Words with JAM

Next Saturday is National Libraries Day

2012-01-29T17:57:00.001Z

Saturday 4^th February is National Libraries Day. Set up last year in response to threat to libraries around the UK, it aims to be a nationwide celebration of libraries, librarians and library staff across all sectors. If you’d like to take part, you can click on the link above to find out about events near you. Or you can buy or borrow, The Library Book, published especially for National Libraries Day, in which twenty-three writers, from Alan Bennett to Zadie Smith, describe libraries real or imagined, why they matter and to whom.

More Libraries in Upheaval

The situation for libraries in the UK is changing so fast that the Library Cat column in the February edition of Words with Jam was out of date almost before the final proofs had gone to the printers. So here is a flying update.

Celebrations in Gloucestershire, when a judicial review ruled in favour of the protestors are starting to look as if they might have been premature. The council has published new plans, emphasising concern for equality. (The grounds given for ruling the original closures unlawful were that the council had failed to give due regard to issues of equality.) Seven libraries and five mobiles under threat compared to ten and six last year, but the library budget is to be halved over two years.

Thirty-one library authorities now have at least one library run by volunteers, without a professional librarian on the staff. We have also now had the first ‘community’ library to propose charging for membership. Bexley Village Library in London has been taken over by the charity Greener Bexley, who are offering additional benefits to those users who are prepared to pay for privilege.

Suffolk is going ahead with the idea of setting up a charitable trust to run its libraries. Several others are considering following suit, among them Ealing, Durham, Warrington and Greenwich. But there seem to be hints that the tax relief for such trusts will soon be lost.

One such not-for-profit group looking to move library provision is GLL, which currently operates leisure centres in the south-east and may be poised to take over libraries in Greenwich, Croydon and Wandsworth. But the prospect of libraries in the UK being outsourced to private profit-making companies may have receded. The American company LSSI, which had stated that it wanted to take over 15% of UK libraries within five years, has backed off, telling the Independent, “we're still waiting to see if the UK is ready yet for the idea of library privatisation.”

Essex and Kent councils are employing an American debt collection company, Unique Management Services, to collect unpaid fines for library books. Kent estimates that is has £100k in unpaid fines, and Essex £650k. But the individual amounts recovered are likely to be tiny: the largest fine incurred in Kent last year was £25.

The Parliamentary Select Committee on Culture Media and Sport finished collecting written evidence for its enquiry into Library Closures on 12^th January, and we are now waiting to hear who will be called to give verbal evidence before the committee.

Meanwhile, the response from Secretary of State Jeremy Hunt and Minister Ed Vaisey remains a deafening silence.

On Tuesday 13^th March, library campaigners from around the UK are due to lobby Parliament to protest at cuts to services around the country and the continuing uncertainty over the government’s role in defending them. They are calling on everyone who loves libraries to join them at Central Hall, Westminster (1 Wimpole Street) at 12 noon.

22 Britannia Road - Our 1st anniversary podcast!

2012-01-22T18:40:00.002Z

This is our first anniversary. Yay! The podcast has been going for a whole year. And our anniversary podcast comes from an old friend of the magazine, Amanda Hodgkinson. She reads the opening chapter of her book, 22 Britannia Road.

At the end of the Second World War, Silvana and eight-year-old Aurek board the ship that will take them from Poland to England. After living wild in the forests for years, carrying a terrible secret, all Silvana knows is that she and Aurek are survivors. Everything else is lost. Waiting in Ipswich is Silvana’s husband Janusz, who has not seen his wife and son for six years. He has found his family a house and works hard planting a proper English garden to welcome them. But the six years apart have changed them all. To make a real home, Silvana and Janusz will have to come to terms with what happened during the war, accept that each is different and allow their beloved but wild son Aurek to be who he truly is.

When 22 Britannia Road came out in hardback last year, it was chosen as one of Waterstone's 11 best debut novels of 2011. The paperback edition is coming out on 2nd February, and we are delighted to announce that it has been named as the Orange New Writers Book of the Month for February.

You can listen to the podcast at http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/. If you like what you hear, please don't forget to click to let us know!

Bookcrossing at the Starbooks Occupation Library

2012-01-19T15:21:00.001Z

A couple of months ago, I wrote about the Starbooks Occupation Library at Occupy London’s now threatened camp outside St Paul’s Cathedral.

Housed under the same canvas as the Tent City University, which runs lectures, music gigs and poetry readings, the library’s atmosphere is cheerful and welcoming and the selection of books is eclectic. “No porn and no Barbara Cartland,” the middle aged man in charge told me. “Apart from that we’ll take anything.”

The library operates strictly on an honour system. Those who borrow books are trusted to either return them or replace them with another donation. Or for a small donation, you can buy a book. While I’m there a teacher makes a donation for an old copy of Teach Yourself Speaking and Debating. “I work with a group of young boys,” she says. “This is just the sort of thing I need to help build their confidence.”

On my first visit, I had no books to leave at the library, but a week or so later, I went back with two that I had registered on Bookcrossing. I had a feeling that a book set free here could end up having quite a tale to tell. And I was right. This morning, to my delight, I received the following notice, passed on by the Bookcrossing Alert Robot:

I found this book [The Women’s Room] at Occupy London's Library and was told that I could take it home with me if I wished. I had hoped to bring it back to Occupy Boston, but encampment was shut down the very day I flew home (to Boston). Now it's in Massachusetts with me, and I'll take it up to Saratoga Springs New York in a few days where I plan to pass it on.

Can’t wait for the next instalment!

Joseph Škvorecký, Czech Writer and Publisher

2012-01-13T16:34:00.002Z

One month after the death of Vaclav Havel, his fellow dissident writer and publisher, Joseph Škvorecký, has also died. Škvorecký fled to Canada after the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia and set up 68 Publishers which, for the next twenty years published dissident Czech and Slovak writing banned in his own country.

Last year, WWJ published a review of his novel, The Cowards. It's republished here, as a tribute to a fabulous writer who should be much more widely read.

We were all sitting over at the Port Arthur and Benno said, ‘Well, it looks like the revolution’s been postponed for a while.’

‘Yes,’ I said and stuck the reed in my mouth. ‘For technical reasons, right?’

I happened to have been searching out Czech literature written behind the Iron Curtain recently, which is how I stumbled across The Cowards.

Set in the final week of the Second World War, The Cowards tells the story of Danny, saxophonist in the best jazz band in Czechoslovakia. Danny has grown up in the small town of Kostalek, near the border with Germany. For most of the war, the town has been under Nazi occupation. But now the occupying forces are on their way out, the SS are retreating from the Eastern Front, the Red Army is advancing and everyone in the town is talking about Revolution.

Danny quite fancies the idea of being a revolutionary hero – provided it means he can persuade the elusive Irena to go to bed with him. The reality is something else again. Conscription, tedious military drills, pointless patrols – all this just gets in the way of making music.

Throughout the book, Danny fantasises about the girl he will meet in Prague, the one who will make him forget even Irena – something which lends a touching note to Škvorecký’s dedication, ‘To the Girl I Met in Prague’.

The book is a wonderful evocation of what it is like to be a teenager - self-obsessed, image conscious, writhing with hormones and muddled ideals. When all that comes hard up against the brutal realities of War, it’s as if Holden Caulfield has walked into the pages of Catch 22.

Jeanne Nĕmcova’s translation cleverly captures the way these kids have modelled themselves on the films and music of Britain and America. When the British POW’s leave on the train, Danny is half aware that his hopes are leaving with them – but we know better than he what his future holds.

Written in 1948, when Škvorecký was 24, The Cowards was published ten years later, when it was immediately banned by the Communist authorities, who couldn’t tolerate Danny’s irreverent attitude to the sacred concept of Revolution. Škvorecký left Czechoslovakia after the Warsaw Pact invasion in 1968 and settled in Canada. There he set up 68 Publishers, which continued to publish banned Czech and Slovak literature until the Velvet Revolution in 1989.

Funny, moving and brutally real, this is a book that deserves to be much better known in the West.

Catriona Troth

Small Fish

2012-01-04T10:06:00.003Z

Our first podcast of 2012 is the opening chapter of Pete Morin's fabulous legal thriller, Diary of a Small Fish, read by the author.

http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/

When Paul Forte is indicted by a federal grand jury, everyone suspects prosecutor Bernard (don’t call him “Bernie”) Kilroy has more on his mind than justice. Then the FBI agent in charge of Paul’s case gives him a clue to the mystery: Kilroy is bent on settling an old family score, and he’s not above breaking the law to do it.

Paul is already dealing with the death of his parents and divorce from a woman he still loves. Now, with the support of an alluring grand juror, Paul must expose the vindictive prosecutor’s own corruption before the jury renders a verdict on his Osso Buco.

Who ever knew playing golf could be a federal offence...?

Diary of a Small Fish is published in paperback and as an ebook.

If in Doubt, Invent Your Own - your chance to win a printed copy of WWJ AND invent new meanings to words

2012-01-03T15:45:00.000Z

- a new initiative from the makers of Words with Jam

How many words do we have at our disposal? The OED lists over 500,000, not including scientific terms and most teenage expressions. In comparison, German has a vocabulary of less than 200,000 and the French only half that, even when you include words they stole from us, like le weekend, le snacque-barre and le hit-parade. So, yeah, we like totally rule.

But the thing with words is that there are never enough of the bloody things, and we continually find ourselves using hand-gestures, sulking and mindless violence to get our points across instead. So, are you fed up with being grunted at by husbands, continually hearing “fine” and “nothing” from your wives and nursing your swollen and bleeding knuckles after yet another alcohol-related pub-disagreement? Fret not, WWJ is here to help. We’re inventing new words that sum up those feelings of frustration you get when you can’t find the right way to express yourself, and ways to describe those day-to-day situations which are familiar but for which words just don’t exist. Here are some examples:

Bileptic (adj): relating to the ability to hold two widely differing mindsets at once, and to switch between them depending on the company you’re in. Nick Clegg is a famous sufferer of Bilepsy.

Dooky-noo (n): A medieval Barbie-type doll game for girls, based on the witch/ducking stool test. How to play: your daughter’s dooky-noo was thrown into the village pond by the local witchfinder-sergeant. If it floated, your daughter was burned alive. If it sank, your daughter was thrown into the pond after it. See also Kenny-noo for boys. Lutheran or heretic? Same principles apply, each sold separately.

Zonambric (adj): A technical term describing the hypocritical suspension of political correctness in certain circumstances. In last week’s episode of Gok Wan’s Fat Birds Catwalk Special, Gok Wan was heard to shriek “Ooooh get a load of those bangers, love. You go girlie!” In an obviously zonambric reaction, his comment was met with laughter and applause, but when football commentator Andy Gray made a similar comment to a Sky News weathergirl a few months ago, it resulted in his immediate suspension and later sacking.

So, over to you. Define meanings for the following words, please. The best entries will be printed in WWJ and a select few will win prizes including trips to see Jedward live, holidays in Albania and a free printed copy of this magazine! Your words will be judged by misanthrope and potty-mouth Perry Iles, whose bi-monthly WWJ columns are known to literally dozens, so please don’t hold back – expressions that encompass the wide swathe of vileness and cruelty that define the human spirit will receive an especially warm welcome:

Zongue

Felp
Overcramb

Chemlish
Shargle

Glemp
Flictuise

Womph
Gabbulate

Flenstery

And finally, we need your help in this verbal initiative. Please send us your words, and our resident expert will provide you with definitions of them. In this way, we will do our bit to improve the state of humanity as a whole, and the degree of literacy that exists within it. Your cultural future needs you!

Email them to us at editor@wordswithjam.co.uk with the subject 'Invent your own' or post them on our Facebook wall.

Vaclav Havel 1936 - 2011: For One Night Only

2011-12-19T12:08:00.000Z

By Catriona Troth

This is the story of a play which – for over twenty years – saw just one performance. A play written and rehearsed in secret. An act of defiance against a totalitarian state that almost (but not quite) succeeded. The story of The Beggar’s Opera, by Václav Havel, sometime president of the Czech Republic.

In 1968, when the Soviet tanks rolled into Prague and the process of so-called ‘normalisation’ began, Havel was already a successful playwright. But as the Communist Party reestablished its position of absolute power, he along with thousands of others became a ‘non-person’. His books were removed from library shelves, his plays could no longer be performed and his name effectively vanished from public life.

Havel wrote The Beggar’s Opera in 1968, but it was four years later that he and his friend Andrej Krob concocted a plan to stage it. No professional theatre dared touch it and any professional actor taking part would risk their career. So through a network of friends, they assembled an amateur company of teachers and students, white-collar workers and mechanics. Copies of the play were typed out on the tissue-thin paper used for samizdat publications and passed round in secret. Rehearsals took place in people’s homes – never in the same place twice to avoid arousing suspicion. They called themselves ‘The Theatre on the Move’.

Rehearsing the play was one thing; putting it on in public was another matter. After two years of working in secret, they approached a ‘House of Culture’ in an obscure suburb of Prague and requested permission to put on a play.

If the title, The Beggar’s Opera, sounds familiar, then that’s no coincidence. This is the same story of Macheath, Peachum and Lockett first written by John Gray in 18th Century England, then reimagined by Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weil as The Threepenny Opera – and now given another twist in post-’68 Czechoslovakia. By calling it The Beggar’s Opera, they were able to persuade the authorities that this was simply a translation of an English classic, adapted slightly to remove the musical numbers. So effective had the state’s erasure of Havel’s name been that the company didn’t even hide his involvement: the minor officials in this out of the way suburb had never heard of him. Permission was granted, provided the performance was not advertised and no charge was made for admission.

Three hundred trusted friends, secretly invited to view the play, first had to find their way to the House of Culture in Horní Pŏcernice. Imagine a cross between a school auditorium and one of those characterless pubs plonked down in the middle of housing estates in the ‘70s. A place avoided by the locals because most of the entertainment provided was thinly disguised propaganda. An hour before the play began, half the audience were driving round in circles, not daring to ask for directions for fear of giving the game away to the authorities.

Just as the play was due to start, it seemed as if their worst fears had been realised. A man came out onto the stage. He lit a cigarette and stood there, blowing smoke rings out over the audience, his eyes travelling over their faces as if memorising them. The audience held its collective breath, fear catching in their throats. But it was a coup de théâtre: the man was Andrej Krob, Havel’s friend and the director of the play, reminding everyone – audience and actors alike – that they were always being watched.

But not that evening. No secret service men were in the audience or outside, taking note of car registrations. It seemed as if the whole venture had been a resounding success. The play had been put on, under the nose of the authorities, and they had got away with it. The set was disassembled and the troupe retired to the Little Bears pub in the centre of Prague to celebrate. A second performance was planned for a week later. But their downfall came, not from spies and traitors within Czechoslovakia, but from their allies in the West.

An eyewitness account of the play’s performance was broadcast on Radio Free Europe out of Zurich, and then published in Der Spiegel. The authorities were furious, but to some extent their hands were tied. The Warsaw Pact countries had just signed the Helsinki Accord which, among other things, guaranteed a certain degree of respect for human rights. They could not be seen to respond too ruthlessly to the single performance of an obscure play. So reprisals against the members of the Theatre on the Move had to be discreet. No one was thrown in gaol or sent away to a camp. But passports and driving licences were revoked. Jobs, including Krob’s, were mysteriously ‘restructured’ out of existence. Children of participants failed to find places at university. Even people who were merely suspected of participation suffered. Havel’s play was not performed again in the Czech Republic until after the Velvet Revolution in 1989.

So what was it about this play that so threatened the Czech regime? After all, the story is familiar enough. Macheath the gallant highwayman, seducing the daughters of a fence and a gaoler, playing off the fathers against each other and dodging an ignominious fate at the end of a rope. But in Havel’s hands, it becomes an indictment of the conditions of living under a totalitarian state.

Aynsley Moorhouse has compared the totalitarian state to Jeremy Bentham’s design of the Panopticon: the ideal prison where each prisoner is under constant observation from every angle. And this, Havel argued, creates a situation where the truth is constantly distorted, where every action is done for appearance only and nothing can be taken at face value. In his essay, ‘The Power of the Powerless’, Havel cites the example of the greengrocer who puts a sign in his window that reads ‘Workers of the World, Unite!’ He does it, not because he believes in international socialist revolution, but because he fears the consequences of not appearing to believe in it. And this constant need to dissemble, Havel believes, causes people to shrivel from within until they lose their humanity altogether.

In Havel’s play, every character appears to be constantly and eloquently justifying their own actions – but nothing they say can be trusted or taken at face value. When, in a final twist unique to Havel’s version, the policeman Lockett is ‘revealed’ to be a criminal who has taken control, first of the police force and now of the whole criminal underworld, the audience is left to guess that he, too, may be the victim of a giant self-deception.

The message of Havel’s writing, and what made him so dangerous, was not simply ‘stop believing what you are told’ (few people did) but ‘stop pretending to believe’. Act like human beings again. Take the sign out of your window and face the consequences of being honest.

Maybe it’s a lesson we could all learn.

References:
• Václav Havel, The Beggar’s Opera, (translated by Paul Wilson), Cornell Press, 2001
• Paul Steiner: Introduction the The Beggar’s Opera, Cornell Press, 2001
• Václav Havel, ‘The Power of the Powerless’, 1978
• Aynsley Moorhouse, ‘Reframing the Theatrical Event: Václav Havel’s The Beggar’s Opera’, Transverse Journal, 2010

For One Night Only was originally published in the December 2011 edition of Words with JAM.

Christmas Podcast

2011-12-16T12:28:00.002Z

Yes! Words with Jam has its first Christmas Podcast. But being WWJ, we couldn't just go for the traditional sleigh bells and tinsel approach. Instead we bring you Santa Never Made It, by Liza Perrat, read by the author.

Christmas Day, 1974.

Australians woke to the news that tropical cyclone Tracy had devastated the town of Darwin in Northern Territory. 71 people were dead and over 70% of Darwin's buildings destroyed.

But for 12 year old Tracy, the storm was to have quite different consequences.

Please go and have a listen - and if you enjoy it, don't forget to click the 'like' button before you leave!

Kimi's Secret: podcast

2011-12-02T13:24:00.002Z

Our first YA podcast is the opening of Kimi's Secret by John Hudspith, read by JJ Marsh.

Wanna hear something really scary? When death comes knocking on your door there is really only one place to hide. Dragged screaming to the paranormal world of Heart, where ghosts are real, big cats prowl, aliens are greylians, monkeys rule, trolls troll, fairies are vermin, the Adepts always know best, magic is mojo and roasted dodo is the dish of the day; Kimi Nichols is handed a secret that must never be revealed. To do so would mean the end of mankind.

WARNING: contains imploding toads, gravity-defying clowns, liquefied brains, a sadistic dentist and a deformed taxidermist; great dollops of blood and bogies, half a million crows, and a giant with OCD.

Gothic horror meets supernatural sci-fi; Kimi’s Secret will leave you gagging, breathless and sleeping with the light on. Suitable for grinning little monsters aged 10 to 100.

To listen to the podcast, go to: http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/

Or to find out more, look for Kimi's Secret on Facebook or you can buy the book from Amazon as a paperback or for Kindle.

Therapeutic Writing Resources

2011-11-30T11:30:00.000Z

Lapidus http://www.lapidus.org.uk/
Founded in 1996, Lapidus is the UK organisation for writing and reading for health and wellbeing and works from the principle that words used creatively can be a powerful tool for health and personal, community and world development.

Word Sauce http://wordsauce.com/
Conversations, inspiration, courses and community in writing for personal development, health and wellbeing.

The Writers in Prison Network http://www.writersinprisonnetwork.org/
The Writers in Prison Network puts writers and creative artists into prisons to deliver creative writing, drama, video, music, oral storytelling, journalism, creative reading and publishing programmes.

MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes at the Metanoia Institute, etc
This course aims to prepare students for the considerable challenges and demands of working in the field of creative writing for therapeutic purposes.

National Association of Writers in Education http://www.nawe.co.uk
Specifically, NAWE have a new resource 'getting started as a writer in health and social care' http://www.nawe.co.uk/writing-in-education/writing-and-community/writing-and-healthcare.html

Individual Practioners

Gillie Bolton http://www.gilliebolton.com/
Gillie Bolton’s research and practice explores how expressive writing can enable people to reflect creatively about their lives and themselves. These processes are described in her books, including Reflective Practice Writing and Professional Development (Sage Publications), and Write Yourself: Creative Writing and Personal Development (Jessica Kingsley Publications).

Judy Clinton: www.writetohelpyourself.com
Dumping preoccupations on the page for 6 minutes, relaxation and meditation, writing spontaneously in response to a given stimulus, and then voluntary non-judgmental sharing - that's the method. It's a simple and very powerful way of coming to know yourself as you really are and to connect with others in a safe space.

River Wolton www.riverwolton.co.uk
An experienced workshop leader who specialises in tailor-made writing projects that engage people of all ages and backgrounds. Groups she has recently worked with include: refugees and asylum seekers, older people in residential care, young readers and writers, people with learning difficulties, carers and young mothers.

Lydia Fulleylove http://www.lydiafulleylove.co.uk/
A UK based poet, writer and facilitator. She is most at home when out of doors, whether in the hills, woods or by the sea. The power of place is often significant in the workshops she facilitates with a wide range of community groups, including schools, mental health and prison. Experience or memories of particular landscapes offer a focus through which participants may explore thoughts and feelings.
Therapeutic Writing Projects

Write to Life http://www.freedomfromtorture.org/survivor-voices/5112
Freedom from Torture’s therapeutic writing group provides clients with a creative outlet for their experiences and a way to explore the torture from their past and the difficulties of living in exile. It has evolved as the longest-running therapeutic writing group for torture survivors in the world.

Development and Empowerment for Women’s Advancement http://dewaproject.wordpress.com/home-2/ (shortly moving to: www.dewaproject.org)
The Women’s Voices project started out as a recipe booklet and turned into a published book of poems, stories and recipes produced by a diverse group of women from different cultures and communities, as well as a website to match! As the project grew, so did our confidence in our skills and our belief that we didn’t want to stop the work we were doing. Our response was to found DEWA (Development and Empowerment for Women’s Advancement)

Survivors Poetry. http://www.survivorspoetry.org/
Survivors’ Poetry (SP) is a survivor-led arts group coordinating artistic activities using poetry to make connections between creativity and mental health.

Please let us know if you have a website you would like added to this list.

Adam Bailey's Guide to Writing Retreats

2011-11-24T11:26:00.003Z

What
Somewhere between a quiet hour at your desk and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn is the Writers Retreat. The Priory for procrastinators.

Where
The retreat will be in the country, secluded by enough trees to give the sense of isolation but lit-up enough to scare off the hillbillies. Basically it’s the sort of hinterland people have being queuing up to leave since cities were invented. However, these pioneers were mostly of the 'worker' kind, lured to the city by the distant sound of clanging metal and the smell of burning man-flesh. Writers, though, being a subsidiary branch of Artist, are more into paraphrasing the grim experience than actually going anywhere near it, and will escape to the country before you can say, 'I wandered lonely as a mono-crop.'

Oo Arr
Of course the countryside has been inspiring people for years. These people have mostly been farmers though, and what they've been inspired to do (see 'think outside the box') is feed the brains of cows to other cows and then lean on a fence, have someone turn on the fairground music, and watch their herd start to wobble. Such is the jubilee on the borderline between prolonged isolation and drifting weedkiller fumes.

Making New Friends
Before you go then it's important you buy a Creatures of the Countryside book and learn to identify 'farmer'. The last thing you want to do is, high on the good life, approach one and start waxing lyrical. Remember, the only thing farmers wax is their tractor. And you won't be catching their wives waxing much either, especially in winter, although don’t mistake this wives' let it all hang out attitude for anything like that time learning pottery at Auntie Helga's Hippy Commune in Berlin. The countryside is Conservative. Traditional rules apply. Winter follows autumn follows summer and so on. The last thing you want to do is approach a farmer and gush your newly spun haiku. He'll rub his chin. He's mistaken your doubtful stammering for the confirmation code used with the Nazi he hid in his barn. He’ll reply,
‘Soft sunlight hides the
Inferno, raging in silence;
‘Oo-arr’ to fields sprayed with chemicals’ He’ll shake your hand the special way. ‘I thought you were dead, Gruber.' He’ll then talk for hours about immigrants.

Retreat
The no-man’s land between customs being full of mines, it’s best to stay in. But what’s the retreat itself like? Apart from the bit about paying for it, each room is carefully appointed with the writer in mind. It has a desk. But what really makes this a writer's retreat, and not just a cottage in the country desperate for money, is that each room has a thesaurus in the top draw of the bedside table. Proof of this will be in the adverts for the retreats which say things like 'providing solitude not isolation.’

There will also be the lurking presence of other writers. Your pens keep going missing. And there's the feeling that the person behind you is writing down your conversation, and whispering to himself things like 'odd syntax, northern dialect, use for idiot character.’

Some retreats are really specialist with few creature comforts and no distractions except the feeling you're being watched from the trees. Such places are for writers who've read too much Thoreau and obviously you'll expect to pay a lot more for these. But for anyone not wanting to write the Great American Novel, perhaps just a few articles to Readers' Digest, most retreats have wash-basins.

Opulent writing retreats, on the other hand, provide rooms furnished exactly like those where great authors once worked. Popular is ‘Thomas de Quincey Lounge’, because there might or might not be spiders climbing the walls, also the ‘Stephen King Hotel’, which includes a special axe-wielding welcome by Jack Nicholson. Similar five-star retreats run special training courses. ‘Autobiography House’ teaches the magic formula: intervening time plus discretion-offsetting advance equals BULLSHIT. And at ‘The Charles Dickens It Was the Best of Writers Retreats It Was the Worst of Writers Retreats’ you’ll learn how to write sentences so long that they give MS Word’s paperclip a hernia and then you take this new skill on a trip to Beijing to breathe in the yellow belch and spend six-months stapled to a sewing machine in a firetrap adding value to cloth where you’ll have the logo of one of the trendiest brands in the world tattooed on your head, which although whilst there it’s for easier asset-indexing, when you get home you’ll be so Luxury and Premium you’ll be envied.

Immersed in the Cilento
It’s worth remembering the basic writers retreat maths – the more expensive it is, the more likely you'll end up joining a cult. For example, a weekend in the Welsh valleys in a house ran by Pat who gives free critiques and if tipsy plays the piano will be a fun and rewarding experience, and just as important, it will have plenty of options for escape. But a fortnight in the mountains of Italy, say, "immersed in the Cilento, ran by two ex-hippy's Lars and Else” is just asking for trouble.

Infinity and Beyond
To sum up, the writers retreat is a place of tranquility, albeit more ‘whale-song CD’ than ‘snorting ketamine off an infinity symbol’. It is at the writers retreat that you can free yourself from persistent conscious agitation for form in every thought and … sorry that’s yoga. Writers retreats are there to bore you senseless and leave you with no excuse but to write.

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
Alternatively of course you could just to go to prison. You'll have desk, discipline and enough gritty realism to roll a cigarette with. Of course, I don't endorse any of Her Majesties Writers Retreats; going to one will look bad on your CV for when it comes to the DayJob. In fact most employers will, when they see written in the ‘experiences’ section ‘prison’ frown only slightly less than if they read under 'interests' 'reading/ creative writing'. At least prison shows you're not afraid to break the rules and, if rumours about shower time are true, that you have a team ethic. ‘Reading’ just means you sit alone in corners, and ‘creative writing’ that you're probably a woman.

Solitude and the City - An Ibero-American Book Festival at Foyles

2011-11-16T12:56:00.006Z

Foyles, as I recollect, used to be a pretty forbidding place. Books piled high and organised by publisher seemed to be arranged expressly to prevent frivolous activities like browsing. And the payment system (acquired, as events manager Andy Quinn reminds me, from Romania) entailed obtaining a ticket at one counter which you took to a cash desk to hand over your money before collecting your book.

It’s all very different now. A few years ago, when they stripped out the old shelves, they found piles of unsold books. An entire room of books was discovered, boarded up and forgotten, like a bibliophile’s tomb of Tutankhamen. The whole place is now light and airy, with chairs dotted about where you can sit and read a few pages before deciding to buy. There is a funky little café. And on the top floor is the Gallery, venue for the free early evening events that now run throughout the year.

I was there for the second night of the annual Ibero-American book festival, to hear Mexican writer Chloe Aridjis discuss her award-winning debut novel, The Book of Clouds.

Her protagonist, Tatiana is a Mexican Jewish girl, youngest of a family of five. Having won a year in Berlin as a prize for coming top in her German course, she has stayed on, largely solitary, drifting from one odd job to another. As we meet her, she is starting a job with an eccentric elderly historian, transcribing endless tapes into which he has poured his thoughts on the ‘phenomenology of space’ – the way that the history of Berlin has seeped into the fabric of the city.

Berlin is very much a parallel protagonist in the book – mysterious, troubled, still trying to come to terms with its own divided past. There is a recurring theme too about the disorienting effects of artificial light.

It is significant that Aridjis has chosen to write, not about Mexico, but about a city where she lived for five years. She believes that illumination comes from some sort of dislocation. This is echoed in the book, where the three turning points for Tatiana are three moment of profound dislocation – one in a decaying basement once used as a bowling alley by the Stasi (or was it the Gestapo?), one by moonlight amongst the 2711 concrete slabs of the Holocaust Memorial, and one in a dense and mysterious fog that descends on the city at a critical moment.

Aridjis has a Mexican father and an American mother and grew up fluently bilingual. She admits to feeling uncomfortable, at times, being identified as a Mexican writer. After all, here she is, writing in English, setting her books in European cities. Yet she feels Mexican. For her, the strangest thing about The Book of Clouds was to find herself writing the interior monologues of a Mexican character in English.

Aridjis is currently living in London and working on a London-based book, to be called Assunder. Here she addresses a different form of disassociation. Set in the National Gallery, her protagonists are museum guards - invisible by profession, by and large impervious to their surroundings.

After that, she says, she would like to write a book set in Mexico. By then she will have achieved the necessary detachment to write about her own country. And yes, one day she would like to try writing something in Spanish. Some short stories, perhaps.

It is going to be interesting to see how this cosmopolitan writer with a coolly detached eye portrays London. Assunder is a book to look out for.

And I shall be keeping an eye, too, on Foyles’ event list, now I know what an intriguing (and welcoming) place it has become.

Writing to Live Again

2011-11-03T15:34:00.000Z

“As one writer put it, the rapt attention of an audience is like a mirror in front of her, reassuring her that, after all the horror and degradation, she is still, powerfully and triumphantly, alive.” [Sheila Hayman, Write to Life coordinator]

Freedom from Torture’s creative writing group Write to Life was set up by the playwright Sonja Linden eleven years ago. It began with just four writers and a couple of mentors and showed how writing can help survivors cope better with their pasts and with the present.

The group now comprises some 20 clients, all referred by counsellors who recognise that for some writing can heal like no other form of therapy. Their work is truly ground-breaking. Write to Life is possibly the only therapeutic writing group in the world dedicated specifically to survivors of torture.

Many of the writers are in what the group’s current coordinator, film maker and novelist Sheila Hayman, describes as ‘a state of petrifaction’, unable to work, endlessly waiting to hear if their asylum application has been accepted. Writing is something they can do anywhere, at any time. “All it takes is a pen and paper and enough peace to be able to let the words come out.”

We are privileged to be able to bring you a podcast that features performances from seven of Write to Life’s very talented poets. You can listen to the podcast at http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/.

I am alive*, by ‘Faith’ (Ethiopia)
I know*, by Tim (Congo)
What belongs to me*, by ‘Saber’
Drifting, by Stephen (Burundi)
I hear a voice, by ‘Uganda’
Glimpse*, by Stephanie (Cameroon)
My Hands*, by ‘Rocher’ (DRC)

The five starred poems can be read here.

I’m alive, by ‘Faith’ (Ethiopia)

I’m out of the way, far away
From the journey I used to walk
For years and years
In the darkness.

I am now here, bright
Under the light
With my own breath
With my own soul.

Like the giant hand of Atacama
My hand is my sign
Revealing who I am, where I’m going
My existence and my new life.

I’m breathing, growing up again
Like a plant, like a grain.
I have renewed my self,
I’m born again.

The sky is singing, the earth dancing
On the ground my shadow is moving.
This is the sign that I’m alive.

I know, by Tim (Congo)

I know half a loaf is better than nothing
But
Sometimes a whole loaf would be nice
I know peace is better than war
But
Why then is there war all over the world?
I know things will not always look rosy
But
It would be good if they did
I know life is a journey
But
It can be tiring, to travel all the time
I know that hope like a blazing candle can be
Put out in a moment
But
I also know that hope, like candle light
Can lead through dark moments
I know things can fall apart
But
They can also come together
I know we shall overcome some day
But
It will take a lot of work…

What Belongs to Me, by ‘Saber’

I came here on a day that nothing belonged to me
except my crutch, which at any time they could take from me
even though I could not walk without it.
On that day, things happened very quickly,
I was exhausted
but the time was very enjoyable
because every hour brought new things.
Bad or sad
Cold or warm,
Hunger and pleasure
New places... New people...New air!
But still, nothing belonged to me except my crutch.

I had brought many things with me;
my stories had a thousand colours, but my face had one, which was the colour of smoke.
I came here with the memory of those starless evenings which I had left; they did not belong to me.
I came here with the frightened smiles I’d found in the back of the lorry; I left them in the interview room; they did not belong to me.
I came here with my key in my pocket, the key of the small dark box which was full of white dreams; it did not belong to me.
Before I left my country I did not belong to myself, and nothing belonged to me.
I was owned by other people.
The day I came here, I owned nothing
and nothing belonged to me except my crutch...
the only thing that gives me direction
wherever I choose to go.

Glimpse, by Stephanie (Cameroon)

Looking around
I see nothing except my burden.
Everywhere seems dark, confined.
Like smoke from the chimney
I want to run out

Without remorse,
Leave everything behind
like birds in the sky
who fly free.
I want to turn my eyes

to a new horizon
fill my lungs with different air.
Like the sun rising
East to West, North to South,
Reaching every nook and cranny

I want to conquer the world
Leave my footprint everywhere.
****
I am still standing here
unable to cut the umbilical cord
so much to take care of.

But I know I belong here.

My Hands: by ‘Rocher’ (DRC)

Whenever I had done something naughty,
My mother used to shout,
Daughter, have you lost your head?
No mother.
One day, when I came to England
I felt terrible.
In this new country,
with a new foreign language,
there was nothing for me to do anymore.
This time, it was my hand I had lost.
Much as everyone talks about opportunity,
none of them seems to be for me.
I couldn't cook my food any more,
nor have a house to clean.
These hands, although they look like my Dad's hand,
they were no use to me now.

Raised on the Web, but Liking a Little Ink ...

2011-10-30T15:32:00.000Z

Thanks to http://typosphere.blogspot.com/ for posting this, which I felt rather fitted what we've done here at WWJ Towers. An article published in Sunday's New York Times about the revival of small run printed zines. I've pinched their scan of the newsprint too. Please do give them a look if you have time. [JD - Editor]

Yes, it's finally happened ...

2011-10-30T10:12:00.000Z

If you know me personally, you'll know that actually writing pieces for the magazine is something that, well, just doesn't happen, shall we say. But, over the last couple of months, I've been asked by a few people to write Blog posts related to writing and running the magazine. And I obliged ...

You can read Editor, me? Starting and running a literary magazine here: http://howesue.wordpress.com/2011/09/23/editor-me-starting-and-running-a-literary-magazine-by-j-d-smith/

And you can read Should I Submit? here: http://joreed.co.uk/blog/?p=55

Enjoy!

JD Smith
Editor

Dark Heart, by Darren J Guest

2011-10-20T17:49:00.001+01:00

After far too long a delay (for which I can only apologise) we have a new podcast for you: the opening of Darren J Guest's intelligent, complex horror novel, Dark Heart, read by Daniel Barzotti.

On Leo's sixteenth birthday. something bad happened. Something so traumatic his mind fractured, and darkness filled the crack. Twenty years on and the crack is a canyon. The schizophrenic hallucination that offered sympathy has taken to mocking him, and the memory of that long-ago birthday claws at his darkest fears, overshadowing even the murder of his younger brother Davey. But just when Leo thinks life can't get and worse... Leo dies.

A demon returns after twenty years.

An Angel follows close behind.

Leo is caught in an age-old conflict, his past lying at the dark heart of it all.

To find out more about Dark Heart and about Darren Guest, visit his blog at www.darrenjguest.com

Please Sir! A guest post by Sam Payne

2011-10-17T09:44:00.000+01:00

'Is this the writing class?' asked the dishevelled latecomer.

'Yes, please come in and take a seat,' said our twelve year old tutor.

'My daughter enrolled me, it was a birthday present.'

'That's nice,' said the tutor.

'NICE? NICE?' Laughed the latecomer somewhat manically, 'I'm bloody furious.'

I almost choked on the end of my pencil. This was my first creative writing course, excitement and anticipation had been bubbling away inside of me for days.

This was it. This course was going to teach me how to be the next JK Rowling. I was going to write a bestseller, make a shitload of money and retire to an island in the sun. Or, buy a campervan and tour Cornwall, I hadn't quite decided which. So why was the dishevelled latecomer or Bob as he later became known, so furious about being enrolled? What did he know that I didn't?

I’d always dreamt of being a famous novelist, hasn’t everyone? Trouble is instead of actually putting pen to paper, I decided I needed to learn all there was to know about writing a novel before I could make a start. So I bought a book: How to Write a Hugely Successful Novel that Sells Twenty Three Billion Copies and Gets Made into a Feature Film which Wins Six Oscars and a Golden Globe. At least I think that’s what it was called. I devoured the book in a single sitting and then as I sat picking bits of paper from my teeth I contemplated making a start. Over the next few days I wrote a grand total of one thousand, four hundred and twenty six words. That was the beginning of my novel, an epic thriller set in a cake factory, but something wasn’t right. It didn’t quite sound right. The story I had in my head didn’t quite match up to what was on the page. Try as I might, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong with it. I needed more than a book, I needed feedback. I needed help to coax my inner genius out from under the rock it called home. So after a quick flick through the yellow pages and an even quicker phone call I was enrolled on a Creative Writing course at the local community centre. Which was where I found myself the following Tuesday and after Bob’s dramatic entrance, Tutor Boy introduced himself. He said he was a university graduate and a successful poet.

‘What do you mean by successful?’ asked Bob, whose voice seemed to have gone from manic to sinister in the time it took him to find a seat.

Tutor boy shifted uncomfortably, ‘well err...’

‘Have you won the Bridport Prize?’

‘Urm...no.’

‘The Poetry Society’s annual competition then?’ continued Bob.

‘Well no, but I’m a published poet.’

‘Oh really and where have your poems appeared? The New Yorker? The Paris Review?’

Tutor Boy looked confused.

‘Hmmm I thought so, just a bunch of failed writers running these things. All these courses do is teach you never to be satisfied with what you write.’ Muttered Bob.

Oh dear. It didn’t occur to me to check out the tutors credentials before enrolling on the course, I just assumed it would be someone who, at the most, knew what they were talking about and at the least, didn’t still wipe their nose on their sleeve.

Bob didn’t turn up the following week; in fact he didn’t come back at all. Tutor Boy said it was because he’d been committed to a mental institute but I didn’t quite believe him. I attended every week and listened intently as Tutor Boy ‘taught’ us the fundamentals of creative writing which, quite frankly, left me wondering if he’d just read the same book I had. It should’ve stopped there, but come the end of the course I still didn’t feel equipped to write a novel. So I enrolled on another course and then another one and then another one after that. Pretty soon I was attending every workshop and seminar going, although, in hindsight, I probably should’ve given ‘How to Write an Erotic Shopping List a miss. I became obsessed. I was an addict. My life was over. I’d gone from spending all my time thinking about writing to spending all my time learning about writing which, would have been fantastic if I’d actually managed to produce something I was satisfied with. Did I write a bestseller? No. Did I even get close to writing a novel? No. Why not? I hear you cry. Because, try as I might, I couldn’t get past the opening chapter. Every time I looked at it I’d edit it a little bit more and then I would pass it over for feedback on whichever course I was attending at the time and some helpful soul would suggest ways on how I could improve it. When I’d done what they suggested I’d hand it back to the group and someone else would add another smidgen of advice and so it went on and on and on and...

Four years after that first course, (I know, slow doesn’t quite cover it does it?) I realised something. Bob was right. Yes, yes I’d learnt about the technical side of the writing process but I’d also turned into a perfectionist freak wielding a red pen. I spent so much time picking and picking at a piece of writing, before I knew it I’d stripped it of everything that made it good in the first place. Creative writing courses can be great, providing you find one with a tutor who knows what they’re talking about, but I’m done with them. From now on I’m just going to concentrate on getting past the first chapter of that novel. I aim to write a complete draft before I even think about editing and redrafting and hopefully, by then I’ll be able to trust my instincts and have a good idea of when to stop.

Sam lives in a quiet corner of Devon where she spends most of her time staring at goats. www.chasingtheplot.wordpress.com

Best Comedy Scene Competition 2011 - THE WINNERS

2011-10-05T16:02:00.002+01:00

FIRST PRIZE:
Getting Married by Tony Oswick

RUNNERS UP:
Had Adam not Eaten the Apple by Peter McGinniss
Daisy (excerpt) by Thomas Willshire
Pen Picture of Larry (excerpt) by Richard Gibney
This is not a Love Song (excerpt) by Richard Gibney
Conversations with Gran by Deborah Smith

Prizes: £200 First Prize (plus publication in Words with JAM ) and five runners up of £25 each and a copy of Christopher Brookmyre’s Where the Bodies Are Buried (plus publication on the Words with JAM Blog)

Judge’s Report by Danny Gillan
I’ve always said I’m not a judgemental person. I’ve never believed it, of course. So, when asked by the Almighty Ed to judge the comedy scene competition I humbly yet eagerly accepted before she even got to the question mark.

The variety of style, format and subject matter in the entries was astonishing, and it was great to see not just prose writers but screenwriters, sketch writers and playwrights entering the fray.

Whittling down the entries to a longlist of six and then an overall winner was agonising in a way people with multiple physical injuries will never understand. But, it had to be done so do it I did.

First a few words about our five worthy runners up.

Runners Up
Had Adam not Eaten the Apple, by Peter McGinniss, is a short scene set in a Scottish primary school, culminating in a single, simple but very funny joke. It made me laugh out loud, and that in itself was enough to earn its place in the top six.

Daisy (excerpt) by Thomas Willshire, starts out making you chuckle and ends with you breaking your heart. One of the hardest things to do with comedy is keep the non-funny stuff as real and affecting as it would be in a more serious, literary work. Thomas does this with apparent ease, using nothing but dialogue. The set-up seems at first ridiculous and a bit cringe-worthy, but the scene quickly morphs into something emotionally both devastating and satisfying. Not easy.

Pen Picture of Larry (excerpt) by Richard Gibney is silliness of the highest order and therefore a fine addition to the list. It has a Milligan/Monty Python level of ridiculousness and exaggeration that kept me smiling all the way through.

This is not a Love Song (excerpt) by Richard Gibney takes the art of swearing to new and hilarious heights. While perhaps not the most accurate portrayal of Tourette’s Syndrome I’ve ever seen, it is almost certainly the sweetest. And yes, it does prove once more that swearing can be funny, big and clever. But mostly funny.

Conversations with Gran by Deborah Smith is another short, funny dialogue exchange between a hard of hearing granny and her beleaguered grandson. Although it hinges on the hoary old trope of misunderstanding, it still manages to raise an easy smile and giggle by making us imagine politicians being hung from the rafters – a comforting thought if ever there was one.

And so to our overall winner:

Getting Married, by Tony Oswick. Again, through the use of dialogue only, we are presented with an apparently routine conversation between a vicar and an about-to-be-wed couple that quickly takes several turns and at least one major by-pass into the surreal and hilarious. This one is played entirely for laughs, and, with no need to keep things grounded in anything too serious, Tony Oswick is free to let the increasingly bizarre conversation go anywhere it feels like, resulting is some hilariously unexpected lines and images. Congratulations!

It wasn’t until I had settled on my top six that I realised the majority are basically scripts rather than prose, and so entirely dialogue based. I’m not sure if there is anything meaningful to be gleaned from this as we received many other scripts that didn’t work nearly as well as these do, but it does show, I think, that dialogue is possibly the single most important factor in writing comedy, no matter the format.

I’d like to thank the Almighty Ed for allowing me to judge this competition and so granting me access to the work of so many talented and funny writers and, most of all, thank you to everyone who entered, it’s been a joy.

Getting Married by Tony Oswick

The scene is the front room of a typical suburban house. The Vicar has called on an elderly couple to discuss their proposed marriage.

“Please take a seat, Vicar.”

“Thank you, Miss Atkins. I’m so pleased to be able to talk to a more mature couple who want to get married.”

“Mature couple? You’re a wag, Vicar. By the way, this is my intended. Hereward.”

“Nice to meet you, Hereward. I will be honoured to marry you …… young lovebirds.”

“Young lovebirds? Vicar, you’re a scream. I’ll just get us some tea. Hereward will keep you company.”

“Well Hereward, I’m sure you’re looking forward to the big day. St Agnes-in-the-Wold is a marvellous place for a wedding …… have you lived in this house long? …… you have such a beautiful garden …… are those flags I see by your chair? ……”

“Sorry to keep you, Vicar. Has Hereward been amusing you?”

“Hereward? Why yes. But he’s not very talkative. Is he deaf?”

“Deaf? No, no. Just because he stares at the wall and dribbles, he may look deaf - but Hereward’s hearing is as sharp as a sheep-dog. It’s just he’s not a great conversationalist. Truth is, Hereward doesn’t say anything at all. Hasn’t spoken for the last fifty-two years.”

“What! He’s not said anything for fifty-two years?”

“Not a peep since 1959. The last thing I heard him say was ‘Bloody Dai Francis’ - and that was that.”

“Good grief, Miss Atkins. Most unusual. But how do you communicate?”

“Well, you see those flags by his chair? Hereward uses them to send messages. In semaphore. He used to be in the navy, you know.”

“You communicate by semaphore?”

“Not me, Vicar - Hereward’s the one who uses the flags. Anyway, when you’ve been living with someone for seventy-five years, you get to know them quite well.”

“Let me get this straight, Miss Atkins. You’ve been living together for seventy-five years - and it’s only now you want to get married?”

“Yes, Vicar. Hereward said it was time to make an honest woman of me. Said I’d passed the test. Quite a joker is Hereward.”

“So I see.”

“Back in 1978 it was. Hereward got dressed in his old Navy uniform, stood to attention by the sideboard and spelled out a semaphore message. ‘W-I-L-L-Y-O-U-M-A-R-R-Y-M-E’. I told him I’d think about it.”

“He proposed in 1978! But that was over thirty years ago?”

“Well, it’s a woman’s prerogative to make a man wait, isn’t it Vicar? Anyway, can’t be too hasty. ‘Fools rush in’ and that sort of thing.”

“But Miss Atkins, haven’t you felt the need to sanctify your union before?”

“Not really Vicar. You see, for the first twenty-three years we were together, nothing happened. Then - and I hope you don’t mind me being frank - we found we were attracted to each other. You know ‘s-e-x’. We were watching The Black and White Minstrels on the telly - but it was a really tedious show. So we went upstairs and did the ‘you-know-what’. Afterwards, Hereward said ‘Bloody Dai Francis’ - and that was the last thing I ever heard him say.”

“Amazing.”

“And we’ve had ‘s-e-x’ once every day since.”

“What? Have I got this right? The last time Hereward spoke was in 1959 - which was the first time you had sexual relations. And you’ve had sex every day since?”

“That’s right. Once every day. And twice at night.”

“Bloody Hell! Oh, please excuse me, Miss Atkins. Three times a day? That’s impossible.”

“You’re right, Vicar. Three times a day is impossible. No, just once in the morning - and then Hereward rests in the afternoon to conserve his strength for our twice-nightly sessions. To see him sitting there with his tongue hanging out and making those snuffling noises you wouldn’t believe it, would you Vicar?”

“And he doesn’t say anything. Even when …..”

“Oh no. But if he wants to communicate when we’re doing the ‘you-know-what’, he’ll tap a message in Morse code on my back. Or front, depending what position we’re in.”

“Miss Atkins, I’m not easily shocked - but this is most unusual.”

“Unusual? Not really Vicar. We just think now’s the right time. After all, we wouldn’t want anyone making fun of the baby just because its parents weren’t married, would we?”

“Baby. What baby?”

“Isn’t it good news, Vicar? I have to admit it wasn’t planned but, a few months ago, we were watching an adult movie ……”

“You mean …… pornographic film?”

“Oh no, Vicar. It was just a family story about a well-built young man and three nurses with whips. Anyway, after watching it we got carried away and Hereward forgot to take precautions. You forget things when you get older, don’t you Vicar?”

“But Miss Atkins. You can’t ….. have a baby!”

“Why ever not, Vicar? I know some Vicars are against ‘s-e-x’ before marriage. But if we get married before the baby’s born, it’ll be alright, won’t it?”

“I didn’t mean that, Miss Atkins. It’s just that …. well, you’re quite elderly …… and Hereward is …… even older …... it’s just not possible.”

“Oh don’t be such a fuddy-duddy, Vicar. You’re a man of the world aren’t you? We do so want to get married. You will marry us, won’t you? Please?”

“I don’t know. This is highly irregular. I’ll need to ask the PCC. And consult the Bishop. But I suppose we’re all God’s children, aren’t we? Perhaps I should take a few details. Where’s my notebook and pen? Yes that’s what I need to do. Take a few particulars. Goodness me, I’m all at sixes and sevens. Where’s that pen? Oh, here it is. Right, first let me make a note of your name - Miss Juliette Atkins.”

“That’s right. Miss Juliette Aurora Atkins.”

“And Hereward? What is his full name?”

“Hereward Trumpington Atkins.”

“Atkins? How unusual. That’s the same name as you.”

“Of course, Vicar. He’s my brother.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.”

“Vicar? Are you alright? Hereward, I think the Vicar’s having a heart attack. Get into the street quickly and signal for an ambulance.”

Had Adam not Eaten the Apple by Peter McGinniss

COLD OPENING

FADE IN:
GLASGOW - WE OPEN ON A WOMAN, LATE TWENTIES, STRIDING ACROSS THE PLAYGROUND OF A PRIMARY SCHOOL. SHE IS MARY BONNER. HER SON, JOHN, IS FIRMLY IN HAND AND BEING HAULED ACROSS THE EXPANSE OF TARMAC.

CUT TO:
INT. SCHOOL OFFICE - MORNING
(LADY OFFICE SECRETARY, MARY, JOHN)

LADY OFFICE SECRETARY
Yes, can I help you?

MARY
Aye, ah would like tae enrol wee John here.

JOHN
Mammy!

MARY
Shhhh!

THE SECRETARY SCANS MOTHER AND SON, LEAVES THE OFFICE WINDOW AND LIFTS UP A CLIPBOARD WITH A FORM ATTACHED. SHE RETURNS.

LADY OFFICE SECRETARY
Can I have your name please?

MARY
Mary.

THE SECRETARY LOOKS UP AND SPIES MARY OVER HER SPECTACLES.

LADY OFFICE SECRETARY
Can I have your surname, please?

MARY
Oh, aye. Bonner, Mary Bonner. An’ this is wee John.

THE SECRETARY LOOKS MARY UP AND DOWN AND THEN LOOKS DOWN AT JOHN. SHE IS CLEARLY UNIMPRESSED.

LADY OFFICE SECRETARY
Yes. And the father’s name?

MARY
Och, you don’t need that, dae you?

LADY OFFICE SECRETARY
I’m afraid I do, Mrs Bonner.

THERE IS A MOMENTARY PAUSE.

LADY OFFICE SECRETARY (CONT’D)
The father’s name?

MARY
(confidentially)
Well, yi’ see, it’s like this. His faither...if yi’ kin call him that...is no’ really aboot. An’ he’s no’ anythin’ tae dae wi’ wee John, y’see?

LADY OFFICE SECRETARY
I’m afraid I must have the child’s father’s name, Mrs Bonner.

MARY
Listen hen, if yi’ eat peas and vinegar, yi’ don’t exactly know which wan it wis that made yi’ fart, dae yi’?

Daisy (excerpt) by Thomas Willshire

Synopsis: Dawn and her daughter Fern mourn as many tragic deaths as possible, travelling the country to do so. Here, they have journeyed to Birmingham to show their respects to Daisy, who was stabbed whilst sun bathing a week earlier.

(Lights up. Dawn and Fern stand in front of a small bundle of commemorative flowers. Dawn wipes away a tear.)

Dawn : She was sixteen. Young Daisy. Sixteen. We all share her family's grief.

(silence)

Fern : Can we go home now? Mum?

Dawn : Be quiet Fern!

Fern : It's really cold, though...

Dawn : I'm still grieving...can't you tell?

Fern : Well...hurry up...I'm cold...

Dawn : Hurry up? You want me rush my grief? Rattle through my mourning? Is that it?

Fern : No Mum...it's just...after yesterday...

Dawn : A sad day...

Fern : Of course...but still...this is the second day now we've stood outside in the cold. Can't we just do this one a bit quicker?

Dawn : Yesterday was for Sam Govern...it was Sam's day..

Fern : I know...

Dawn : Today is Daisy's day and I don't intend to cut anything short.

Fern : Oh please Mum...I'm so cold...

Dawn : Have you cried yet?

Fern : Mum...

Dawn : Have you cried yet?

Fern : No.

Dawn : Right. We're not even thinking about going until you've cried.

Fern : Please Mum.

Dawn : I'm not listening until you've cried.

Fern : (Fern tries, but fails to cry) But I don't feel like crying.

Dawn : And what kind of monster does that make you? A girl was stabbed, Fern, stabbed...she was your age...it could so easily have been you...

Fern : Mum...you always get like this...I feel a bit sad, honest...

Dawn : (sharply) How sad?

Fern : Very sad. I'm very sad.

Dawn : Out of ten how sad?

Fern : Mum...

Dawn : Tsunami sad?

Fern : I don't know.

Dawn : Madeline Macann sad?

Fern : I can't just...

Dawn : 9/11 sad?

Fern : Yeah...fine, fine, I'm 9/11 sad.

Dawn : My God where's your sense of perspective!

Fern : Oh Mum! I just want to go home!

Dawn : To think I raised you myself...with my own two hands...have you even thought about it?

Fern : About what?

Dawn : About being stabbed. Have you even thought about the pain? The blood? Have you thought about young Daisy's face as the knife was plunged into her chest? Have you listened to the angels weeping? Weeping at the tragedy of it all?

Fern : Well...sort of...

Dawn : Sort of! Sort of!? My own daughter...

Fern : I didn't know her Mum, did I? It's very sad but I just can't get that upset about...about a girl I never met, Mum...in the same way I can't get that upset about a little boy called Sam who was killed in a pneumatic drill accident...because I didn't know him...if it was you who'd got stabbed or...or drilled...then I'd cry loads...of course I would...but I can't get that devastated about people I don't know personally.

Dawn : (pause) What must Princess Diana think about you now!

Fern : Oh don't bring her into it...

Dawn : She's watching, Fern...while she cuddles lepers in heaven...she's watching and she's so disappointed!

Fern : You can't just bring Princess Diana up every time we have an argument...

Dawn : The world is dark Fern...the world is so dark and the least we can do is show our grief for the loss of one of its children by standing vigil...or leaving flowers...writing in leather bound books of condolence and buying commemorative plates. These tiny gestures are the only light we have!

Fern : Shut up Mum! For fuck's sake...I'm tired Mum...I'm so tired of this...every weekend...scouring the papers to find some sort of tragedy and rushing off to pay our respects...it's exhausting...

Dawn : Our pilgrimages are dignified quests...our sails fill with the winds of sadness and respect!

Fern : It's over the top Mum...it's not necessary...

Dawn : Sometimes I wish you were dead! Oh! (Dawn claps her hand over he mouth)

Fern : You what!?

Dawn : Nothing...nothing sweetie...

Fern : You wish I was dead? (pause) Mum?

Dawn : So I could grieve for you...cry and grieve for you...wipe away my tears and pray in front of a little shrine...my grief would be beautiful...I'd love you more if you were dead...I would...I'd love your memory because memories can be wiped clean...they're pure...I'd grieve for you...I'd grieve for you instead of...instead of...

(she collapses into floods of tears. After a moment Fern strokes her Mother's head and cuddles her)

Fern : Oh Mum...

Dawn : I miss your father so much!

Fern : I know you do Mum...I know you do...

Dawn : I miss him so much!

Fern : I know you do...

Dawn : Why didn't he come home?

Fern : I don't know.

Dawn : Why didn't he...I'd cooked his dinner and everything...

Fern : I know you did. I know. (Fern stands Dawn up) Now why don't we go home, eh? That's right isn't it? We'll go home. The Daily Mail are doing a special 'Kate and Wills' D.V.D today... you'd like that wouldn't you?

Dawn : Yes I would...they're both so beautiful...and he's so brave...

Fern : We'll buy a copy on our way home...let's go...

Dawn : Fern?

Fern : Yes?

Dawn : I love you.

Fern : I know you do.

Dawn : You're all I've got, you know. (pause) All I've got.

(they both exit)

Pen Picture of Larry (excerpt) by Richard Gibney

Pen Picture of Paddy’s brother Larry, who had teeth for legs and legs for teeth (from Chapter One):

SYNOPSIS: “An Early Childhood by Paddy Flanagan” is a mock, surreal autobiography by a fictitious Irish television and radio personality. It parodies misery memoirs (such as Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt).

We were underprivileged, all forty-two of us, all the brothers and sisters under the one roof. And seven more foetuses in the milk bottle always on our doorstep. My very first memories are of the room in Main Lane, sitting on the floorboards, preoccupied with an empty whiskey bottle I had fashioned into a microphone. My mother, working across the room at stove or sink, would look over at me, smile and agree with me:

“Yes, macushla.”

She encouraged my incoherencies until they became intelligible. I get paid to speak at public functions now; you can make a pretty penny out of it, and I owe it all to my mother. My oratorical skill would not be what it is today were it not for her patience.

In my infant years, a slightly older brother christened Larry tried to place his fingers in the electric plug socket that went unused after the Marconis’ departure. Larry had teeth for legs and legs for teeth. Mystoperia, as the Good Indian Corkman Doctor Singh called it. The diagnosis upon birth in the hospital, my mother informs me after Larry’s malformed carriage broke her dam that Tuesday ninemonth, went as follows.

Doctor Singh came into the delivery room to make his examination, stuck his spectacles on the bridge of his nose and scribbled with his quill on a piece of card. He pointed at Larry’s face from where the feet were protruding, running an officious index finger around the defective region.

“Dayr is a Mestuparea here,” he informed my mother in his inimitable Indian accent. Then he pointed clinically at Larry’s podal domain, equally defunct as it consisted mostly of teeth. “And dayr is a Mestuparea here.” And that’s how Larry was first diagnosed with Mystoperia.

We lived four doors away from where the Tuberculosis Colony began, so we were viewed with envy by neighbours whose abodes happened to be nearer. The Cassidys fared the worst; a fence made of steel wire, with harsh, sharp, spiky knots (today known as “barbed” wire) divided our parish from the community of the Tuberculoids, and much to the dismay of the Cassidys, it cut a sheer and even path through the kitchen wall of their household, straight into the living room, under the shit-caked door spoiler, and back out onto the road, where Mad Leopold Cassidy That Jewish Bastard often stood with the barrel of his rifle peeping over the fence, and God forbid were any Tuberculoids to be found in his fancy mail-ordered crosshairs which he’d be staring through with the one good eye on him. From Prussia.

BANG! We’d hear, and the roar would go out.

“Wisha! Did I only get the one?”

And it’d be two mornings later, after Mad Leopold had served his sentence in the gaol, that we would see him out again waiting. Were it not for that gaol, he would have half shtarved to death with the cold. One day Mad Leopold shot brother Larry dead in the Tuberculosis Colony. He screamed out of him once he’d pulled the trigger:

“I got him! I hit that bashtard Larry Flanagan!”

and Mother rushed out of the house, running towards the barbed wire and she fell to her knees and held her cheeks and she let a scream out of her for three hours straight while a fellow from Norway painted her portrait and she gave birth to three healthy seventeen-year-old children on the spot with the fright she got from yet another dead loved one kicking the bucketeen. But Larry wasn’t quite dead, we always said thereafter, because he had only been shot in the tooth. He scurried off down the street on his uninjured teeth and wasn’t heard from again until later in this autobiography.

Pay-day was every Friday when Father got the work between his drinking binges. And we used to wait for Annie Turnity every Friday night (whoever she was, Mother never told me), but we’d also be waiting for Father, and at midnight we’d wait a few hours more, and then Heaven forbid it’d be Sunday evening of the following fortnight before Father would arrive in ebriated.

And Mother would take whatever shillings he had left (in those days, you couldn’t sell L.S.D., you had to spend it) and shuffle off down to the shops on her broken rollerblades, the only shoes available. And Father would gather us all around the piano, and he’d sit Larry (many years before he’d been shot) in front of the keyboard and hold him by the hair, and while Father sang his nationalist hymns, he’d slam poor Larry’s mystoperic head into the ivories with such a force of emphasis that Larry’s poor feet would be bloody lumps for about a full term of one of Mother’s pregnancies. And Father would sing for hours, head back, chin up, teary eyed as he bashed Larry’s head and sang all night to the rafters.

Now, to give you an idea of the sheer volume of Father’s voice, we lived in Number 27. The rafters lived in Number 82, and they were so poor that they couldn’t afford a capital letter for their surname. In fact, they were so poverty stricken that they had to call their surname a crime, as they couldn’t afford to catalogue it as a name at the deed poll registry office on Main Avenue. Indeed, pat and pat rafter had only married to save money as they both had the same surname and they were both men. In the eyes of the Church, then, they weren’t lawfully matrimonised. But the sheerest sign of stark poverty within that household was that each of their twenty-three children were also eponomids. Every morning, all twenty-five pat rafters would go down to the toylet in Main Square (before it was destroyed in the Emergency) to wash the one piece of string that constituted the family wardrobe.

This is not a Love Song (excerpt) by Richard Gibney

Everyone knew that it was the Tourette’s that got him fired. But nobody admitted it to his face. In his last few minutes in the office, he gathered the personal belongings from his desk into a box, said goodbye to the few acquaintances he had made who were unafraid to talk to him, and shuffled towards the double doors. People watched him pass, but if he caught them staring, their eyes quickly returned to their computer screens.

“Fuck yiz!” he roared, with a whistle. Then he was through the doors and gone.

Aadab Khorsandi was a young woman of Syrian extraction who worked as a receptionist for the company that rented the other half of the building. She was smoking outside as he left the complex.

“Hey Charlie! What’s with the box?”

“Gorgeous! It’s my last day—fuckin’—gorgeous tits!”

“It’s your last day?”

Charlie whistled.

“Yip. Fired. I really enjoyed knowing you. What a wanker!”

“You too, Charlie. I’m sorry to see you go.” She touched his arm.

“I made some friends here. Big round fuckin’ juicy knockers! But it turns out, after four months of hard work, nobody really wants a nutcase like me working for them, so…” He whistled and looked away.

“Aaaw. Do you think you were let go because of the Tourette’s?”

“Such a wanker! Probably, but I wouldn’t be able to prove it. The boss—wanker—said my Excel skills just weren’t up to scratch and he had a point, so…Bollocks!”

“I’ll miss you, Charlie,” Aadab’s tone saddened and she touched his arm again. “If it means anything to you, you were really supportive when I went on those dates with that musician guy. What an obsessive freak!”

“Yeah. Cum on your tits!” He whistled and glanced at her. “I’d love to stay in touch with you, you know. Fuckin’ lovely tits!”

“Well, here…let’s exchange numbers.”

“Bollocks! Don’t ruin it, stay cool! Bollocks! Before you give me your number, Aadab…fuckin’ wank on your tits…I need to tell you something.”

She stood waiting while he composed himself.

“Fuckin hell! When you went out with that musician guy, I was an impartial ear, yeah? Jism!”

“Yes. And I appreciate that.”

“Well, I’ve got to make an admission to you now that you probably don’t want to hear.” He whistled.

“Go on.”

“If you ask me for advice like that again—I’d love to wank on your tits—even though I will do my utmost—boobies—to put your best interests ahead of my own, I honestly won’t be so—wanker!—impartial.”

“How come?” She frowned, trying to read his features.

“Because, Aadab, even though I made a couple of friends here—fuckin’ lick your titties—the person I will miss the most—mmm suck, no!…wanker, stay cool you wanker —is probably the one I got to know the least.”

“Who, Charlie?”

“You. Tits! Because I’ve developed feelings for you.”

Aadab’s deep brown eyes softened and she smiled.

Conversations with Gran by Deborah Smith

“Gran, what do you think about a hung parliament?”

“Oh I don't think they should bring it back love, not after all this time.”

“Bring what back?”

“Hanging. No, not now love, not after all this time.”

“No Gran, I said a hung parliament.”

“Yes love.”

“Well what do you think?”

“No, I don't agree with it love.”

“Why's that then Gran?”

“No, there's too much room for things to go wrong, even with them frensics they have.”

“No Gran. I'm talking about the government, when two parties get together.”

“Oh I know, they're a callous lot them politicians, having parties and talking about hanging people. Don't you vote for them love. It's going backwards, you want to be thinking about moving forward at your age.”

“But Gran...”

“No love, you listen to your old Gran, you got your whole life ahead of you.”

“..but..”

“No, go on love. Go and make us a nice cup of tea and stop thinking about hanging people.”

“But I'm not thinking about hanging anybody Gran.”

“Oh I am glad to hear it love, you're a good boy.”

“Yes Gran... I'll go and make us some tea.”

Thank you to all our competition winners. Our Annual Short Story Competition is now open for submissions. For more information www.wordswithjam.co.uk/shortstorycompetition2011

Banned Books Week 2011

2011-09-26T20:56:00.003+01:00

This week is Banned Books Week in the USA. Organised by the American Libraries Association, this has run annually since 1982 and is billed as a celebration of the freedom to read.

Every year in the US, several hundred books are ‘challenged’ – that is to say, or school or a library receives a formal written complaint – most often from a parent – requesting that a book be removed. The vast majority of these challenges affect books for children and – increasingly – for young adults.

Not all books that are challenged end up being taken off the shelves, but a fair few do. For example, in Texas, for every book challenged in schools during 2009/10, around one in five was give some form of restricted access and one in four was removed altogether. In some cases, a book can be taken off the school curriculum in individual schools or school districts because of the objection of one parent.

Judy Blume, in her 1999 introduction to Places I Never Meant to Be, dates the change in attitudes to the 1980 presidential election. For a decade before that, she says, she’d felt free to write pretty much what she pleased. But then “the censors crawled out of the woodwork, organised and determined.”

Outright censorship may be less of an issue in Europe than it is in the US. But don’t imagine that as non-US writer you are unaffected. Anne Rooney, a Cambridge based YA writer who had one of her own books removed from an elementary school in Texas last year, believes that writers elsewhere are being affected even before their books are published.

“Non-fiction publishers are more cautious than fiction publishers in my experience. Children’s non-fiction is illustrated, which is costly to produce. The publisher has to be sure they can sell into their targeted markets, which usually include the USA, or they can’t afford to publish the book at all.”

This can lead to publishers removing passages that might reduce sales in the US. And to writers self-censoring.

“We know what is not going to get through and why make work for ourselves at the editing stage by including material that will be challenged?” says Rooney.

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Similar to Banned Books Week, Canada holds Freedom to Read Week at the end of February. This year, Canadians were invited ‘Free a Challenged Book’ on Bookcrossing. As big fans of Bookcrossing ourselves, we think that’s a great idea.

Why not pick a banned book of your own and set it free? It doesn’t have to be from the ALA list. You can choose any book that has banned at some point in its history. (If you want some ideas, take a look at http://www.banned-books.org.uk/) Then write and tell us what book you chose, why, and where you left it. We have a copy of Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games to give away for the best entry.

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Read more about censorship and Banned Books Week in the October edition of Words with Jam. And you can join in Banned Books Week by taking part in the ALA’s Virtual Read Out on YouTube.

60 Seconds with Emma Donoghue

2011-09-20T20:52:00.000+01:00

[First published in the February 2011 issue of Words with JAM]

Born in Dublin in 1969, Emma studied English and French at University College, Dublin. She moved to England in 1990 and went on to gain a PhD from Cambridge University. She became a writer at the age of 23.

Her novels include the award-winning Hood (1995); Slammerkin (2000), a historical novel; Life Mask (2004), which tells the true story of three famous Londoners in the late eighteenth century; and The Sealed Letter (2008), joint winner of the 2009 Lambda Literary Award (Lesbian Fiction). Her short story collections include Kissing the Witch (1997), a collection of re-imagined fairytales; The Woman who Gave Birth to Rabbits (2002); and Touchy Subjects (2006), stories about taboos.

Her non-fiction includes Passions Between Women: British Lesbian Culture 1668-1801 (1993), a survey of printed texts on lesbian themes published between the Restoration and the end of the eighteenth century. She is also the editor of What Sappho Would Have Said: Four Centuries of Love Poems Between Women (1997); and The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Short Stories (1999).

Her most recent novel is Room (2010), shortlisted for the 2010 Man Booker Prize for Fiction. She now lives in Canada, with Chris, Finn and Una.

www.emmadonoghue.com

Which was your favourite childhood book?
The Narnia cycle.

Where do you write?
Anywhere I happen to be.

Which was the book that changed your life?
Jeanette Winterson's The Passion taught me what should have been obvious, that I could be an out lesbian and a great writer at the same time.

What objects are on your desk, and why?
Every bloody thing I'm trying to keep out of my small kids' mouths or am meaning to file away... plus some beautiful wooden bowls I can't see because everything else obscures them.

Short stories or novels - which is more you?
Can't choose, won't choose, and that goes for plays and nonfiction too.

Do you have a word or phrase that you most overuse?
Hilarious.

Is there a book you were supposed to love but didn't?
Many - the chemistry is most mysterious - couldn't stand The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, for instance.

What have you learned from writing?
We're here on earth to let out the stories in our heads that no one else can tell.

Which book do you wish you'd written?
Today? Neal Stephenson's The Baroque Cycle.

E-books - nemesis or genesis?
Haven't read one yet but all in favour.

Which book/writer deserves to be better known?
Catherine Austen, Walking Backwards.

What are you working on at the moment?
Wading through email up to my eyeballs ... but also a novel about a murder in 1870s San Francisco.

Which nostalgic snack do you wish they still made?
Acid drops like I remember them from Ireland circa 1975

August 2011 Issue

2011-09-13T20:49:00.000+01:00

Open publication - Free publishing - More words with jam

60 Seconds with David Nicholls

2011-08-27T19:31:00.000+01:00

[Originally published in the August 2010 issue of Words with JAM]

David Nicholls trained as an actor before making the switch to writing. His TV credits include the third series of Cold Feet, Rescue Me, and I Saw You. He was co-writer for the film adaptation of Simpatico, which starred Nick Nolte, Jeff Bridges and Sharon Stone. David's bestselling first novel, Starter for Ten, was selected for the Richard and Judy Book Club in 2004. David wrote the screenplay for the film version, released in 2006, starring James McAvoy, Rebecca Hall and Dominic Cooper. He also wrote And When Did you Last See Your Father (2007), with Jim Broadbent and Colin Firth and a much-praised modern adaptation of Tess of the D’Urbervilles (2008), with Gemma Arterton for the BBC.

His second novel, The Understudy was published in 2005. His most recent, One Day, is currently being filmed with Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess in the roles of Emma and Dexter. David also wrote the screenplay.

He lives in North London with his partner Hannah and two children, Max and Romy.

http://www.davidnichollswriter.com/

Which was your favourite childhood book?
The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier.

Where do you write?
At home three days a week, the British Library the rest of the time.

Which was the book that changed your life?
Great Expectations.

What objects are on your desk, and why?
A radio, a pot of pens, unanswered letters.

Which book should be on the national curriculum?
Great Expectations.

Do you have a word or phrase that you most overuse?
Terrific, a terrible word.

Is there a book you were supposed to love but didn't?
I think Wuthering Heights is an insanely over-praised piece of nonsense.

What have you learned from writing?
Perseverance pays.

Which book do you wish you'd written?
Tender is the Night.

What will be written on your gravestone?
Just the facts.

Which book/writer deserves to be better known?
A fine American novelist, John Williams. His book Stoner is a masterpiece.

What are you working on at the moment?
The movie of One Day.

Which pizza topping best represents your personality?
A slow, steady Margarita.

Each issue, we persuade, tempt and coerce (or bully, harass and blackmail) two writers into spilling the contents of their shelves. Twelve questions on books and writing. Plus the Joker – a wild thirteenth card which can reveal so much. Be honest, what do you put on YOUR chips?

To ensure your receive a copy of our magazine containing the most up to date, exclusive interviews with your favourite authors, make sure you're subscribed to the magazine - www.wordswithjam.co.uk/subscribe

Your intrepid reporter,

Jill

Promoting your book, promoting yourself

2011-08-25T19:23:00.000+01:00

by Jane Wenham-Jones

When it comes to promoting books, nobody could accuse me of not doing my bit on the publicity front. I’ve been shouted at on Kilroy, chopped broccoli on Ready, Steady, Cook; had my hair dyed on The Salon and smashed a large piece of crystal on the set of The Heaven and Earth Show (this was not in the running order). Once I even stood on a box on Speakers’ Corner which, I can tell you, is not for the faint-hearted. My motto has always been, in this harsh world of commercial enterprise that bookselling has become : Say Yes to Everything. Even if that sometimes means travelling all day to appear for three minutes on a little-known satellite channel with six viewers only to find that just as one opens one’s mouth to mention one’s latest book, it is the advert break and the twelve-year old director is thanking one very much and ushering the next sucker in.

My inability to say No goes some way to explaining why I’ve written five books in the time most of my writing friends have produced a dozen. But now, at least, all that time spent listening to the sound of my own voice rather than getting it down on paper has been put to good use. And if you’re reading this, you’ve heard of me now….. J

From Wannabe a Writer We’ve Heard Of?
by Jane Wenham-Jones

I am frequently amazed by the published authors I meet who shake their heads sadly at the mention of sales figures, yet have never appeared on the radio, or been interviewed in a magazine or given a talk.

Why not? I ask myself. Or occasionally, them.

“Nobody’s asked me,” they reply. Or “I’m not very good at that sort of thing.” Or, once: “I don’t have your chutzpah.” But believe me, I didn’t always have it either.

Front can be learned and cultivated like anything else. If it helps, remember it’s a two-way process. Magazines have pages to fill, radio stations many hours of airtime. Editors and producers need interesting people who will write and say fascinating things just as much as we need those vehicles to plug us.

Nobody’s going to buy a book that they don’t know exists. And nobody is going to call you up and offer you a platform to talk about it from, if they don’t know you do!

Getting out there, getting known

In order for a stranger to know who you are, they’ve got to have done one of these things:

Heard someone else mention you, listened to you on the radio, read about you in a newspaper or magazine, seen a picture of you, watched you on TV, come across you on the internet, seen one of your books in a bookshop or bought one of your books and actually read it.

You might think, being a writer, that the last two options were the most obvious routes to fame and fortune but unfortunately, as already mentioned, being piled high in the bookstores is no longer a given.

With more and more publishers scrabbling for shelf space for their titles, having your book selected for sale in the supermarkets or on stations and at airports is a cause for celebration rather than to be expected and even if you are stocked in quantity and displayed prominently, the competition for sales is still tough.

So there are two routes you can take. You can sit back and hope that at least a few people will get hold of a copy of your work and will be so bowled over that they tell all their friends who in turn tell theirs, that the news will spread like a rash, that internet orders will rocket, shops will be forced to order it in or increase their stock, and you will hit the best-seller lists by that holiest of grails – word of mouth. (If this happens to you, then hurrah and gosh and I can’t tell you how jealous I am.)

Or you can hedge your bets and give the whole process a bit of a nudge….

Extracted from Wannabe a Writer We’ve Heard Of?
by Jane Wenham-Jones
Published by Accent Press Ltd in paper back @ £9.99
@copyright Jane Wenham-Jones

Jane’s top tips for self-promotion

Be brave Don’t wait for opportunities to come to you – get out and ask for them. The worst anyone can say is NO. It’s not very nice if they do, but you won’t die from it.

Be imaginative Doing a signing? Don’t limit yourself to bookshops. I once signed novels on a cross-channel ferry; crime writer Peter James signed his from a coffin…

Be nice One bookseller admitted he put all the author’s books back in the stockroom after she was difficult. Be charming at all times and say a huge thank you to anyone who helps you.

The perilous path to publication – getting an agent

2011-08-25T19:18:00.000+01:00

by Sheila Bugler

I have an agent. Yep. A proper literary agent who believes in me enough to spend her precious time giving me feedback, inflating my flagging ego, and, most importantly, finding someone willing to publish me.

When I started writing, I learned early on that getting an agent was key. So, I did my research. I attended synopsis-writing workshops, I scoured online writer forums where I learned who the best, and worst, agents were. I read endless advice on how to produce the perfect submission pack.

Then I got confused. So much of the advice was conflicting. Besides, what was the point? Everything I read implied I’d have a better chance of winning the lottery than getting an agent. What’s more, these agents sounded like a ruthless bunch - as likely to send my work back without even reading it while, at the same time, advising me to never, ever give up the day job. And that’s if they bothered to get back to me. Chances were, most of them wouldn’t even do that.

When I finally got around to submitting my novel to agents, I expected the worst. In fact, the process wasn’t nearly as painful as I’d anticipated. Yes, I got my fair share of rejections. I also got some great feedback and encouragement as well.

Here are some of the things I learned along the way.

1. All agents are different

I know this is obvious but it’s worth saying, anyway. Writers tend to speak about agents in generic terms; we forget they’re people, just like us, with their good and bad points, strengths and weaknesses, personal likes and dislikes.

They’re not all looking for the same thing. You may find one agent who loves your work, another who hates it.

Yes, you’ll encounter agents who are too busy/disinterested/stressed/lazy to bother reading your work. You’ll also find others who will read it, and take time to give you feedback even if they decide not to represent you.

2. Make it personal

Everything about your submission pack should be tailored for the specific agent you’re writing to.

· Check the agent’s submission requirements. If they have a website, you’ll find the submission guidelines there. If not, call and ask them. Whatever the guidelines are, follow them. If they want a query letter first, then that’s what you do. They don’t want children’s literature? Don’t send a children’s book. They only want the first chapter? That’s what you send.

· Tailor your query letter. Research the agent’s list of authors and demonstrate how you would be a positive addition to this list. Give your reasons for wanting this agent to represent you. I recently attended a workshop where you spoke about current trends in the crime fiction market is probably better than because I’m desperate and can’t believe anyone else would be mad enough .

3. Don’t sweat the synopsis

Please. Be calm. Be sensible. You’ve just written a novel, probably upwards of 60,000 words. This means you can write a synopsis of between 300 and 1000 words. Seriously.

I was terrified when I started mine. Convinced I couldn’t do it, I decided to avoid it altogether. Instead, I concentrated on important, synopsis-writing research. The more researched, I reasoned, the easier it would be. Wouldn’t it?

Here are some of the tips I picked up:

· It should never be longer than a single page

· It must be at least two pages long

· It has to cover every plot twist and turn

· You should give a flavour of your work but there’s no need to go into too much detail. If you do, the agent won’t read it

· Try to make it similar to the blurb on the back of a book

· It should bear no resemblance to the blurb on the back of a book

· You must include the ending

· Don’t include the ending

Confused? I was. I think I still am. However, I was luckier than most. While writing my first novel, I was accepted onto a one-year mentoring programme. My mentor gave me much-needed guidance on cutting through the crap and getting something that an agent might actually want to read.

I spent weeks working on what I thought was a pretty good synopsis. It was one-page long, included the main plot elements, and revealed the ending (something I apparently had to do or no agent would ever read my work and I might as well give up writing there and then). When I was happy with it, I sent it to my mentor.

His feedback? Too long, overly complex and boring as hell (he put it more kindly, of course, but that was the general gist).

His advice was:

· Think of the blurb on the back of the book – use that as your starting point

· Sit down with a glass of wine and a blank sheet of paper

· Write whatever comes into your head, focussing on the ‘flavour’ of the novel, rather than specific plot twists and turns

· Do this for no more than twenty minutes

· At the end, you should have the bare bones of your synopsis

Now, I’m not saying this advice works for everyone but I followed it. I ended up with a one-page synopsis that was short and snappy and didn’t reveal the ending. And I got an agent.

Remember, if your synopsis is well-written and engaging, most agents will want to read the book, regardless of whether or not you’ve followed all the ‘rules’.

4. Don’t believe everything you hear

Two agents I contacted never replied, despite follow-on correspondence. They were the exception. Every other agent got back to me with an answer. They weren’t always quick to reply – one took five months to respond. Several asked to read the complete novel. Of these, most were generous with their feedback, even if they didn’t want to represent me. One even took the time to meet me and discuss the novel, and my writing, in detail.

I know other writers who’ve received support, encouragement and advice from agents they’ll probably never work with. All this for nothing.

5. Don’t take it personally

The whole submissions process can be disheartening. You may be lucky –the very first agent you submit to might love your work and want to sign you up on the spot. Just in case that doesn’t happen, though, you should prepare yourself for rejection.

Agents receive a lot of submissions – up to 300 a week in some cases. Only a tiny percentage of these will spark the agent’s interest. Your writing may be good, brilliant even, but if it’s not what that agent is looking for at that particular time, then they won’t be interested.

6. Don’t give up

Writing is a tough business. Getting an agent is probably harder than it’s ever been. Even when you’ve achieved that, you still have to find a publisher. But if writing is what you want to do, then keep with it. You’ll get there eventually. We all will.

2010 Short Story Competition Winners

2011-08-25T16:29:00.001+01:00

It's that time of the year again (a little later perhaps than last year) and our Annual Short Story Competition is once more open for submissions www.wordswithjam.co.uk/shortstorycompetition2011 So, to give you an idea of the fantastic quality of last year's entries, the winners of our 2010 competition are below ...

FIRST PLACE: George Was Dead by Janet Edwards

When George died, he was prepared for life to change a bit, but a lot of things still took him by surprise. The legal complications to start with. He was taken aback by the letter telling him that Lizzie wasn’t his wife any longer. They had gone through that marriage ceremony eighteen years ago, tied themselves together until death did them part, and now it had. The first successful resurrection process had been carried out a bare fourteen months ago, and legally speaking the issue was a complete mess, with a dozen test cases bouncing through the courts. Untangling it would take years, so as an interim measure the legal system was treating zombies as automatically divorced, and allocated marital assets accordingly.

“Well, it’s just a technical detail. We don’t have to let it change anything,” said Lizzie, tearing the letter in half and throwing it away.

Lizzie had been a tower of strength through the whole terrible business, and George was deeply grateful to her. She kept repeating that same phrase, that they didn’t have to let it change anything, but of course a lot of things about their relationship were different now. They didn’t sleep together any longer, since zombies didn’t sleep. They didn’t eat together any longer, since zombies didn’t eat. They didn’t have sex any longer, because zombies didn’t do that either.

In honesty, George didn’t miss a sex life very much. He didn’t admit it to Lizzie of course, but he had something far better now. Twice each day, he locked himself into his study, used the special lead to plug himself into the electrical socket, and the power surged through his body in the most intense and fulfilling of orgasms. He’d quickly given way to temptation, disobeyed the hospital instructions, and tried plugging himself in more often, but found it didn’t have the same effect unless the electricity in his body was at a low level. He was limited to experiencing that matchless thrill twice a day.

Despite Lizzie’s brave words, things had definitely changed, but George felt he could hardly complain. It was, after all, a lot better than staying dead. He had been extremely lucky that his body escaped the car crash without taking enough damage to prevent the resurrection. There were even a few advantages over being alive. Without the need for sleep, he had so much more time. He never got tired either. He finished the multitude of little repair jobs that had been waiting for years, spent hours leafing through his collection of books on steam railways, weeded the garden to perfection point, and put his name down on the waiting list for an allotment. Life, or in his case death, was generally pretty good.

It was precisely a month after his return to work, that George was called into Mr Hampden’s office.

“George,” said Mr Hampden, leaning back into the cushioned splendour of his executive chair. “I wanted to have a little chat with you. I wondered if you’d had any thoughts about the future. In the circumstances, the firm would be very sympathetic if you wanted to consider early retirement through ill health.”

“Early retirement,” said George, in shock. “I’m not even fifty yet. I’m not suffering ill health either.”

“You are however, not exactly...” Mr Hampden broke off tactfully.

“Alive.” George concluded the sentence bluntly. “You mean, you want to get rid of me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Mr Hampden. “It’s true that some of your colleagues are a little uncomfortable around a... However, I’m sure they would adjust given time. When I suggest early retirement, I’m really thinking of you, George. After all, this whole resurrection process is so new. No-one knows how long the effects will last. I’m sure you want to make the most of the time left to you.”

George glared at the two faced hypocrite.

“Now, no-one is pushing you into anything, George, but it’s really in your best interests to be fully informed. Our pension advisor happens to have a gap in his schedule and will give you a little chat.”

George was firmly shuffled off into a meeting room, and a bald man in large glasses talked earnestly at him for an hour. It was, he was told, a golden opportunity. At the moment, resurrected individuals were able to take up their pensions, but at any moment pension companies might change their code of practice to prevent it.

“But I’ve paid into the pension fund for twenty six years,” said George indignantly. “I’m entitled to my pension. They can’t take that away.”

“It pains me to say it,” said the pension advisor cheerfully, “but you did die. Of course, if the pension companies do act to prevent zomb...., I mean resurrected individuals, taking up their pensions, then they would have to pay your nominated beneficiary the lump sum death in service payment and a widow’s pension. In your case that would be...”

“My wife,” said George.

“Your ex wife,” the pension advisor corrected him. “You are treated as divorced, remember.

That was the last straw. George glared at him. “My fiancé then,” he said, belligerently. “We intend to remarry immediately!”

“And the pension? The company has offered to allow you to retire on full pension. It’s a very generous offer, even without the issue of resurrected individuals being prevented from...”

“I’ll take it,” snarled George. “If I don’t retire, then I suppose they’ll find another way to get rid of me.”

The advisor pushed several papers across the desk towards him. “Please, sign here, here, and here.”

George signed, threw the ballpoint pen at the man, and stormed through the door into the main office. He looked around at the suited figures, sitting at regimented lines of desks. “You’ll all be happy to know that I’m leaving!”

They looked at him with startled faces, and then hastily turned back to their computer screens and pretended to work.

“Just remember though,” added George. “It may happen to you too. Just wait until you’re a zombie, and people don’t treat you as a human being any longer. See how you like it then!”

He left the building, remembered he hadn’t cleared his desk of personal items, and decided he would survive without the diary, box of tissues, and twenty five year service award.

Lizzie was startled to hear the news. “But... What will you do now that you’re retired?”

“We’re getting married again,” said George, “and going on an extended honeymoon. We’ll go out right now and make the arrangements.”

“Now?... I’ve got an appointment at the hairdresser at one thirty.”

“You will have your hair done in Paris,” said George, magnificently, and they set off for the registry office.

“You want to get married?” The woman with bouffant hair looked at them from behind the desk.

“No, I came here to buy a television licence.” George shook his head in exasperation. “What a stupid question. Of course we want to get married!”

“Well, you can’t,” said the woman, bluntly. “Our latest guidelines say that we can only perform marriage ceremonies for couples who are both alive or both dead.”

“That’s rampant discrimination.” George was incensed.

“I’m very sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Rules are rules.” The woman stood up. “I’m now on my lunch break.”

George was prepared to make a scene, but Lizzie towed him firmly out into the street. “There’s no point in making a fuss, George. We can go to Paris anyway, whether we get married or not.”

They couldn’t. The travel agent was deeply apologetic. “Since you’re dead, your passport will no longer be valid, and until they sort out some sort of process for reapplying then...”

“We’ll go to Edinburgh then,” said Lizzie.

“But...” George was speechless at the injustice of it all.

“Now, George,” said Lizzie. “There’s no point in getting angry. It doesn’t matter where we go. We should be grateful that we can still do things together. If the accident had been a year ago, or done more damage to your body, then all I’d have left of you would be an urn of ashes.”

“I suppose you’re right.” George sighed.

So they went to Edinburgh for a week, and it rained solidly. They sat in the hotel room for seven long days, watching Scottish raindrops trickle down the window. By the time they returned home to Wolverhampton, George had made plans to fill the days and nights ahead. He would do an Open University degree. He would write his own book on steam railways. He would take up water colour painting and pottery. He would get his allotment and grow prize winning dahlias. Perhaps Lizzie would like to join him in these new plans, he thought.

Lizzie didn’t. She explained that she already had enough to fill her days. She was a volunteer driver for Help the Aged, she had two exercise classes, and she manned the till in the local Oxfam shop on Wednesdays and Fridays.

George accepted that, and life settled into a new routine. During the day, he dug, painted, and potted. During the night, he collected credits towards his degree and worked on his book. Each evening, he spent three hours watching television with Lizzie, except on Thursdays when she went to her music society meeting.

Digging the allotment was George’s favourite activity. He was untroubled by rain, cold, or fatigue, and found the repetitive labour soothing. He spent two hours every afternoon digging, and when his own patch of land had been dug to perfection, he offered to help the other allotment holders. They had regarded him with suspicion, but as one plot of neglected ground after another was methodically dug into neatness, George found himself not just tolerated but almost welcome. The thanks of the other allotment holders, and the occasional gift of spare plants, were a little embarrassing. He had a secret he could not share with them. The true reason he liked the digging was that the work drained his stored power and made the evening power recharge into a moment of ecstasy.

George was quietly content with his new life, until the day he came home two hours early from the allotment. He had been offered a small second hand greenhouse, and needed some tools to dismantle and move it from the far end of the allotments to his own plot. George went in through the back gate, took off his muddy boots to leave them on the back doorstep, and saw Lizzie kissing a strange man in the kitchen.

Stunned, George picked up his boots, fled back out of the garden, and trudged back to his allotment. He couldn’t believe this. He and Lizzie had always been so... so dependable. It wasn’t Lizzie’s fault, he thought. The problem was that they weren’t allowed to marry. Naturally that left her feeling...

The answer to that, and to all of the other frustrations, was suddenly clear to him. If Lizzie was a zombie too, then they would be able to marry. She wouldn’t get tired or need sleep, and she could join him in his night time studies. They could even share the erotic moments of recharging their power together. After Lizzie had experienced the thrill of plugging herself in to the electrical socket, she would no longer want to kiss strange men in the kitchen.

He left dealing with the greenhouse to another day, and spent hours digging as he considered ways to kill Lizzie. It had to be something that wouldn’t damage the body too much, and he needed to be able to get her to the hospital within three hours for the resurrection process to work. Drowning seemed relatively painless and could be arranged to look like an accident. Lizzie, of course, would be grateful to join him in death, but he didn’t want to have any silly problems with the police to spoil their happiness.

When his plans were complete, he carefully cleaned his spade and went home.

“Hello, George,” said Lizzie. “You’re back late today.” She was sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner.

“Hello, Lizzie. I thought I’d spend a few extra hours digging today, because I have some plans for tomorrow.” He smiled at her, confident that she wouldn’t notice anything odd about his manner. Whenever zombies spoke or smiled, it was always a little wooden and stilted.

“What sort of plans?”

“The weather forecast says it should be nice tomorrow,” he said. “I thought perhaps you could skip your exercise class for once, and we could go for a walk somewhere. By the reservoir perhaps.”

“That sounds nice.” She took her empty plate over to put it in the dishwasher.

They sat and watched television for the next three hours, and then Lizzie started getting ready for bed, while George went into his study. He locked the door, and felt a thrill of anticipation as he approached the electrical socket. He had spent extra time digging today, and his power was very low. This recharge would be something very special. He opened his desk drawer, to take out the lead and plug himself in, and then frowned. The drawer was empty.

He looked round the room in confusion, checked the desk top, the floor by the electrical socket, and the shelves. The lead was nowhere to be seen. He searched further, remembering the time his watch had fallen down the back of the settee, but found nothing except a ten pence coin and a three year old shopping list.

His movements were slowing now, and he could not afford to delay any longer. He would have to face the embarrassment of phoning the hospital, confessing his carelessness, and asking for help. He reached into his jacket pocket for his phone, but his searching fingers found nothing.

He didn’t understand how he could have lost that too, but there was no time to worry about it. His power was dangerously low now, and he had to call Lizzie before he went into automatic shut down. He lurched over to unlock the door, but the key was missing. He shook his head in confusion, and turned the door handle, but it wouldn’t open.

“Lizzie!” he yelled. “Lizzie! I need you.”

“Yes, George.” Her voice was unexpectedly close. She must be just the other side of the door.

“Lizzie, call the hospital for help. I can’t find my power lead.”

“I’m sorry, George. I’m not planning to do that until the morning.”

“What? You have to get help now. More than three hours without power and I’ll really be dead.”

“That’s the idea,” said Lizzie. “Since we no longer sleep together, I naturally won’t discover you ran out of power until tomorrow. Everyone will understand.”

George swayed in shock. That almost sounded as if... No, he told himself, that couldn’t be right. “Lizzie, you aren’t really... You wouldn’t...”

“Yes, George, I would,” she replied calmly. “I’m murdering you. Again!”

SECOND PLACE: My Final Blog by Karen O’Connor

1st April 2036

I should be typing this on my iPad. My fingers tapping the keypad, before sending out my latest gem of wisdom into the internet ether.

Instead, I’m scribbling this on a thin piece of paper, with a pencil stub, praying the page won’t get wet and my final blog vanish.

I should be making shrewd comments about the date, hoping the joke won’t be on me. Sad thing is, the joke’s on all of us these days.

15th April 2036

Max thinks we should head into the countryside, more space, less disease. We could start that smallholding we always talked about.

I tried to seem enthusiastic, but my daily diet of fizzy drink and tiny portions of tinned food makes my thoughts fuzzy.

He talked about planting potatoes, having some chickens, making our own bread. My stomach growled in response. I doubted the chickens survived, and I’m not eating anything that’s been grown in the toxic ground. Doesn’t he remember the warnings from the Government, when we had one. Fallout for six months, soil and water toxicity for ten months. Only eat what’s canned or bottled, they said – that’s if you’re lucky enough to find anything.

The legions inside my mouth make me think that even that option isn’t safe.

23rd April 2036

It was sunny today. The light had a painful intensity, nipping and reddening any part of my exposed flesh, but it was bright and made me happier.

We moved this morning, packed up and off to find our rural idyll. Dorothy and Toto on the yellow brick road to who the hell knows. Max certainly doesn’t.

26th April 2036

I’m like a fashion model. Whip thin, all jutting hip and cheek bones. If I still had my digital scales I’m sure I’d weigh less than seven stone, and there’s not an inch of fat on me. I’ve even lost my boobs, they’re more like shrivelled flesh pocket flaps. If fashion houses still existed, I’d be front and centre, top of their list to hang luxuriant fabrics on, making the rest of the female population jealous as they reach for their diet shakes and fat rejection tablets. Fashion these days gets exciting if I can get a pair of my rancid pants clean.

10th May 2036

All this walking is becoming harder, and every day it takes us longer to reach our goal. Even Max is looking thin, and so old – I thought dating an older guy would be glamorous, but those furrows on his forehead just make me think of my dad.

I’d stupidly suggested it would be good to have a car.

“I think we’ve seen the last of the car.” He didn’t even try and hide his sarcasm.

I wanted to scream at him. I know it’s all our fault, we didn’t listen, we kept buying and polluting and fighting with each other, until it was too late.

Instead of screaming, I sat down, and opened one of the few remaining tins of fruit.

18th May 2036

A scary day, our food has gone. We have nothing to eat. I just want to give up. Max made soothing noises at me, but right now, I hate him. He’s supposed to be my provider. Where’s all his big talk about being the breadwinner? This isn’t the most frightening thing. This evening, I felt it move.

19th May 2036

It should never have happened. I’m too thin, no periods, no chance of a baby, right? Wrong. I’m sure it’s in there, fighting for life, taking my energy to keep itself going. I should love it, encourage my child, but instead I fear it and hate it for taking from me. What kind of monster will it be when it arrives, having sucked in nine months of polluted air and rancid food?

Today, I do love Max. He killed a rat and made a fire and we ate meat. It was tough and coarse, but it was food and I adored him for it.

22nd May 2036

I’m losing it, I’m so hungry and angry and today I properly hate Max. Why did he think the countryside would be a good place to go? I’m starving, miserable and all I see is mud, stupid, stunted, dead trees, and fields full of rotting crops. I miss my ready meals, my gym membership, my hybrid car, my vitamin supplements, my isotonic drinks and the internet – that would have solved all our problems, just hit the search button and it did the thinking for you.

And, if Max tells me one more time what the crop was and what we could have done if we’d just had some butter and a few herbs I think I’m going to kill him. It moved again tonight.

1st June 2036

We made a friend today. Judy, a pleasant middle aged woman, with beady eyes. We love her, she has food. She asked lots of questions, where we’re heading, who we know, where we sleep. We answered them all, as we filled our tiny stomachs with the best tasting stew ever. I ate until I felt sick, and then ate some more, just in case.

“I have a shed you can stay in.” These words were like magic to me. I love Judy even more than Max.

The shed is dry, with only a few biting insects, and I know I’m going to sleep all night. No nightmares, no strange noises. I think we’ve found our idyll.

15th June 2036

“What does she want?” This is Max’s favourite saying at the moment. He always worries about what people want from you, he reckons they’re just out for themselves. Well, they used to be. Now it’s different, it has to be. Besides, I love Judy, she can’t be after something. We’ve nothing to give.

“Trust her,” I told him. This feels like home, I want it to be perfect.

Max blathered on about her eyes and the way she stares at him. I ignored him. If he’s trying to make me jealous he’s failing. If I had to choose, I’d pick Judy over him any day.

26th June 2036

I’ve decided to tell. I trust Judy, she’s like the mother I always wanted, so different from the bulimic, perma-tanned version I vaguely remember.

I felt like a child with a dirty secret. I sat at her feet, by hands in my lap. I blurted it out, the word baby stuck in my throat like serrated glass.

“A new life, out of the ashes, life always rises,” she said. She’d stroked my hair and told me it would be ok. And that’s all I wanted to hear. Judy’s even had some medical training, which will come in handy, whatever I decide to do.

1st July 2036

I’m in shock, Max knows about the baby. He was furious, throwing things, shouting. I sat there, seething silently. I didn’t want this, he was just as much to blame as me, yet I’m the one who’s the problem.

“Get rid of it.” That was his advice, no debating, he wants it gone.

It’s an option I think about every day, but now it’s out in the open the thought chills me.

I’d tried to highlight that it was his responsibility too.

“We’re leaving,” was his response.

Did I ever love this pathetic impersonation of a man?

15th July 2036

Max decided this was his last day with me. I’m glad, thrilled to be free from his whining, pleading, pathetic arguments, and his juvenile fear of our protector. Now I’m free from him, I can see what Judy meant, he’s just jealous, resentful that a woman makes a better provider than him. Good to see sexism is alive and well on this rotten excuse for a planet. An hour after he’s gone, we celebrated girl power by having a blow out feast.

30th July 2036

I look pregnant! This is getting exciting and terrifying. Judy reckons I must be at least eight months gone. It’s so hard to tell, but she’s giving me extra food to help me and the baby grow. My baby, I hope it’s a girl.

13th August 2036

It’s the dead of night, and I’m prepared to admit that I sometimes miss Max. For all his metro sexual ways and his lack of any useful skills – what exactly was a High End Product Placement Advisor anyway - he could be fun and sweet, and would cuddle me when I woke up afraid.

I hope he’s safe and happy. I hope he doesn’t miss me, too much.

20th August 2036

I found Judy’s supplies today. She has a stack of salted meat in the back of the cottage she lives in. All chopped up and bagged. No wonder she’s still so plump and so happy to share, there’s enough to feed an army.

She caught me looking and told me to choose a joint for tonight.

22nd August 2036

It happened, in the early hours of the morning, I had my baby – it’s a girl. Judy was amazing. It felt like my insides were being pushed out, but it was so worth it. Best of all she seems healthy. Judy weighed her in her kitchen scales and she’s almost six pounds. I’ve decided to be hugely corny and name her Eve – you never know she could be the first woman to solve this horrible mess we’ve created.

25th August 2036

Today I found the shed door locked. And I’m on the inside. I called for Judy and I’m sure I heard her moving away but she didn’t come. I hope she’s not hurt.

26th August 2036

Still trapped inside, and getting hungry now. I tried to pull the door from its hinges, but the wood held. Where’s Judy? I really miss Max. Eve is getting restless, and I’m worried my milk will dry up without regular meals.

27th August 2036

Judy’s back! At least I think she is, food was pushed under the door. I spent ages banging on the door, but she didn’t come out and unlock it.

28th August 2036

I’m so tired, I slept for hours, all through the night and most of today, only managing to feed Eve twice. Maybe I’m getting sick. I got another meal.

29th August 2036

More exhaustion, can barely write a word.

30th August 2036

Judy came in today – she measured me and Eve up – but what for? I’m so tired, I almost don’t care.

1st September 2036

She’s dead, I killed her. She came in and tried to cut me up, like a butcher. I suddenly got the beady eyed bit that Max was always going on about. I think Max might be a bit of that salted meat I saw the other day.

I’ve got a cut on my arm from the cleaver, but I’m alive. Judy lost her footing and fell down, I saw my chance and grabbed the cleaver. It went through her skull so easily. I’m too scared to move right now – but I can’t leave Judy on the ground for long, it will bring the foxes and rats, and they love nothing more than a bit of human flesh. It seems they’re not the only one.

3rd September 2036

I’ve done it. Today, I finished cutting Judy up, and covered her in salt. She’s bagged and tagged like the rest of the meat. I felt sick as I began, but it’s not so bad once you don’t think about what you’re slicing into. I actually feel quite proud of myself, I’ve got my baby, my supplies, got rid of my pointless boyfriend and secured my own idyll. Now, if I can just work out how to encourage fresh supplies through the door I’ll be completely self sufficient.

THIRD PLACE: Omelette by Annalisa Crawford

The café is quiet today. Just a little further along the road is a sign saying Roadworks starting 11/01/11 and lasting two weeks, so Josie thinks this must be why. Tucked away, down one of the main roads off this one, the hospital rises high over the other buildings. Josie, as she pushes open the door, glances over her shoulder at the grey imposition and shudders.

“Hello,” says the waitress behind the counter. “The usual?”

Josie has never had a usual before; never had a local pub where the bar staff poured her drink as soon as she walked through the door, never even had a regular newspaper, or a favourite Starbucks coffee. It makes her feel content, but at the same time it means she has been eating here too long as she bides her time between hospital visits.

“Yes. Please.”

“Just plain?”

Josie glances at the menu hanging on the wall. “Yes. Just plain. Thank you.” She walks to the table in the corner, opposite the large window. Her table. She slips her bag from her shoulder and sweeps her eyes across the paintings on the wall, noting the tiny price tags next to them; noticing them for the first time, which means she mustn’t be so distracted today.

“These are good. Whose are they?” she asks when the waitress brings the omelette, plain, salad garnish to the side, no chips.

“Mine,” the waitress mumbles turning pink.

“Do you sell many?”

She shakes her head. “No. But I don’t mind. I’d miss them if they weren’t here.”

“Hello,” says the waitress. “The usual?”

“Yes, please.” She hesitates, wondering whether she should make conversation. She did yesterday. So, is it expected today? Once there’s a connection, are you compelled to continue it? To be truthful, she doesn’t feel like talking; she wants to sink down into her own concerns. There’s an awkward moment, both women unsure what to do next, then they both drift in their separate directions: Josie to her table, the waitress to the kitchen.

Josie sits on her hands, feeling the warmth of her thighs bring a tingle to her frozen skin; she’s forgotten her gloves again, perhaps she should have them sewn inside her coat. That was Meg’s suggestion when she gave them to her for Christmas; Meg knows her too well. Josie sets her mobile on the table, so she can answer immediately if it rings. She sits on her hands and waits. The mobile doesn’t ring or beep. Which is good; she doesn’t want it to ring or beep; that would only bring bad news.

“Here you are.” The plate is presented – omelette, plain, salad garnish to the side, no chips – an exact copy of yesterday’s lunch, and the one before that, and the several before that.

“Thank you.” She stares at the plate.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps you’ve just had enough plain omelette?”

Josie looks surprised at the idea of another kind of omelette on her plate. She shakes her head. “I’ve been to visit a friend in hospital. She’s getting worse, not better. She was supposed to be coming home today. But she’s not well enough. I was supposed to bring her home today.” She stares down at the mobile, frowns, reaches out for it, then changes her mind. “I don’t want to go home without her.”

“How long have you known your friend?”

“Forty-three years and four months. We were at primary school together. We were supposed to grow old together.”

“You still might?”

Josie wipes a tear from her eye and smiles. “We still will,” she says defiantly. She picks up the fork and half-heartedly breaks off the first mouthful of omelette.

There’s a space on the wall. Yesterday there was a seascape on the wall opposite her; a beautiful red sunset, a yacht pushing off into the distance. A perfect scene, a perfect sea. Yesterday, Josie stared into the painting and imagined floating. Peacefully floating away.

“The painting’s gone,” says Josie, indicating the space, the wall faintly scarred with grime marking out where the frame was.

The waitress blushes. “I sold it.”

“Congratulations. I liked it. I’ll miss it.”

“Thank you. It was the first one I’ve sold.”

“Then you should do something special with the money.”

“I’ll probably just pay the rent.”

Josie looks across the room at the wall. The empty space feels ominous.

“How’s your friend?”

Josie shakes her head. “Not good.”

“Are you hungry today? Would you like your omelette?”

Josie pauses. She thinks of her plain omelette; she thinks of Meg not getting better. “You know… maybe… could I have a mushroom one today, please?”

“Of course. I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.”

“Cheese omelette, please.”

“Good choice. That’s my favourite. I’ll throw in some chives, then it’ll be perfect. You seem happier today… your friend?”

“Meg’s doing well. Rallying, the doctor said.”

“That’s good news. She’s lucky to have you visiting so much. It must be helping her.”

Josie shrugs. “She’d do the same for me.”

It takes a few moments, sitting down, the smell of omelette wafting from the small kitchen, to realise there’s a new paining on the wall. Two old ladies sitting on a bench, laughing like school-girls.

“I put it there for you, for your friend.”

“You painted it for me?”

The waitress looks sheepish. “Well, no. I had it at home. But when you were talking about your friend the other day, I remembered it. I thought it would cheer you up.”

“Thank you.” Josie smiles, but it’s a thin, thoughtful smile. “That was such a lovely thing to do.” Her eyes are drawn back to the picture, lost in this world that might never happen. “It’s breast cancer, you see, what Meg has. She was in remission. But she’s…” Her voice shakes a little.

The waitress is unsure how to react. Hesitantly she reaches out and touches Josie’s arm. She moves away, clearing a table close by, not wanting to leave this poor woman, glancing back at her every so often

The café isn’t busy, not since the roadworks started – a few people are dotted here and there, either talking in couples or reading books or newspapers alone. Only Josie looks around, aware of her environment, opening herself up. She looks out of the window and notes the start of another downpour; she glances at the headline of the newspaper left behind by someone else. But her gaze returns to the picture on the wall again and again. There are tears bubbling, but she is smiling as well; a soft smile, a slow sad smile. She leaves the omelette half-eaten. She leaves the café.

The waitress watches the clock. At one o’clock she tells herself Josie is running late. At two o’clock she fears Josie’s friend has had a turn for the worse. And at three o’clock she convinces herself that she upset Josie too much by hanging the painting of the two old ladies. The waitress finds herself standing in front of it, imagining being sat on that bench with an old friend, oblivious to the world passing behind them.

When she painted it, she had no one in mind. The two friends had just appeared as if by magic, fully formed on the canvass. Now it seems intrinsically linked to Josie and her friend. And yet she wishes she’d never brought it in. She remains in front of her painting, trying to view it subjectively; almost amazed that something which could affect another person so much had come from her hand.

At five o’clock, as the waitress turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED, heavy rain is falling, car headlamps glisten off the road and people scurry past under hoods and umbrellas.

Today is Saturday. Saturdays are different; routines are different, the vibe is different. Fathers in their weekend disguise with their excited kids; friends meeting before a day’s shopping; lovers recovering from their romantic Friday night dinner. Everyone is light and happy, lingering over an extra coffee and sharing a slice of Death by Chocolate.

Josie doesn’t come in on Saturdays, so the waitress knows not to glance hopefully out of the window. A busy day. A non-stop day. The waitress coasts through, oblivious to the different people queuing behind each other, oddly oblivious to their stories. Nothing matters; she has been drained of curiosity.

The painting – untitled, but in her head now called Josie and Meg’s Happy Days – still hangs on the wall. She thought about taking it down, but it remains there for now. Why does it matter? Why does this woman, Josie, matter where so many other people who come in daily – and there are many – do not even register? She places two cups of coffee in front of two women with several shopping bags wedged on the chairs next to them, and can’t remember the last time she went shopping – or even had coffee – with a friend. She can’t remember the last time she saw a friend, other than at work, or passing in the street and dashing onwards with hurried promises to call. She never does. Never has time. Time doesn’t last forever, though, does it? Josie doesn’t have time.

She imagines herself lying in a hospital bed, linked up to wires and monitors, and wonders who would visit her.

* * *

Monday again. Another week. Another grey and miserable morning.

Josie stands in front of the painting, walking straight across to it rather than standing at the counter and ordering. She senses the waitress move across the café and stand next to her. She feels the warmth, the companionship.

“Can I buy it?”

“Um, Yes. Of course.”

“Isn’t it for sale? I thought you said they were all for sale.”

“It is… they are. I just… I thought…”

Josie turns, curious, concerned.

The waitress blushes. “I thought I upset you, putting the picture up.”

Josie softens. “No. I love it. Meg’s dying. They’ve only given her a couple of weeks. I wanted to buy the painting for her. I wanted to show her how it will be, in my head.”

“I’m so sorry.” The waitress looks away. “It’s a present. Take it.”

“I couldn’t. Don’t you have rent to pay?” She gasps a small laugh, then notices the waitress’s earnest gaze. “Thank you.”

Josie stares at the board, although none of the options match how she’s feeling today. She wants colour; she wants to be uplifted. Peppers and spinach and tomato: colours of the rainbow filling her plate. She makes her request timidly, unsure whether she is required to adhere to the menu.

The waitress smiles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Meg loved the painting, by the way.” Josie raises her voice slightly, so the waitress can hear her from the kitchen. She glances behind her to make sure the other diners aren’t disturbed by the noise. “We cried a lot.”

A head appears around the door. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, it was good. We said everything we needed to say. I think she’s ready now… prepared, you know.” Josie’s voice drifts away, her gaze softens. “She never had kids, she got divorced a few years ago and never met anyone else. Just existed alongside everyone else. Makes you wonder why she was here at all, doesn’t it?” Her face drops, horrified that such a thought could have entered her head.

“No,” says the waitress quickly. “She was here for you, and for all her other friends. And even for her ex-husband. As soon as you meet someone, you’ve affected them. You and me. We’ve made a difference to each other, even if we don’t realise it yet.”

Josie takes a long breath. “Well, I eat different types of omelette now.”

The waitress pauses, then smiles. “It’ll be ready in a moment. Take a seat.”

Josie plays with her mobile, pressing buttons to watch the screen light up. She waits for the call, hoping it won’t come. She checks to make sure the ringtone is audible. She stares at her reflection in the dark screen.

“Do you really believe what you said before, that we make a difference?” she asks when the omelette arrives.

“Yes.”

“How have you made a difference?”

“That’s not for me to say.”

“But you think you have?”

“I know I have. I must have.” The waitress pauses, then sits down opposite Josie and rests her hands flat on the table. “When I was little – eight or nine – I used to scare myself by looking up at the stars. You could see hundreds, thousands. The more you looked, the more you could see. On really clear nights you could see the Milky Way. And the world seemed so small. And if the world was that small, I must be just a speck, smaller than a speck, totally insignificant in a universe I couldn’t even begin to understand. So I chose to believe that I do matter, that everyone matters.” The waitress shakes her head and laughs at herself. “And I do realise it makes absolutely no sense at all, before you say anything.” She stands and smoothes her apron. “Enjoy your meal.”

The waitress steps away awkwardly, pausing as though she’s going to say something else. She is rescued by a new customer entering the café. Josie watches her, smiling and laughing easily with this new person is a way she’s never done with Josie. Perhaps Josie encourages melancholy. Not always; she laughs with Meg. Meg forces her to laugh; even now, in agony in a hospital bed, she jokes with the nurses, reminisces with visitors, cheers others up when they are overcome by her imminent departure.

That’s the difference Meg has made to Josie. It’s a good difference. Without her humour, without her lightness, Josie fears she would have sunk low and never risen, fears her encompassing gift for worry and fear would have driven her into a deep depression. She fears she will sink low and never rise back up.

“Which one today?” asks the waitress, tempering her mood to match Josie’s.

“Just plain?” No, not plain; Meg asks her to describe her meals, now that she cannot eat – how could she make a plain omelette sound exciting? “No. Tuna. Please.”

“How’s Meg?”

Josie looks grim. She smiles weakly, but shakes her head. She cannot talk. She turns away and sits at her table, glancing out of the window briefly. She puts her head in her hands. The air feels heavy around her, pushing her down. She feels sick now; the smell of food cooking is churning her stomach. When the plate is set down in front of her, she simply looks at it.

And then, faintly at first, her mobile rings. She stares at the waitress, and the waitress stares back.

WWJ offering a FREE first page critique by an industry pro!

2011-08-04T14:53:00.003+01:00

Cornerstones is a leading UK literary consultancy. They have over 60 professional editors who specialise in guiding authors through self-editing. They scout for agents and have launched many first time writers.

As of October 2011, each issue Cornerstones will critique the first page of a novel submitted by one of our readers, and the first page and critique will be published in the relevant issue.

If you would like to submit your opening page for critique, email it as a Word attachment to submissions@wordswithjam.co.uk with the subject heading of Cornerstones Critique.

See www.cornerstones.co.uk for author journeys.

Voices from the Old Bailey is back ...

2011-07-22T19:06:00.000+01:00

Following on from the first series of Voices from the Old Bailey, the BBC are running a second series starting on Wednesday. http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b012r6jq

From our original article in the October 2010 edition of Words with JAM by Catriona Troth ...

Hearing Voices From the Past

History, they say, is written by the victorious. It is also, by and large, written by those who are well educated, articulate and comparatively well-off. Even when writers like Dickens and Defoe write about people from the poorest sections of society, the voices are filtered through the lens of the authors’ understanding and the stories they want to tell. But long before the advent of audio tapes, there was one place where the voices of ordinary men, women and children were recorded raw and verbatim. And that was in court.

The Old Bailey, London’s Central Criminal Court provides an archive of court proceedings from 1674-1913 – a total of 197,745 criminal trials. Available as a fully searchable, free, on-line resource, it’s an incredible gift for historical novelists in particular.

Unlike the court records today, these Proceedings were not kept as a legal requirement, but were done for popular publication. As such, they are not comprehensive transcripts of everything that was said in court. However, as the introduction on the website explains, authenticity was one of their strongest selling points and the reputation of the Proceedings would have quickly suffered had the accounts been unreliable. But for writers, what makes this a particularly exciting source is witness testimony – the most fully reported element of the trials.

A sister publication, also available on the Old Bailey site, is the “Ordinary of Newgate’s Account”, 1676-1772. The Ordinary was the chaplain of Newgate prison, charged with providing spiritual care to prisoners condemned to death. One of the questionable perks of the job was the right to publish an account of the prisoners’ last dying speeches and behaviour on the scaffold, together with stories of their lives and crimes. The online archive thus contains biographies of some 2,500 executed criminals.

The Proceedings reveal fascinating details of daily lives. For example, there was clearly a regular scam, worthy of The Real Hustle, being perpetrated in London through the eighteenth century. I discovered a series of cases where a woman comes to your house and offers to tell your fortunes. She tells you there is a great treasure buried under the house, and that if you are able to give her a little gold and silver (coins, spoons, buttons and buckles) she will be able to help you find it. Then by a variety of sleights of hands, these goods are then swapped or whisked away, and of course no treasure is found. Look at the wonderfully vivid language with which this scam is described by Elizabeth Ferrand, the wife of a cabinet maker.

She said, ‘Young woman I have been home and examined my books, and find there is a great deal of money hid in your house’; said I, ‘I do not believe there is’; said she, ‘I am no jew, nor no gypsey; I am the 7th daughter of a West India woman, and I wish the d—l may take me alive, and that God may never receive my soul into heaven, if I am not telling you the truth.’

Don’t think this is only of interest if you are writing about London. The jurisdiction of the court has always extended out into the countryside surrounding London (in the early days, rural Middlesex and then, as London grew, parts of Essex, Kent and Surrey). Thus the Proceedings reflect small communities and rural life as much as the hurly-burly of the capital.

The Proceedings can be eye-openers to attitudes of the time. One case, highlighted in the BBC Radio 4 programme ‘Voices from the Old Bailey’, was of Katharine Hays who, in 1772, conspired to murder her violent and abusive husband. Not only was no leniency shown her as a result of the abuse she had suffered, but she was convicted of ‘petty treason’. This crime, considered particularly heinous, applied to those who murdered someone held to be in authority over them, such as a servant murdering a master – or a wife murdering her husband. As a result, rather than being hanged as a common murderer, Katharine Hays was burnt at the stake.

On the other hand, the principal of feme covert, although not often applied, meant that a woman could not be convicted of a crime committed in the presence of (or along with) her husband, since it was assumed that she must be acting under his orders. This was the basis on which Martha Rogers was cleared in 1702 of receiving stolen goods.

As well as the transcripts, the Old Bailey site also contains a wealth of summary reports. For example, there are reports on black communities, gypsies and travellers, the Irish, the Chinese, Jewish and Huguenot communities and on homosexuality. These reports also give advice on the best search terms to use to find proceedings from trials involving these communities. There are reports, too, on how London changed over the period of the Proceedings, and plenty of information about crime and punishment.

The advertisements printed with the accounts can be as intriguing as the main content. Take this one for : Dr.Richard Rock's never failing TINCTURE for curing the TEETH (price, one shilling, with directions):

Which by once or twice using, cleanses the blackest or foulest Teeth, beyond Expression, by eradicating those scorbutick scurvy Humours, which are the Occasion thereof; and gives immediate Ease to those who are afflicted with the Tooth ach, and prevents the Return of that most violent Pain.

Our First Poetry Podcast

2011-07-14T12:30:00.003+01:00

Words with Jam is delighted to bring you our first poetry podcast: Tales of Unrequited Love, by Anna Hobson, performed by the author.

http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/

Anna tells us, "They are inspired by dark humanity; by the shifting seething turmoil within; by the sparks created by collisions of character. I write about love, pain and heartbreak; about blind instinct, manipulation, and the selfish guzzling of emotion."

Anna established the group Oxford Creative Writers in April 2010 as an informal setting for local unpublished authors to discuss their work. She is currently writing her first novel, and regularly performs her poetry at literary events. Recent appearances include Oxfringe and Stoke Newington Literary Festival as a member of The New Libertines group. In her capacity as Publications Coordinator for the Oxford International Women’s Festival she organises Open Mic fundraisers, as well as managing the design, content and distribution of the Festival Programme.

Tales of Unrequited Love is to
to be published in August 2011. And y
ou can read more of Anna's poetry on her website: http://makewordsnotwar.wordpress.com/

Altered: a podcast

2011-06-28T16:28:00.003+01:00

We thought Andrew Crofts might not be the only one wanting to find out more about the 'sizeable corpse' from the opening page of JW Hicks's 'Altered' (which won second prize in our First Page competition earlier this month). We were pretty curious ourselves.

So our latest podcast gives you a chance to hear the author read the whole first chapter of her dystopic novel.

http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/

And if that leaves you wanting to know more about this talented author, you can read an interview with her at http://jjmarsh.wordpress.com/2011/06/26/interview-with-jw-hicks/

(And don't forget you can still listen to the full collection of WWJ podcasts. Become a follower to be notified of new episodes as they are uploaded.)

Immune: a podcast

2011-06-08T16:48:00.002+01:00

Touching, unpredictable and with echoes of 'The Road' or 'I Am Legend', Mig Living's story, Immune, is part of "Zombie Chronicles", a collection of zombie love stories.

Mig Living is a writer living in Austria. Before that he lived in Japan. Before that the United States. He blogs at metamorphosism.com. He also enjoys playing the cello, theremin and singing saw, and composing.

The story inspired a musician to compose a piece triggered by the imagery, the atmosphere and the sounds.

Schmuckfenster: Vintage synthesizers combined with contemporary technology. Eclectic music programmed with passion and wit.
www.soundcloud.com/schmuckfenster

You can listen to the podcast at http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/, or you can find us on itunes. And don't forget all our other podcasts are still available to listen to.

The Enid Blyton Story, by Gillian E Hamer

2011-06-07T20:51:00.000+01:00

Following on from our Children's/YA theme in the June 2011 issue, a piece on Enid Blyton ...

Ask many of today’s writers who their childhood writing heroes were and I’d like to bet the majority will name Enid Blyton in their top three. Whether it was my personal favourite, The Famous Five, or The Secret Seven, Mallory Towers … or even the wonderful Noddy books … there was something in this author’s work that captivated children for generations in a way no one has been able to replicate until the recent phenomena of JK Rowling and Harry Potter.

But in the style of many authors of her day, very little is known about the vehemently private person. She was born in Beckenham, South London, on August 11th 1897, the eldest of three children, to Thomas and Theresa Blyton. Enid had a lonely and relatively unhappy childhood, as her parents separated in 1910 when she was aged only thirteen.

Enid showed creative talents from an early age. From her earliest childhood she had been schooled in the belief that she would eventually be a musician. However, she had also developed a love of poetry, and had started to send stories, articles and poems to various periodicals. Although a talented pianist, her writing successes convinced Enid to give up her budding musical career, and in 1916 she enrolled on a teacher-training course in attempt to develop her literary skills further.

She trained successfully as a governess and had several posts around the Surrey area, before opening her own infants’ school. Throughout her years in teaching she continued to achieve success with her children’s writing. When the literary commitments increased, Enid decided to devote herself entirely to writing.

Her first book, Child Whispers, a collection of verse, was published in 1922. This short, twenty four-page work was quickly followed by Real Fairies: Poems (1923), Responsive Singing Games (1923), The Enid Blyton Book of Fairies (1924), Songs of Gladness (1924) and The Zoo Book (1924). Enid produced work of publishable quality at an amazing rate. She could write 10,000 – 12,000 words a day when on a project. She later confessed that she could write a complete Noddy book in two days, and a Famous Five book in only four!

Between 1922 and 1937 her growing output of books, mainly for younger children, included stories, plays, poems, nature books, folk and classic tales retold, bible stories and school readers. Her first longer books for older children, Mr. Galliano’s Circus and The Secret Island were published in 1938.

Over the next six years almost all of her major series were begun, including Noddy and The Secret Seven. The Secret Seven series was written about a group of real life children who started their own secret seven society. One of the children’s fathers was a publishing agent who knew Enid, and asked her to write a story about their escapades. This she did with The Secrets of the Old Mill.

By the outbreak of World War II, Enid Blyton had become a household name. As such Enid’s publishers managed to bypass the war time publishing restrictions and get her work into print by ruling them in the field of juvenile literature. In 1940 eleven books were published under her own name, and two under her pseudonym name of Mary Pollack.

Along with continuing to produce novels at an alarming rate, Enid set up her own magazine named after herself in 1953. The main object of the magazine was to help young spastic children and a special centre in London. It gave regular news for sponsored clubs, and set up The Famous Five Club along the way. There must be many people, myself included, who had a ‘secret club’ during their own childhood – based on the adventures of Anne, Dick, Julian, George and Timmy the dog!

In 1949 Blyton published Little Noddy Goes to Toyland, the first tale of a little toy man who ended up in all kinds of scrapes and seeks help from his Toyland friends. Its sales more than exceeded expectations. Other Noddy books of various types and sizes followed in rapid succession. The series also produced a play, a film and many years later a popular television series. ‘Noddy’ became a household name and the subject of music hall jokes and sketches.

The 1950’s were a more difficult decade for Blyton, as her work came under constant attack by critics and librarians. Many libraries imposed sanctions on her work because of what they considered its limited vocabulary. They labelled her characters as ‘mean and class biased’, with the main target for the anti-Blyton brigade being Noddy who they called ‘the most egocentric, joyless, snivelling and pious anti-hero in the history of British fiction.’ Luckily the majority of the readership did not agree. Noddy was loved from countries as far afield as France (known as Oui Oui) to China (known as No-di or little brother). By the end of the 1950’s Blyton was one of the four most read authors in the world.

Rumours were also spread that Blyton did not write all her own work – probably due to the speed with which she produced her novels. Her furious reaction to the debate sparked a heated public debate on the extent with which children’s reading should be controlled. And she refuted the allegations of sexism and outdated attitudes, by pointing out her books overwhelming popularity despite continued boycotting of her work.

The ‘banning’ did not last long and has probably been exaggerated. In recent years Blyton’s ability to encourage children’s reading has been widely recognised. Today well over 300 Blyton titles were still in print and have been translated into over 40 languages, selling over 400 million copies to date throughout the world. In total she wrote over 700 books and 10,000 short stories all aimed for the children’s market.

Enid continued to write until the mid-1960’s but due to a mental illness, she became confused and found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her writing, and she passed away peacefully in her sleep on November 25th 1968 in a Hampstead nursing home.

The legacy that she left behind is one that has captivated children of all ages for generations. Even now more than forty years after her death more than 10 million of her books are sold every year. Psychologist Michael Woods once commented on one of the reasons for her success as ‘She was a child, she thought as a child and she wrote as a child.’

Don't Forget Your Wellies by Dan Holloway

2011-05-22T18:44:00.003+01:00

It’s festival time, season of indeterminate noodles, oxygen bars and trenchfoot. Now I’ve got nothing against such gatherings. I’ve been to my fair share (even written about one particularly muddy one). But what I’m talking about is decidedly more, er, indoors.

This coming week sees the start of Hay Festival (where mud is decidedly on the cards), which is the spiritual home of all things bookish. So what better time to talk about why it’s a really good idea for writers to make it a resolution to go to at least one event at one festival this year. Of course, the fact that I have a words and music show, The New Libertines, that will be performed at Stoke Newington Literary Festival on June 4th and Oxfringe on June 13th is by the by.

OK, before I start, in the light of the piece I’ve written alongside Cat for this month’s Words With Jam about the event NOT The Oxford Literary Festival, I should come clean. There are lots of things about literary festivals I’m not keen on. The big ones especially. The line-ups are pretty much all the same – whoever’s got a new book or a new TV series out does a talk about it, some of them even in conversation with Melvyn Bragg. They sign copies and move on to the next one. Local authors and experimental writing rarely get a look in. And they are corporate beyond belief with their impromptu Blackwell’s store and their official festival whisky.

But the fact remains that every writer should go to a big festival at least once, even if it’s just for one event. Though if you can afford it, I would recommend going for the day, because the milling around between events and soaking up the atmosphere is not only invigorating (and good for celeb-spotting) but an important part of starting to breathe the air, feeling what it’s like to be a writer (taking a cue from Rebecca’s excellent piece a few days ago). Which is reason one.

The second reason is similar – depending on your viewpoint you will get to see either what the future might hold or what might be expected of you. This is especially important if you fall into the latter camp – if you see the publicity side of things as a real drawback of wanting to be a writer. Find an author you really like. Go and listen to them speak. Analyse how you feel – excited, interested, a little nervous in a good way at seeing them in the flesh (yes, quite possibly cold and wet and wondering when you can have a hot cup of Bovril but we’ll forget that for the moment). Then store that away in your memory banks, and remind yourself that when it’s you up there, that’s exactly how your audience will be feeling – it’s the first part of seeing audiences not as something intimidating but as a really exciting friend.

Third, even if they’re going on to say the same thing ten more times in ten more places, this is still plain and simple a great chance to see one of your heroes. I run Not The Oxford Literary Festival, a counterculture gathering during the Oxford literary Festival set up directly in opposition to its overpriced facelessness. But last year I still went along to see Patti Smith read from Just Kids, got her to sign the book, got goosebumps from being that close to one of my greatest idols.

Fourth, if and when you feel less overwhelmed by the surroundings and less like oh-my-golly-I’m-only-little-me (which may be after you’ve been to a few events, after a few glasses of Official Festival Whisky, or the moment you pitch up at the car park if you’re a shameless self-publicist), festivals are great places to meet people. I don’t just mean people who might give you a contract – yes, the literary world is full of tales of writers who met their agent at a festival bar, and yes about 5% of these may be true and not just the hazy recollections of heavy duty beer goggles, but there are far more tales of agents running for cover and telling their friends never to have anything to do with that pushy little oik over there. I mean people who love what you love. And, of course, in this day and age, people you know off twitter. It’s a place for starting and cementing friendships.

Fifth and finally for now, try to go to a smaller, less well-known festival. A local one is great because you can meet the bookstore owners you may very soon be asking to stock your self-published book, you can get to be part of the local literary community, you may even get asked to speak next year. The programmes can also be more diverse. You can get to find whole new seams of literature you never knew were there, see people doing things in ways you’d never thought of. They can be truly inspirational. I’m particularly looking forward to Stoke Newington this year. After our show I’m hightailing it across Church Street to see one of my student crushes, Louise Wener from Sleeper, and the whole weekend has an Edgar Alan Poe-ish feel to it, which will make for a marvellous atmosphere.

So, dust off your metaphorical wellies, start googling and browsing programmes, and make this the summer you head to your first festival. And see you all in Stokey!

Dan Holloway is the author of Oxford based thriller The Company of Fellows, the novels Songs from the Other Side of the Wall and The Man Who Painted Agnieszka’s Shoes, and the collection (life:) razorblades included. He is happiest behind a microphone and will be appearing at festivals and fringes across the UK this summer.

Designer Labels by Rebecca Woodhead

2011-05-19T16:24:00.002+01:00

You are wearing a label, whether you know it or not, and everyone can see it. What label did you pick? Unpublished Writer? Writer-To-Be? Did you even choose your own, or did you just accept one that someone else handed out? Maybe it no longer fits, but you wear it anyway, because it’s familiar, it doesn’t make you stand out from your peers, and nobody is offended by it. It is safe. The idea of throwing aside a worn out old label and designing your own may be a little fear-inducing, but what if you gave it a go?

For a long while, ‘Author’ seemed out of my emotional price range. Even ‘writer’ stretched the wallet a bit. I wanted to give myself the aroma of that label though, the scent of future success, so I took the word that seemed furthest from my budget – ‘Author’ – and formatted it into an off-the-peg arrangement that I could wear: ‘Author-In-Waiting’.

If you cannot afford a Gucci outfit, you can still own a little of their magic. You can buy their perfume. For a long time before the reality arrives, you can smell of the dream. The same is true of writing dreams. One day, I put aside my ‘Author-In-Waiting’ ensemble and picked up the expensive designer bottle, labelled ‘Writer’. Something changed. Other people started to take me more seriously, because I started to take myself more seriously. Instead of passively waiting for success to come to me, I wore my label and made it happen.

Once you wear a label, your subconscious battles away to make the outside and inside versions of you match. That happens whether or not the label is positive. If you continually label yourself as something ‘in waiting’, you are always waiting. If your label is ‘unpublished’, guess what? You will stay that way. The scary thing about choosing your own label is that it is a public declaration of intent. Once you have done it, you can never go back.

Oscar Wilde said: ‘I find it harder and harder every day to live up to my blue china.’ Wilde’s blue china was an outward symbol of the Aesthetic Movement. For you, the symbol of being a published author might be a physical book. Label yourself, and grab a symbol of that. Call yourself an author, then get your book printed – even if you print only one copy. Put it in a place where you cannot avoid looking at it. Make it your blue china, and work every day to live up to it.

Rebecca Woodhead

Labels are a major theme in my debut novel, Palaces & Calluses, which is available for Kindle, iPad, iPhone, Sony Reader, Nook, Kindle for PC, and in PDF format. PalacesAndCalluses.com

Rebecca Woodhead is an author from the Cotswolds. Her debut novel, Palaces & Calluses, is available from PalacesAndCalluses.com in a variety of formats. She writes for Writing Magazine and Groupon, has appeared in books about Twitter in both the USA and UK, and is one of the 'Top 100 Most Powerful Women on Twitter' in the world, according to Twitter Grader. Her blog is RebeccaWoodhead.com

Apologies

2011-05-12T12:59:00.000+01:00

Just a quick post to apologise to anyone who has submitted a short story or article proposal recently. Lots of people seem quite keen for inclusion recently (I wonder why?), but it means we're fairly behind with reading and replying. We promise to get back to you all shortly.

Thanks,
Jane

African Adventures

2011-05-11T14:47:00.003+01:00

A long time ago, I promised that if I heard that any of the books I released into the wild with Bookcrossing had an exciting adventure, then I would let you know.

Well, it appears that the very first book I ever released did go on quite a journey.

Back in February 2010, I left a copy of Ian McEwan’s Atonement in Café Africa. Café Africa is a really cool coffee shop in Amersham that was set up as a not-for-profit venture supporting charities locally and in Africa, so it seemed like exactly the sort of place to send my first book on its way. But it was only quite recently that I found out just how right I was.

The book was picked up by Katie, who works at Café Africa when she is home from university. As it happened, Katie was spending April-September 2010 in Tanzania, working as a teacher in central Dodoma and helping with a child sponsorship program, trying to reach out to the poorest families in the village and helping to fund their children into full time education. And she decided to take my book with her.

Part way through her stay, having read the book, she was having a bit of R&R in Dar es Salaam when she met a German woman who was travelling on to Zanzibar the next day and wanted a book to read on the beach. So now we know the book went from Amersham to Dar es Salaam to Zanzibar.

Unfortunately, the woman who took the book to Zanzibar never journalled it, so we have no idea what happened to it next. But Atonement certainly had a good start on its travels!

What’s more, Katie is travelling back to Tanzania this summer and has promised to take another book with her. So watch this space.

Aubergine - a podcast

2011-05-10T13:20:00.005+01:00

At the beginning of April, I visited the 'Not the Oxford Literary Festival'. You can read all about it in the June edition of Words with Jam. But I went not least because I was hoping to persuade the very talented performance poets and story tellers there to do some podcasts for us.

Well, here is the first of those. Helen Smith is the author of Alison Wonderland, Being Light and The Miracle Inspector. In this podcast, she tells her very funny story, 'Aubergine', in which something very strange is happening to Claire. Could it be connected to her age? Or the face she's a woman? Or is she experiencing more than a general feeling of malaise.

Helen's blog can be found at http://helensmithblog.blogspot.com/

You can listen to the podcast at http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/, or you can find us on itunes. And don't forget all our other podcasts are still available to listen to.

How to Make the Most of Online Writing Forums

2011-05-07T11:07:00.001+01:00

by Nick Daws

I'm a great believer in writing forums. That's why I started my own.

Well, sort of. I run the forum myWritersCircle in partnership with my publishers, The WCCL Network (who actually own it). I'm also a regular visitor to several other writing forums, including those at Absolute Write and WriteLink.

In my experience, people are sometimes put off forums - also known as message boards - by the belief that they are too technical, unfriendly, or even elitist. And to be fair, some forums are not places for the faint-hearted, with certain individuals waiting to leap down the throat of any newcomer who strays outside the forum's myriad rules.

MyWritersCircle isn't like that, I hope (and believe). We have built up a reputation as the web's friendliest writing forum, reflected in the fact that we now have a total world-wide membership of over 34,000. We have guidelines, of course, to help everything run smoothly, but we aim to keep rules to a minimum and apply them with sensitivity. I must also pay tribute to my team of volunteer moderators, who do a great job of keeping things upbeat and constructive when - as occasionally happens on any forum - negativity threatens to erupt.

There are many good reasons for joining a writing forum. Here are just a few of the potential benefits you can expect to enjoy...

get feedback on your writing
ask (and answer) questions about writing
request help with your research
find collaborators or interviewees
discover new writers' markets
recruit beta readers for your book or novel
publicize yourself and your books (within whatever limits are prescribed by the forum)
in many cases (including MWC) enter writing challenges and contests, some with prizes
or just shoot the breeze with your fellow authors

For all these reasons, forums can be of great value to writers - and most (including MWC) are free to join. In my experience, however, many people don't use them to their full potential. So here are my top ten tips for writers who are new to writing forums, to help you get the most from them...

1. Spend a little while getting to know the forum before you start posting. Read a range of posts to gauge the level and see if you would feel comfortable there or not.

2. Read, especially, any etiquette guidelines that are provided - those for myWritersCircle can be viewed here. This will help you avoid inadvertently getting off on the wrong foot.

3. Most forums have a board for new members to introduce themselves, and this should be where you make your first post. On myWritersCircle we call it the Welcome Board. Introduce yourself here, and tell other members a bit about your writing interests and experiences.

4. Getting feedback on your writing can be one of the main benefits of joining a forum. Before you post any of your own work, however, it's a good idea to read and comment on a few contributions from other members. Not only is this a simple courtesy, it will help you think about how best to present your own work when the time comes.

5. Don't be too thin-skinned. Some forum members can be quite forthright in their criticisms (although personal abuse should not be expected or tolerated). Remember that, while praise is always nice, it is only through criticism of our work that we learn to improve.

6. Be careful about advertising. Forum members (and owners) can get very touchy about this. New members who join solely to pimp their wares are likely to get short shrift from other members. On myWritersCircle we allow members to advertise writing-related products and services in their signature text (a small message that appears below any message they post) and once only on the forum itself. Posts promoting non-writing-related items are likely to be viewed as spam and summarily deleted.

7. Be nice to the moderators. On most forums (including myWritersCircle) moderators are regular members who have volunteered in a public-spirited way to help keep things running smoothly. They have certain extra powers, e.g. the ability to delete or edit any post. If you need help or advice, the mods will be happy to provide it. Equally, if any members are causing disruption on the forum, they will take action to warn or, if necessary, ban them.

8. Remember that forums rely on give and take. If you want feedback on your writing, you will be more likely to get it if you also take the time to read and comment on other people's (see also item 4, above).

9. Forums aren't just for getting feedback, though. If you have a writing-related question, they can be great places for getting them answered by other members. Questions can cover anything from the use of grammar and punctuation to the effects of different poisons!

10. And finally, if you're looking for writing-related jobs and opportunities, most forums also have a section for this. On myWritersCircle we have a Writers Wanted board. Writers Wanted can also be used if you are looking for a collaborator or someone to interview for an article.

I hope you find the above tips helpful. And if you're now ready to give an online writing forum a try, I'd be delighted to welcome you to myWritersCircle any time soon!

Byline: Nick Daws is a professional freelance writer, editor and writing teacher. Apart from running the myWritersCircle forum, he is the author of over 100 non-fiction books, as well as numerous published articles, short stories, distance learning courses, and so on. His new electronic guide to writing for the Amazon Kindle, titled Kindle Kash, will be published later this month. Check out his blog at www.mywritingblog.com and his homepage at www.nickdaws.co.uk for more information!

Launching 22 Britannia Road

2011-05-06T13:24:00.003+01:00

On a mezzanine floor above the café at Dance East in Ipswich, in a space that is more used to hosting a small reading group, it’s standing room only. Perched on a bar stool in order to be seen over the heads of the crowd, is Amanda Hodgkinson, there to promote her first novel: 22 Britannia Road.

With her shoulder length blonde hair and yellow cardigan, Amanda looks elegant as a flower. And she answers questions in a calm, warm voice as if she has been doing this all her life. No one in the audience would guess that this is her first major promotional event for her book. But then this is her home crowd. Amanda, though she now lives in France, grew up in these parts.

The very first question brings a revelation: the Britannia Road of her imagination is not the same Britannia Road of Ipswich’s geographic reality. “I always knew I would set my first book here. But moving away from East Anglia turned it into the country of my imagination. That was very freeing. I wasn’t looking over my shoulder all the time thinking, ‘but it’s not really like that.’”

She talks about how she had imagined her move to France. “I would be sitting on the terrace, sipping wine as the words flowed.” The reality was very different. “The house we bought had no floor, no kitchen. It had running water, but not always where you wanted it to run.” Instead of sipping wine on the terrace she was learning to lay floors and fit kitchens.

But she did spend a final, intense year working on 22 Britannia Road. “The last couple of two weeks, I was writing until I just had to lie down and sleep. Then I’d wake up again and write through the night.”

The result is a wonderful, lyrical novel that explores what is means for a small family to have been separated by a war, to have undergone terrible experiences and have secrets from one another – and then to have to pick up the threads of their lives again after the war. The main characters are, like many others in East Anglia, Polish. The father fought with the Polish arm of the RAF; the wife and son are refugees, traced to Red Cross camp after the War.

Amanda reads us two passages: one from the opening of the book, where Sylvana and her son Aurek board the boat that will take them to England, and one where an increasingly frustrated Janusz insists on taking their troubled, almost feral son to the doctor. She reads beautifully, expressively, in a way that is sure to charm audiences.

After the reading, the audience is free to ask questions. She is asked about the research she did, and whether she feels a responsibility to the Polish community for telling their story. She immersed herself in a lot of reading , she tells us. But then she put that aside and let her imagination take hold. “I’m not a man, nor a boy child. And I’m not Polish. But a writer has to be free to imagine these things. That’s our job.”

Has she had any feedback from the Polish community? Not really. Not yet. But then someone from the audience pipes up. A mother and daughter. The mother is Polish. Like Sylvana, she survived the War in extreme poverty. Like Sylvana, she came to Ipswich after the War and settled. They haven’t read the book yet, but from what Amanda has said tonight, yes, that is what it was like. Amanda beams with pleasure and tells them she hopes they will enjoy the book.

Unusually for a first novel, 22 Britannia Road has already been sold around the world. It is being translated into French, German, Romanian... the list goes on. It is already published in both Australia and North America. And Amanda is about to leave on a tour of Indy bookshops in the US. If tonight’s performance is anything to go by, she is going to knock 'em dead.

Think You're Funny? Want Some Money?

2011-05-02T19:17:00.001+01:00

The time has come to announce Words With JAM's latest ridiculously generous competition. This time we want you to bring joy to the world, a smile to the lips of men and women everywhere and, most importantly, make us snort coffee from our nostrils.

Yep, this one's all about giggles, grins, chortles and sniggers.

One scene, any format - as many spontaneous laughs as you can create.

It's about time you funny buggers got a look in, we reckon.

Click here for all the juicy details:

http://www.wordswithjam.co.uk/#/main-competition/4550153175

Is that a Kindle in your pocket? by Susanne O'Leary

2011-04-30T19:19:00.002+01:00

I grew up in a house full of books. Reading to me was as important as eating. Whenever I found myself in the city centre, I would, after having satisfied my clothes shopping addiction, always look for the nearest bookshop, where I would be happy to spend an hour or more browsing, touching books, reading blurbs, admiring covers, flicking through the pages. It was a physical, visual pleasure as much as an intellectual one. Buying a book was the culmination of my book shopping pleasure and opening a new book was like embarking on a new and exciting journey. I thought it would always be like this.

The advent of the electronic reading devices was something I scoffed at. It would never affect me. As both a writer and an avid reader, I felt that an e-book device was somehow debasing the sacred art of writing and reading. Like reading comics rather than books. Cheap, nasty, common. The fast food of reading. The instant coffee of literature. Or something like that. I turned my nose up at it, thinking I would never stoop so low. How wrong I was!

I saw an e-book reader on display at the airport about three years ago. It was a Sony and I glanced at it without much thought but finding the print of the ‘pages’ quite alluring and the way they turned electronically intriguing. But I quickly turned away and walked past it into the bookshop. It was on my mind though. For a while.

Two years later, I was slowly coming to terms with the huge change in the publishing industry. Getting published was becoming a bit like trying to squeeze a lemon through a keyhole; interesting, time consuming but nearly impossible. My lemons were too big for the keyhole in any case. Someone suggested e-book publishing. I said no and then went home and thought. For a while. A long time. A month. Looked up a few writer’s sites on the Internet. Saw what other writers were doing. Heard about Smashwords. Looked them up. Thought; ‘hmm… okay…’

Then I did it. I e-published one of my books. First on Smashwords, then on Amazon Kindle. I felt that I was indulging in some kind of guilty pleasure, like sneak eating cold pizza in the dark. Didn’t tell anyone, thinking this would never take off and how many people have these awful devices anyway? Wrong again. As I was blindly surfing on the web, trying to ‘market’ my book, having no clue how to go about it, I stumbled into one of the Amazon.com forums and suddenly found myself among tens of thousands of Kindle owners. It was like opening a window in a quiet room and suddenly finding a huge crowd outside, cheering and shouting (and even throwing rotten eggs sometimes). The sales started to trickle in and I published more books, abandoning the moral high ground and mingling with the crowd, finally accepting, embracing and becoming part of the e-book revolution.

As a writer, I was happy. My books sold well and received mainly good reviews. But as a reader, I was still in real-book mode. I would always love books and would never either call them DTB’s (Dead Tree Books) or stoop so low as to read anything on a… Kindle. Oops, wrong again!

I had to buy one, I was told. I had to see how my books looked in an e-reader. It was a good tool for proofreading, a fellow writer told me. An expensive tool, I thought, but okay, I probably should. My Kindle arrived about two months ago. I loaded it up, bought a book just to ‘see’. The rest is history. The Kindle is a wonderful reading device. The text on the screen is soft and restful to the eye, the Kindle itself is light and easy to fit into a handbag, I can load it up with literally hundreds of books and bring them with me on holiday without adding to the weight of my luggage. I can read in bed without disturbing a sleeping spouse, courtesy of the light in the cover. And I can read all the wonderful, reasonably priced indie books that are now available. I have to finally admit it; the e-book reader is a magic device for bookworms like me.

My name is Susanne and I’m a Kind-aholic. (I still love books, though)

http://www.susanne-oleary.com

Need an agent? We've got TWO!

2011-04-27T20:23:00.001+01:00

Words with JAM - An Agent's Eye View

Hear it from the horse's mouth.

Every issue, the best agents in the business will give us the view from the other side. Not only do you get insights, tips and expert advice, but YOUR questions will be answered personally.

We spoil you, we really do.

Andrew Lownie, founder of the Andrew Lownie Literary Agency, joins Words with JAM to give writers the inside track. Author, journalist and celebrated agent specialising in non-fiction, Andrew understands the problems facing writers in the current shifting climate.

As well as advice on what to do, what definitely not to do and how the market looks from his standpoint, Andrew will answer WwJ readers directly. For lots more perceptive analysis and experienced opinion, read his website: http://www.andrewlownie.co.uk/articles

And especially for our June YA/Children’s literature issue, Julia Churchill of Greenhouse Literary Agency, will give us her perspective on writing for young people. Julia founded her reputation as a talent-spotter and deal-maker at the Darley Anderson Agency, developing their prestigious children’s books list.

Since joining Greenhouse in 2009, Julia’s ceaseless enthusiasm for the treasure hunt of the submissions pile is undiminished and she can often be found in the cafes of West London, working through a pile of manuscripts. She regularly attends British writers’ events and is on the lookout for both new and established authors with storytelling magic. Check out the Greenhouse site for some excellent top tips and wise words in the FAQ section: http://www.greenhouseliterary.com/index.php/site/about

If you have an agent question, send it to jill@wordswithjam.co.uk

The Large Middle, by Dan Holloway

2011-04-22T18:59:00.001+01:00

Publishing has been democratised by the web; Amanda Hocking and John Locke have shown that the indie author can not only go it alone and find the market that had been closed to them under the old, legacy publishing model, they can get a publisher that way too.

OK, so you’ve probably figured that has more to do with the old jargon-busting favourite, BS bingo (see John Scalzi’s hilarious version thereof http://whatever.scalzi.com/2011/03/20/the-electronic-publishing-bingo-card/) than it does with a serious article on publishing, but this kind of muddle-headedness is peddled out so often that we really do need, as writers, to be reminded as often as possible exactly what *has* changed. And what hasn’t.

Back in 2009 I wrote an article making the case that the digital revolution changed absolutely nothing about the literary canon (http://yearzerowriters.wordpress.com/2009/10/25/the-schlock-of-the-new/). It was simply a new way of delivering the same content. I believe I also said nothing new had happened in culture since Duchamp lifted a urinal from the local bogs and bunged it in a gallery. That’s still true. Though I’m open to being told Duchamp was a bit derivative after all.

Why does that matter? We’re not trying to do something new and trailblazing. We’re just trying to make a living – or a portion thereof – doing what we love, right? Maybe. But some of us are also in this culture game to make a mark, to push a boundary, to end up being talked about in 100 years’ time (though I’ve written many times recently I think if and when something new happens it will be thanks to someone totally untrained). The point is, to listen to people you’d think that anyone with broadband was part of a revolution. A revolution of content.

And the one thing I want to get across in this piece is that the former of those statements is true, but the latter isn’t.

Many of the people I most admire were among the first to test the water with ebooks, and among the first to find testing that water could make a sizeable splash (see, with metaphorical talents like that why don’t I have Amanda’s sales figures?). One of my heroes is Ali Cooper, author of The Girl on the Swing (http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Girl-on-the-Swing/dp/B003IX0HBS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=A3TVV12T0I6NSM&qid=1303240483&sr=1-1) and the just-released Cave (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Cave/dp/B004VSYRUG/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&m=A3TVV12T0I6NSM&qid=1303240483&sr=1-2). She’s an incredibly talented writer, but she has also worked both hard and smart to show that there is a genuine place in the new landscape for those who write fantastic literary fiction. In 2010 she was a trail-blazer and her success has carried on into 2011.

But Ali’s success, and that of the likes of Marion Stein and other literary Kindle pioneers, has been somewhat overtaken in news and sales terms by the likes of Amanda Hocking, Stephen Leather, and John Locke.

But I don’t think Ali is going to fade without trace. I think her story gives us the following key points.

1. There are two reasons why literary midlisters were Kindle pioneers – they have a natural inclination to the new, and they of all groups they had the strongest disaffection with the old industry. So they were the first to head for the new frontier.

2. Readers are still readers, so what is being read remains the same. Genre fiction will always have the biggest readership so long as we have the same readers. Maybe when reading migrates to phones the demographic will change. E-readers haven’t done that. So why would we expect the charts, genre-wise, to look different.

3. E-books mean that the kind of books that paperback publishers just don’t have the money to take on, market and make viable have a home once again, and can make the kind of very respectable living that midlist print authors once made.

4. In other words, what *is* revolutionary is not the content that e-books deliver, but there is a quiet revolution in that delivery. And the gainers have not, as early adopters once claimed, been the long tail so much as the large middle.

So, if you write genre fiction, wayhay! If you write great literary midlist fiction, the streets of Kindle aren’t paved with the gold you once heard about. But they might be coated with enough coppers to make you, in time, a decent at-least-partial living.

Dan Holloway writes in many genres. He is the author of the acclaimed midlist novel Songs from the Other Side of the Wall (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Songs-Other-Side-Wall/dp/B003LN1UBG); the Oxford-based thriller The Company of Fellows (http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Company-of-Fellows/dp/B004PLMHYC) which has spent 5 weeks in the Amazon top 100 thrillers chart; the postmodern novel The Man Who Painted Agnieszka’s Shoes (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Man-Who-Painted-Agnieszkas-Shoes/dp/B004QGYH6M), all royalties from which are being donated to the Tsunami Relief Fund; and the collection of transgressive poetry and prose from his prize-winning live shows (life:) razorblades included (http://www.amazon.co.uk/life-razorblades-included/dp/B003QTDLBW). This summer he will be touring festivals and fringes with the spoken word show The New Libertines (http://eightcuts.com).

Booked Up: Author Q&A with Danny Gillan

2011-04-15T16:48:00.000+01:00

Booked Up: Author Q&A with Danny Gillan: "After a bit of a break I'm happy to bring you a new Friday Author interview. Paraphrasing Danny, as a youth his main ambition was to fi..."

JK Rowling. That Get Your Attention?

2011-03-31T20:50:00.002+01:00

Don't ask how we did it. We practitioners of the Dark Arts are forbidden to reveal the secret methods by which we achieve our Machiavellian goals. It's similar to The Magic Circle except we will actually be killed horribly if we betray our hidden truths, as opposed to having our membership badge removed and having to pay for parking.

But yes we, we small, humble few, have achieved the hitherto impossible. We've convinced the most successful author on the planet to talk about her feet.

Our PLANET WIDE EXCLUSIVE interview with Jo Rowling (yes, we get to call her that) will feature in the June 2011 issue of Words With JAM. This issue will actually be out in June 2011, funnily enough. Unlike most other magazines, we are what we say on the tin.

Words With JAM
Making other magazines feel inadequate since 2009.

Legal protection for Public Libraries is Under Threat

2011-03-15T16:22:00.001Z

Crucial legal requirements that require local authorities to provide a comprehensive and efficient public library service have been put under review

The Department of Communities and Local Government (DCLG) has launched a review of the statutory duties placed on local government. The DCLG are “inviting you to comment on the duties and challenge government on those which you feel are burdensome or no longer needed.”

The DCLG have identified 1,294 statutory duties that central government places on local authorities, three of these duties apply to public library services in England. All three of these duties are held by the Department of Culture, Media and Sport under the Public Libraries & Museums Act (1964).

“We are calling on everyone who cares about public libraries to explain to the Department of Communities and Local Government, loud and clear, why these statutory duties are so vital,” said Brian Hall, CILIP President, “These duties mean that local authorities have a legal obligation to provide comprehensive and efficient library services, and they allow the Secretary of state to monitor and inspect library services. Without them, it will be incredibly difficult to hold local authorities to account and local people will be much less likely to receive a quality public library service that is consistent across the country. I urge you to submit your views by the 25 April 2011.”

Shared from http://www.cilip.org.uk/news-media/Pages/news110314.aspx

World Book Night podcast

2011-03-04T10:41:00.004Z

We at Words with Jam wanted to get involved with all the fun of the BBC’s World Book Night. The April edition of the magazine will include articles from a book ‘giver’, from an author attending an event at her local bookshop, and from our reporter at the World Book Night party in Trafalgar Square. But for now, here is our World Book Night podcast – a selection of our readers and contributors championing their choice of books from the World Book Night List.

The podcast can now also be accessed via iTunes. Just go to http://itunes.apple.com/gb/podcast/words-with-jam/id423101927 or search for ‘Words with Jam podcast’. And if you feel like giving us a review or a star rating while you're there, that's even better! (iTunes updates once a day, so the latest episodes may not show immediately.)

If you have not been selected as one of the BBC’s World Book Night ‘givers’ why not join in Nicola Morgan’s alternative World Book Night. This weekend, buy a book from your local bookshop. Write inside it: "Given in the spirit of World Book Night, March 5th 2011 and bought from [insert name of shop] - please enjoy and tell people about it." And give it to someone. Anyone. A friend or stranger, a library or school or doctor's surgery or anything.

Cyber Friends and Threatened Libraries

2011-03-03T20:29:00.006Z

Following on from Catriona Troth's article 'In Praise of Virtual Friends', we wondered it you have any tales about cyber-friendship you’d like to share? Do write and tell us. The best entries (500 words or less) submitted by March 14^th will be published in the April edition of Words with Jam.

Just email submissions@wordswithjam.co.uk by 14th of March, with the subject 'Tales of Cyber Friendship'.

We are also interested in any local news about the campaign to Save Our Libraries. If you have a story to tell about your fight to keep your library, please email submissions@wordswithjam.co.uk, with the subject 'Save Our Libraries'.

Blood, Fangs and Health Kicks

2011-02-25T16:46:00.002Z

Even Vampires, it seems, are not immune to the human obsession with the latest health fad...

Please listen to our latest WWJ podcast: 'Another Interview with a Vampire' by JW Hicks, read by the author.

http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/

Don't forget to let us know what you think - and what you would like to hear in any future podcasts. And if you have a great idea for a podcast episode you'd like to have a go at yourself, we want to hear about that too. Just write to editor@wordswithjam.co.uk

Second Words with Jam Podcast

2011-02-11T15:33:00.004Z

You have barely had time to finish reading the last edition of Words with Jam, and here we are bringing you more! Yes, our second podcast is here. We hope you will enjoy listening to Jill Marsh reading Jo Reed's wonderful story, 'Mr Muyila's Bull', first published in Mslexia in Spring 2009.

When Alele's father decides to marry her off to Mr Muyila in exchange for a bull, her mother has other ideas...

Click here to download, listen or subscribe.

http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/

Print version coming soon ...

2011-02-07T19:25:00.000Z

Lots of people have asked us for a printed version of the magazine. And we said, why not? So from the June 2011 issue, you can have your cake with jam and cream. The online version will remain FREE, but you can also have a paper copy, available worldwide.

We're not sure how much it will cost (depends on the number of subscribers) but it'll be around £5. Which works out at £30 per year - cheaper than a night down the pub.

Would you be interested?

If so, to help us cost the print version effectively, please register your interest at www.wordswithjam.co.uk/printversion. Subscription details will follow soon.

Please like us, we're feeling a bit insecure.

2011-02-02T20:17:00.000Z

If you want to keep up with goings on at WWJ Towers, or just feel like insulting us in public, please do head over to Facebook and hit that 'like' button. It'll make us feel better about ourselves.
We really are that pathetic, yes.

Go on, you know you want to. Below be the link:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Words-With-Jam/161751903604

Words With Jam Launches Its Own Podcast

2011-02-01T16:17:00.002Z

We are very pleased to announce that, along with the February edition of Words with Jam, we are bringing you our very first podcast.

Clicking on http://wordswithjam.podomatic.com/ will allow you to listen to Catriona Troth reading from her article, ‘In Praise of Virtual Friends’. You can also download the episode, or subscribe to the podcast in order to be notified when new episodes are uploaded.

In the coming weeks we hope to be bringing you an exciting mixture of stories, articles and interviews – some from editions of WWJ and some that are recorded specially for our podcast subscribers. So you now will be able to enjoy Words with Jam on your bike, in the car, in the gym...

If you would like to comment on this first podcast, or suggest ideas for future episodes, please contact editor@wordswithjam.co.uk.

Upcoming Events with our 60 Seconder Emma Donoghue ...

2011-01-29T16:39:00.000Z

Some events coming up in England to celebrate the paperback release of ROOM... not London but the much-neglected regions this time.

Woodstock Bookshop, 8 February, 7pm
Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library, 9 February, 6.30pm
Bury Library (near Manchester), 10 February, 1.30pm
Doncaster Central Library, 10 February, 5pm
A talk about the research for my next novel at the Sallis Benney Theatre, University of Brighton, 11 February 2011, 6.15pm
Warwick Library, 15 February, 7pm
Tonbridge Library, 17 February, 7pm

Hope to meet some of you in the flesh.

All the best
Emma

www.emmadonoghue.com

February 2011 Issue - OUT NOW!

2011-01-29T12:22:00.000Z

It’s that time again. Winter’s been tough, what with all the snow and the cuts and Christmas etc, but we’re here to bring some much needed artificial, energy-saving sunshine into your lives with our February issue of Words With JAM.

Cover star Guy Saville talks about his upcoming release The Afrika Reich, in which he twists history a little to make it even more gripping than it actually was; we have a (slightly delayed) look back at last year’s Wigtown Book Festival, and delve into the world of virtual friendships with Catriona Troth.

We’re delighted, yet a little bit scared, to welcome two new contributors this month, in the shape of Andrew Ramsay and his take on the world of comic geekdom, and Matt Shaw, cartoonist extraordinaire.

We have our usual round up of reviews, comment and idiocy as well as new feature The Rumour Mill, where we’ll be busting myths, some of which may even be vaguely writing related. And of course, there’s the small matter of our Comp Corner Last Lines competition. Let’s just say we were ever so slightly overwhelmed by the increase in entries for this one compared to previous Comp Corners. Wonder if that had anything to do with the brilliant prize on offer courtesy of Ruth Saberton? The ten top entries as well as the overall winner are announced within!

So pull up a chair, stick your feet on the pouffe and light your pipe. Words With JAM – it’s free and it’s here to stay. Get used to it.

The Truth About Footfall?

2011-01-19T19:46:00.004Z

I keep hearing this, repeated like a mantra. Footfall numbers in libraries have fallen. We can’t expect to keep libraries open when the evidence shows that footfall is down…

It’s made me think about how I use libraries and the way that has changed in the last few years.

If I want to read a particular book, I might once have gone into the library, looked for it, and if I didn't find it, I'd probably have gone away and thought about whether I could be bothered to put in a reservation for it. If the answer was yes, I’d go back in and reserve it, and then I’d finally go to collect it. Now I search for the books I want and reserve them on line, and only go into the library when the books are ready for me. One visit in place of two or even three.

When I want to renew a book, I do it on line.

If I want to refer to a newspaper from the past, I no longer drive to the main county library to use their microfiche. I log into the library website and use my library card number to access Gales Virtual Reference Library.

I’m not using my library any less than I did – in fact I’m potentially using it rather more, because those facilities are at my fingertips. But I bet my personal contribution to the footfall is down quite a bit.

It seems to me that libraries and librarians are being judged by something that is out of step with the real world. No one is counting the use people make of web, email or phone based services: services which libraries want to and must provide in order to keep up with the modern age. So local branch libraries are finding that the more they promote these out-of-library services, poorer their performance appears on paper to be.

And now they are being punished for it.

Who Do We Want Running Our Libraries?

2011-01-18T16:18:00.007Z

The Reality of Running a Community Library

With libraries all over the country threatened with closure, and councils promoting the idea of volunteer-run community libraries as the best alternative, what does running a community library really mean?

Last week, I talked to Jim Brooks, Chairman of the Friends of Little Chalfont Community Library, in Buckinghamshire.

Four years ago, Buckinghamshire County Council closed eight of its libraries. Two of these, including Little Chalfont, have kept going as volunteer-run community libraries, offering a comprehensive library service. Last November, a further 14 were told that they must become community libraries or face closure, leaving only 9 council-run libraries in the county.

Now LCCL is being held up around the country as the model of the future of our libraries, which places Brooks at the eye of the storm. Librarians from all over the country are beating a path to his door, wanting to know how this small community managed to save their library.

And there is no doubt that their achievement is very impressive. They took a small village library that was under threat of closure and turned it into a vibrant community service, providing everything that the public library previously did, and more.

But be under no illusion. This was not simply a matter of a few volunteers taking over the jobs previously done by professional library staff. The original terms from Bucks County Council were that the library had to be provided at NO COST to the Council. The community had to raise enough money to pay for the rent of the existing building, charges for IT equipment, supplies such as bar codes, and a management fee to the Council. They also had to choose whether to pay the council an annual fee (£7k to rent existing stock, or to create their own stock from scratch through donations. (They chose the latter path.)

In all, their running costs amount to some £20k pa – money which is raised from a mixture of public donations, grants, library revenues (i.e. fines), and letting out the building to other community groups.

The volunteer staff, between them, have to provide not only basic librarian skills but Financial Management, Health and Safety, Staff Management, Stock Procurement, Building Maintenance, Data Protection, and a host of other managerial functions.

Bucks has learnt something from these pioneering Community Libraries. The new terms being offered are somewhat more favourable and the council is promising a more cooperative approach. But some other councils, keen to rush through the concept, appear to be ignoring these lessons. Like Bucks four years ago, they expect Community Libraries to be able to go it alone, ignoring the fact that these two communities happened to have what were probably the ideal conditions for this experiment to succeed.

Both Little Chalfont and Bucks’ other community library in Chalfont St Giles are in highly prosperous areas at the edge of the London commuter belt. The surrounding communities are both willing and comparatively able to raise the cash for a service it wishes to maintain. What’s more, there is a large pool of people (retired, at home with children etc) who have the professional, managerial and business experience to carry out all the functions necessary to run a library. The same thing simply could not work on, say, a sink estate where many of the residents are second generation unemployed, or a scattered farming community where a majority are working 18 hours a day just to survive.

Yet in Somerset and Gloucestershire, for example, the areas targeted for community libraries are among the poorest and most rural in the country.

Jim Brooks is angry that Councils are holding LCCL up as the blueprint to be used, willy nilly, elsewhere. He strongly believes that a check list of key criteria must be met in order for a community library such as theirs to be viable.

“Where communities meet these criteria, we are happy to give them all the help we can. But where they don’t, councils must understand, it’s a non-starter.”

Libraries as Social Enterprise

Another model for a community library is that being proposed in Lewisham – a very different environment to Little Chalfont. There, businessman Darren Taylor has put in a bid to take over up to four libraries the council intends to close. He spoke to me on the phone from the offices of his business, Eco Computer Systems.

Several years ago, Taylor left an IT job in the city to set up a not-for-profit social enterprise dedicated to computer recycling and the provision of IT training for those without computer access. When the company moved into the Pepys Resource Centre in Deptford and Taylor discovered that the building was a former library, he decided to restore its former function. Starting with a stock of one thousand books donated by Lewisham council, and another fifteen hundred donated by the local community, he set up a small library and computer resource centre.

Taylor’s aunt was a librarian in Lewisham. He’s dyslexic and taught himself to read in libraries. He is clearly passionate about providing universal access to books, ebooks and IT – particularly to those with learning difficulties. The Pepys Resource Centre provides specialised hardware and software for the disabled and those with learning difficulties, something he hopes to replicate in other libraries.

He plans to set up a charity, Ecolibraries, to run four much larger libraries. Lewisham council currently opens these libraries three and a half days a week. He intends to keep them open them six days a week. As at the Resource Centre, he hopes to work with other groups to provide a café, IT training, after-school coaching in Maths and English and other services. The libraries would be fully linked to Lewisham Council Library Systems and the Council would provide some services free of charge, including installing self-service tills and employing a full-time community liaison librarian whose job it is to support to the community libraries.

Taylor’s ‘multi-function’ approach means that he can obtain financial support from a variety of different sources. The provision of IT training attracts grants from the local Housing Association, and by turning the libraries into Heritage Centres for the local community, he hopes to get Lottery funding that will help to pay for the restoration of the library buildings.

But not every community has a social benefactor like Darren Taylor.

On one point both Darren Taylor and Jim Brooks are clear: they are not doing this because they think they are better placed to run libraries than the Councils. Faced with losing the libraries in their local communities, they found themselves in a position to bring together the skills and resources to rescue the service, and they acted. But neither believes they have found a panacea.

Read the full article in the next edition of Words with Jam

Jim Brooks is due to be interviewed for BBC Breakfast on 19^th January.

Return to Syrupville

2011-01-09T16:33:00.000Z

As has now become a tradition, nay institution, the boss and I made a triumphant, wine-fuelled return to the Wigtown Book Festival late last year.

For those who haven’t been paying attention, Wigtown is a wee place in Dumfries and Galloway that has the distinction of being officially hailed as Scotland’s Book Town, thanks to the ridiculously high proportion of book shops there. And they’re all second hand book shops, at that. Heaven.

In 2009 we were there as book fans but this time was different - this time we were journalists. The difference? We got some free tickets for stuff (thank you, Adrian) and so were able to attend a few more events than our negligible funds allowed last year. To be honest we were kind of hoping for backstage passes to behind the scenes parties with the drugs and the strippers etc, but it turns out book festivals aren’t quite the same as Jedward gigs, or at least they didn’t invite us if they are. No matter, maybe they’re waiting for us to prove ourselves and we’ll get to venture further behind the veil next time.

The festival began in 1998 and has steadily built itself into one of the premier literary events in the country, attracting big names from all corners of the writing world. This year was no exception, and numbered among those writers we didn’t see were Ian Rankin, Michael Foley, Margo McDonald, Val McDermid, James Robertson, Alasdair Gray, Alex Bellos, Fiona Watson, Matt Haig, Kathryn Schultz and Martin Berners Lee, to name but a, eh, eleven. I’m sure they were all superb and their books wonderful but I didn’t see them and haven’t read them so can’t really comment (got a few on the pile, mind). Those writers we did see, however, were uniformly excellent, and we'll be giving you a full insight in the forthcoming February issue of Words with JAM.

eBooks - love 'em or loathe 'em

2011-01-05T12:07:00.003Z

In the last issue of Words with Jam, Catriona Troth told us her views on ebooks and the Kindle. In this edition, we are inviting you to do the same.

Have you had a Kindle for Christmas? Did you fall in love with ebooks, or do you loathe the very idea of them? Are they the greatest breakthrough in publishing since the Gutenberg press, or the greatest threat since the Inquisition?

Tell us what you think, in 500 words or less. The best entries - the funniest, the most outrageous or the most articulate - received before the 14th January will be published in the February edition of Words with Jam.

Email submissions@wordswithjam.co.uk by 14th January, with the subject 'eBooks - love 'em or loathe 'em'

20% OFF Scrivener for Words with JAM Subscribers

2010-12-14T09:48:00.000Z

Scrivener is an award-winning word processor and project management tool created specifically for writers of long texts such as novels and research papers. It won’t try to tell you how to write - it just makes all the tools you have scattered around your desk available in one application. Scrivener provides powerful utilities for getting your words onto the page and finding the structure that suits the needs of your project. Outline and organise, take notes, view research as you write; dynamically combine multiple scenes into a single text just to see how they fit. Scrivener has already been enthusiastically adopted by best-selling novelists and novices alike - whatever you write, grow your ideas in style.

“Finally a true word processor for authors has arrived.”
- David Hewson, author of the best-selling Nic Costa series of novels

“As a writer’s application, Scrivener is near perfect.”

- Neil Cross, best-selling author of Burial and screenwriter for Luther

“The biggest software advance for writers since the word processor.”

- Michael Marshall Smith, best-selling author of Spares and The Straw Men

Free 30 day trial available for download.

20% OFF using discount code: ‘WORDSWITHJAM’

Scrivener is originally Mac based software, but is now also available for Windows in beta.

Visit: http://www.literatureandlatte.com/scrivener.php

Win a place on a residential writing course in Cornwall - FREE Entry

2010-11-22T12:32:00.001Z

To celebrate our first birthday, we’ve decided to give a prize to the overall winner of this December’s Comp Corner competition! I know, how good is that?

The prize, generously donated by Orion author Ruth Saberton, is a four day residential place on one of her Writers’ Courses Cornwall (UK) retreats (http://www.writerscoursescornwall.co.uk). Included is all tuition, 5 star accommodation in Polperro, food at a local inn, drinks and a car parking permit.

All you have to send us is the last couple of lines of a story. That’s it. Obviously you have to have written it yourself and not lifted it from some famous piece of work. The lines can be from something you’ve already written or just made up for the competition, we don’t mind. As ever, it can be funny, or clever, or moving, or just bloody good. 40 words max, in the body of an email, and no more than three goes per entrant. Get to it.

Entries should be emailed to danny@wordswithjam.co.uk by no later than 14th January 2011. The winner will be announced in the February 2011 issue, where we will print the shortlist of ten, together with the overall winning entry.

For more information and rules, visit www.wordswithjam.co.uk/writersretreat

Kindling an Interest

2010-11-21T16:16:00.002Z

Well, it was inevitable. My gadget-mad other half went and bought a Kindle. In fact, he pre-ordered a Kindle at the end of August, but was just too late to catch the first batch of deliveries, which is why you are reading this now and not in the last edition.

On the plus side, I have now had plenty of time to play with his new toy and give it thorough testing. So here it is: A Review Of The Kindle From The Point Of View Of A Reasonably-Tech-Savvy-But-Not-Gadget-Freak Reader And Writer.

Read the Library Cat’s review of the Kindle in the December edition of Words with Jam.

October Comp Corner Reminder

2010-10-16T17:13:00.001+01:00

Last issue we asked for examples of micro relationships, where one characters lets the reader know their relationship to and opinion of another character as succinctly as possible, via either prose or dialogue.

This time we’re looking for similes, simple as that. The funnier, stupider, cleverer or nastier the better.

As ever, we want no more than 30 words ish, in the body of the email to danny@wordswithjam.co.uk.

Tomorrow - it's out tomorrow!

2010-09-29T14:41:00.000+01:00

October 2010 Issue

------------------------------

As well as Tony Blair On Himself, cover author, Bob Burke, talks about his path to publication; David Robinson explores the advantages of e-book as a medium for your work; we are pleased to have been asked once again to feature the results for the second quarter of Flash 500, and there’s an article on How Not to Lose Friends and Alienate People.

Not to be missed, Catriona Troth has some tips on getting the most from your library card. There’s more satirical letters in Dear Ed. Manager of the Canterbury branch of Waterstones tells us why bookshops WILL survive. And Anne Stormont comes back with part two of Just Do It.

Gillian Hamer explores the phenomenon that is Stieg Larsson; Danny Gillan gives us a piece on The Right to Write as well as another Comp Corner challenge to stretch us; and Michelle Romaine explains Microsoft Word’s Track Changes with a quick How To guide.

Oh, and Perry finally reveals what happened to his cat …

Christmas Book 2010

2010-09-18T20:05:00.001+01:00

The perfect gift for your loved ones this Christmas ...

Orders are now being taken for the Christmas Book Bits, Bobs and Baubles 2010. All orders must be in by 3rd October latest to ensure they are printed and dispatched in time for Christmas. If you would like more information on ordering copies, visit www.wordswithjam.co.uk/christmasbookorder

Love Your Library?

2010-09-01T11:59:00.001+01:00

Are you one of the army of writers whose love affair with books began in your local library? Write and tell us about your experience. The most inspiring stories (up to 500 words) will be published in the next edition of WWJ.

Email submissions@wordswithjam.co.uk with the subject 'Love My Library' by 14th September.

2 days left to enter our Short Story Competition

2010-08-29T20:06:00.000+01:00

Please remember that you can still send postal entries on the 31st August. So long as they are postmarked on this day, they will be accepted.

For more information visit http://www.wordswithjam.co.uk/competition

National Short Story Week

2010-08-14T13:19:00.000+01:00

Call for Short Stories - in support of National Short Story Week

Organised by Writers Abroad

National Short Story Week (www.nationalshortstory.org) will take place during the week 22nd -28th November. In support of the event, Writers Abroad will be publishing an anthology of short stories. Writers Abroad (www.writersabroad.spruz.com) is a vibrant online community for Expat writers and this has influenced the theme of the anthology.

Title: ‘Writers Abroad’
Theme: Short Stories on any aspect of Expat Life, the pains and the pleasure.
Contributions: From Expat writers (either currently an Expat or previously an Expat)
Word Count: Anything up to 2,500 words. Submissions can be flash fiction i.e up to 500 words or short stories up to 2,500. Word count does not include the title.

Submission and Entry Rules:
● All stories must be previously unpublished
● Submissions should be received by midnight Friday 15th October 2010
● Submissions must be in English
● References to porn or racism will not be accepted
● Manuscripts must be submitted in either Word or RTF format (No DOCX or other format will be accepted).
● The approximate word count should be inserted at the end of the story
● Author name and story title should be placed in the left header of the document and page numbers in the right footer
● Manuscripts should be presented with double spacing and Times New Roman Font.
● Submissions are by email only to expatwritersabroad@gmail.com - in the subject line please quote ‘Writers Abroad submission’ and provide your contact details and story title in the body of the email
● Entries are free, only one entry per author plus a short bio of 30 words
● Successful authors will be informed within two weeks of the closing date
● It will not be possible to provide feedback on stories but successful stories will be edited and authors may be required to undertake minor changes for publication purposes

Staff Team Expansion

2010-08-06T15:18:00.000+01:00

On behalf of everyone at WWJ, huge congratulations go out to out Editor/Publisher/Owner/Dark Overlord/All Round Whizz-Kid Jane and her husband Ian on the safe, if a little earlier than expected, arrival of twin boys William and Alexander.
It demonstrates the boss's legendary professionalism that she managed to beat her deadline by over two weeks and still produced two truly epic works of genius (take note, contributors!).

Jane is obviously going to be a wee bit busy for the time being, so if any queries or submissions for WWJ could be cc'd to me on danny@wordswithjam.co.uk it would be appreciated.

Good luck and God help you, boss!

Danny

Inspiration Techniques, by Adam Bailey ...

2010-07-24T21:19:00.000+01:00

The muse is a wandering lion whose noble roar is mostly heard in that moment before sleep. Which is all well and good for civilians who don't mind drifting off before their mind wakes up in full glorious technicolour, but writers don’t get that luxury. Writers spend their nights writing. Somehow trying to harness the dream and its strength to get inside humanity's head and reveal its secrets, fears, rages, and Charlize Theron needing help with her bikini, again.

Easier said than done. Because unless you're Stephen King and galloped enough coke in your twenties to ride on bareback well into your sunset years banging out a new book every other season, writing usually means just staring at the computer with total brain freeze. Mumbling about lions.

Somehow, then, what writers must do is track down that bastard lion muse thing, shoot a tranq dart in its arse, ship it home in a cage, and under the rule of the whip have it performing circus tricks within the week. Cue big top applause. Writers call this Artificial Inspiration.

Adam will be discussing the various techniques in the August issue of WWJ!

Dogs Can't Look Up

2010-07-19T19:41:00.000+01:00

re·search
[ri-surch, ree-surch]
–noun
1. diligent and systematic inquiry or investigation into a subject in order to discover or revise facts, theories, applications, etc.

Having been asked to do an article on ‘research’ I did what all self-respecting writers do these days and plugged the word into an online dictionary, hence the above. There were a few other definitions but I couldn’t be bothered cutting and pasting them. They were verbs or something.

I’ve managed to write two novels and about a dozen short stories without doing any research whatsoever. I’ve had the advantage of only ever writing about Glaswegian idiots though so much of the required knowledge was already built in. Now and then I’ve needed to check the odd bit of geography but Google maps has always sorted that out easily enough. To be honest, the first thought to enter my brain when the ED asked me to write this article about research was - shit, she’s not done her research ...

Read the full article by Danny Gillan in the August issue of Words with JAM ... OUT SOON!

What Not to Tweet by Dan Holloway

2010-07-17T14:39:00.000+01:00

Diving into the Hash Party Scene

So now you’ve spent almost 2 months tweeting away, meeting new people and exploring the twitterverse. Almost certainly you’ve already discovered most of what I want to say this time, but I’ll say it anyway. I want to have a look in more detail than I did last time at some of the parts of twitter that I’ve found particularly helpful for me. Not necessarily in terms of sales, or downloads. That’s not really what twitter is about for me. Rather, these are the places where I’ve met some amazing people, many of whom I’ve gone on to learn huge amounts from in the blogosphere, lots of whom are now friends on Facebook, and a fair few of whom I’ve gone on to meet more than once in the “real world” and form friendships with. In the next issue of Words with JAM, I also want to take a look at what an incredible source of raw information twitter can be for the writer.

Human Libraries - Learning not to judge a book by its cover ...

2010-07-15T21:12:00.001+01:00

Having looked last time at e-books, my attention this month was caught by another very different sort of book – the Living Book, and its home, the Human Library.

I first heard about Human Libraries via a programme on BBC Radio 4 . As I learnt, ‘the Human Library works exactly like a normal library – readers come and borrow a 'book' for a limited period of time. After reading it they return the Book to the library and – if they want – they can borrow another Book. There is only one difference: the Books in the Human Library are human beings, and the Books and Readers enter into a personal dialogue.’

I have to admit, being a writer, my first thought when I heard about this was ‘what a fantastic research opportunity’. Supposing you have a character who is a gang member, a homeless person, a woman vicar. What better than to sit down with someone who has been in their shoes, with full permission to ask them whatever questions you like? Okay, maybe you wouldn’t learn enough in half an hour’s conversation to flesh out a main character, but it could be perfect to ensure a minor character is more than just a flat stereotype. But was this in the spirit of the Human Library, or would I be taking advantage? I had to find out more.

Full article by Catriona Troth in the August Issue of Words with JAM ... OUT SOON!

Coming Soon ...

2010-07-12T20:08:00.000+01:00

The August issue will be available by the end of this month. With most of the articles in, and work commencing on the layout, over the next couple of weeks we'll be sharing snippets of what is to come ...

60 Seconds with David Nicholls

David Nicholls trained as an actor before making the switch to writing. His TV credits include the third series of Cold Feet, Rescue Me, and I Saw You. He was co-writer for the film adaptation of Simpatico, which starred Nick Nolte, Jeff Bridges and Sharon Stone. David's bestselling first novel, Starter for Ten, was selected for the Richard and Judy Book Club in 2004. David wrote the screenplay for the film version, released in 2006, starring James McAvoy, Rebecca Hall and Dominic Cooper. He also wrote And When Did you Last See Your Father (2007), with Jim Broadbent and Colin Firth and a much-praised modern adaptation of Tess of the D’Urbervilles (2008), with Gemma Arterton for the BBC.

His second novel, The Understudy was published in 2005. His most recent, One Day, is currently being filmed with Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess in the roles of Emma and Dexter. David also wrote the screenplay.

He lives in North London with his partner Hannah and two children, Max and Romy.

Competition Corner

2010-06-19T20:06:00.000+01:00

A wee reminder about next issue's competition corner.

For this one we want you to send in the funniest, cleverest or simply bitterest fictional dedications you can come up with. You know, those bits at the front of a book where the author thanks his therapist/agent/family/accountant/ghost writer.

Think of it as practice for your Man Booker Prize acceptance speech.

The usual rules about length etc apply, though I can't imagine any of these will be particularly long so that's not a worry.

Remember to put your entries in the body of the email and not as an attachment, otherwise they’ll be fed to the dog (he loves spam) without being opened.

Send your entries to danny@wordswithjam.co.uk and try to get them in by the 5^th of July.

Bits, Bobs and Baubles 2010

2010-06-09T20:02:00.001+01:00

As seen in the latest issue of Words With JAM, we are now open for submissions to Bits, Bobs and Baubles 2010, a Christmas book unlike any other. Different how, I hear you ask. Well, it won't be available in the shops and there's absolutely no chance of it making you either rich or famous. Sounds good, eh?

Just follow the link below and click on the Christmas Book 2010 button for all the juicy details.

It's (not) Christmas!

June Issue OUT NOW!

2010-06-01T21:00:00.000+01:00

The fourth issue of Words with JAM proves exciting for a number of reasons. Firstly, as you will already know, we have announced the Words with JAM First Annual Short Story Competition. Submissions are already coming in, and there’s three months until the closing date. Full details are later in the magazine. In addition, the Christmas Book I compiled last year is now also open for submissions.

We also have an article on the man behind Alice in Wonderland Lewis Carroll, an overview of The London Book Fair, an insightful piece on Becoming a Freelance Chameleon, an in depth look at eBooks, a photo of what could be the smallest library in Britain (maybe even the world!), Dan Holloway is back with Re-writing Poetry, Derek Duggan entertains with Secreting the Secret, Jill Marsh presents 60 Seconds with Sarah Waters and Andrew Crofts, Lorraine Mace interviews editors Hazel Cushion and Jane Friedman, as well as a special feature from Lesley Cookman, plus loads more.

If you don't already have a copy, subscribe now on our website and we'll send you a link.

www.wordswithjam.co.uk

Lesley Cookman ...

2010-05-28T13:03:00.000+01:00

... on the creation of the Libby Sargeant Murder series.

Libby Sarjeant is a middle aged ex-actress living in a small Kent village, where she paints pictures for sale in a nearby seaside town and helps to run the local Oast House Theatre. So far, so predictable.

You just know, reading that mini biography, that she’s about to fall over body after body in, as someone described it, a “Vicar of Dibley meets Midsummer Murders” series of adventures. And she does.

Envisaged in the first place for the now defunct “World One Day Novel Cup”, held over two twelve hour sessions at the Groucho Club over ten years ago, I based her initial premise on the highly formatted US “cosy” - or “cozy” - market. I was told by many in the publishing industry here in the UK that this type of crime/mystery was completely out of favour and I would never get published. So Libby, or her first few chapters anyway, languished on the computer for several years, until I resurrected her as my dissertation for my MA in Creative Writing. Then a surprising thing happened ...

Read the full article in the June issue of Words with JAM. Out Soon!

Lorraine Mace Interviews ...

2010-05-24T07:58:00.000+01:00

Jane Friedman is a vegetarian, bourbon-drinking editor, who claims to be at least mostly sane. Obsessed with writing, reading, editing, teaching and speaking, she also happens to be the publisher and editorial director of Writer’s Digest. In our June issue interview, she gives us an insight into how she sees the writing industry, both from the point of view of a writer and also that of an editor ...

Can eBooks be Books?

2010-05-10T09:47:00.001+01:00

By Catriona Troth

I must admit, my own experience with ebooks is a bit off the wall. I don’t have an eReader, or a Kindle or even an iPad. What I have is a little iPod touch and a programme called Stanza. Stanza allows me to download books from a range of sources including free ones (like Project Gutenburg) and online bookstores like BooksonBoard. More importantly, for me, it allows me to upload onto the iPod anything that I hold on my computer as a Word document or a .pdf file.

From time to time, people in my writers’ group share whole books with each other – way beyond my tolerance for reading on a computer screen and too fussy and fiddly (not to say expensive) to print. So I upload them onto my iPod. This gives me something on the scale of the Victorian Tom Thumb books described by Arriety in the opening chapter of The Borrowers, and which I find quite comfortable to read. The iPod also has the added bonus of enabling me to read in the dark, so if I wake up in the middle of the night, I can tuck into a book without disturbing my husband.

So I am predisposed to be favourable to the idea of ebooks. But arguments over different platforms, arguments over pricing and Digital Rights Management, limited accessibility – it’s all been enough to put off even me. Hence my question this month is Can eBooks be Books?

Read the full article in the June issue of Words with JAM.

Comp Corner Closing Date Tomorrow!

2010-05-04T18:06:00.000+01:00

The June Pick ...

This issue's competition is along the same, er, lines as April, but this time we’re looking for the funniest, quirkiest or just damned cleverest character descriptions you can come up with.

It doesn’t need to be the full picture, we don’t need every garment. Maybe just a facial expression, if expertly described, is enough to tell us all we need to know about this character.

Again, try to keep entries down to a couple of sentences or thirty(ish words) and send them in the body of an email to danny@wordswithjam.co.uk by the 5th of May, along with your name and a weblink if applicable.

There is no entry fee, and the ten winning entries will be published in the June issue of WWJ, so get to it.

Interview with Writer's Digest Editor, Jane Friedman

2010-04-30T12:39:00.000+01:00

Jane Friedman is a vegetarian, bourbon-drinking editor, who claims to be at least mostly sane. Obsessed with writing, reading, editing, teaching and speaking, she also happens to be the publisher and editorial director of Writer’s Digest. In our June issue, she gives us an insight into how she sees the writing industry, both from the point of view of a writer and also that of an editor.

The London Book Fair

2010-04-25T17:13:00.000+01:00

Mark Robberts' overview of The London Book Fair in the June issue of Words with JAM ...

One of the first things that strikes one is the vastness of easy-to-get-to Earl’s Court. Okay, the façade is impressive, but inside – it is immense. Tardis like; the ideal place for getting lost – for days. I am sure Wembley stadium could fit in here with room to spare. I was here last year so basically knew what to expect but for first-timers it really is an eye-opener. The cream (or almost all) of the publishing world, all gathered under one roof ...

First Annual Short Story Competition 2010 - NOW OPEN

2010-04-17T16:51:00.000+01:00

It's here! The Words with JAM Short Story Competition 2010

Let's keep it simple. We're looking for the best short story of up to 2,500 words. Please note that we are looking for the best short story, not bribes! If you wish to send vast sums of money, tickets for sell-out concerts, rare signed first edtitions, feel free, but as the stories will be judged anonymously, it won't help you much.

Prizes
1st Prize - £300
2nd Prize - £100
3rd Prize - £50

Closing Date
31st August 2010, 12pm GMT

Results
All three winning entries will be published in the December issue of Words with JAM.

Judge
Sue Moorcroft will be selecting our three winners from this year's shortlist. Sue writes short stories, serials and novels – her third novel, Starting Over, was published in November 2009, with All That Mullarkey to follow on 1 June 2010. She’s both editor of and contributor to Loves Me, Loves Me Not, a short story anthology celebrating the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s 50th Anniversary.

Also a creative writing tutor, Sue’s first ‘how to’ book, Love Writing – How to Make Money Writing Romantic or Erotic Fiction, was published in January.

www.suemoorcroft.com
http://suemoorcroft.wordpress.com for news and writing tips

To Enter
For more details, please visit out main webpage at www.wordswithjam.co.uk and click on 'competition'.

Good Luck!

The Countdown Has Begun ...

2010-04-10T18:24:00.000+01:00

Saturday 17th April 2010 will see the launch of the Words with JAM First Annual Short Story Competition. We will be searching for the best Short Story of under 2,500 words.

Look out for details on our website. Subscribers will receive automatic email notification.

IT'S OUT!!!

2010-03-30T20:05:00.000+01:00

The April issue of Words with JAM is out now. Subscribers will receive their copy by email any time now. Non-subscribers only have themselves to blame for missing out.

60 Seconds with Toby Litt

2010-03-22T16:48:00.001Z

Toby Litt will feature alongside Tracy Chevalier in one of our 60 Second Interviews in the next issue of Words with JAM ...

Toby published his first book, a collection of short stories entitled Adventures in Capitalism, in 1996.
He is the author of the novels: Beatniks: An English Road Movie (1997), a modern On the Road transposed to middle-England; Corpsing (2000), a thriller set in London's Soho; and Deadkidsongs (2001), a dark tale of childhood. Exhibitionism (2002), is a collection of short stories that explore the boundaries of sex and sexuality. Finding Myself (2003) is the story of what happens when budding author Victoria About gathers together ten friends for a holiday in Southwold in order to write up the ensuing events. His latest novels are Hospital (2007) and Journey into Space (2009).

In 2003 Toby was nominated by Granta magazine as one of the 20 'Best of Young British Novelists'. A new collection of short stories, I Play the Drums in a Band Called Okay, was published in 2008. He lives in London.

http://www.tobylitt.com

Fourteen Years of Mild Irritation

2010-03-19T13:04:00.000Z

Pets. What’s the fucking point, eh? The dog, for example. Fourteen years of mild irritation terminated by an ephemeral burst of sorrow. I mean, come on, you could simply gouge yourself on the thigh with a steak knife every day and get the same result without having to go out walking in the rain or clean liquid faeces from the sofa. And it’d be cheaper, too. Put it this way, if they ever re-make Ring of Bright Water, I’ll be the guy with the spade for only a minimal fee.

Because look what we spend on the buggers. We spend more pampering our pets than the combined GNPs of the world’s forty poorest countries (Figures from guilttrip.com, correct at the time of going to press). Do we contribute to a charity that will provide a fresh, renewable supply of water for eighteen million fly-blown Africans, or do we pop down to Pets-R-Us for some hamster-bedding?

Again, what’s the point? Fuck it, they’re going to die in the end anyway. Pets, I mean, obviously ...

Read Perry Iles' full rant in his column Feeble Excuses, Procrastination and Displacement Activities in the next April issue of Words with JAM.

Blogs Part 2 - Ever feel like you’re talking to yourself?

2010-03-18T10:53:00.000Z

OK, now you have a wonderful blog. It looks amazing. What you’ve written is groundbreaking at the very least, and you are managing to produce content of a similarly high standard at least twice a week.

But still you haven’t had “the knock”. In fact, you haven’t had a comment. Well, aside from that one your best mate Carol sent you saying “oh how lovely” because you kept telling her about it over spritzers. It’s pretty dispiriting. We’re often led to believe that having a blog is the key to success, but it isn’t. It’s the first step of what may well be a road to nowhere. “If you build it, they will come” may work for baseball pitches, but sadly it doesn’t for blogs. On the other hand, there are things you can do to get people reading. And don’t forget to keep up producing great content!

It’s time to think about the second stage of blogging ...

Read the full article by Dan Holloway in the next issue of Words with JAM. For Blogs Part 1, subscribe now and receive the last issue directly to your inbox, absolutely FREE ...

Submitting a Non-Fiction Proposal

2010-03-17T11:39:00.000Z

We hear so much about what to include and how to submit novels to agents and publishers, that it’s almost a case of information overload. However, for writers of non-fiction books the information on what to include and when to submit it is much harder to find. You’d be forgiven for thinking there couldn’t be much difference between the two forms of submission, but that isn’t the case at all. If you have a non-fiction book idea, you need to forget almost everything you’ve learned to do with submitting novels and start again from scratch.

Full article by Lorraine Mace on how to submit a non-fiction proposal in the April issue of Words with JAM.

Is Your Book A Whisper Book?

2010-03-16T19:54:00.002Z

Whisper books are the holy grail of the publishing industry – a book which, without any particular ‘hyping’, appears out of nowhere to become a runaway bestseller. A book which people buy and read just because someone else tells them how bloody marvellous it is.

The example everyone will quote is Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Hard though it is to imagine at this remove, back in 1997, Bloomsbury had just taken a punt on an unknown writer and a manuscript eight other publishers had rejected. They presumably expected to make a respectable number of sales with it but no one imagined it would become a worldwide phenomenon. Certainly, it didn’t have any massive publicity machine behind it. But children started reading it – and they started telling other children about it. And like the perfect meme, the news spread.

Of course, the whole point about whisper books is that they are essentially random. If it were possible to predict just what combination of zeitgeist and great writing would cause this kind of reading explosion, every publisher in the business would be saving themselves a fortune in marketing. On the other hand, it can’t hurt (can it?) to maximise the chances of your book being talked about. But what can you, the author, do?

Read the full article by Catriona Troth in the next issue of Words with JAM ...

Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief ...

2010-03-09T13:51:00.001Z

By Gillian Hamer

There’s not many people who wouldn’t know the author of Harry Potter if you asked. And most readers know the name of the author of His Dark Materials. Many of us know that Stephanie Meyer is the latest big name in young adult novels, behind the massively successful Twilight vampire series.

But how many of you have ever have heard of Rick Riordan?

Be honest. Because I hadn’t.

But once the latest teen flick hits the screens later this month, Rick Riordan is likely to become a household name, in much the same way as JK Rowling and Philip Pullman.

The Lightning Thief is the first in a five book series: Percy Jackson & the Olympians. The series takes the concept of ancient Greek mythology and places it in a modern day setting, with up to date characters, and a highly paced and often humorous style.

Percy is an action adventure hero, along the lines of Harry Potter. Like Harry, he has his share of issues - he’s accident prone, suffers from dyslexia and ADHD (Attention Deficit Disorder.)

Instead of discovering he’s a wizard, Percy discovers that his real father is Poseidon, god of the sea, which means Percy is a demigod – half human, half god. At the same time, Zeus, the king of all gods, has accused Percy of stealing his lightning bolt … the original weapon of mass destruction.

Read the full article in the next issue of Words with JAM ...

100 Stories for Haiti by Guest Blogger Greg McQueen

2010-03-04T09:40:00.001Z

This might be a first! No, I am not talking about the fact we managed to get an 80,000 words book together in six week -- although, it might be! I am talking about guesting on Jane’s lovely blog, except, well, I am going to hand you over to a guest-of-the-guest.

Gill James recently blogged about her experience from a publisher’s perspective of getting to 100 Stories for Haiti from concept to print. She kindly gave me permission to share her post.

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100 Stories for Haiti - a publisher's perspective

An extraordinary chain of events lead us to becoming the publishers of this rather amazing volume. Three of the four partners are also writers, two of them seriously so. And somehow, we can’t actually remember how, but no doubt as a result of the usual networking we all have to do, we learnt about Greg McQueen’s project and two of us submitted stories.

Then we followed the project. It just happened to be one of those days when I was feeling bold and cheeky. You know the sort of mood you have to be in to phone an agent or editor rather than hide meekly behind email or snailmail? I was feeling like that when I read that there was going to be a paperback edition BUT that it was only going to be sold on-line.

Ah, so no ISBN I thought. If you issue an ISBN and bother to register with Nielsen’s – well you have to really – at some point a bookseller – including our lovely friend Amazon - will want to order it.
Greg confirmed that the hard copy would have an ISBN and I found myself offering to distribute on behalf of the original publisher, also a small indie like us, and wondering what our very efficient administrator was going to say about the amount of work that might come her way.

Of course, we’re encouraging everyone to buy direct from us as more then goes to Haiti. But a presence in online book stores is welcome. There are also just a few people who would rather order through their local bookshop, and the book will still make a profit, albeit tiny.

Then on the 5 February Greg was desperately trying to get hold of me. Bridge House was at the time extremely busy – we were doing some important work for our own charity book and we were also holding our AGM.

He got us eventually The other publisher had had to pull out. Could we help? Could we heck? Of course we would. Bridge House loves a challenge.

Bridge House normally operates on a profit share with the authors. The authors get 50% of any profit. The partners and the company get the rest. We haven’t actually paid ourselves anything since we became a partnership almost exactly a year ago. We did get a free lunch once, I think. We have made a profit, but we’re leaving the money in our bank account to aid cash flow. Normally we need to sell about 150 books before we start making any profit on a particular title. However, this allows for a commissioned cover for which we pay £250 – a little under the going rate and our artists are wonderful in that they will wait until the book covers the cost before we have to pay them, though we’ll often pay them out of what is actually the company’s or partners’ but never the authors’ profit. We’ve always got it back – eventually. In the case of 100 Stories for Haiti we didn’t have to pay for a cover as Greg had a basic design and out technical designer was able to tease it and the inside of the book into shape. No one at Bridge House or in Greg’s team are taking a penny from this venture.

We didn’t have to do much editorial work at this point – probably only what I’d call third level – copy edit and design matters as well as getting the script into house style. There was probably no first level editing – reshaping of stories, strengthening of characters, restructuring, adding and subtracting scenes, changing pace and drama. The stories which had faults in those areas had probably been weeded out by Greg’s team of reader / editors before they came our way. The second level of editing - checking the flow, seeing that characters were consistent, making sure it all made sense, making sure no one had left in darlings that needed killing had all been done and the script for the whole book had been put together by Amy Burns, an independent editor. She also worked completely for free.

The script arrived with us on about the 8th of February. It was not quite as ready for the designer as scripts are when the editorial team at Bridge House pass them on but it wasn’t far off. It is our designer, Martin James, aka my husband, who did most of the work. Proof reading of the PDF was assigned to Greg’s team, though Martin also skimmed the script as he does have an eye for these things. I kept my eye on the total process, and Nicola, our administrator, set up a logical system for taking payment and making sure plenty of profit could be made for Haiti. She’s also made sure we are completely transparent and is sharing information with the Red Cross and 100storiesforhaiti.org Debz and Ollie, our two publicists, gave a light touch to the marketing – they have to devote some of their time to our other projects – though as Debz and I are also published in the book, we are making the usual Bridge House effort that all of our authors make to get our books out there. And there are a few more names on that amazing cover that are already familiar to Bridge House. They all know how to make books sell. Ollie has been great at getting the wording exactly right for our point of sale copy.

We managed to be able to load the bibliographic date up to Nielsens by the 14 February, lunch time, and later that day the camera-ready cover and script were uploaded to our printer. Then we waited. And waited. And waited. Normally we have a proof copy within about four days, sometime less.

We were partly a victim of our own haste. We’ve learnt with our printer to say the book is released the day we upload it. Having just indicated 4 March as publishing date with Nielsens, we repeated it. So it took a couple of phone calls to kick start them. Then there were problems with the cover. It wouldn’t bleed correctly and they couldn’t balance the white space around the top and bottom properly. Also, we were getting unwanted white space on the lefthand side of the back cover. We’re into quantum physics and relativity now. Even though the measurements are exactly the same to fractions of a millimetre on our two dimensional PDF as on their three dimensional proof copy the cover just wouldn’t look the same. The design team at the printers had to make an adjustment.

We never phone the printers. We had to this time, and we have to take thank to Kelly Guy who nursed the whole project through and kept everybody on the ball. She must have felt as if we were constantly nagging her. I’m pleased to say the first print run is now running.

There is one great advantage of being the founder of a publishing company. The first three books I did completely on my own though always Martin designed them. Another time I’ll give you the full Bridge House story. But more especially because I’m married to the designer I get to see the proof copy. So, I now have 100 Stories for Haiti right by me on my desk as I type. It feels and looks lovely. I’ve already read up to the end of The Beautiful Game. So far so good. Damn good read apart from anything else. I’m so glad I got involved in this project.

You want to do something. But I’d be no good at digging through rubble or helping the people who no longer have a roof over their heads. There are others who can do that sort of thing better than I can. And sure, I can put my hand in my pocket and pull out a fiver. But that won’t go far. I can write and I know how to get a book out fast. That might be the best I can offer.

-----

Thanks Gill! And, thank you, Jane!

100 Stories for Haiti is OUT NOW! Available online and in bookshops. The paperback edition costs £11.99 + P&P. You can preview part of the book here: http://www.100storiesforhaiti.org/read-an-extract/

Thank you to Greg and all the wonderful team who have worked tirelessly to get this project where it is today. You can read more about 100 Stories for Haiti in the next issue of Words with JAM.

The Island of Lost Souls author Martyn Bedford talks about his first teenage novel ...

2010-02-18T10:41:00.000Z

Martyn Bedford is the author of five novels for adults - Acts of Revision (Bantam Press 1996); Exit, Orange & Red (Bantam Press 1997); The Houdini Girl (Penguin 1999); Black Cat (Penguin 2001) and The Island of Lost Souls (Bloomsbury 2006). Between them they have been translated into 12 languages. Flip, his first novel for teenagers and young adults, will be published in spring 2011. Martyn is a senior lecturer in creative writing at Leeds Trinity University College and lives in West Yorkshire with his wife and two daughters.

I have a former editor to thank for my first novel for teenagers . . . I wrote it because he advised me not to. Back in 2005, he took me out to lunch to celebrate the deal to publish The Island of Lost Souls, my fifth novel. We went to Pizza Express in Leeds. Towards the end of the meal he asked what I planned to write next. Up to then all my novels had been for adults, straddling the border between mainstream literary fiction and psychological thriller. But I’d had an idea for a story more suited to a teenage and young-adult audience. When I mentioned this, the editor shook his head.

‘You don’t want to write one of those.’

Read the full article in the April issue of Words with JAM

Mr Perry Iles has a Blog

2010-02-14T15:01:00.000Z

We've had a lot of emails from fans of Perry Iles and his regular column Feeble Excuses, Procrastination and Displacement Activities. So we've launched him his very own blog space which he will be regularly visiting for the occasional rant and the usual avoidance of writing books ...

You can visit him in his new home at http://perry-iles.blogspot.com

Enjoy!

Opening Lines Competition

2010-02-10T14:01:00.000Z

Here at WWJ we pride ourselves on filling every corner of each issue with useful, enlightening content. However, for some reason this month we found ourselves with a little bit of unused space, just here. Rather than let it go to waste we’ve decided to run a small competition. Who knows, we might even make it a regular feature. We could call it Competition Corner, or something equally clever. The Quiz Quadrant, maybe. Actually, since it’s not actually a quiz I think we’ll stick with Competition Corner.

Anyway, for this first one, we’re concentrating on opening lines. We’re often told that the opening lines of any story are amongst the most important things we write, and that book deals can be won and lost on the strength of them. Whether that’s true or not I don’t know, but let’s pretend it is for the moment.

For the purposes of this competition we’re not looking for clever, deep, or portentous openings - that would be far too serious. No, what we want is funny ones. They may be from an existing piece of work or you might want to make something up just for this. Who knows, it might even provide the spark you need for that next mid-list classic you have brewing.

There is no actual prize for this one of course, but the ten funniest entries will be printed in the next issue, along with any weblinks the authors might wish us to include. Think of it as free advertising - which is quite a good prize, come to think of it.

The rules - pretty loose, really. Preferably no more than a couple of sentences. Definitely no more than 30 (ish) words.

Here are a couple of examples of the sort of thing we mean:

The first thing I noticed was her long, black, curly teeth.
I make a point of never drinking before eight o’clock. To be fair, I’m rarely up that early.
The instant I saw her she cast a spell on me. Bloody witch.

You get the idea. Multiple entries are welcomed, and all should be emailed to danny@wordswithjam.co.uk before, let’s say, the 5^th of March.

Please put WWJ Opening Lines in the subject line of your email and include your entries in the body of the email itself. Attachments will be deleted unopened to reduce the risk of luncheon meat.

60 Seconds with Tracy Chevalier

2010-02-03T14:19:00.000Z

Tracy Chevalier, author of The Girl with a Pearl Earing and Remarkable Creatures, takes up the 60 Second Challenge for our April issue of Words with JAM.

Subscribe now and receive the last issue straight away, and our April issue automatically when it's due out.

Forward to Friends - lots of them!

2010-01-30T16:41:00.000Z

We would just like to thank everyone who has already subscribed. We hope you enjoyed the magazine as much as we enjoyed putting it together.

If you did enjoy it, please don't forget to forward your copy to as many people as possible and ask them to subscribe too.

February 2010 Issue is OUT!!!

2010-01-28T10:15:00.001Z

We said we would try and add more features and articles you would enjoy and find useful, and we feel we have achieved just that. Miranda Dickinson headlines this month, telling us about her debut novel Fairytale of New York, now a Sunday Times bestseller. Sheila Bugler is our synopsis doctor. Jo Reed describes how writers can make a difference, and her experiences winning the Telegraph Prize. We have tips on writing erotica by Barbie Scott, more from Perry Iles, a look at blogging with Dan Holloway, your questions answered, 60 second interviews, stories, plus a whole load more. In addition, we are pleased to support 100 Stories for Haiti, which you can also read more about.

If you haven't already subscribed and received your copy, you can subscribe now and we will automatically email it to you.

February Cover Preview

2010-01-20T10:17:00.002Z

FREE Prize Draw

2010-01-12T12:23:00.000Z

Don't forget! All subscribers are automatically entered into our FREE bi-monthly Prize Draw. This time we are giving away a copy of The Writer's ABC Checklist, and will announce the winner in the February issue of Words with JAM.

If you haven't already subscribed, it's not too late!