The Unbearable Lighthouse of Being

OK, so I recently went to London to do some booky type things and it was basically a cringe-fest.  This is entirely my own fault because I’m good at writing but I’m completely rubbish at most other things you care to mention, including (but not limited to):

1. Meeting people.
2. Talking to people I don’t know.
3. Mingling at social events.
4. Acting like I know what I’m talking about.
5. Explaining what my book is about.
6. Thinking of interesting things to say (until much later).
7. Being photographed/videoed.
8. Being interviewed.
9. (And I only just discovered this one recently) Signing books.

So, yeah, I was in London, doing all of the above.  Very badly.  But, you know, I tried.  And the good thing for me is that Hachette have a load of people who are far better at most things than I am.  These quote cards for example are basically the BEST THING EVER, so I am going to share them here.  The one here went out into the world to celebrate two weeks until pub date.  More will follow as and when they are released into the wild…

I’ve been talking to thirteen and fourteen year olds about writing lately (as you do) and one of the things I found myself going on about was how you don’t need an office to write.  I mean, hell, you don’t even need a desk.  I’m not saying I don’t fantasise about that little “room of my own”, particularly when I’m being hoovered around/yelled at by small people/deafened by Spanish football commentary but I don’t NEED it.  Like NEED it need it.  I mean, I’ve written one and a half books without it.  If you want to write, if you love to write, if you live to write, you will WRITE.  Wherever and whenever.  All you really need is your ideas and your love for the craft.

Oh, and maybe a nice laptop.

And a brain helps.

And some hands (so you can type).

Anyway here are some pictures of me, writing in silly places, which is what I do best.

What happens when a thirteen year old asks you if your novel is Existentialist?  

I mean, like, obviously the first thing that happens is that you wish you could google Existentialism in your mind, because even though you studied it in various forms at university you haven’t had much reason to think about it since then and so its exact (or even vague) meaning briefly (or totally) eludes you.  Then, since you can’t do any invisible googling, you try your best to blag it which, in a school, usually involves batting the question back at the asker, a la “Do YOU think it’s Existentialist?”

To which the general conclusion was yes.  It was only later (once I could google) that I realised he was right, that he had identified something about the book I wrote that I didn’t know myself and that in fact nobody had even mentioned before this point.

This was just one of the things I learned about doing author readings in the week I did my first ever (four of them) to Year 9 and Year 8 students at the school where I am the librarian.  I wonder whether all audiences will be as unexpectedly engaged and receptive as these were, or as varied.  What was really interesting was how each session had its own individual character and focus.  The first was solidly focused on business (for this read money), the second on process, the third on the actual plot and world-building, and the fourth veered between the ethics and development of the publishing industry as well as the broader philosophical implications of what I’ve written.  I know, right?  Not bad for 12-14 year olds, most of whom are working in a second language too.

Another highlight was when a girl asked me whether writing my book had given me any personal epiphanies (her exact words).  Once I got over how impressed I was with her originality and insight, I sat there trying to formulate my answer only to realise (slowly, in stages, like a sunrise) that maybe it had.

So this is what I learned about readings: I learned that because they are so personal they are terrifying (think dry mouth, shakes, cold sweats, mind blanks, everything) but I also learned that they are eye opening.  Hearing myself talk about my book but, more importantly, hearing the perspectives of my audience, made me realise all these things about it I hadn’t before and probably never would have without their input.  So yeah, while it takes a lot of out you to lay it all on the line like that (especially in a place where you work and where everyone knows you and where you have to turn up again the next day), when you weigh it up against what you get back, you definitely come out winning.

Just putting together a little presentation for school book week and remembered the quote about books being lighthouses in the sea of time. Apparently originally said by Edwin Percy Whipple. I really like the idea of books passing their stories, their information, their wisdoms, their voices, their messages out across the vast, dark ocean between them and the people reading them.

Anyway I’ve named this blog in honour of that quote, and I will write stuff on it that’s more likely to be unbearable than much of a lighthouse. But, you know, I guess that’s OK too.