Category Archives: Writing Craft

Literary versus genre

These two terms and their meanings are something I’ve found myself talking about a fair number of times in interviews, because my writing spans both speculative and literary spaces and has been marketed as both straight SFF and straight literary. Being as I have Opinions, I figured I’d share them with you!

[I shared this post on my Substack a few months ago – to keep up to date with the newest posts, as well as publishing diaries and occasional short fiction, please consider subscribing to my page there]

‘Literary’ is generally used to refer to fiction that prioritises prose style and internal character development over external plot. It also is used (inaccurately) as a marker for books that don’t contain the obvious ‘genre’ ingredients of, say: a detective solving a crime, dragons, a historic setting, romance as the main plot etc.

I say inaccurately, because the writer’s approach to prose, and the contents of the story are clearly two different things. ‘Literary’ is one end of a scale that goes through odd terms like ‘book club’ & ‘accessible’ right the way to ‘commercial’ – which is prose written to focus on the external plot and not the internal.

The contents of the story on the other hand are what determine ‘genre’. Whether that’s mystery or romance, thriller, space opera, family epic or domestic noir – they are all labels that tell you something about the waypoints you’re likely to encounter in the story.

But a book can be both a thriller, and literary. It can be both a historic mystery and commercial. The spectrum of literary-to-commercial exists within each genre. Think Wolf Hall to The Duke And I, or The Fifth Season to The Kaiju Preservation Society. There are some books whose genre is hard to pinpoint – mainly because ‘mid-life crisis’ isn’t an acceptable label apparently so they get lumped into ‘contemporary fiction’ ‘literary fiction’ or ugh ‘women’s fiction’.

We all kinda know this, right? So it annoys me that ‘literary’ is often treated as something separate from (and better than) ‘genre’. When it isn’t (on both counts).

But the truth is that these are all really just marketing terms for booksellers to use to inform & direct readers, which is the main purpose of any genre labels after all. Bookshelves are two dimensional spaces (functionally), and a book has to sit somewhere.

So rather than fight the entire functioning of bookselling, my issue instead is with how the term ‘literary’ is wielded. It comes with a certain stamp of ‘quality’ that generally attracts more trade review inches and award nods. Literary = better, right?

Hmm. But literary also has undertones of older white men writing opaque deconstructions of the agony of being an older white man. It carries associations with ‘The Classics’ and establishment standards of what makes good writing. Which, let’s be honest, is another way of saying literary = western-centric narratives by people who are white, middle/upper class, cis/het/allo, able-bodied and male.

It is a familiar joke among writers that a woman writing about a mid-life crisis is writing ‘women’s fiction’ (ugh) but a man writing about a mid-life crisis is writing ‘literary fiction’. It’s a joke because it’s true. Anyone who doesn’t fit the dominant paradigm sees their stories pigeonholed first by their own identity and only second by the content of the book itself. Which sucks, let’s be honest.

I think perceptions are changing. More non-western voices are appearing on the big literary prize lists, translation prizes are gaining greater profile, and women are consistently more equitably represented on prize lists than they were 20 yrs ago. There’s still progress to be made – we need more global south voices, we need women and other marginalised writers to receive the same respectful language in reviews as men get, but it feels like the default image of a literary author as a narcissistic tweed & cognac toting silver fox is happily on the wane.

Until it’s firmly gone though, establishment preconceptions about what makes a novel literary will continue to act as a form of gatekeeping – sending a message to working class, BIPOC, disabled, queer & women writers that ‘oh honey no, you don’t belong here.’

So when my writing is referred to as literary, a small part of me winces. Because I know some people are put off by the term – it is what ‘that kind of person’ reads (and probably pontificates about). And I’m not gonna lie – the snobbery around the term is alive and kicking in some literary circles, which has been eye opening as I moved from largely SFF events in my first two years as an author to largely literary ones this year.

HOWEVER I think the huge popularity of books that span the literary and genre spaces is helping to erode that elitism bit by bit. Writers like Natasha Pulley, Bridget Collins, Sarah Moss, Martin MacInnes, Sequoia Nagamatsu etc are all challenging the clarity of the dividing lines. I wish some of these authors would embrace their genre audience more, but that’s complicated by SFF conventions not paying authors (and in fact expecting authors to pay to attend, but that’s a whole other post). And also by marketing decisions to set these books in the ‘Fiction’ departments, not the ‘SFF’ ones.

Genre divisions – and reductive marketing labels – aren’t going anywhere. We all know the comfort of picking up a book and knowing exactly what to expect from it – we want the familiarity of a cozy murder mystery or a historic romance sometimes, I definitely do. But I think many of us are also hungry for stories that take us in unexpected directions, that meld genres and challenge our assumptions. That inhabit a familiar world but add a twist of magic.

Likewise many of us love books that are both beautiful to read, and take place in space; or thoughtfully explore grief whilst also solving a murder.

‘Genre-blending’ fiction is on the rise, for good reason, but I think for it to reach its full audience, we need to rid ourselves of the boundary lines between ‘literary’ and ‘genre’. I would pay good money to never again be asked about moving between literary and SFF as if the two were separate islands in a sea of lava!

So in a bid to erase some lines, what’s your fav read that melds genres? Or that leans heavily into literary forms within a genre space? I love Natasha Pulley’s The Kingdoms – a mix of historic suspense and timey wimey alt history. Also can’t go without mentioning the timeless Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. A deeply thoughtful exploration of agency and humanity wrapped up in a terrifying dystopian SF.

Cover Reveal and Some Musings On Cover Development

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.

The Worst Word In Publishing

Synopses!

Oh, we hates them, don’t we? They’re undeniably the foulest creation ever, designed to strip all sparkle and joy from your story (and from you).

[This blog was first published on my Substack in November last year. To stay up to date with my latest posts please consider subscribing there, but however you found me, thank you for reading!]

I thought I’d escaped the need for synopses when I signed with my agent but (sobs quietly) turns out there is never an escape. It is doom/synopses all the way down…

…I’ve been writing synopses recently, can you tell?

For those who haven’t encountered this beast, it’s a plot summary of your book that provides all the main events in a pragmatic, spoilery ‘this happens and then this happens…’ breakdown.You need one when you are querying agents (usually around 300-500 words) and sometimes you need one when your agent is submitting your book to editors & foreign rights folks (usually longer, anything up to ~1,500 words).

They are entirely functional things – serving to prove to agents that your plot works, and to give editors and other publishing staff a quick summary of your book so they can talk about it (because lmty foreign rights sub-agents, marketing/publicity staff, they may well not have time to read your book along with the dozens of others they’re representing).

You’d think that being so dry and straightforward they’d be at least easy to write, if not exactly fun. And I’ll admit the longer ones I’ve been writing this week are definitely less challenging to put together than the 300 word ones I used to create when I was querying. But it’s surprisingly hard to pare down your 100,000 word intricately woven plot to its bones whilst still have it both make coherent sense, AND more importantly, sound enticing.

This happened and then this happened is not an inherently juicy way to narrate a story, turns out.

So! Aside from bemoaning their horribleness, what advice do I have for anyone else having to face this particular hurdle? I’m going to recommend two very different approaches – try them (or don’t, if you have any sense!) and let me know how you get on.

Writing up:

This is the method I’ve always used to produce my 300 word query synopses. I think it lends itself well to producing shorter synopses and has the added advantage of producing a short pitch as well, which is super handy for querying writers to have.

Step 1. Write down any words that come to your mind when you think of your book. Could be the themes, the tropes, the main character, the setting, emotions, objects, big events. Anything at all, just a bunch of single words that capture something of your book.

Step 2. Circle around ten of the most important ones in terms of the plot, character & setting of your book.

Step 3. Using those ten(ish) words, write a short paragraph (ideally 3 sentences but don’t kill yourself in the attempt) that tells us:

a)      something enticing about the main character (yes, really do try to stick to one here, even if you’ve multiple Points of View. Sorry) – not just ‘a woman’ but ‘the world’s first female astronaut’. Not just ‘a teenage boy’ but ‘a boy who’s afraid of cats’. Idk, just some small detail that is both relevant to the challenges they’re about to face, but also makes them instantly more than a cardboard cut out.

b)     Perhaps something about the world, particularly if it’s historic fiction or SFF.

c)      What your main character’s aim is in the story – what’s the thing they need to achieve. A successful moonlanding, saving the local cat sanctuary from redevelopment by evil corporations…

d)     What challenges they’ll face – the mysogyny of the crew, engine failures; his own fear and the apathy of locals.

e)     What’s at stake – what is their motivation for battling to overcome these challenges? Fame, getting to not die on a rock in space? Getting to fulfil his gran’s wish or win the attention of the boy/girl/nonbinary of his dreams?

These few sentences will give you a rough draft of a short pitch for your book. It summarises the point of your book, basically, the reason why someone might want to read it. A character we want to get to know and a problem we are intrigued by. Not all books fit neatly into this kind of plot equation but most will, even if it’s kinda painful to be so reductive.

The good news is now you’ve done the hardest bit. You’ve plucked out the beating heart of your book, now you get to give it back a few major arteries, maybe a rib or two.

Step 4. Look at your book and make a note of the major turning points in your plot that demarcate the really significant moments. Note down how your most important secondary characters (or other Point of View characters) shape these major plot points, or have their own significant events that tie into the main plot. Don’t get too sidetracked by subplots, or by sequences of events that can be summarised as ‘tensions escalate’ or ‘a series of mishaps’ or whatever.

Step 5. Now flesh out your 3 sentence pitch, by adding in your plot points from Step 4. AND THE CLIMAX EVENT. Include spoilers. Editors/agents need to know that you’ve stuck the landing, so to speak. So give them the specifics, not just ‘X must solve the mystery before disaster strikes’. That sort of hooky line is for the pitch, not the synopsis.

Ta da! You have yourself a synopsis.

Step 6. Edit it for clarity. Keep sentences on the short side and light on descriptive flourishes. This isn’t the place to demonstrate your lyricism. Clear, concise and well structured are better than super voicey.

exhausted face

Chapter by chapter:

This is the method I’ve been using this time around – to create synopses on the longer side (1.2 & 1.5k words). It’s useful in that there’s a lot less thinking involved lol, and less agonising over what plot points to include. But it does go long, so it’s probably not ideal for those in the querying trenches needing pithier synopses.

Step 1. Go through your book and for every chapter, note down the main events (both external and internal/emotional)

Step 2. Circle the events that are most important. There may be a fair few that aren’t vital in explaining the plot progression – that’s okay, small plot details and quieter chapters are not illegal.

Step 3. Write up a point by point summary of your circled point events. Keep your paragraphs short – one per couple of chapters might work well. Make sure you’re tying the various plot threads together. As this version is longer, more of your subplots and secondary characters are likely to make it onto the page, so make sure you’re threading them in well, rather than just mentioning them once and then forgetting them. (if you only need to mention them once, perhaps avoid doing so at all). Again include spoilers for the ending. Unlike with the shorter synopsis, you’ll have space here to include the resolution after the climax too.

Step 4. Umm, yeah this method is a lot simpler. Ta da! You have yourself a long synopsis.

Hope that helps! Happy writing & may all your synopses be magically written by elves while you are sleeping.

Next time on the blog I’ll be talking about the messy, kinda gatekeepery divide between ‘literary’ and ‘genre’ because as a writer who crosses that divide, hoo boy do I have Opinions!

Adventures in Substack

Hi folks. Thank you so much for reading my (irregular) blogs on this page, it’s been a joy. I have been toying with ideas about how to connect better with readers though, and have decided to give Substack a go. It feels like a more natural home for the blog, giving me the freedom to add more content whilst also reaching a wider audience.

Join my Substack here

I will be blogging more regularly there – posting fortnightly blogs on writing craft, the publishing industry & inspiration, as well as occasionally sharing short speculative fiction.

Partly to allow me to share slightly more sensitive work, and partly in an attempt to be able to afford chocolate, I have a paid subscriber tier in addition to the above, where I will be providing sneak peeks of unpublished work, and a diary of my books’ journeys through writing to publication & beyond – shedding light on some of the lesser talked about aspects of the publication process.

My paid subscribers will also be able to join me twice yearly for online writing workshops, although I plan (health depending, you know how it is) to run online Q&A sessions open to all at regular intervals as well.

It’s a new venture for me and a little bit daunting, if I’m entirely honest, but I really hope you’ll come join me over there & help me build a wee community of good people.

Thank you,

Lorraine

Join my Substack here

black vanilla orchid

Mother Sea Island Tour

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

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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Dark Academia – tropes, toffs and tribulations.

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.

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.

Novellas – Writing Up Instead Of Down

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.

The Dreaded Cover Letter

Covid has found the household and I can see my productivity slipping away, so to make myself feel like I’ve achieved something, I’m posting this! That counts as work, right?

Anyway … I’ve been looking at a fair amount of submission packages over the last few months, and have noticed some common patterns. So, on the offchance that you’re struggling with yours and are looking for a few pointers, here they are. (Please note, the internet is full of people offering advice on cover letters and synopses, and none of us are omniscient. But most of us have some useful tips & hopefully I do too). I’ll cover synopses if I’m ever feeling brave but today is all about The Cover Letter. Oh we agonise over this, don’t we? And the moment we press send, we spot a spelling mistake anyway. Sigh. But here goes…

The first thing to remember is that this is, effectively, a job application.

I know the relationship goes the other way in the end, but at the point of submission you are trying to persuade the agent/editor that they want to work with you. So it’s a job application. Treat it like one. By that I mean:

  • Be professional in all correspondence. But most of all…
  • BE CLEAR.

This is the fundamental point, I think. Just as you would with a CV or application form, you want to make the relevant information absolutely easy to spot. You want it right there, all in one neat package for the agent/editor to locate and understand quickly. They don’t have a lot of time, and you are up against people whose letters are clear, so don’t bury the key information in random places or beneath non-essential details.

So what is this key information and where is it meant to be?

As with all things, annoyingly, there is a degree of variance here – US cover letters often lead with the pitch, for example, and some agents/editors will ask for a different format or content to the standard. But I’m going to go with what appears to be the industry standard in the UK, interspersed with calming pictures.

So herewith lies my model cover letter structure:

  • Dear [Get their name right, goddammit. Double check. Triple check.]
  • Opening Paragraph. 2-3 short sentences containing:
    1. If you’re submitting to a specific call (e.g. BIPOC writers or a Twitter pitch event request) then open with that. Otherwise…
    2. Title and word count (standard phrase is ‘complete at n words’.
    3. Genre. Don’t get bogged down with ‘but my books straddles 27 genres’. Pick one, add a second term if you have to, e.g. ‘Thriller with speculative elements’, ‘Literary mystery’, ‘Romantic space-opera’. They need to know where your book will sit in a bookshop, they also need to know you understand your book enough to know where it will sit in a bookshop.
    4. Why you’re submitting to that person in particular. Don’t wax lyrical about 14 of the authors on their list, or cite an interview they did 15 years ago. Do say that you saw their recent MSWL (manuscript wish list) and think your book might interest them because of X, or that your book shares themes of Y with their author Englebert Humperdink. If you’ve met them, this is where to remind them of that.
    5. If this particular book has been listed for any awards, mention that here.
Photo of two mute swans on silvery water. There are lots of small ripples and a broken reflection of each swan. It's all pale and calming.
Have some swans. Take a deep breath.
  • Background Paragraph. 3 sentences containing:
    1. Your personal connection to this story – whether a life experience, professional expertise, cultural identity, spotted a news article that prompted it. What was it that made you write it; and if it’s potentially sensitive, what makes you the right person to write it.
    2. Comparative titles. Yes, we all hate them. No, your book isn’t unique and incomparable. Yes, it’s important. Again, this is about showing the agent that you understand who your readers are, and that you have some awareness of the market you want them to launch your book into. Markets change, so keep the comps <5yrs old and try to strike a balance between utterly niche and the obvious big names. JKR is not a good comp, and neither is Aristotle, probably.
  • It’s worth noting here that your comps don’t have to be perfect plot/setting matches. Yes, a little similarity is good – comping your space opera to a romcom in Dagenham is probably stretching it. But think about the themes of your story, the tone of it. It’s okay to compare, say, a historical story with a contemporary one if the feel of the story is similar.
  • Also worth noting, you aren’t being egotistical & claiming you’re as good as Margaret Atwood (although naturally you are), you’re saying ‘my book may appeal to readers of…’ and that’s okay.
photo of my thumb & finger holding an eroded scallop shell up to a pale winter sun. The light through the shell is kind of a mosaic, it's weird and pretty.
You’re getting there. Here’s some sunshine through a gnarly shell.
  • The Pitch. 3 sentences. Oh isn’t it hell? Some pointers:
    1. First off, some people swop this with the Background Paragraph. That’s fine. I think it flows better this way around but it’s not a life or death decision. Do what feels right.
    2. This (otherwise known as your elevator pitch) is essentially a back-cover blurb. The pithy, dramatic hook that presents: 1. the main character(s), 2. the thing they need to achieve, 3. why they need to achieve it, and 4. why that’s so bloody hard. (Note the ending isn’t included here). Read lots of back covers to get a feel for them.
    3. It’s nice, but not essential to have a ‘tag line’ – one short sentence/line that tells us the unique concept of your book. Again, check out a few books – the tag line is often on the front cover, or at the top of the back cover blurb. Mine for This Is Our Undoing is ‘Could you condemn one child to save another?’ Some people don’t like questions but hey, I couldn’t resist – it summarises an absolute moral dilemma in the book that’s both a little unusual and dramatic.
    4. It’s ridiculously hard to summarise your intricate 90,000 words into 3 sentences isn’t it? So don’t. Think about the heart of your book, the feel of it (I’m fond of that image), and write down 10 words that come to mind. Then pick the most emotive of those, grab your four facts from point 2. above and see what you can come up with. Remember to use a few deliberate specifics to show us what’s unique about this story. ‘A woman’ is less engaging than ‘A Victorian adventurer’ for example. ‘To prevent disaster’ is less interesting than ‘To save the world’s last stiltwalkers’.
Photo of a sleeping penguin lying on it's belly facing the camera. Against a backdrop of distant sea.
The penguin says you’re doing great. Nearly there.
  • Your writing credentials. 2-4 sentences. Yes really, we don’t need to know much here. This is where a lot of early-career writers get nervous, but don’t. It’s the least important paragraph to be honest. If you have credentials then that’s fabulous and eye-catching, but if you don’t, then remember that everyone loves to discover a hidden talent, so trust your story to stand up without props. Some things you might include are:
    1. Previous novel/novella publications. Say what they are, who published them and when. If you self-published, you can mention it, but some folk say they’re only interested if it comes with a measure of success – lots of reader reviews, an Amazon bestseller flag, a trade review etc.
    2. Short fiction. Say where they were published. You don’t need to put story titles or dates, and if you’ve got quite a few, just pick the biggest publications (e.g. the ones that pay pro- or semi-pro rates, or the ones with the largest social media accounts).
    3. Prizes & prize listings, scholarships, awards, creative writing courses. Say what the prize/course/award was, and it’s probably good to say which year, although if you’ve quite a few, don’t bother. Again if you’ve a few, pick the most prestigious & recent.
    4. Any other important information. You might want to mention your profession, your location or identity. You don’t need to tell us about your cats, your non-writing hobbies, or that you love reading. You can tell us about the cats if you really want to, I guess. Regarding disclosing marginalised identities – the jury is out on whether to do that or not and honestly, I think it’s entirely up to you. If it’s relevant to the story then you’ll already have mentioned it in the Background Paragraph. If it’s not relevant but you’re submitting in response to a specific call, then you’ll have covered that in the Opening Paragraph. Disclosing it isn’t going to put a good agent off. Anyone it does put off is clearly not someone you want to work with anyway, so perhaps it’s useful as a filter if nothing else. Do what you feel comfortable with.
  • Sign off. ‘Please find attached…’, ‘Thank you for your time…’, whatever your personal approach. And ta da. That’s it. Well done you. Have some chocolate.

That was quite a long blog! If you’ve made it to the end then a) well done, b) hope it was useful and c) I love lists.

To repeat what I said at the start, this is all subjective … to a degree. Make it your own, but the essential point of clarity and succinctness stand regardless of the structure you prefer. Good luck! Let me know what you think. But don’t come at me with your ‘I got 6 offers of representation and my cover letter was an acrostic poem’ – we’re not all called Tarquin. Sit down.  

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Photo of a mum and five baby capybaras sitting on a narrow dirt track, looking, like they do, rather sleepy and smug.
Here’s some baby capybaras, you deserve it.

Diversity in Publishing, Mentoring, and Imposter Syndrome.

I was half way through writing a very different blog post last week when UK publishing had a rather drastic explosion on social media. I won’t go into the details but it started with someone commodifying the work of vulnerable children whilst writing about those children in terms that were racist, ableist, weirdly appearance-obsessed and basically pretty cruel; and ended with a very, very high profile white male author calling women of colour Taliban/ISIS terrorists for expressing (politely, courageously) their discomfort with the book.

Photo of a wolf watching the camera.

It’s not been a fun few days to be a ‘minority’ author, watching the great and the good of the world you are trying to navigate throw people like you to the wolves to protect those they see as righteous (hello white saviours) from the slightest slight. And no, ‘throw to the wolves’ isn’t melodramatic, the bigot bots were out in force against the women of colour at the centre of the backlash, which made the deliberate comparison to terrorists even more despicable.

The thing is, this isn’t the first time this kind of thing has happened. And although this incident is the industry playing its cards very openly, we know that even when the black squares and the rainbow logos etc are up, the cards don’t necessarily change. You don’t have to look very far to find statistics which prove that. We know that such a damaging book made it through countless hands on its road to publication & award, so what proportion of those people were from marginalised groups? What proportion were uncomfortable with the text but felt unable to speak up, or were ignored when they did? What proportion didn’t see anything wrong with treating vulnerable children that way at all? Will any of that systemic bias actually be changed by the publisher’s talk of ‘revising the book for re-issue’? These are not encouraging thoughts to have if you’re marginalised, or comfortable ones if you’re a decent person from a majority identity, and so it’s very easy to feel powerless to do anything. And, incidentally, afraid of doing anything. These are powerful people, they can shape your publishing prospects, and it’s frightening raising your head above the parapet. Other than express my views in a Twitter post then, what can I, a newbie and fairly insignificant author, do?

Black and white photo of lone child silhoutte against a backdrop of bay and mountains. The atmosphere is a bit bleak and lonely. Taken in Iceland.

Not an awful lot, really. Buy books from marginalised authors? Well, that’s the majority of my books already. Not buy books from those authors who’ve shown their bigot card? Yes, I’ve got a new name to add to that list, sadly.

The one thing I can do is this: try to help other marginalised writers. The only way books like this will get dealt with before they do harm, the only way better, more positive books will make it through the system is if more marginalised voices are in the room – both the literal editorial meeting room, and the figurative UK publishing community space. I can’t do anything about the former, but perhaps I can do something about the latter.

I’ve been wanting to provide some sort of service to other under-represented writers for a long time, but not done anything because … well, the Big & Recalcitrant Imposter Syndrome, basically. But I decided when I signed my publishing deal for This Is Our Undoing that once the book was out and I was officially A Published Author, imposter syndrome could go jump in the sea & I’d Do Something…

…The book came out last week, UK publishing did a giant racism/ableism and I guess there’s no better time than the present.

So, I’m going to start out small, partly because I have no idea whether there’ll be any demand, and partly because I have to manage my own health and there’s only so many extra commitments I can take on. But here’s the page outlining what I can offer, and how it will work. Let me know what you think.

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Photo of a granite rock & its reflection in a tide pool in pale sand.