It is part of the human impulse to write, and there are as many reasons to write as there are people. I often think of writers as photographers, taking snapshots, painting worlds with their words that other people can then share: We are all archivists of the human condition; recorders of culture, anchors of ideas, of philosophy, of hopes and dreams and what it means to be free and alive – all vitally important motivators, which keep us coming back for more to write and read, and push us forward while renewing our strength for the relentless discipline of writing.

It is part of a writer’s nature to write, so telling them not to do so, is like telling them to take the notes out of a symphony, or remove the colour from the flowers; or like instructing the waterfall to turn around and go back up the hill. A true writer eventually admits no impediment to her writing, making the decision to write relatively easy in the end.

The decision made, our writing will often be propelled onto the page, like the water flooding out of the taps when we finally turn them on. There will be no agonising about what to write, or where we start. The initial flood may slow to a trickle, but hopefully by then, we will have crafted something satisfying that gives us a hint of our future direction.

Deciding to write creatively is not a rational decision. It is not something that we sit down to, with a list of ‘pluses and minuses’ tallying them up to work out a total and then deciding whether to go ahead or not. Perhaps, you think, it should be, but then, how many of the biggest decisions in our lives are the result of rational thought? Did we commit to our partners after an assessment of their worldly value? Did we fall in love with our dwellings because they ticked everything on a pre-selected list? Probably not. I can give you a few rational reasons why writing is a waste of time. These days, the success rates for new writers can be compared convincingly to the chances of winning the lottery. Who in their right mind would write anything, faced with odds like these? But like falling in love with our mates or falling into life with our bijou pads, unless we fall head over heels, we stand very little chance of succeeding: our hearts are at the centre of our huge decisions.

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To Submit a Manuscript

I’ve done a fair bit of submitting in my time, (nothing to do with BDSM, btw) and it occurs to me there are several methods, each of which has its advantages and problems.

The first and most obvious way, is by recommendation: “Yes, I spoke to so-and-so and they say just send it in and they’ll be happy to take a peek”. How would you feel about such an opportunity? Ecstatic, uncertain, cynical? Such openings are rare, but valuable, so long as (a) this is not our first ever attempt at sending in a manuscript, and (b) we take the chance to research the agent/publisher’s requirements and (c) we write to the person by name, mention the referral and thank them profusely for their time. Chances are, it will take at least six months before any submission looks the part (though this is not a hard-and-fast rule). In any case, I would always suggest that you leave your best shot – best idea, best fit with publisher/agent – until last, and use some of your less promising shots as warm-ups. I can’t count the number of times I’ve thought a submission was perfect, only to spot a typo in the top line after I’ve pressed ‘send’.

Another way to submit might be called the ‘scattergun’ which, as the name implies, is probably the least reliable method to use. Basically, open the ‘Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook’ at approximately the right page, scroll down and pick one agency that looks likely. The obvious disadvantages are that it is very ‘hit and miss’, and it also reinforces the notion that you are looking for a needle in a haystack, when, in fact, a careful trawl of your best options will show that the number of suitable agencies and publishers you might submit to is actually quite small. I would not recommend this method.

There is also the ‘cluster’ technique, based on a bit more research of the likely candidates. You might start out with a bit of the ol’ scattergun, but you narrow the field on any one day, to about three or four, and send them in a morning or afternoon. Having three or four to do at one time makes it clear that each submission is different, and that each publisher/agent has their own requirements. Clustering also allows you to tailor each approach more carefully, and because you send out three or four at one time, there is a sense of optimism about your chances. Not a bad technique, as long as you keep a note of everyone you submit to, and the outcome.

The last method I mention is probably the most organised. I used to hate being organised, thinking it somehow compromises artistic leanings. But here’s the thing: organisation actually saves time, repetition and tedium, so this is now my favoured method. Using the yearbook, I list every agency/publisher who is (a) accepting submissions, and (b) mentions my specialism in their listing. Then I look through my list, deleting those which, on reflection, are unlikely candidates. For example, your first list might include all agencies that look at film or theatre scripts, but on a second run-through, it becomes clearer that what you really want is an agency that mentions or specialises in radio scripts.

Then I gather contact names, addresses and website details for each entry, as well as preferred requirements for submission (email only, short synopsis, CV, cover letter?) and research every single agency/publisher listed and delete any which seem unlikely. I can keep the list, add to it, and submit when I feel like it. It’s much easier to learn from what we have already done and get a feel for what will work, though at the end of the day there are no hard-and-fast rules.

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“Good book, vicar? Would you like a parenthesis with that?”

Writing books has more than a few pitfalls. For example, which formatting do we use the more traditional, indented paragraph and dialogue lines, or a more modern straight block paragraph with no indents? Do we opt for traditional speech marks, “like these” or more modern parentheses, ‘like these’?
For my money, I’m rather traditional, so despite the extra stretch that it takes on the keyboard to get up to “ I prefer that, and opt for that as often as I remember to. (Though if traditionalists would like us to continue doing so, it might be a good idea to re-design the keyboard so that “ is more conveniently placed. You’ll see that ‘(single parenthesis) is in exactly the right place, and unlike “ does not require us to use the SHIFT key.

I am assuming that traditionalists who use “ ” will also use paragraph indents for dialogue, which I do think looks better, but can feel a bit arbitrary. When do we use paragraph indents, and when do we allow a paragraph to continue? In many cases, it seems to boil down to what looks good, which is fine, but not exactly good teaching. (“Just do what looks good, kids, and you’ll be fine….!”)

One thing is certain. I must not mix and match, or my characters’ lives can get very confusing, and the editor will be most annoyed. At the moment I am writing two books, in both of which I started out using different conventions, though I have now put both books into traditional format. Thinking about what is right or wrong is sometimes so confusing, I retreat to my usual line, that as long as I am consistent and clear, it doesn’t matter as much as I think it does, which is probably true.

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Writing synopses.

(Almost) every agency and publisher who accepts submissions from Joe Public says, ‘send a synopsis and first three chapters with a cover letter to us at….’ and it’s taken me a very long time to work out what I think that means. The ‘three chapters’ is relatively easy – it means, the first three chapters (assuming they are less than fifty pages); or no more than fifty pages (and if your first three chapters are more than fifty pages, you might want to edit them down. Who is going to want to read half a chapter?)

Fewer and fewer publishers take submissions from unrepresented writers, but a trawl of the usual sources does throw up a good handful; and the agencies are always on the look-out for new talent. So it’s worth knowing roughly what to do when you are asked to write a synopsis. No submission is perfect, of course, and there is some wriggle room for differences of style and presentation, so please don’t take me too literally.

The first sentence of a synopsis will often be a summary of the whole plot, giving a quick taste and flavour of the writing and the genre. The next two or three paragraphs will give a deft outline of the main plot developments, and will include mention of what happens at the end. The synopsis is not the blurb, so you don’t want to leave the publisher/agent thinking, ‘Yes, but I’m not buying the book, I only want to know if you can give me a plot that works.’ (And I haven’t got very long, so best keep it to one or two pages).

I always try to aim for one page, just because that is easier to read.

The synopsis is, according to Nicola Morgan, my current guru on such matters, the least important part of any submission package, which makes sense. The first thing any reader sees is your covering letter, and the only thing he wants to read is good material, so the synopsis comes home a clear third. But, everything helps, and my guess is that a well-written synopsis helps the writer as much as the publisher/agent.

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