blasing out of my daughter's room. Not surprisngly I try and stay clear of the landing when the children are in residence. This weekend was also very hot, and it was father's day yesterday. I got to spend some time with my son and we went off on our own. I showed him how to ride his bike without the use of stabilisers and felt almost as proud as he did when he showed off his new skill to the rest of the family.

A work in progress...5

It's been a week now since I sent the agent the first three chapters of my manuscript. On the day I dropped it in, there was a timely article published in the Guardian, subject: 'How to make a book'. It claimed 100,000 books are published in the UK each year. The article covered the whole process of publishing from the author having the initial idea in a pub, to its writing and eventual publication. Here's an excerpt:

"The hunger to be published gnaws powerfully enough at a sufficient number of people that between 30 and 40 unsolicited proposals arrive every single day at the London offices of the American literary agency Janklow & Nesbit. The "slush pile" is not an efficient route to literary fame: Claire Paterson, one of Janklow's two primary UK agents, found only one of her current 40-odd clients that way. Gallingly perhaps for all those would-be published authors."

I know it takes time, it's not like a job application where you expect to hear a reply pretty much straight away from a prospective employer and maybe my MS will get read - who knows?

A work in progress...4

Since my laptop crashed I have so far refrained from taking it on the train with me. Instead I revise pages that I've printed out at home on a night and write new bits to scenes in my notebook, a Moleskine, bought from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The notebook is more like a valuable friend, and goes absolutely everywhere with me. My favourite writing tool is a Zebra Drafix Auto Pencil, it's such a wonderful instrument, I believe draughtsmen use it and it's great for constructing a novel; plus you don't need a sharpener, which is good when you're working on a train. I can write just as well on the laptop, but I enjoy watching the organic flow of words onto the paper through the HB lead. It slows me down and makes me think about what I'm actually writing. I've been working all week on a couple of pages, editing and revising, it seems painstakingly slow but the result are impressive. I have polished 10,000 words and have about 60-70,000 to go. Daunting.

A work in progress...3

As I mentioned in my last post, by April 19 I had written more than 55,000 words and seemed unstoppable. Then disaster struck. My laptop had a seizure, both cooling fans on the motherboard packed in and the battery burned out. For four months solid I had been usuing it on the train for up to three hours a day, then working long into the night and constantly at weekends - even just to play music - and I guess it simply said 'enough'. It cost me £400 to repair. Luckily I had saved my work on a disc.
The laptop was out of action for a month. During the enforced hiatus I did some editing and revising. When I printed out my work it looked as though it was written by a crack addict: bereft of paragraphs or indents it was a huge slab of text, 120 pages of A4, with scenes written randomly and no begining or end. I had an old desktop PC at home with a Chinese keyboard, which I began using, working long into the night and reading the pages on the train the next morning. I was making good progress and had managed to write the opening chapter, when disaster struck again. The desktop PC refused to boot up - and worse still the last thing I did was save my updates on a floppy, which had been corrupted by the crash. I lost about 5,000 words - by chance I had manage to print a hard copy of the section. If there's nothing more I hate in life it's having to do things twice. I was down to writing with a pad and pencil on the train, and thought if they are taken away from me I'll end up scrawling on the carriage walls like the Marquis de Sade in the film Quills. I got my laptop back on May 16 and restored the missing section and knocked into shape the opening three chapters and a synopsis, which I sent to the agent on Friday, June 10.

A work in progress...2

While I wait for the agent to get back to me I continute to write. I have written about 60,000 words so far and not sure how many more words it will take to finish - I could easily write another 60,000, but I want to keep the book relatively short with no flab. I have been on a roll writing since I started my book on January 19 2005, which by coincidence - or not - was my daughter's birthday. By April 19 I had written 55,000 words. Not bad to say I work full time as a production editor for a newspaper in London and have two small children, who take up most of my 'free' time. At the moment I'm editing and revising, but have the novel pretty much mapped out in my head.
I write mainly on the train into London. The journey takes about 90 minutes, which is insane I know, but I get to spend two hours a day writing on my laptop, while my fellow commuters snooze, read or play various card games on their laptops. It feels good to be using my time so productively and I have overcome the intitial paranoia of writing surrounded by a load of strangers. Although I felt a bit uncomfortable writing the scene when two of the characters indulged in a spot of anal sex.

A work in progress...

I sent the first three chapters of my novel to a literary agent in London on Friday. I got his name via a publishing company's website, he sounded an all right kinda guy. I sent him an introductory email, which so far he has not responded to - and I also sent him a copy of the manuscript, which I delivered to his office by hand. Right now it's probably sat at the bottom of a "slush pile" and I don't feel too optimistic about its chances - despite encouragement from a published author, a friend of a friend, who said my story was an intriguing idea and well written. Fingers crossed I hit pay dirt first time.