Authors Electric

I have just finished reading, on my Kindle, Philip Pullman's latest book, "LA BELLE SAUVAGE", the back story to his award-winning Trilogy, "HIS DARK MATERIALS". It has been an enchanted reading journey to which, whenever real life got in the way, I kept wanting to return, so did. That's the spell that really good writing always casts. The next book on my current reading list will, I think, be very different - Kate Atkinson's "A GOD IN RUINS" (or perhaps not so very different as Philip Pullman, too, classifies Church and Religion as the enemy, but then I don't know the plot so it may not involve that at all). Moving from a passionate involvement with one book to another always feels slightly promiscuous, but then what is life without a bit of delicious promiscuity? And mentioning promiscuity, for those of you who are, like me, agented, have you ever approached another agent while still tied to your current one? Does the word get out? I...

The other day I grew nauseous when I visited the Facebook page of a well-known literary agent. It was strewn with groveling posts from newbies who'd attended one of his writing retreats and threw dignity to the winds as they gamed for his representation. I'll conflate what I saw there to spare you and them: Post 1: 'I just attended a weekend writing retreat by X, one of the world's greatest agents...and over the course of three days, my life was changed forever along with my vision of writing. Back to the first novel I've worked on for so many years, but now with a new sense of purpose thanks to X.' Post 2: 'Two weeks have passed since my return to my novel, freshly recharged and inspired by that great weekend with X. I swear he stands over my shoulder with every word I write. And this has become his book now, as well as mine. Is it any wonder that I call him Mr. Excitement?' Post 3: 'Another month has passed. I and Mr. Excitement work 6...

Milk Bombs, the girl with the bestest breasts in college, had only one thing in common with the agent I've come to call Cutie. Still, each derailed me for a while with her own spin on this terrible insult: I lived too much in my head....I was too 'literary.' To begin at the beginning of the end, Milk Bombs looked more than a little like this: MB's slice with the knife lacked surgical precision but it cut me to the quick. And it accomplished her purpose of laying me flat. For I'd set out in my sophomore year to out-Byron Byron--nailing every girl in sight while drinking myself into stupors and learning to fight while I learned how to write. I had a weekly column in the student paper and had already written/directed/produced/acted in one play...while pursuing more sexual conquests. With a single swipe she cut me twice, ridiculing my literary and action aspirations. "You're just a Paper Man. Goodbye." So writing was useless in her eyes...and m...

When I set out to become a writer in the early Seventies literary agents were no more than fantasy figures to me. I had no idea who they were or how I might find one to help me. I imagined that once I did locate one, however, he or she would take me under their wing in much the same way that Colonel Tom Parker had looked after Elvis, and they would do everything to launch me that Brian Epstein had done for the Beatles. Surely, I reasoned, literary agents must work in the same way as these infamous Svengalis of the music business, who we read so much about in the “Swinging Sixties”. Eventually I discovered where these mysterious agents’ addresses and telephone numbers lay hidden and I started to pursue and plague them with letters and synopses and ideas and manuscripts. I was a frustrated and deluded stalker in pursuit of the ideal soul-mate who I fantasised would accompany and support me through my professional life journey, assisting me in picking up all the glittering prizes alo...

Rab - looking for an agent? Some years ago, when I was asked to speak to writers and aspiring writers about routes to publication, I would find myself saying that they would probably need to look for an agent.  What a difference a decade makes. I still see threads on Facebook with recommendations about writing query letters, lists of requirements from literary agents, scathing blog posts about ‘what not to do’. These are variable enough to undermine the confidence of the most talented individual. There will also be the occasional delighted post from somebody who has ‘got an agent’ at last, immediately followed by a string of congratulations, as though the person in question had won some kind of literary lottery. I’m not in the business of raining on parades, so I sit on my hands and say nothing. If you are reading this and you have a wonderful agent, one who has secured a string of excellent deals for you, who always acknowledges emails within a day or two, who speak...

There have been rumblings recently of “mysterious and secret” deals being done between Amazon and some of the biggest and brightest literary agents. They are calling it their “White Glove” service, and from the point of view of authors whose agents love their books but are unable to persuade traditional publishers to take them on, it’s a brilliant innovation.           Last year I wrote a novel, Secrets of the Italian Gardener , set inside the palace of a dictator about to be overthrown in the Arab Spring. The narrator is a ghostwriter who, while inside the palace writing a book for the dictator, meets a wise, elderly Italian gardener who gradually unravels the story of who really holds the power and wealth in the world. He literally discovers "where the bodies are buried". As the rebels draw closer to breaching the palace walls the ghost is also struggling with his own breaking heart. I have spent much of my ghost...

Hey, where’s the illustration ? Chill.     You all know me by now as a serious guy, with no passion whatsoever for pranks, jokes, hoaxes or even harmless word play. Not the man that some call Reb Babe. Nooooo. And to reinforce your sense of how deadly earnest I am, I’ve done the thing that isn’t done: published this post with no illo. Think of this as a horror film without an accompanying score or F/X. No creepy little  ooo-eeee-oooo ’s to spook or weird you out. We don’t need that, as you’ll now see. For the horror itself is so low-down, so downright big-time dirty, so caked with slime and gook and mold, that anything extra would give so much less.     You’re on the money if you’ve guessed:     Literary thievery.     But you’re off the money if you’ve guessed:     Plagiarism. C’mon, how’s about an illustration? Hush.     I've been ripped off, as have many of you. And I'd rather die than romantici...

It might not be the most optimistic note on which to start the New Year, but I offer this cautionary tale on the subject of agents and rights. If I have one piece of advice to give – and this applies to all creative people, not just writers – never give away your rights unless you absolutely have to, and when you do give them carefully and in small pieces. I have always tried to live my life being fair. In contract negotiation, I aim for a win-win outcome. I like to build long-term relationships and would never shaft anybody, because I believe that what you give out you get back. In January 2007, I had the idea for the Sprite Sister books and approached Brenda Gardner at Piccadilly Press. I had worked with her before when she published my ex-husband’s first picture book in the 1980s. She liked the idea of ‘four sisters, four elements, four powers’, and a few weeks later offered me a contract for the first Sprite Sister story. The Society of Authors helped me negotiat...