Authors sometimes complain of the ‘media circus’ associated with publishing, the obligation to participate written into publishers’ contracts these days. You can’t blame them for diffidence; not every writer who routinely spends hours in a room with only a computer for company will suddenly adapt to conviviality and chat. It must seem daunting at first. When they've done a few, though, it's obvious they enjoy it. Why not, since the audience generally come to admire, as well as buy.



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I was at the Exclusively Independent event at Fulham library last night, and had a great time meeting the other writers and reading from my book... but blimey, I hope the next event is in the winter. Out here in sedate Great Missenden it has been possible to keep cool by staying indoors or going out in the Jeep with the roof down, but the Tube during the rush hour was quite a different matter...

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The July Issue is here!

First, congratulations to the six short story collections shortlisted for the Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award. See the blog for the shortlist.

With this month's issue, we bring you the most authors we have ever reviewed - with anthologies containing stories from up to 50 authors outnumbering single-author collections. There is a plethora of criminal behaviour, nostalgia for the era of punk, tales of those in waiting, a little erotica and more. Interviews with Daniyal Mueenuddin, whose collection we reviewed in last month's issue, Mary Akers, Jason Allan Cole, Mark Illis and Alex Keegan. Find something to read.

Also on the blog: Ailsa Cox takes us behind the scenes of the Edge Hill Short Story Prize, whose winner will be announced on July 4th. Read more.

Happy weekend of short stories!

Tania

A friend, the novelist Rosy Thornton, went to hear Sebastian Faulks talking, and reports thus:

"He said that the advice ‘write what you know’ is the worst advice given to anyone, ever. He says that when he talks to young writers he says, DON’T write about what you know. He tells them, write about the past, the future, other words, a Bohemian desert, the south pole - but absolutely not about what you know."

Now, I often get asked about 'Write what you know' at readings, because it's so very obvious that I don't. And as I've said before here, I see why it's said but I agree with Faulks (though for different reasons) that it's frequently un-fruitful advice. 'Write what you know' is good advice in that you can write tastes, textures, emotions, authentically: it develops your documentary capacity, as it were, and without the pressure to invent, you can concentrate on the accuracy and vividness of the writing. To that extent, it's the gold standard for good prose. It's bad advice in that most of us lead us lead dull lives. Staying within the boundaries of a ploddingly literal definition of 'what you know' isn't going to help you grown and change as a writer, and certainly not to enlarge your imaginative capacity. As I'm finding with drawing, documentary and imagination are quite separate talents. But the other thing in Faulks's talk which Rosy questioned, I would question too:

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There’s a pram in my head and it must come out.



When my twins were born, I had no time or energy to write. But the day they started school I sprinted home to my desk and haven’t stopped writing since. That was two years ago. All I have to show is a couple of published stories and a dreadful draft of a novel. What happened?



I’d heard Cyril Connolly’s warning: ‘There is no more sombre enemy to good art than the pram in the hall,’ but I mistrusted a decree from someone I doubt changed a nappy in his life. Anyway, he’d missed the point. Motherhood brought a creative license to make mud slides into rivers, dig clay from ponds for finger pots, build skyward ski jumps and all pile onto the sledge to test them, keep snails as pets, make vinegar and bicarb volcanoes– the list is endless and beguiling. Admittedly play doesn’t transform anyone into a good author, but it does demand sensory experimentation and tireless curiosity. Good traits for a writer. And though play makes irresistible calls on one’s time, it’s time that would be spent with children anyway. Then there’s the freshness children bring to language: ‘We run through muddy darks!’ my toddler announced when plunged from the brightness of a meadow to the sudden shadow of the woods. How could such a fertile time have diminished not strengthened my writing?





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Vanessa Gebbie: short story writer, author of a collection, prize-winner, judge, poet – there are so many things I could call you (all of them nice); which describes you best?



Dear Nik, I like the word ‘writer’. It’s simple. A bit like me. I still find it amazing that I have a book out there with my name on it, and another in the pipeline. I enjoy this journey, mostly, whatever happens round the next corner. I am enjoying the teaching as much as anything at the moment, and have some exciting gigs coming up – Ipswich, Ireland, Somerset, Kent, Southampton, Dorset, and I’ve just accepted an invitation to do a workshop in Hertfordshire in the New Year. I’m seeing a bit of these islands as I go.

‘Those who can’t do, teach,’ they say. Yep, I’ve met some crap writing ‘teachers’. And some stunningly good ones. And very special ones who can both teach AND write. Viz the forthcoming text book, ‘Short Circuit’! I would like to be OK at both.

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Hubby is renown for his kind and generous nature and this morning I was content, once he got in full flow, to just sit and listen to him map out our future as Well Off People. "You can give up work right away," he tells me, "to concentrate on your writing. I expect we'll have a bit of a rush - maybe splash out on a weekend in London to get some new clothes and book some shows up. Once things start getting back to normal and the novelty wears off a bit, this is what I think we should do ..." True to form, he then lists out the next steps which are:

a/ Make sure the mums and dads are ok. By this he means buying them new houses and taking away the strain of paying bills with nothing but their pensions.

b/ Make sure the kids are ok. This equates to buying Youngest Stepdaughter a new car and making sure she no longer struggles to pay the bills and can maybe become the full time mum she'd like to be. Eldest Stepdaughter doesn't seem to want for much so a cash gift seems most fitting.

c/ Make sure siblings are ok - in other words, give them all a little windfall (nothing spectacular, we don't want anyone to know how much we have actually won) - just enough to clear any debts, fund a decent holiday and maybe get Bro over from Denmark for a while,


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Deborah Dooley has been a freelance journalist for over 25 years, covering a huge variety of subjects from health issues to celebrity interviews. In 2008 she started Retreats for You, welcoming writers to her idyllic home in Sheepwash, North Devon.
Deborah blogs at http://retreatsforyou.blogspot.com/


We’ve all heard inspiring stories about women writers who regularly rise at 5am to write for 2 hours before waking their four children, getting them dressed, breakfasted and off to school, and then going off to work, (wearing a neat suit, high heels and full makeup), having first bestowed on their partner a kiss full of sexual promise. They’re marvellous. I’m not. And I suspect that had I not been fortunate enough for the last 25 years or so, to write for a living, I would rarely have found the time or indeed the energy to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard...


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At a recent book reading and signing I was asked an interesting question. Frankly, any question is welcome over the sea of bemused faces that usually follow my reading an extract from my latest novel, which makes no sense out of context and has been expunged of all swearing, violence and spoilers. At that point someone asking the way to the loo is a godsend.
But I digress. On this occasion there was not only a question but a thoughtful one: as a child had I had imaginary friends?
I conceded that indeed I had, being an only child, had many.
The rather fearsome, elderly lady asking – for these are generally the ones with the cojones to pipe up at such gatherings. And bedraggled CW teachers. But they often just want to moan about the state of the publishing industry, how it no longer nurtures true artistic talent...


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You couldn't make it up. Forty years I've been gadding about London,( my Regular Reader knows to what extent)without getting mugged, accosted or insulted. Well, that's not quite true. A few weeks ago a doglover called me an Old Bag on Lewisham Station when I took precedence over her mutt getting on a train. She'd spread her arms to protect its progress, but I had the cheek to dodge past.


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