Category Archives: Books

Cover Reveal and Some Musings On Cover Development

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Today is Cover Reveal Day for We Are All Ghosts In The Forest! I love cover reveal days – they’re the day you can entirely unself-consciously gush about your book because you’re gushing about someone else’s work which removes (almost) all the imposter syndrome, awkward self-promo feels of your standard bookish promo events.

If you’ve managed to miss me hollering on social media – here is the gorgeous creation of Jo Walker, which I think captures so much of the essence of Ghosts from the colour palette to the tiny details.

Rather than just finish the blog here with an I HOPE YOU LOVE IT, I figured it might be interesting to talk through the process of cover designing in trad pub and perhaps share some ideas for how you the author can best intersect with that to increase your chances of getting the cover of your dreams.

Sound good? Okay.

[A version of this blog was shared on my Substack in January. Where-ever you read it, thank you for your interest and support]

I’m not as visual as some, so when I have a finished book my sense of what I want the cover to look like is generally quite vague. For my first book, I could only say ‘I don’t want people’ and ‘Moody, maybe with foxes.’ Which is … well it’s better than nothing. But there are several hundred directions that premise could take and many of them wouldn’t have really fitted my inner vague sense of the book.

Incidentally, I got extremely lucky with my first book in that my publisher spotted a new piece of art by award winning cover artist Daniele Serra and knew instantly that it fitted the book perfect. So my vagueness didn’t shoot me in the foot and I adore my moody fox with no people cover!

Buying the rights to a pre-existing piece of art is a slightly unusual process though. In most cases a book cover is created specifically for the book according to a cover brief given to the artist.

By my second book, I’d figured out that I needed to think more clearly about what I wanted. Now, I look for covers of books that both fit in the same marketing space and have stylistic approaches I like. I look up the designers of covers I admire and check out their portfolios. I try to come up with a list of aims that are more than ‘make it dreamy?’. Such as – ‘I think a minimalist & slightly eerie foresty vibe would work really well’ (Ghosts) or ‘I’d love lush tropical colours, including animals that are motifs in the book, and reference to the sea’ (Mother Sea).

And so for all my subsequent books, I’ve gone to my editor with some comp covers, a set of specific vibes that I want to convey, and some stylistic or design elements I am keen to see.

This step can take the form of a conversation in a bookshop (my second book), some email back and forth about comparative covers and photographs (my third book), or me sharing Pinterest boards and comparative covers, and us both pulling together a list of potential artists (We Are All Ghosts In The Forest).

Once you and your editor have agreed a direction, your editor puts together a cover brief which contains all the above information, along with relevant themes and motifs, plot points and market placement aims. The cover brief my editor put together for Ghosts was amazing (I wish I could share all of it), and incorporated elements from my Pinterest board, many of my suggested cover comparisons, and some incredibly exciting author comps as well.

The next steps happen without author input, usually (but see below).

With the sign off of Marketing and Publicity (and Mysterious Others), this cover brief is then sent to whichever cover artist is hired for the job. We had a list of top favs, and which one we went with was a juggling act of their vision and availability versus our deadlines. The limits of my involvement in this stage was saying ‘fabulous’ once the artist was confirmed.

Normally, the artist provides a selection of initial cover visuals to the publisher and they go through a process of development to come up with a single draft cover before this is then shown to the author.

With my second book, publishing with a small press meant that I was more closely consulted at this stage. I got to see all the prelim draft versions, pick the elements that I liked and ask for fairly substantial changes in an iterative process that went from entire colour/layout changes to tiny tweaks of font size and contrast levels. While this isn’t something I can expect from most books, it was an incredible learning process. (Check out Jay Johnstone here)

With Ghosts, I was sent a draft cover that had already been through revision in-house. It was beautiful, and very much in line with how I’d envisaged it. There were a few tweaks I wanted though, and after consulting my agent to confirm, I sent this list of requests back to my editor. Now, the bottom line in all of this is that the publisher has final say on covers. Contractually, authors are to be consulted, but not obeyed, so to speak.

With Mother Sea, to be honest this draft was so sublime, I made one request about the title font, which was adjusted, and that was it.

I was a little nervous sending a few more tweaks for Ghosts, so was super grateful when my editor came back with ‘Yes, I agree with all of this, will send it on’. Happy days.

I then got sent a ‘final’ version to agree, which was amazing and incorporated all my requests. But there was one small detail I felt still needed tweaking. I asked; this time my editor said ‘maybe. it depends.’ Which is entirely fair. The artist was working on commission and that buys only so many hours of work. So I get it, and even if they couldn’t make that last change, I still fortunately had a cover I love.

Do I have to love it? Maybe not, but I do have to believe it will help sell the book. We are going to be looking at this cover SO MUCH over the next year or so. I’m going to be taking it to bookshops, sharing it online, using it to pitch myself for events. I have to trust that when I show it to someone, it will give them both a fairly accurate sense of the book, and also make them want to pick it up.

It is easy, as with editing the book itself, to get tied up in tiny details. To worry about comma placement, exact shades of green, the length of chapter 27, the perfect placement of the title to the millimetre. And yes, those things matter. But also they don’t? At some point we are fiddling with things that no shop browser or reader is going to spend more than 3 nanoseconds on, so it’s okay to step back and go – it’s fine. I’m happy. I trust it.

Which is what a lot of it is about, I think. Trust. Trusting the publishing team to know what will work for your book, trusting your gut, trusting your book to stand without you in the world and do its job on its own.

Conversely, if your gut is telling you this cover is wholly wrong for your book, then step 1 has to be to talk it through with your agent if you have one. How much is simply that you aren’t familiar with current trends in cover design in your sub-genre? How much is a genuine disconnect between where you see your readership and where your publisher sees them? I’m very lucky I’ve never had to deal with this particular minefield, but if you find yourself in it, speak to your agent. Ask trustworthy friends who both know your book and know enough of publishing to give an honest, informed take. It’s hard to find the line between standing up for your book and not trusting the expertise of others, but resolving a sticking point can only happen through gentle, clear communications. Ask me, if you like! I’m happy to offer my semi-informed opinion!

I love the cover design stage. I love the joy of pointing at beautiful covers of books I admire, and saying ‘I’d like something like that please’. I love the absolute wild magic of sending a set of bullet points and random pictures to an artist and them somehow, miraculously producing something that captures the essence of your book. How? They are amazing creatures, cover designers, and deserve far more recognition than they generally get.

Did I get my final adjustment? No. Does it matter? I’m glad I asked, I would have regretted not asking and I think my suggestion was a valid one, but I still have a cover I both love and trust, and have been bursting with the urge to show it to everyone.

With the cover of Mother Sea I usually shove it at people, shouting LOOK AT THE CRAB. With Ghosts, I think it’s gonna be GOLDDD BEEEEEEEES.

Mother Sea Island Tour

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In the lead up to Mother Sea’s publication I did a wee countdown series of social media posts visiting various islands that inspired the island in Mother Sea. It was mostly an excuse to post lots of photos and rave about lovely places, and I figure I ought to pull it all together here just in case. (In case of what, I don’t know … the fiery death of Twitter? the need to prove ownership of the photos? validation that all my effort pulling it together was worth it? … Probably that last one tbh)

Anyway, below is a slightly expanded-upon tour of the islands behind the island…

One – Iceland

Not much in common with the tropical island in Mother Sea you say? Well, no. But this place has A Lot to teach the writer about colour palettes, I think. The deceptively monochrome black sand and white glaciers and searingly blue sea are an incredible reminder that less can be more! Also in this country there is no escaping the power of an unquiet land & the persistence of folklore.

Fav folklore – The Jólakötturinn – a giant cat that eats folk who weren’t gifted new clothes at Yule

Fav experience – The northern lights. I have no photos but omg, it was all the things and more.

Two – Tierra del Fuego

Staying in higher latitudes but at the other end of the planet, the beauty of these southern islands blew me away. It’s undeniably antarctic in weather and wildlife but all my preconceived notions of that were undone by flower-strewn islands, by hummingbirds & parrots right alongside penguins & sealions. Also, partcularly relevant to Mother Sea, heartbreaking histories of colonial genocide & the loss of language & culture.

Fav folklore – Teiyin from the Yahgan ppl. A shapeshifter god, protector of children & elderly, enforcer of altruism.

Fav experience – Following in Darwin’s footsteps – I read This Ship of Darkness while I was there for extra cross-temporal-bonding! Also, steamer ducks. So round.

Least fav – my 1st ever sunburn. I did not know it *hurt*! What?

Three – Shetland (and Orkney)

Closer to home, Shetland in particular, but also Orkney, taught me that political borders don’t always mean an awful lot. That dialects and folklore follow their own paths across the sea and old trade routes still shape island identity now, regardless of what the maps say. They also taught me that teeny tiny planes are the best, and I’d probably not survive a Shetland winter.

Fav folklore – The Sea Mither (spot the #MotherSea connection!) who wrestles the dangerous Teran to calm the seas.

Fav experience – Standing in the old broch on Mousa, listening to storm petrels purr in the stones around me. And getting dive-bombed by Bonxies on Orkney mainland!

Four – The Mediterranean

Kinda cheating lumping this whole region (and the Canary Islands) into one, but doing each island individually would turn this into a book, and also there are some common strands despite the distinctive feel of each place. I love the Mediterranean garrigue ecozone. It’s so stark & distinctive & surprising. I have a huge soft-spot for cyprus stands and stone pines, and ancient olive groves. But these islands are also fascinating for studying farming’s adaptations to a hard climate, the way humans have shaped the very land & how fragile that balance is. Especially as tourism threatens rural economics, communities, water resources & conservation.

Fav mythology – The Minoan rock tombs on Crete & Lycian cliff tombs in Turkiye appear in Mother Sea. Caves & bats – what’s not to love?

Fav experience – Cretan orchids. Omg, if you’re remotely into flowers, the orchid species crowding the hillsides will give you heart failure.

Five – Seychelles

The right ocean at last! These are the closest islands to my fictitious one in Mother Sea, so a lot of the flora & fauna are similar. Seychelles taught me a hard lesson on coral reef damage & restoration, but a beautiful one on Creole language & culture. It also taught me to look beyond the glossy curated tropical paradise images for the murkier truth about the impossible value:cost trade-off of tourism on places and communities like these.

Fav folklore – An eejit Brit in 1800’s decided the coco de mer was the original forbidden fruit because it looks like a bum! And therefore that the Seychelles was the lost garden of Eden. I mean, it’s a definite paradise in some ways, but also, lol.

Fav experience – Meeting giant tortoises? Or giant fruit bats squabbling in the tree above us as we ate our dinner in the dark (hint: Mother Sea may contain bats)

Six – Madagascar

Along with France & South Asia, this is the other origin of my community in Mother Sea, so hints of Malagasy culture fed into the book. This country is a biologist’s dream and heartbreak all in one – the most mindblowing evolutionary wonders alongside some of the most heart-rending poverty and worst habitat destruction I’ve ever seen. For Mother Sea though it gave me ‘tsingy’ landscape (limestone karst) & baobab forests, pirogues & feminism & day geckoes.

Fav folklore – I was told once that bats hang upside down to show their arse to god as revenge for an offence. I cannot remember what the offence was but I love this so much.

Fav experience – An aye-aye there-&-gone in the dark, indri singing in the dawn, being unutterably lucky.

Seven – The Outer Hebrides

Finally to the place where Mother Sea began – with the history of St. Kilda & it’s abandonment. That tale of population decline, of grief and a terrible communal turning-inward because of that grief was the seed that everything else in Mother Sea grew around. And the islands of North & South Uist, Benbecula, Eriskay and Barra were also there to teach me so much about island communities, the persistence of faith, carving a living from the liminal shore.

Fav folklore – The Blue Men of the Minch. They’re blue, they shout poetry slam challenges at ship captains, they raise storms. I love them.

Fav experience – Just the startling, stunning bays – white sand and turquoise water and the steep, watchful dunes. The ruined silhouettes of churches and manor houses on lonely islets, the ghosts of brochs haunting the lochans.

Thank you for coming with me around the world! There are a couple of dozen more islands I read about, stalked online, talked to people about and dreamed of, that all fed into Mother Sea in other ways. But these are (some of) the ones I’ve lived in and loved, and left pieces of myself behind in.

Writing The Difficult Stuff

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Mother Sea comes out tomorrow. I am so excited to share this book with you all, and so honoured at the care Fairlight Books have taken with it. I really, really, really hope it resonates with you.

Before it comes out though, I wanted to talk about some of the issues I explore in its pages because if you’ve read my previous blog, you’ll know that when I was writing Mother Sea, I never intended to seek publication. So I went into some places that perhaps I wouldn’t have been brave enough to venture into if I’d been writing with an external audience in the back of my mind.

With hindsight, I am glad that I wrote this book and that others will get to read it. I think it’s important to write the things that scare us as authors, or make us cry as we’re typing, the things that we put off writing for days because we fear them. Writing is, if nothing else, a way to reach out to strangers. It is a way to whisper to someone else, ‘I know how you feel. I feel it too.’ Which is why darker, sadder themes are so powerful, and so pervasive in stories, right? Because that quiet connection, that resonance is both a hand held out in companionship, and also at the same time, a hand held out to guide you through the unfamiliar terrain of someone else’s heart.

So although I think Mother Sea is as much a book about love and resilience as darkness, it does go into some deeply sad places. But my hope is that in doing so it might help someone feel less alone, it might help someone else understand a perspective or an experience in a way they hadn’t before. If it can do that then I will be content.

Aside from the wider themes of climate change and the global injustice of climate impacts, there are two specific events in Mother Sea that were incredibly hard to write. And talking about how I wrote them involves some personal details that are a little scary to put out into the world, so please bear with me. If you want to avoid spoilers please stop reading now, because although I won’t go into plot details, I am going to reference the nature of these two moments.

sepia tinted photo of a ruined chapel and old gravestones behind a low stone wall, taken on North Uist.

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Okay, still with me?

The first, encountered in the opening few chapters, is some profound suicide ideation by Kit, one of the Point of View characters. His depression and the desire for release drive him to the edge of a cliff. Obviously, he walks away, otherwise that would be the shortest PoV plot thread ever. But writing his thoughts leading up to that moment, and writing some of his journey towards healing afterwards, drew on my own experiences more than I’ve ever really admitted to anyone. That was hard. It was so hard that at one point I realised Kit’s thoughts were bleeding into my own, and I had to put the book aside for several months until I felt able to return to it.

I don’t pretend to understand everyone’s experience of depression, but I understand my own. And I wanted to speak to anyone else who’s lived this terrible, lonely thing, but I also wanted to write accessibly enough for people to empathise with even if they’ve never known depression. Have I achieved that? I don’t know. But I’m glad I wrote the walk to the cliff top, and I’m even gladder I wrote the walking away. 

The second event isn’t something I’ve experienced myself. I wrote the death of a baby. Even typing that sentence makes me feel sick. It’s the worst thing I think I will ever write, and I put off doing the actual scene for weeks. I tried to rejig the plot to avoid it happening, I tried to narrate it from further away, I tried to make it something unspoken. But none of those changes were right. None of them did justice to the truth of the islanders’ situation, and the gravity of the death itself. It’s not gratuitous, it’s not even actually described at all. All you hear is the mother’s breathing change. That’s it. But it still left me wrung out and oddly guilty.

I haven’t experienced the loss of a child. But I have experienced multiple miscarriages, and although I’m not equating those two experiences, my own griefs definitely shaped my desire to tell this story. Because this – the neonatal tetanus epidemic – was the seed that started Mother Sea. It comes from real events on the islands of St. Kilda in Scotland, and reading about that was where this all began. I could not get the thought of those women out of my mind. What it would have felt like to be carrying a child knowing its chances of survival were so slim – how did you guard your heart from that? What would you be willing to do to try to change fate?

I couldn’t write the story of a community’s grief and fear, the story of their fight for hope, and not bear witness to the heart of that – a mother carrying her child, and losing it. I hope I’ve done it justice, I know I feel a kinship with anyone who is carrying the ghosts of their lost children in their arms.

The term ‘book of my heart‘ gets thrown around a lot by writers, doesn’t it? But Mother Sea could never be anything else because I wrote it for my own heart. I wrote it out of both my private griefs, and my wide-open, globe-spanning grief in the face of the climate crisis. And yet ‘What is grief, if not love persevering?’ as Vision said. So it’s just as much about love too, in all its forms from the private to the globe-spanning. Although it started as a very private thing, by the time I was editing I had begun to picture readers other than myself. I began to hope that a story about an island that doesn’t exist might perhaps feel true and precious to strangers. I know how you feel, my islanders whisper from the shade beneath the tamarind trees. I feel it too.

Thank you for reading this abnormally personal blog. I wanted to write about these two things by way of content warning and explanation. I also wanted to say to my readers thank you for venturing with me through such difficult terrain, I hope I carried you through safely to a place of hope.

A photo from North Uist looking out across a lochan with an island fort towards St. Kilda.

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The Road To Publication

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Recent online conversations about debut expectations versus the long haul of being an author made me realise that I never wrote my version of this blog. People normally write them on signing with their agent, or when their debut releases, don’t they? Well, how about on publishing their third book & announcing their fourth? Perfect time, right?

Two disadvantages of waiting till now is a) that it’s a looooooong post, and b) I can’t be sure of exact numbers. I’m as accurate as possible, because I know how good it is to see the data rather than just the ‘keep going, you haven’t failed until you stop trying’ sentiment (which I have OPINIONS on btw).

Okay, so a For The Record disclaimer: As you may know I turned to writing when I became too ill to carry on in my job as a research scientist, therefore I have no formal learning or qualifications in creative writing. I ­have done a couple of short, online courses with Jericho Writers and Writing The Other & as many workshops as I could logistically & financially access. ALL my submissions were via the slushpile (and all in the UK fwiw). I started out with no contacts in publishing or writing, and even less understanding of how it all worked, but in my first few years I attended the York Festival of Writing three times. I also managed to access agent 1:1s on two other occasions. Thassit. That’s the extent of my shortcuts and privilege, because yes those things do affect your route to publication and it’s naïve to pretend they don’t.

TL:DR cumulative stats: 13 queries (agents only) over 2 books to 1st agent offer. 81 queries (agents & small presses) over 4 books to 1st book published. 136 queries (agents & small presses) over 5 books to 2nd agent offer.

Full deets, cos it’s a lot more complicated than that sounds … are you sitting comfortably?

photo of a ruined roman amphitheatre in Turkiye

2014            Wrote a fantasy epic, first in a trilogy.

2015                     Because I was a fool and knew nothing, I queried the godawful thing to a handful (~12 agents, to whom – sorry!). I got two personalised rejections, a bunch of forms and perhaps one ghosting. Meanwhile, I wrote the 2nd in the trilogy and simultaneously realised that Book1 was not remotely publishable. I decided to treat Book2 as a test run for applying the skills I’d learned whilst mangling Book1.

2016                     Started writing a whole new book (Book3). A contemporary Scottish witchy fabulist thing that felt like my first ‘real’ book. In that I kinda knew what I was doing this time and the end result was fully my own thing rather than a derivative mess!

2017                     Subbed Book3 to one agent – a very new agent at an established agency who’d been recommended to me at York. She offered, I accepted, it went through minor revisions and went out on sub to around 10 editors. It got some lovely feedback, but no takers. Four months into this, my agent left publishing. Reading between the lines, I think she was not supported at her agency, and so I really felt for her. It was a huge blow though, lmty. I had no idea at that point how common it is for writers to lose agents for any of several reasons so this felt like a moment of utter failure even though it was nothing directly to do with me, or my book.

Whilst on sub, I’d been writing Book4, and my agent had raved about its premise. Book3 was dead – no agent would be interested in a book that had already gone out on sub. So I pulled my big girl pants up, and got Book4 ready for querying…

2018                     I sent Book4 to about 45 agents and 15 small presses over the course of around 18 months. Of those, I had a roughly 50% full request rate from agents, and 30% from small presses. Good huh? Of those full requests, only 1 agent ghosted me (times have changed I believe ☹), most got back within 2 months. The small presses were generally much slower (and much ruder, in a couple of instances!). From all these fulls, I ended up with two offers of publication from small presses. I went with the one whose brand seemed a better fit for the book. They were small, but reputable, award-winning, and strongly recommended by one of those full-requesting agents. That agent believed in them so much he even stepped in to help me negotiate a couple of contract terms. Fab. Yay. I was gonna be a published author! I didn’t mind going small press rather than agent by that point as I just wanted to make that first step on the journey, and I liked the feel of the small press scene.

Yeah, no. After agreeing contract terms, the publishers pulled out.

2019                     By this time I had Book5 finished and waiting,and had started on another one. But I lost heart with the nascent one and very nearly didn’t bother submitting Book5. Book4 had come so close both with agents and then with the publishing deal. After losing my agent, this had felt so hopeful and for it to come to nothing … I just didn’t really see the point in trying again. My skin was not thick enough and my belief in my writing was crushed. The mental cost of the cumulative rejections and knock backs was having an impact on my physical health, and I needed to step away. I decided I would write for private fulfilment not for publication, and started writing a new, deeply personal book, never intending to share it.

BUT Book5 was just sitting there. I figured I’d lose nothing by trying one last time, but this time I was going to be canny. I queried a handful of agents and small presses (excluding the one above!) to test the water.

Of those 6 agents, I got 1 full and 1 R&R; of 4 small presses, I also got 1 full which lead to an R&R.

The R&R from the publisher was a biggie. And to be honest I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, as it meant a complete re-write. But I figured it would be a good test of my skill, if nothing else, and I was kinda curious about whether the editor’s instincts were right.

They were. The edited book was much better. I went back to that publisher with it, but they’d stopped acquiring books. Ugh. Well, I had a stronger manuscript and had promised myself I’d give this book its best shot before calling it a day. So I pulled together a list of indie presses. You’d think I’d have been put off them by now, but all of my communications with agents had taught me that my form of literary-ish genre-blending work can be a difficult sell to agents looking for neatly packageable stories. Plus I still believed (believe) that a lot of the most innovative, diverse storytelling is happening with small presses, so I wanted to trust that there were good, reliable people out there. Somewhere.

2020                     GLOBAL PANINI! In between homeschooling v.1 & general panini chaos, I sent Book5 back out to a small batch of small presses (~8). And got, relatively quickly, 2 fulls and an offer.

That offer was with Luna Press, a very small Scottish indie press with an incredibly global list of authors. After speaking to Francesca I knew immediately that this was a press I wanted to work with. The book was This Is Our Undoing.

I also wrote the first chaotic halves of two books (umm… 7&8). Thank you, pandemic stress cognition decline.

2021                     GLOBAL PANINI! This Is Our Undoing came out with Luna Press. I showed Francesca that near-miss Book4, braced for rejection yet again, but she loved it. I signed a contract for The Way The Light Bends and the bruises left by my prior experience began to fade. With my confidence in myself, my writing, and the publishing industry at least a little rejuvenated, I started thinking about querying that deeply personal Book6. It was a terrifying thought, if I’m honest, and took a while to build up to. In between homeschooling v.2, the debut rollercoaster, dredging up querying courage, and other general mayhem, I finished Book7.

Then I started querying Book6.

This time I sent out larger batches than before. Rough counts were, in two batches, 40 agents and 15 small presses. Of those, I had received ~ 8 fulls when I received an offer of publication from a lovely medium-sized indie press with a very literary, friendly, thoughtful vibe. On chasing outstanding queries I had a couple of lovely chats with agents and another publisher, and an offer of representation from an agent who seemed to genuinely get my writing, my health limitations, and who was demonstrably supporting marginalised authors in his work.

I signed with Robbie Guillory at Underline Literary Agency in late 2021, and signed with Fairlight Books for Mother Sea shortly after. My sad, angry, deeply heartfelt story that I wrote thinking its only readers would be my mum and sister, was going to be published.

2022                     GLOBAL PANINI + BOOK AWARDS. Amazingly, given the small reach associated with a small publisher, Undoing was finalist and winner of several awards. I also won an award for my short fiction. The Way The Light Bends published, Mother Sea was in the works & I had survived an entire year as a published author without coming apart at the seams. Oh yes! Onward! Riding this wave of not being entirely broken, I finished Book8 (Book7 is shelved). And applied for a Creative Scotland grant to fund a return to that nascent book that I abandoned in 2019 mid-despair.

I also wrote a novella.

Book8 went on sub in the Autumn. On the same day that I underwent long-awaited surgery for my endometriosis that ended up being way more complicated than anticipated and from which I am still recovering 7 months on. Note of advice, major health upheavals and being on sub are not a combination conducive to creativity or mental fortitude. Avoid at all costs.

2023                     My 6th written book – 3rd published book – is coming out in less than 3 weeks.

I signed with my beloved Luna Press for my novella, coming out next year.

I was awarded the Creative Scotland grant and have just finished the 1st draft of nascent/abandoned book. So in 10 years that’s: 1 novella & 9 novels – 2 binned, 2 shelved, 3 published, 1 drafted and 1 on sub…

Despite the real-life hellishness going on, there is more good news coming. I’m steadily building my reach and publisher-appeal and this feels whilst not remotely guaranteed, at least a sustainable and hopeful trajectory. I’m not sure what the next few years will hold, but from being on the very brink of giving up 4 years ago, it’s surreal to sit here with a stack of my own books beside me, knowing I will be publishing more. That’s a startling, wonderful thing. The road does not get smoother, but it does perhaps get less steep.

…Lol, I did warn you it was long!! I do want to note that the rates of query full requests, and of ghosting both initials and fulls have changed drastically over the years, so please bear that in mind. Publishing is understaffed and creaking, and that hits writers in the trenches hard. Whoever you are, and however many manuscripts you have yeeted into the querying void, I am cheering you on. It takes a horrible combination of vulnerability and steeliness to weather this game – you’re all epic.

photo of standing columns of a grecian ruin on Cyprus, mountains in the background, the statue of some dude looking resigned and weary.

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Dark Academia – tropes, toffs and tribulations.

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What is it, why do we love it, why do we hate it, why am I even trying? 

It’s a popular genre at the moment, isn’t it? Whether you consider it as born out of Tumblr vibes or Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, Dark Academia is doing WELL. I’ll confess now that I am both writing a DA and absolutely not writing one. I’ll explain that later.

First though, my Schrodinger’s DA project has got me thinking about the genre itself and all the various conversations that I’ve had with other writers & readers about it. These conversations basically fall into four questions, as summed up by my opening sentence, and I’m going to answer each one as best I can. Not out of any great literary scholarship but out of an interest in the reasons why I am so drawn to this genre, and yet why it often (for me) falls short of my expectations.

black and white photo looking through a ruined doorway in an abandoned blackhouse on South Uist.

What is it?

Lol, start with the easy one! I think there are two forms of DA, to be honest. You may disagree – please do, I’m all ears.

If we accept that the label and thus the story-form arose from Tumblr posts first, then Dark Academia is basically any story involving the following ingredients:

  • An elite school/college, preferably isolated and/or very insular.          
  • People being studious.
  • Gothic architecture, libraries, fog.
  • A small close-knit, probably deeply toxic cast.    
  • Dark plottiness of some form*

*There’s not an awful lot of consensus over the default plot of DA when your focus is on the vibes, but it’s usually some form of Dark Things Happen, whether that’s murder, monsters, deadly secrets or just The Grown-ups Are Evil.            

If you take The Secret History as your starting point (this is a divisive one – many people say it is, others say it’s not DA at all), then the ingredients are similar, but also different:

  • An elite school/college, preferably isolated and/or very insular.       
  • The study of something esoteric that mirrors the characters’ psychologies/the book’s themes.   
  • Libraries.
  • A small close-knit, probably deeply toxic cast.   
  • A plot that explores the faultlines at the heart of the institution, and possibly therefore at the heart of society, and cracks those faultlines wide open, usually cracking open a few characters in the process (literally or psychologically).

So my take is that while both forms of DA involve a similar evocative, restricted setting, one strand is much more focussed on the vibes & inter-personal plot, while the other is focussed on dismantling the vibes to find the rotten heart beneath.

A lot of the former books – some of which are recent bestsellers & Booktok hits – touch on the latter deeper themes, but in my opinion fail to do them justice. Which is why I ended up deciding there were two types of DA, so I didn’t get too annoyed with the former for failing to be something they weren’t necessarily set up to succeed at.

(Note: I’m not going to name names as I don’t want to sound unfairly critical. This is all subjective)      

photo of the ruins of a roman-style arena in Turkey

Why do we love it?

Did I mention libraries? And the fog? Honestly though, I think this is an easy one both on the more superficial level and digging deeper. Create a story that revolves around dusty tomes, discussions about those tomes, and wearing cozy jumpers & you’ve basically tapped into most bookworms’ secret aspirational life. Add in some danger, romance, fraught found-family bonds, and some blood, and the lure is irresistible.     

Personally I’m a big YES PLEASE to all of the above, but I also really want a story that links the hunger for knowledge with the characters’ undoing, that peels back the allure of the institution, forcing the characters to face the darkness … and to choose between complicity, rebellion, escape or immolation.

M.L Rio’s If We Were Villains does this beautifully, driving her characters to essential immolation, where-as Naomi Novik’s The Scholomance series involves both rebellion and escape, in a fantastic unravelling of the institution and its secrets.

I want to feel like I’ve been seduced by the institution, and then betrayed by it – which means that all the best DAs plot a descent from the glittering spires into the darkness, and some of the best DAs do not emerge again.

Photo of the upper storeys of a very pink scottish castle. It's all wee turrets and small windows and pink.

Why do we hate it?

Aside from getting annoyed with books that I expected to do all the deep thematic stuff but instead just gave me vibes & character-plot, there are a few aspects of DA that pose a challenge to some readers. These are really interesting to me because they often reflect the weaknesses with the All Vibes form of DA, and suggest that those readers would still love the ‘Deep Themes’ form.

First off though, let’s talk about elitism & the British obsession with class structure.

DAs being set in colleges that are old, grand, highly selective and often wealthy just ooooozes Oxbridge rich boy insular ivory towers type worlds, financed by inherited wealth and privilege (which is in turn financed by the oppression of others). Although the character list almost always contains one or more Outsider – with no connections, no wealth, inadequate training etc – the Institution and most of the people in it are straight from the societal 1%. Which is … a turn off to a lot of people. I don’t like tories & toffs, why would I want to read about them?

See where the distinction between the two types of DA comes in here? I’ve read a few recently where I really didn’t like any of the characters, I didn’t like what the institution stood for, and although plots happened and enemies were overcome, there was no real, true reckoning of the structural cruelties and lies that the institution and the characters stood upon. I no like. Despite the library and cozy jumpers.

What else don’t we (I) like about DA? The deification of Knowledge. This is a funny one. I love nerdy books that demonstrate the author’s deep love and understanding of A Thing, whether that’s Shakespeare or philosophy or maths. I even more love books where real world knowledge is bedded into a speculative other within the world. BUT it’s quite easy for this nerdiness to swing too far in one or both of two directions –

  • Arm-waving, as my old PhD advisor used to call it. Lots of talk that doesn’t actually stand up to scrutiny.
  • Showboating – going into lots of expositionary detail to impress us the readers with your amazing cleverness.

Neither of these is that appealing really, are they?

On the other hand, some books that are labelled DA are really not seeking to center a field of study in this way, the story just happens to be set at a University or boarding school, and I think it’s okay for those books to just merrily do their thing without being called DA.

Lastly, and this is perhaps a little niche … if you’ve spent any time in academia, you will read these books and slightly despair. Where is all the paperwork? Where are the endless faculty meetings and grant deadlines and HR emails asking for updated budgets? Where is the goddamn bureaucracy and tired, overworked post-docs who just want half a day to themselves to get their bloody paper written?? Lol, sigh. I do not miss it, ngl.

And now, because I promised you I’d explain…

Shot from the beach looking towards St. Andrews. There's a bloke with a horse on the beach & one of the university towers on the skyline, snow on the hill behind and wintery light.

Why am I even trying?

I’m writing a Schrodinger’s DA/not-DA at the moment. I am hedging around calling it DA because I’m not sure the studying stuff is esoteric enough. Instead of philosophy or literature, it’s machine parts and old radio bulletins, maps and songs and doing hard maths by hand For Reasons. It’s also not got the Ancient Tradition vibes as the college was only established twelve years ago (after A Thing happened).

It does, however, have a very tired researcher failing to get her paper written and drinking too much coffee while her students offload their crises onto her & she’s constantly due in a meeting. It also has an exploration of the rotten heart beneath the haunted, isolated, book-filled floating fortress that is my college. And my poor main character is forced to confront her own complicity in this rottenness, with all the necessary blood, found-family trauma, secrets and mayhem.

Honestly, I don’t know how it’ll get labelled once it’s a whole thing. I tend to leave that in the hands of the professionals (my agent and publisher). But why am I even skirting around the edges of this strange, popular, tricksy genre?

Because there’s a cool library full of semi-sentient books in it. That’s why.

And I suspect that’s also why Dark Academia is not losing its shine anytime soon.

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Photo looking out towards St Kilda from North Uist, in the foreground there's a loch with a wee ruined tower on an old broch island.

FantasyCon, book tours & the Scary 2nd Book

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First up, the programme for this year’s FantasyCon has just been announced & I am delighted to be part of this event again. It’s been organised in no time at all by the amazing British Fantasy Society team after the original organisers cancelled it & I am in awe of the work that must be going on behind the scenes right now.

For anyone interested (and for me to screenshot so I don’t forget), my programme looks like this:

Saturday 17th September

  • 4pm in Atlantis2 – Climate Fiction
  • 8pm in Discovery3 – British Fantasy Awards ceremony
  • 9pm in Endeavour – Reading from The Way The Light Bends

Sunday 18th September

  • 11am in Atlantis1 – Folklore and Fairytales
  • 1pm in Atlantis2 – Writing the Difficult Emotions

If you are coming to FantasyCon, please come say hi. I promise I’m nice & I may have books. Also, I will be a quivering wreck at my reading as I’ll have just survived the excitement of my three BFA shortlistings, so I deny all responsibility for my emotional stability during that session.

Photo of the hardbacks of both my books on a scarf on the lawn, backlit by sunlight & with a wee blue ceramic hare alongside.

OKAY. Moving on … my second book was released a few weeks ago & I realised I hadn’t written anything on here about that. So … first of all, a moment to appreciate how incredibly lucky I have been with BOTH my book covers. Luna Press have produced the most perfect, beautiful covers for these books and it makes me a bit mushy to see them sitting together on my shelf!

Last year we had a book tour for This Is Our Undoing that … didn’t entirely work. A fair few of the readers on the tour were, let’s say, not the target audience for the book and just didn’t click with it. (The weird thing with booktours is that you can’t follow advice not to read reviews because you’re generally tagged in and meant to engage!) So that week was a steep, hard lesson in dealing with meh reviews, and definitely put a dent in my confidence throughout publication week.

But it served me well in some ways, in that it’s quite freeing to learn right out the gate that a) I can survive a bad review and b) the book will still find readers who love it. I mean, two BFA shortlistings isn’t too shabby, is it??  

This year, we had a tour for The Way The Light Bends with the lovely folk at Insta Book Tours, and it was a whole different experience! So many positive, beautiful reviews; so many readers’ tears; such a friendly vibe to the whole tour. There was one comment that came up a few times (about the ending) that I’m tempted to write a blog exploring because the subject of endings, resolution and folklore is one that interests me from a craft perspective. But that’s for another day. Today I just wanted to share some of the review comments and thank Victoria Hyde for organising such an uplifting tour.

Image of the cover of Light, with four quotes reading: I've never read a book where the first paragraph absolutely shattered me. The way the author writes about grief is mesmerising.' 'Cinematic and gorgeous.' 'So beautiful, draws you right in from the start & keeps you gripped.' 'A beautifully written heart-breaking tale, weaved in with folklore and mystery.' All this is against a backdrop of dark, moody water.

I was honestly quite nervous about how Light would be received. Because of Undoing’s blog tour partly, but also and contrarily, because some reviewers have been such amazing champions of Undoing and I didn’t want to ‘let them down’ with my second book! It’s a very different story to Undoing, so I was worried they would be flummoxed and disappointed, and that they’d be disappointed in me for following up with something they liked less. I know, it’s stupid, but I’m excellent at finding ways to catastrophise nothing at all, so there.

Imagine my relief then, when one of those amazing reviewer/champions of the universe had this to say about Light:

This is Wilson’s second book and I thought their earlier novel This Is Our Undoing was one of my highlights of last year. Now this one easily becomes one of this year’s best reads. Sublime character work; a wonderful sense of place and crucially displacement creates a spell-bounding tale giving us characters that we get to love and care about or even fear for. Wilson is very much an author to watch. Strongly recommended!

Runalong the Shelves

I know. I’m giddy as a kipper. Read their full review here. And now I need a cup of tea to recover.

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photo of my stripy kitty, sleeping on a stripy footstool on his back, both forelegs stretched up above his head and his fangs on display. He looks very relaxed and a little bit weird.

Novellas – Writing Up Instead Of Down

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I wrote my first novella a couple of months ago, and am editing it now (not right now – now I’m procrastinating & it’s set in Iceland, so you’re getting random Icelandic photos. Sorry, I don’t make the rules). This being my first novella experience I did some reading around to see what people’s advice was about structuring them. Almost everything I found boiled down to ‘It’s like a novel, but shorter’. Which is … not entirely helpful. Especially when my starting point was a short story.

So, having written the thing I am now clearly an expert, and wanted to share my thoughts on the art of novella writing when you’re coming at the thing from a small idea rather than a big one.

Photo of half frozen lagoon, distant snowy mountains and a glacier.

[FYI in case you weren’t sure, a novella is usually considered to be between 20-60,000 words, novels between 80-120k and short stories get defined pretty much any way that takes your fancy so long as it’s less than 20k (but usually lie in the 2–8,000 range).]

The advice ‘like a novel but shorter’ means this: It relies on similar narrative arcs, but those arcs are simpler, the plot is simpler, the character lists and worldbuilding are streamlined. It’s basically a novel-type idea but where the plot didn’t need 80,000 words to unfold. That makes sense, right?

But my starting point wasn’t a novel-type idea, it was a 2,500 word short story that felt unresolved and … squished. So if you’re like me & have short stories that want to grow, how do you reframe them to turn them into a functional novella?

I don’t know.

But I’m going to tell you anyway…

Photo of chunks of ice on a black pebble beach, backlit by sunshine with some rainbow refraction going on.

First, how do you know what’s a novella-worthy idea?

  1. Check whether your 2,500 word story really just wants to be a 5,000 word story. Was the plot or worldbuilding just a bit rushed & needs a wee bit more space to breath? Was there one more scene or one more bit of backstory that would really pull the whole thing together? If so, maybe just let it be 5,000 words.
  2. Or, did your plot feel like it was fundamentally lacking depth for the things it was trying to do? My short story was trying to explore PTSD and grief, and to map a descent into dissociation and a big moral choice. Add in ghost stories, family secrets, and a slightly cinematic setting and there’s really no way you can do justice to those things in 5,000 words, let alone 2,500. It wasn’t just that the story as it stood needed a bit more room, it was that the story itself needed huge structural changes to serve its function. Sound familiar? You’ve got yourself a potential novella.

Yay, so now, what’s the difference between your short story idea and your novella? What needs to happen to mutate the former into the latter?

Photo of a smooth black rock emerging from beach sand that is, on one side of the rock, blackish, and on the other pale yellow.

A short story:

  1. Can (although often doesn’t) pivot around an external plot alone – can be about an event rather than a character’s internal change.
  2. Can be slice of life – e.g. there’s no plot per se, no conflict or change, just … an exploration of a character’s mind, world or moment.
  3. Requires very little world building, or more importantly, can afford little worldbuilding. Which, especially if this is SFF, requires a very focussed setting so that the story’s world feels sufficiently explained within that limited word count.
  4. Generally has a single strand plotline following one question, theme or objective. The longer the wordcount, the more strands to the plot you can fit in & the more involved that plot can be, but for my purposes, a 2-3k short can only really carry one central plot convincingly. (That’s not to say it can’t be intricate or thoughtful or multi-layered thematically, but the external plot & the internal narrative? Fairly streamlined.)
  5. Both 3 & 4 above lead to – a very limited cast. There are only so many people we can meet and care about in 3,000 words. Honestly, there aren’t many more we can truly care about at 10,000.
Close up photo of chunks of blue glacier ice resting on the glacier mass, which is white streaked with black lines.

To expand that into a novella, we need to think about:

  • The internal character arc of your main character(s). What is the theme of your story and how does your character’s journey reflect that? How does their psychological landscape change from beginning to end and why does it change in that way (what events drive it externally and what motivations are driving it internally)?
  • Bring your secondary characters to life more – you may have more characters to play with, but a smaller cast will still serve you well so don’t go looking for more than you need. Those characters you have though cannot get away with just being a foil for the MC, or passive or 2-dimensional. They will need to have their own development, their own motivations and psychological landscape. Their arcs are likely to be less pronounced compared to the MC but they need to have something going on that’s independent of the MC.
  • Where a short story often has a very limited setting, or a narrow focus within a wider setting, you now need to think about developing your setting more. Whether that’s allowing your characters to move around, explaining more of the world’s context, or simply bringing the setting to more vibrant, interactive, dynamic life. I’m a big fan of the power of setting, and focussing that urge down for short fiction is always a bit of a struggle, so it was nice to be able to really lean into that particular area again.
  • Plot structure (deep breath) …
    1. Now, in our short story, this was streamlined down to the bare minimum number of strands and a fairly simple progression. At novella length we are looking more at the kinds of plot structures we talk about for novels, which I guess is the point all that advice I found was making. 3-Act Structure, but fewer turning points, Save The Cat, but cut down the B-plots or Road Apples or whathaveyou. Writing up from a short, I needed instead to think about adding complexity – where can I make this revelation or decision harder, how about more misunderstandings, or another foreshadowing motif, or adding in a failure or two? Plus, as mentioned above, how do I develop my secondary characters’ own arcs?
    2. One of the things I love about short fiction is that you can more easily be experimental with form and voice than you can at novel length, but I think there’s still a lot of scope for playing around outside the ‘norms’ at novella length too. I took the well known kishōtenketsu 4-Act Structure as my guide here because I wanted to focus on the internal change rather than a ‘conflict’ as such. I don’t think this approach, for this story, would have maintained its power over a longer wordcount, but at 28,000 it felt really powerful and right.
    3. You need to find the sweet spot between developing the story more, but making sure that all your development gets fulfilled. If you’ve added more characters, make them engaging and important; if you’ve added a sub-plot, make sure you give it closure; if you’ve introduced wider worldbuilding, make sure it is definitely contributing to the story. Your novella can be pacey and full of action or it can be subtle and dreamy and intricate, but it still has to answer its own questions.

My 2,500 word short story is now a 28,000 novella. Because it was trying to do too much in the first place, I didn’t need to add more characters or sub-plots really, I just needed to actually do justice to all the ideas I was trying to address. So my work was mostly on plot development, backstory, secondary character arcs and setting. Your approach will depend on your starting point, and on the themes and voice you are working with.

Photo of a small human in blue winter coat, blue leggins and blue snow boots sitting on a black sand beach with black basalt columns in the background.

I find that novellas can sometimes disappoint if you come to them wanting the complexities of a novel (I read on kindle, so I often don’t realise something is a novella until I’ve started). But where they blow me away is when although the plot might actually be simpler, it doesn’t feel it, because the atmosphere of the story is so unique and strong that the emotional depth is somehow more concentrated. There’s something incredibly powerful about paring a theme back to its absolute heart and then giving that heart richness, depth and nuance. Like a gin & tonic, versus a damson gin liqueur, if you will.

Hopefully this particular gin liqueur will be out in the world at some point, full of Icelandic ghosts, trippy midnight wanderings, the sea and the terrible lure of bargaining for things we have lost. Now I’ve totally and utterly mastered the art form though, I may well return for more…

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sepia tinted photo of a black sand beach, showing two bays, some rocks and bright white surf line.

Joy In A Time Of Darkness

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When I drafted this blog, it was in celebration of the cover reveal of my second book, The Way The Light Bends, and aggravation at yet another sodding storm. But now as I revise it, there are much bigger things happening in the world than British weather or book covers. Hard, heart-breaking, scary, overwhelming things. I don’t know what to say about Ukraine, or the tory government, or the new IPCC report other than that I wish I could do more than I am. I wish the world was doing more. What I am going to talk about instead is something that’s been on my mind –

Should we celebrate things when doing so feels like a travesty?

I think I am not alone in struggling with this. People are dying because of evil men. We are worn thin by heartbreak and fear that are both so large they are almost incomprehensible. It feels wrong, narcissistic, or simply too much of an emotional effort to be joyous as well.

Going back to storms, did you know we find wind stressful because it makes it harder to detect predators approaching (all that noise & moving vegetation)? It’s a fear response stemming directly from our inner rabbits.

The pandemic, the increasingly inhumane government, Putin, climate breakdown, they are all like the wind – a background (if we’re lucky) presence that creates stress, raised vigilance (hello, doomscrolling), a sense of vulnerability and powerlessness. And even when there is very little we can actually do to control those things, the stress lingers. It embeds itself in our minds and muscles, and wears us down.

So should we celebrate things like book cover reveals, nice reviews, publications? How about birthdays, World Book Day, seeing your friend for the first time in two years? Those things all deserve celebration, but doing so feels so bloody wrong doesn’t it?

Dealing with these crises with strength and empathy, though, requires endurance. And that comes from resilience. If we who are on the sidelines are too drained, too paralysed by powerlessness, we will inure ourselves to the bad news because that’s the only way to cope. Sound familiar? So how do we build resilience in ourselves that allows us to fight for change, to do what is within our power, to care about people beyond our own small circles?

I think we build resilience through joy and hope, just as much as through grit and determination. I think we stave off apathy through reminders that there’s an alternative to despair. There’s endocrinological evidence to back that up, but I’m too low on spoons to be specific. Basically, good things give us bursts of ‘feel good’ hormones, which energise and stabilise us.

So here’s my thinking:

  • First we do what we can to help create change – we donate, we vote & petition, we lift up voices.
  • Second we find a reason to smile, because if nothing else, nolite te bastardes carborundorum.
  • And third we create art because we need beauty, and we need stories that speak to a better world.

It doesn’t feel like much, does it? And in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t. Plus it definitely doesn’t remove the taint of heartlessness to the idea of celebrating something lovely. But we are not built for despair so maybe sharing joy means helping each other stay the course.

Black and white photo of a figure in a black cloak looking out to sea.

We revealed the cover of my next novel, The Way The Light Bends on Tuesday. I am so damn proud of where I am and so honoured at the support I’ve been shown by readers and publishing folk. I love this cover enormously and am so excited about All The Good Things I have happening.

I am also in quite a lot of pain, and deeply heartsore, worried and exhausted. I know I’m not alone. I also know I’d love to see your good news, I’d love to be happy for you.

Is that okay, if we do it on top of direct action? Or does it detract from the seriousness of everything else? Maybe, but do we need a little bit of … not distraction but brightness? I think so. It gives me the energy for hope, which is no small achievement.

I don’t really have an answer to the question I started with. It feels wrong to celebrate things right now. But it feels bleak to refuse to do so in the belief that somehow silence is preferable to a little shared beauty. What do you think?

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a photograph of a sunflower.

The Way The Light Bends

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Black and white photograph of a girl kneeling in the surf, her back to the camera.

I am not entirely sure what has happened to the last few weeks. I’ve had this blog post on my list of things to do for … quite a while, and now suddenly it’s three weeks since a Very Exciting Announcement was made on the Luna Press website: the news that I have A SECOND BOOK coming out! *Cue pom-poms* It is called The Way The Light Bends, and you can read the Luna blogpost here, then read on for some more behind the scenes details…

As I say on the Luna blog, The Way The Light Bends is a very different creature to This Is Our Undoing. If Undoing started from despairing at the brokenness of the world, then Light started from marvelling at how many broken edges people can carry and yet still appear whole. It’s a quieter novel in some ways – it’s not a dystopian, there’s no spy-thriller-murder-politics edge to it. What there is instead is the dark side of Scottish folklore, a disappearance, two very different journeys through grief and the way that family can both hold us together and tear us apart.

Drops of blood and silver, the haar, the sea, moonlight and hope. The bones of a bird, and a very beautiful, dangerous man.

Photo looking back at St. Andrews along West Sands beach with white surf and wet sand, and a lone figure in the distance.
West sands, St. Andrews

Sound interesting? I hope so. It was a hard book to write because grief is not comfortable or neat, but I love the shifting, evanescent mood of the story, and I really loved writing about two sisters, Tamsin and Freya, trying to find their own ways home. Fortunately (!) my relationship with my sister is not remotely like theirs, but there are elements of the family dynamics that come from my own experiences, which was profoundly weird to put onto paper. Not sure how anyone writes a memoir – that stuff’s tricksy!

Weirdly, I wrote this book before I wrote Undoing. It very nearly got published TWICE would you believe, and when it fell through the second time (I won’t go into that, so don’t ask), I completely lost faith in it and set it aside to focus on Undoing. And I’m so glad I did.

If I had stuck with The Way The Light Bends at that (frankly quite low) point, I’d have just continued to bash my head against my own failing self-confidence. Where-as by turning to Undoing, I rediscovered some belief in my writing, and found Luna Press, who are the absolute bestest.

Photo of a burn in flood, flowing around the bases of silver birches. The trees are dark against the silvery water.

The journey that this book (and my confidence) has been on makes this step all the more precious. I am honestly so delighted to be able to continue working with Luna Press, and am convinced those other near-misses were meant to be, because I couldn’t ask for a better home for this book full of dark water, lost sisters and the power of hope.

Have a look at the photos below – I feel like they catch something of the book’s mood.

Next stop, cover design. *silent cheering* I love this stage…

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Brave New World

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Last weekend I attended FantasyCon in Birmingham (see pics), The British Fantasy Society’s annual event. It felt like a brave new world for several reasons – the first in-person event now that we are in the (hopefully) latter stages of the pandemic, my first con, my first appearance on panels, hell, my first time meeting more than three people at once in 18 months. We were all venturing out of our caves into a new world that felt both daunting and hopeful, and I personally couldn’t have asked for a better place to venture into.

Between the hotel and the organisers, and with numbers lower than normal & masks compliance higher than I’d feared, I felt far more comfortable than I might otherwise have done. So thank you, everyone, who made that happen.

I’m not going to do a report on the Con itself because others have done that already & some of the sessions are on the Youtube channel here too.  Instead I want to chat about what it feels like as a newbie author, and spoonie, doing these things.

First off, launches are great.

I am glad I did my This Is Our Undoing belated launch alongside three other authors (Allen Stroud & Cheryl Morgan, contributors to Worlds Apart, and John Dodd author of novella Just Add Water). Having all of us reading and talking made it feel like a community celebration rather than a Look At Me. There’s nothing wrong with Look At Me events, we kind of rely on them after all, but I prefer a Yay Us feel instead, personally. So anyway we all talked about and/or read from our work then signed books and ate biscuits. It was lovely, people said nice things, admired Daniele Serra’s amazing artwork, and I realised a) there is nothing I can do to make my writing look neat, and b) I often add too many ‘r’s to my name when I’m in a rush.

Second, panels are more fun than I expected.

Honestly, I had a blast on both of mine (Beginning to Write, and History of Representation in SFF). I’d never done anything like it before either as a scientist or a writer, so I was expecting nerves and overwhelming social awkwardness (especially given the emerging-from-cave situation). BUT I felt relaxed and able to contribute more or less coherently, and I wasn’t even slightly a shaky mess. I mean, I was shivering like mad in one of them as I was sitting right under the aircon vent, but Covid, etc – probably the safest place in the room to be, hypothermia notwithstanding.

Third, being with other writers is so utterly lovely, isn’t it?

I’ve missed that. I started the weekend knowing two people and ended up with a whole gaggle of new friends; interesting, enthusiastic, supportive and fun new friends. I know Zoom is useful, I find remote access invaluable, but I’d missed meeting in person. I’m so glad I went.

A photo showing four books, a necklace with clock pendant and a pair of octopus earrings. Books are The Blacktoungue Thief, Christopher Buehlman; The Academy, FD Lee; Blackbird's Song, Katy Turton, & The Flicker Against The Light, Jane Alexander.
Bookish & treasure haul (cruelly restricted by bag+train combo)

I’m so glad I went, despite the cost.

Because ooh boy, the cost. As you already know if you follow me anywhere online or have read previous blogposts, I’m a spoonie. I live with disabling illnesses that DO NOT LIKE me doing anything beyond the bare minimum. So train journeys, ‘performing’, being intensely social, late nights, changed eating routines, even carrying a bag around all day … all of these are MAHOOSIVE triggers. Which means the weekend was incredibly hard on me physically, both during and now – five days later I’m still struggling. I’m hoping to be a little more stable by next week.

Black & white photo of a 'bone harp' model, brought by Lucy Hounsom & relating to the folktale in her book 'Sistersong'.

Fortunately, I was able each day to go back to my room, dose up on a pharmacy’s worth of drugs and crash for a few hours before re-emerging frazzled but more or less human. It wasn’t perfect, and to be able to do that meant going without drugs the 10 days leading up to the event (otherwise overdose feedback bleurgh stuff), but it allowed me to carry on functioning. Even more fortunately, my publisher knew I would need to take it easy & made sure I felt able to do so.

PS: look at this ridiculously creepy/fabulous bone harp brought by Lucy Hounsom!

One of the highlights of the weekend, as I struggled with spoons, was the panel on disability representation, and the discussion around driving change in the industry. Ironically, it wasn’t one of the events streamed or recorded (no blame intended, could have been due to a number of things e.g. consent/tech issues) BUT it sounds like the British Fantasy Society have both the awareness and the will to continue to improve access for disabled writers at future events. I hope so. One of the panel members said that change depended on more disabled people writing. I pointed out that we were, we just weren’t being published, and access is a huge part of that disconnect. I would love to see fully hybrid events, subsidised tickets, comprehensive access information and provision of BSL interpreters. How about a buddy system for newbies or people who’d find a companion helpful?

The pandemic has demonstrated what the disabled community have been saying for yonks – that overhauling access is actually perfectly possible. Now let’s see that awakening lead to permanent changes (see these guides), and not let the comfort of the ‘old normal’ return to excluding so many.

Here’s to the crips. And the people who are listening to us.

So, with my spoons depleted and my soul revived, here endeth my blog. FantasyCon was wonderful, hopeful and welcoming … I cannot wait for next year.

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Photograph of the sea, some rocks & a distant Isle of May. The clouds are gloomy but sunlight is turning the sea silvery.
Returned home to a very Autumnal Scotland!