Don’t mute the messenger

I appreciate that this may have passed you by – mainly because it’s all still in my head rather than actually happening – but now that I am giving being a professional author a go, I am revamping my communications with readers.  I have a very minimal Facebook and Twitter presence for Sam Plank (nothing yet for Gregory Hardiman), and then I have this blog and my monthly research updates.  And there’s my website for me as an author, which covers my fiction and non-fiction writing.  My husband has kindly volunteered (that’s not a euphemism – he genuinely did) to update my website, which is looking a bit tired; like everything, websites have their fashions, and my rather static, page-driven one is now the website equivalent of the Ford Granada.  So I’ll leave that to him, and weigh in with praise/complaints/biscuits as required.  But my job now is to think about my more proactive engagement with readers.

This blog has always been ad hoc – in other words, I make a post when I feel I have something to say.  But again, this seems to be a bit passé: looking at the output of other, much more successful authors, the trend these days is for regular newsletters sent to subscribers.  Some of you will already receive my monthly research updates, and I am wondering whether to unite the two – in other words, to send out a monthly newsletter that contains some background research information as well as other updates on (for instance) how my current book is going and who has agreed to play Sam in the Sunday evening drama commissioned by the BBC (well, an author can dream…).  So the blog would cease, and only newsletter subscribers would hear actively from me.  (Signing up to the newsletter would of course be free.)

And so I wondered whether you had any views on the subject.  To make life simpler I have put together a few questions – but you are more than welcome to go off piste and ignore them completeley.  Here goes:

1. Would you be interested in receiving a monthly newsletter from me, which would focus on my historical crime writing (i.e. both the completed Sam series and the new Gregory series, and whatever comes after that)?
2. Looking at possible content, are you interested in:
   • The research that I do behind the writing – my current monthly update has only 46 people signed up, so perhaps it’s not as popular as I think
   • My progress on my current book
   • The writing process
   • The self-publishing process
   • Me as an individual and not just as an author – some writers share their holiday photos and pet photos, for instance
   • Anything else?
3. It is likely that I will work out how to sell my own books – in e-formats only – via my new website.  Would you prefer to buy this way (for about the same price as on Amazon, but with a larger percentage of the sale price going to me)?  And would the promise of special subscriber discounts interest you?

I think that will do for now.  As you can see, what I am trying to do is gauge whether this is the right approach, and – if it is – what would tempt you to become a newsletter subscriber.  Thank you so much for any thoughts.

Founts of wisdom

I spend a great deal of time on research – no, don’t feel sorry for me because I simply love it.  But sometimes even the most diligent research leaves holes in the information, and when that happens, you can be sure that someone – a real-life person – will know the answer.  And for me, one of the joys of writing has been to discover how enormously helpful experts are with their information.

Last week I mentioned to someone that I am planning a series of books whose narrator will have a military background in the Peninsular Wars, but that with no military service in my family (my grandad worked in an aircraft factory but that’s it), I am something of a novice and find it rather confusing.  Ah, he said, I did an MA on the history of the cavalry and can probably help with that – would you permit (permit!) me to take the skeleton character details and create for you a credible military history and timeline for your character?  Would I ever!  And then yesterday I contacted a man who has just published a book on the two men who were the first Commissioners of the Met Police, to ask if he had any details about the swearing-in ceremony for the first cohort of officers, and he has responded with all sorts of juicy specifics (it involved parchment).

I already try to pay it forward by sharing my own research in my monthly “behind the scenes” updates, but I shall have to up my game and make sure that I am always as generous with my own research as other people have been with theirs.

Retreating to the back bedroom

Well hello.  If you are still sticking with this blog, when I am so rubbish at writing it regularly, I am very grateful to you.  Lots of people, like me, write alongside a day job, and the methods for doing that are as many and various as the writers.  Some people get up early and write for an hour or two before beginning their normal day.  Some (and I envy these people) carry a notebook or phone everywhere and can concentrate well enough while sitting at a café or on a train or between meetings to jot down a few sentences.  Some – and this is a bit more my style – devote a half-day or day a week to their writing.  My favoured method has always been the “dedicated day” in tandem with the “writing retreat”.  As I write historical fiction – rather than contemporary fiction, or indeed non-fiction – I find that I need time to relocate myself into the past, to settle back into the vocabulary and style of the 1820s, which is just not possible (for me, in any case) in short bursts of writing.  This year – the year of “Plank 7” and a pandemic – I have just about managed the dedicated day, but the writing retreat has had to adapt.

Usually – and yes, how lucky am I – I decamp to Switzerland for about a month, to sit alone in a small flat in an out-of-season ski resort, surrounded by gorgeous scenery, fresh air and really-awkward-to-get-at wi-fi (I have to walk uphill to the local tourist office and sit outside it to get any signal).  I can forget about home responsibilities, and what with that tricky wi-fi, and local telly restricted for me to re-runs of “The Royal” and “Heartbeat” on some peculiar English-language channel, I can immerse myself in the world of Sam and really crank out the words.  (And, perhaps more importantly, get a grip on the whole plot, which can be hard to grasp on that one day a week.)

But this year, no Switzerland for me.  And so I have had to improvise: for six weeks, I have planned my diary so that I work for one day a week, write for three days and spend the fifth day on research and other book-related stuff (like blogging).  My weekends will follow their familiar pattern: one day for exercise (long bike ride, usually) and one day for eating/reading.  I am of course extremely fortunate in being able to plan my own time like this, but I have learned the hard way that if it’s not planned and written in my diary, it doesn’t happen.  My aim – as with every writing retreat – is to have a good first draft at the end of it.  And as my current word count is only about 47,000, I have quite some way to go.  Wish me luck!

The language of Plank

This year’s winner of the Man Booker International Prize is “The Vegetarian” by Han Kang.  One of the many notable things about it is its translation, as explained on the MBIP press release: “The novel was translated by 28-year-old Smith, who only started learning Korean at the age of 21.  Having learned no foreign languages until this age, Smith decided to become an English-Korean translator upon completing her undergraduate degree and moved to Korea to achieve this.”  Now that’s dedication!  At the same time, the MBIP committee announced that it had commissioned some research into sales of translated fiction in the UK, and I think I’ve missed a trick here.  According to the research, sales of translated fiction books have grown by 96% since 2001 against a market which is falling overall – and translated literary fiction makes up only 3.5% of the literary fiction titles published in the UK, but 7% of the volume of sales.  In other words, translated literary fiction sells twice as many copies in the UK as fiction written originally in English.

Now, I have laboured for many years with an unusual surname, which few people can spell, even fewer can pronounce, and most assume is Italian.  So perhaps I should go with the flow, call myself Susanna Grossi, and (here’s the clever bit) pretend that my Sam Plank novels were originally written in Italian but have been translated into English.  After all, the Inspector Montalbano and Inspector De Vincenzi novels – all originally written in Italian – sell like hot cannolis in English translation, and the former have been made into a sumptuous telly series.  Perfetto!

Left to my own devices

As you may remember, I have been dithering about how to repeat my retreat success of last summer, when I spent a very productive month out in Switzerland finishing the first draft of what became “The Man in the Canary Waistcoat”.  I’m not ready for another month alone in the Alps – perhaps next year – and my enquiries about holiday cottages in the UK revealed that I would have to sell thousands of books to cover the cost, so it was back to the dithering.  And then fate stepped in.

My husband is extremely keen on cycling and bicycles.  In particular, he spends a lot of time trying to think of ways and means to turn the UK into a cycle-friendly country like the Netherlands.  And then he spotted that this summer the University of Amsterdam is running a three-week course on “Planning the Cycling City”.  His little eyes lit up, and his application was in quicker than you can mend a puncture (which is his case, is about ten minutes).  And he’s been accepted.

Of course, I am thrilled that the chap will be spending three whole weeks studying a subject he loves – and talking about it with people who are not me.  But can I just say, very selfishly indeed, YIPPEE!  The timing is perfect for my first draft (second half of July, first week of August) and it means that I can retreat at home and think all day and all night if I wish about “Plank 3”.  I am one happy bunny.

The gift of Sam

Now that most of my nephews and nieces (known jointly as “the niblings”) are adult, I don’t have as many Christmas presents to provide as in previous years.  But there are some mainstays, and as I was working my way through the list – planning ahead in November, as some parcels go overseas – I did consider giving people copies of “Fatal Forgery” and/or “The Man in the Canary Waistcoat”.  But I backed off, through fear of appearing both conceited and penny-pinching: would people open a package containing one of my books and think, “That Sue – she’s so cheap that she just gives me one of her own books, and what makes her think it’s any good anyway?  Now I’ll have to pretend to read the blasted thing and say how much I enjoyed it.  I’ll just skim the last two pages so that I can answer any questions.”

So in the end no-one got the gift of Sam.  But then an odd thing happened.  Three gift recipients contacted me on Boxing Day to say how much they had liked my presents, but how surprised they were not to receive one of my books.  “I was sure you’d send one, so I didn’t buy my own – but now I will,” was the general response.  Thrilled though I am to get more sales, it did make me ponder.  Do people like receiving books from their authors, or does it just pile on the pressure to (a) read them, and then (b) enjoy/pretend to enjoy them?  Or perhaps a middle way is best – that of sending books to people you think would enjoy them anyway, even without the personal connection/obligation.  I’ll have to decide for this time next year, as I start serious plotting for “Plank 3” – that’s for this afternoon.

All’s fair

I know I’ve been quiet for a few days – put it down to post-publication exhaustion.  But I have been to see “The Man in the Canary Waistcoat” in David’s bookshop in Cambridge – doesn’t he look smart:

I’m always trying to think of new ways to publicise my books, and it seems that just putting myself “out there”, as they say, is starting to pay dividends.  You remember that a little while ago I took part in a local authors’ event in our library?  Well, our local paper wrote about it, and another local author read about it, and she has now contacted me and asked me to join her on a stall promoting local authors at the Mill Road Winter Fair.

This is quite a big event for us in Cambridge, and I am very excited to be taking part.  I don’t expect to sell more than a few books – at the library event I sold six – but talking to people about Sam Plank and alerting them to his existence (well, his fictional existence) can’t hurt.  If nothing else, it will be a good opportunity for me to hone my descriptions of sitting in the cold with frozen fingers and toes, for future Plank tales!  And if you’re in town that day – Saturday 6 December 2014, 1030 to 1630 – why not come down to Donkey Common (no sniggering at the back, please) and seek us out on the “Books, Beautiful Books!” stall.

Window-shopping

There’s not much to tell you about the progress towards publication of “The Man in the Canary Waistcoat”, as I am waiting for my big box of books to arrive from America so that I can distribute them to shops and reviewers by 31 October – the Big Day.  But I forgot to tell you about something else terrifically exciting!

A couple of weekends ago it was Alumni Weekend here in Cambridge – an annual event when ex-students come back to the city for lectures, tours, events and reunions.  It’s quite a shindig.  And local shops try to mark the occasion in order to draw in the crowds.  A friend came to stay with me, so that we could go to an event at our old college, and as we were taking a nostalgic walk around town we passed Heffers, the university bookshop.  “Oh look,” said my friend casually, “Isn’t that your book in the window?”  And it was!

 

Well, you can imagine the squeals of delight!  Apparently the display was of books by alumni, and there I was, cosying up to Sophie Hannah (below) and Kate Atkinson (above).  A passing group of Japanese tourists asked what all the excitement was and, when I explained, insisted on taking photos of “famous Cambridge writer” – hope they’re not too disappointed when they get home…

Planning for publication

I am aware that when I started this blog, my intention was not to waffle about what it means to me to be a writer (in short, I earn some money by putting words onto paper/screen) but rather to explain to others who are considering becoming self-published authors what the process is like.  So for today’s update….

As explained in my last post, I ordered – and have now taken delivery of – my proof paper copy of “The Man in the Canary Waistcoat”.  It looks lovely, and so I have ordered my bulk purchase of 75 copies.  It sounds a lot, I know, but I have worked it out quite carefully (and, when ordering from CreateSpace, it is advantageous price-wise per copy to order more rather than fewer).  To begin with, I contacted the three bookshops who are very kindly already stocking “Fatal Forgery”.  I showed them the cover and back cover blurb for “Canary”, gave them the publication date (still aiming for 31 October) and then asked if they wanted a few copies – and they all said yes (twelve, ten and six copies respectively).  I then contacted the lovely people who reviewed “Fatal Forgery” and asked if they would be interested in reviewing “Canary”, and so far two of them have said yes.  Then there are gift copies for some family members, for the man who kindly beta-read both “Fatal Forgery” and “Canary”, for the woman who allowed me to use a family document on the cover of “Canary”, and for my two local libraries.  And then – here’s the optimism kicking in – I’ll need a few on hand to re-stock those bookshops!

The interesting thing about self-publishing is that, in order to be able to buy these copies, I have to actually publish the book – but I don’t want to publish it properly (i.e. list it on Amazon) just yet.  So I have “stealth-published” it, so that it is listed only on the CreateSpace website, which hardly anyone visits as a bookshop – and at the end of the month, once I have distributed all the copies as listed above, and lined up my other promotional activities, I will publish it fully, with all guns blazing.

Incidentally, quite by coincidence, I was invited back onto our local radio station this week.  I wrote about this last time I went – and that was an invitation I sought because I was trying to promote “Fatal Forgery”.  This time they invited me, and I went along without really thinking about the timing, and on reflection I think it was an error.  The presenter very kindly mentioned my name and that of my book almost constantly – but kept having to point out that “Canary” is not yet available.  It would have been better to be able to say go and buy it now!  So, as with most things, it really is all about the timing.

All over bar the selling

Put out the flags!  I have just ordered my paper proof copy of “The Man in the Canary Waistcoat”, and paid extra for it to be sent by rocket-powered carrier pigeon from the US so that it should arrive by the end of the week.  In my mind, that’s it: I will read the proof copy, of course, but my main intention is to check the quality of the printing and paper – the proof-reading has been done already.  That said, over a quarter-century of writing documents, I have learned to accept the Golden Rule of Proofing: no matter how many times you, your friends and even paid professionals proof-read a document, something will always get through.  It’s a bit like weddings: something will always go wrong, and the sooner the bride-to-be accepts this, the happier and more relaxed she will be in the run-up to the big day.  (For me, the caterers forgot to bring coffee cups, so people drank their coffee out of champagne glasses.  And you know what?  No-one gave a hoot.)

Once the proof copy has shown itself to be of excellent quality, I will order my author copies – for me, for family members who do not live in Cambridge and are not online (so can’t buy their own copies), for reviewers who have kindly agreed to have a look, and for the three bookshops who very generously have agreed to stock “Canary” alongside “Fatal Forgery”.  So – barring misfortune such as a fire in the printing works – I’m online to meet that publication date of 31 October.

I’m feeling a bit bereft, as “Canary” has been alongside me for so long now.  But luckily I was listening to the radio the other day, and a magazine item caught my ear.  So now I am fairly sure I know what is going to be the central crime of “Plank 3″…