Legendary Authors

Arresting Development

 

Just wanted to share some good news. We’ve finally been published again. Just when we were beginning to think we’d turn 26 without another publication to our name, we were runners up in a competition, which means our story, Missed Call got put into an anthology. (The anthology’s available to buy at www.the-pages.blogspot.com if anyone's interested) We’d only really sent the story off ‘cos we’d just turned it into a novel and wanted to know if we were on the right track. The only real criticisms of the story were the over-use of exclamation marks and the swearing, which shouldn’t be used for competitions. Oh $*%~! The photo's us celebrating our 26th last month.

Another short story’s still under consideration for an Australian magazine, so hopefully we’ll have more good news to report, though we don’t hold out much hope. We’ve got 5 short story deadlines for March we’re trying to reach, though we have just scrapped a story due in on the 16^th and written a totally new one. There’s nothing like pressure to make you work. The novel, Missed Call has just been finished. It only took us about 6 weeks to write, but now needs extensive redrafting, as on first word count, it’s 258,700 words. We’ve never written one that long. So the book’s currently a victim of the editorial version of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre­ ­and a lot of the starring words won’t survive for the sequel.

 

C L Raven, hacking and slicing like a thing possessed.

Nightmare Before Christmas

 

The Nightmare Before Christmas doesn’t refer to one of the best films ever, but to our homage to it – our outfits. Our sister wanted nice photos for our niece’s first xmas, so we thought of dressing in Bah Humbug dresses we’d found on the Internet. (We don’t do xmas). Then our scrooge sides got the better of us & we decided it’d be cheaper to just stick some tinsel to our own dresses & clip some fake mistletoe into our hair – us with mistletoe is most guys’ idea of a nightmare. Which was proved by the only guy we got to kiss was our lovely grampy.

    Our damn car, Reapers is finally purring again after his head gasket replacement. We ended up doing it twice because we snapped the water pump bolts off in the head, so it had to all come back off again so they could be drilled out. The second time round we got it stripped in an hour. Then we put a heat plate in the wrong place, meaning he was sucking in air & wouldn’t start. Oh and there was the small problem of a fire. A combination of spilled fuel, too much carb cleaner & a shorting starter motor wire = whoosh! Panic stations. Our mum was shouting “it’s on fire!” Lynx was shouting “Where’s the extinguisher?” Cat was shouting “it’s in the boot!” Then it was like an episode of Fawlty Towers when we had to read how to use the damn thing as the flames were growing then pointed the wrong bit at the flames, resulting in chemical powder all over the engine bay. It took a while to clean up. Happily, he’s forgiven us & now starts. We just have to sort out a leak & change the oil & filter. He was just the latest in a long line of things that have caught fire under our command. The others being the cooker (twice, luckily it was electric), the hoover, the toaster & a candle holder, resulting in a fireball rushing towards the polystyrene kitchen ceiling tiles. They’ve now gone. Reapers is the only one to have survived an igniting. As our mum says, if we had brains, we’d be dangerous.

    On the writing front, we’ve just sent off 2 short stories to a competition. 1 about a very unChrismassy Santa who’s arrested for drink driving & tries to use his celebrity status to get off. It’s been 1 of our favourite stories to write, though in parts, we were laughing so hard, we couldn’t type. The other started off as a 5000 word short story then we cut it to 4k for the competition then liked it so much we decided to turn it into a novel. It’s coming along nicely.

    We’re trying to think of a non-Christmassy thing to do this year. Every year we make a point of spending the day doing the most non-Christmassy thing we can think of. Since we stopped it at 18, we’ve taken our dogs to the beach, watched horror films, unblocked the drains, sprayed flames on our cars & last year we redecorated our bedroom. The other years we can’t remember. We’re thinking maybe we’ll do the oil change, or write, or go ghost hunting, or think of something else. There was nearly an argument this year over the tree. We didn’t want one, but our mum thought we should get one for our niece. In the end we compromised on the fibre optic winter tree that’s posing with us. The lights on it were white, but we thought that was boring, so our mum came up with a great idea, got some OHP pens & coloured in the disc inside. It now has colour lights. She’s a genius.

 

For those who do celebrate xmas, have a creepy Christmas & a haunting New Year. For those who don’t, do what we do and just enjoy watching the world go completely crazy over one pointless day. Everyone should try banning it just for one year. Christmas as an outside observer is far more fun. Here’s to no Christmas shopping, no Christmas debt, no Christmas dinner with The Family, no arguments over the TV and best of all, no Christmas!

 

C L Raven. Bah humbug.

Happy Halloween!

 

We’d be a disgrace to Goth kind if we didn’t blog on the best day of the year to wish everyone a happy Halloween. As you can see, we decided to be pirates this year. The doomed pirates from the Mary Celeste. They didn’t have girl pirates then but we like bending the rules. If we’d been alive then we might have been pirates. We’d also like to welcome our niece to the world. Brooke Amy Katelyn was born 3 weeks ago so congrats to our sister Sarah and her fiancé Craig. Naturally we bought Brooke lots of Halloween outfits and when she looks at the photos when she’s older she may never forgive us.

            Been pretty busy lately. One of our Renault 4’s threw a tantrum after we’d spent days de-rusting and repainting the pair of them (which resulted in rust going in Cat’s eye, and staying there until her eye was so swollen and bloodshot she was forced to spend the night awake. But when the choice is all night agony or A and E 2:30 on a Saturday morning, she wisely chose the pain.) Anyway, the damn yellow R4 blew its gasket on a test run after messing with the points. We were like a mobile fog machine, crawling along the main road rendering other drivers blind. Any drivers who wouldn’t let us turn back into our street got a faceful of white fumes in retaliation. Never mess with R4’s. They’re a temperamental, angry species. Our garage didn’t want to touch it and we love the car (despite the many times it’s broken down in the cold) so we figured, we’ve got a Haynes manual and a toolkit and heaps of enthusiasm, what more do we need? So we took it apart. Dismantled the carburettor, removed the alternator and everything connected to the cylinder head then carefully removed the cylinder head. Sure enough, tiny hole in the gasket. After getting a replacement we’re now in the process of re-fitting everything and praying to the god of R4’s that it works when it’s completed. Or we’ll be having serious words with the yellow Renault. We’re sure he hates us.

            In between dealing with stroppy cars we’ve been writing, as always. Currently working on a comedy diary style piece about social phobes attempting to find friends, based on our own disastrous yet tragically funny experiences. As well as redrafting our current novels, writing poetry and working on short stories. Just had a rave rejection for another one – they said we “clearly have the necessary tools of the writing trade” and thought our descriptions were “brilliantly evocative.” We’re getting there.

            Our laptop’s died again so we’ve been forced to buy yet another adapter. It costs the same as the royalties we’re getting from 8Hours. Kind of ironic.

            So, Happy Halloween. We’re off to stuff our faces with coffin cake, play ducking apples and dance Thriller really badly.

 

C L Raven. No-one’s going to save us from the beast about to strike. Mwa ha ha ha ha!

Poetry at work - and other writing!

Happy National (UK) Poetry Day! And the theme this year being 'work', it seems appropriate that this week has been full of both work and poetry for me...

I was delighted, but nervous, after being asked by a local reading group this week if I would lead a session next May on Legend Press anthology Remarkable Everyday, which contains my short story Monday. I'm hoping to pop along to the April session on The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve to pick up a few tips on what will be expected of me. Wish me luck though, as leading a reading group session will be a first for me!

I've also been busy this week on other things as I was lucky enough to be asked to accompany my son's deputy head teacher on a conference about engaging parents and parent and school partnerships. His primary school is thinking about setting up a parents' council or forum. It is all interesting stuff, as I'd love to be more involved in his school and education, but I have a feeling it promises more work than poetry, or have I just set myself a challenge!

My son's school has also just set up some new 'university' sessions where parents can share their skills with pupils. Younger son's childcare permitting, I'm hoping I may be able to get involved on a creative writing/poetry/journalism front. Last year, I was lucky enough to help out with a year two class and hearing them read, make up their own poetry, book reviews, riddles etc was very rewarding - and inspiring too for my own writing.

It has been a productive week for me on the writing front. Amongst other projects, I've been busy editing a new short story which I'm hoping to have ready to submit for the 2009 Legend Press short story anthology. The deadline is ticking closer for me and anyone else who's yet to submit (you've still got till the end of the month though!).

I also found out this week that I've gained two Merit awards in Nottingham Poetry Society's 2008 Nottingham Open Poetry Competition, with my poems to be published in the next issue of Poetry Nottingham. As I said, a productive week of both work and poetry! Hope everyone else's has been good too.

Sarah James

So what are you reading?

“The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading…. a writer will turn over half a library to make one book.” Samuel Johnson.

 

Read as much as you can; it’s the most basic advice for writers, isn’t it?*** It’s why I don’t quite trust people who have no books around the house, and why any writer who says “I don’t read so I can maintain the purity of my own writing” is full of shite.

 

My Dad recently gave me a copy of Nick Hornby’s “The Complete Polysyllabic Spree” in which the “High Fidelity” author details the books he buys, month by month, as well as reviewing the books he actually reads. I was heartened to see how many books made it onto his bookshelves, but how few of them he finished. I also have walls full of the damn things, with overflow boxes into the garage. When we sold our last house, prospective buyers would say, “What a lot of books - have you read them all?” as if I’d merely bought them from Ikea by the metre like so much decorative bunting.

 

There are very few books in the house that I haven’t read cover to cover, usually several times. It’s only recently I’ve felt able to give up on a book I’m not enjoying. That’s doing an English degree for you; you get so used to ploughing through set texts that not finishing a book feels rather naughty, even if a novel’s so dull, objectionable or badly written that it makes you want to rip it up and kick it downstairs. (I’ve only actually done that once, and it was Gina Ford – but that’s another story).

 

My reading habits change by the week – one of the great things about writing is the excuse to read a big stack of books for research, whether it’s for story background or a non-fiction article. I do abuse this – I’ve been getting away with reading ‘Heat’, ‘Hello’ and ‘Okay’ for the last year because I tell my husband it’s all vital research for the ‘deranged celebrities’ novel I’m working on. Last month I wrote a story about the Great War and devoured books about trench warfare and now I’ve got a huge pile about religion in late 17th Century England. Can’t wait.

It’s also interesting to see where people have reading blindspots. Some of mine are: good poetry (too intense, it makes me weep), bad poetry (just plain embarrassing), Chicklit (I resent that ‘marriage solves everything’ triteness), and George Eliot (dunno why – she’s just a total miserablist).

Anyway, I thought I’d share some of the stuff I’ve read this month, in no particular order, and maybe you could all recommend things you’ve read recently and really enjoyed (or warn us off the ones you’ve hated…)

 

Russell Brand – “My Booky Wook” 

Frank, funny, with a great ‘voice’ but oh so horribly manipulative. He thinks describing how louche and ambitious he is makes it all okay, and unfortunately he does seem to be getting away with it.

 

Alan Moore / Dave Gibbons -“Watchmen”

I hadn’t read a graphic novel for years, but it’s billed as one of ‘Time’ Magazine’s ‘100 best novels’ and it’s about to be released as a film and I love that crossover between movies and books. It is very good indeed. (So far. My husband has now pinched it, so I’m only ¾ through.)

 

Haruki Murakami – “South of the Border, West of the Sun” and “Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman”

Great stuff. Evocative, haunting and strangely reassuring. Sometimes simply telling a story, or maybe telling a story simply, is enough…

 

Terri Prone – “Dancing with the Angel”

Weird one this; the novelistic equivalent of one of those cars that’s made from welded together bits of other cars. It starts out as a thriller, quite dark and with lots of personal tragedy and mystery, and then it veers off into a Marian Keyes-style humorous Irish romance, bejesus. Like the author changed her mind half way through, or her publisher suddenly demanded a happy ending…

 

Linwood Barclay – “No Time for Goodbye”

Yes, and life’s too short for reading this. Okay, it’s a page-turner, but has character and plot holes you could drive a 4 x 4 through and is the most psychologically unconvincing crime novel I have ever read. One of those books that depending on your mood, cheers you up because you know you can write so much better than this, or makes you despair that such nonsense reaches #1 on the bestseller list. I’d love to find out what other people think about this one, but please borrow it from the library ‘cos I don’t think the author deserves any more royalties for such a shonky book! (God, what an awful thing to say…)

 

Emma Seaman

‘Short stories a speciality’

 

*** Ah, now whether it’s the best advice to writers is another matter – personally I think the best advice to anyone who says “I want to write” is “Well bloody write then!” Took me quite a while...

Ghost writing

 

No, we're not hanging out by a disused garage because it's fun, but because it's on a stretch of supposedly haunted road in Aberbeeg and we used it in Lynx's novel, so we figured we oughta visit it. We didn't see the ghost of the murdered policeman, but maybe we need to return in the dead of the night for that. We then tried to find our way to a haunted manor house, Llancaiach Fawr, but took the wrong road and a road that wasn't on our map. We’re sure Bargoed’s really nice, but not when you’ve circled it three times. Two hours later, we finally got there and there was a wedding on so we had to wait for all the poshly dressed guests to flee through the pouring rain so we could take our photos. Thanks to mum for getting lost with us and for braving the torrential rain so we could get atmospheric photos of an abandoned filling station – couldn’t have done it without you. Is there a better way to spend a Saturday? Possibly not.

Speaking of novels, we've now finished ours. They took just two months - a record for us and also a shame ‘cos we really loved writing them. Now the redrafts begin after we've finished redecorating our back room in signal red. Cat's novel was about demons breaking out of hell, which gave us a good excuse to buy a metal compilations album, so she could set it to a metal soundtrack. Alice Cooper's Brutal Planet' is perfect and if the book’s ever made into a film, we plan to use it over the end credits. You listening Tim Burton? Lynx's was about ghost hunters, hence the visiting haunted places and was set to an Emo rock soundtrack, mostly My Chemical Romance (our favourite band) whose songs are mostly about death. We didn’t finish ‘til quite late, so we celebrated by…checking our snail tanks for eggs and going to bed. Rock and roll. Does anyone have a way of celebrating finishing a novel? We've also been writing lots of short stories - 3 deadlines in September & 2 in October. One of our short stories recently got into the top 15 of a competition and we got a rave review from the judge, which was good. We must be improving if our rejections are getting better.

Oh and we recently acquired a corn snake. We were looking after him for our cousin and now he (the snake) is staying. Not keen on feeding him defrosted rats, but he's a cute little thing and now lives in our spare bedroom, which houses our iguana and 11 African Land Snails. Only 8 snails are ours, the other 3 belong to our sister's school and we look after them in the holidays.

Just want to say a quick congratulations to our mum, who starts her new job on Monday. She finally quit teaching after 19 years in the same school. So good luck mum, you’ll be brilliant at it.

C L Raven (knackered and paint-splattered)

New Edition, New Me!

I am a firm believer that coincidences mean something, though I'm not always sure what. I couldn't quite believe it then, when I realised the “remarkable” coincidence that I should have a make-over (with new, dramatically shorter hairstyle) at the same time as the new edition of Remarkable Everyday was being given a make-over in the form of a new cover.

BEFORE

AFTER

While I will do a lot in the name of marketing (take a look at my blog at www.writelink.co.uk/blogs/sarah_james for a few of the wackier examples) even I will drawn the line somewhere. This coincidence was not at all planned then, pleased though I am with the results of both.

In fact, my own “redesign” with short hair is more a celebration of successfully managing to lose five stone over the past year. And, if I'm honest, there is also perhaps a small acknowledgement that with a son at school I am no longer as young as I used to be so should start to look more my age (21, of course!).

Anyway, as coincidences go, this one isn't bad, as my website has also recently been revamped. This too has been on the cards for a while (particularly since my sister commented that it looked “rather eighties”) but my web designer, aka my sister, has only just had time to do it. Still, with the official launch of the new Remarkable Everyday anthology today, it does seem like the perfect time to launch my new website too. So when you've bought your copy of the new edition (okay, so I'm cheeky), don't forget to check out my new website at http://sarah-james.co.uk .

Puzzled by Pride

 

Of late I’ve been pondering the notion of pride, prompted in part by recent media shots of proud parents cooing over their offspring's A-Level results, and Jamaican citizenry partying after Usain Bolt's' fantastic medal winning feats (no doubt much the same has been going on in Michael Phelps’ hometown, and those of the many less famous British medal winners.)

I'm not averse to feeling a spurt of pride from time to time, but when I examine it, it always troubles me. For I suspect that pride has less to do with the endeavor of the person whose achievement triggers it, than with our selves. When we beam broadly and proclaim, "I'm proud of you!" isn't it really ourselves that we are celebrating by proxy, our chest puffed-up on the strength of the other's success, a success now claimed, in part at least, as our own?

"I'm so thrilled for you, you've done so well, it's truly wonderful, well done you!" is surely fulsome enough praise. What is it, I wonder, that make so many of us opt instead for the words, "I'm proud of you!"? I suspect it is that pride has something to do with ownership and possession. In declaring my pride in another, I'm claiming the other as my own. When I declare that I am proud of MY son/daughter, MY country, MY team, I swell up, bask, and preen myself in the reflected glory of their success. Indeed, in effect, I claim a share of it as my own.

And what’s wrong with that, you might say? Well, if I'm entitled to feel pride at what my kith and kin get up to, then am I not also entitled to feel shame, when they fall short, when they chicken out, when they 'let the side down'? Pride, it seems to me is essentially both possessive and judgmental, one side of the coin of conditional love.

Pride in one's country seems odder still. After all, it's a mere accident of birth and geography that makes me British, or American, or Sudanese (I'm half-Irish by the way) so why should I feel pride in my nationality, rather than simply love, or affection, towards my country's scenery, its values, and its people?

Pride in one's children seems a somewhat different proposition because how they turn out is, in part, down to us parents. However, god knows how you measure your own input into the process of what becomes of your kids; perhaps it's safer to let them hand out the brickbats or bouquets in their own good time; hopefully, when old enough and suitably chastened by the challenge of parenthood themselves. And may I suggest that when they start dishing out the plaudits and the complaints, we have the  good sense to take both with a large pinch of salt.

I am more comfortable with the expression of pride in one's own performance and achievements than those of others. My novel, 'Listening In' will be published in 2009, I'm proud of that fact; it's been a long struggle, hard won. Proud too, of the short story that was published earlier this year. I have a right to say these things, the ideas were mine, I did the work, and I kept faith in the result. I'm hugely grateful to others (and they know it) for encouraging me, for having faith too, and for caring about me through the various disappointments and rejections I've endured along the way, and I'm grateful too, to various friends and relatives for helping me celebrate my small, but precious, recent success.

I almost wish I could end these musings here. The trouble is I keep coming up against a serious flaw in my argument that gnaws at my comfort like a persistent midge. Many children, often long grownup, admit that they still yearn, just for once, to hear a parent declare that they are truly proud of them. Perhaps I’ve been missing the point. Perhaps being claimed (willingly and happily) by those above us in the scheme of things is the ultimate form of approval, the need for which goes deep in our psyche? After all, how can we ever repay those who gave us life, for bringing us into being, even though, as the saying goes, ‘the night my parents made me, their minds were not on me’? Of course it is not the mere fact that our parents fucked with intent, or casual disregard, and thereby brought us into being, that matters so much, but that they stuck around and had a serious go at making a fist of the most difficult job on earth, being a parent.

Perhaps when at last we hear a parent say, “I’m proud of you,” it is tantamount to them saying, ‘It’s ok, it was all worthwhile,’ and, on hearing those words, we feel the burden of their sacrifice weighing just a little lighter on our shoulders.

KC Chandler
(www.myspace.com/kcchandler)

 

Hopping mad

 First off, just wanted to say congrats to Josie on the publication of Silence and the launch. It was good to meet Cath and Carys again and to meet Alys for the first time - she's really funny. We now have our first ever book signed by the author. (Not counting the copies of 8 Hrs we signed to each other. Still can't figure out whether this is sad or not.) So, well done Josie and hopefully, one day, we'll be inviting you to our first novel launch. We've already been planning it. We're thinking Halloween decorations, live band and maybe holding it in a haunted place like Llancaiach Fawr or Castell Coch.

Speaking of novels, we've been really busy recently. We've just sent off 3 novels for a first novel competition. There wasn't a limit on entries and we had 7 to go, but when we learned they wanted the full MS with 1 inch margins and double space, we decided to cut it down to 3. We've also sent off about 8 short stories to various competitions and magazines, and have just finished writing another one, so fingers crossed.

We've also just started a novel each and are about 38 chapters in. Cat's is about demons who escape from hell to collect souls for Hades' army against god and Lynx's is about ghost hunters. So we decided that for authenticity, we'd get ourselves a book on haunted places in Cardiff and go exploring. We've already been down a supposed haunted lane off Caerphilly mountain. We deliberately went in the dark after watching an episode of Supernatural. The thing is, we don't actually believe in ghosts or demons or any of the dark stuff we write about, but it still fascinates us, so we know the ghost hunting's a waste of time, but we're still gonna go. Next on the list is a road in Aberbeeg where a policeman was murdered in 1911. We've just finished watching the film 1408, about a sceptical writer who stays in a haunted hotel room. It was recommended by the cool cashier we mentioned in the blog about our cars. He said we had to watch it just before ghost hunting, probably so we'd be completely freaked out. Except the film wasn't scary, but it was funny. He mentioned the film was based on a story by Stephen King, so we were telling him about our ambition to knock King off his throne by the time we're 30, but we're now half way through being 25 and realise this is a bit ambitious. So we figured the only way we're gonna acheive this is to run him down and take him out of the game. (Joke. Although the last time this happened to him, he wrote the brilliant Kingdom Hospital programme whislt recovering. What if our attempt makes him into an invulnerable genius? We need a new plan.) Luckily, he laughed, which is a good sign. Usually you can see people smiling politely whilst they're trying to figure out how they can reach their phones and call for the chuckle wagon without attracting our attention. So King, next time you see a raven, watch it's not driving a car.

C L Raven, preparing to hire a Cadillac

Being a Legend in London

They say being a writer is a lonely business. I think this is especially true if you're a writer who doesn't live in London. Please don't misunderstand...this isn't a moan. As a woman who has turned being anti-social into an art-form at times, I don't necessarily see being 'lonely' as a negative. Indeed, shutting myself away in a room with only a laptop for company is a bit of an indulgence for me. Especially as I don't get the chance to do it that often these days. However it is nice, once in a while, to catch up with a few fellow Legends and other literary types. Again, a bit of an indulgence: the day job and the distance means I don't get to go to as many Legend bashes as I would like. So, it being the summer holiday and all, I grabbed my opportunity to head down to The Smoke on last Thursday.

Admittedly the trek from the provinces wasn't all plain sailing. Our train broke down and we were booted off in Bedford and ushered onto another very overcrowded train which eventually heaved it's way into St Pancras over an hour late (Yey!) However, it was a lovely sunny day in London so we weren't disheartened. Even with the delay we'd still arrived with a few hours to spare before the 'do'. We headed down to Covent Garden for a spot of light refreshment and a spot of shopping.

All was going swimmingly until some oaf trod on my heel and...disaster...

They managed not only to pull my flip flop off my foot but completely detach the top bit from the bottom bit. Alas my footwear would neither flip nor flop and I was left in the middle of London with only on item of functioning footwear. Excellent!!!!

A barefoot trek to the nearest tube station followed. Gadding about on the Piccadilly line with only one shoe is quite an experience too, I can tell you. At last, I managed to reach Accessorise back in St Pancras and treated myself to this new pair of spangley flip flops to wear to the party. Astonishingly, after explaining to the shop assistant that I really didn't need a carrier bag for my purchase, we got to the appropriately named 'Yorkshire Grey' on time. Had a few glasses of vino to cool down with before the main business of the evening. The re-launch of White Summer - written by my much missed co-author Luke Bitmead and the award of the writers' bursary set up in his name. The finer details,

I'll let you read about on the Legend Press website. However, a good evening was had by all, despite the rather precarious journey there. Was great to meet up with Legends I'd not met before and to catch up with those I'd met previously. Here's looking forward to the next one!