Are You A Career Writer?

I retweeted a post on Twitter today from Jonny Geller, joint CEO of literary agency Curtis Brown. He has been in the agency business for almost twenty years and has a senior role in a very successful, well-known agency so he is someone to sit up and take notice off if you have any interest in the world of writing.

The post on Twitter linked to a BBC article giving his top-ten tips for being a literary agent.

I have no aspirations to be a literary agent, although a job that requires the reading of fictional novels sounds very appealing. The article is still pertinent to a writer and would-be published author as it provides some insight into the type of writer he is looking for.

I can appreciate top tip number 2: Be Prepared To Start At The Bottom. As a solicitor and someone who worked their way up from a paralegal, through a training contract to become a qualified solicitor, I know that perseverance and dedication with a good dash of ambition can push you towards achieving your goals. I also know that it can take a long time, a tough skin and an ability to absorb disappointments, learn from them and move on. Jonny Geller's tip is about the agency business and I have experienced it in the legal profession but I think it equally applies to writing.

There are plenty of discussions on writing sites about what it takes to make a successful writer and how you measure success. It will always mean different things to different writers, for some it will be the act of getting the words out of their head and into print, for others it will be seeing a story through to completion, some will be happy to know that anyone enjoys what they write and for others it will mean getting that elusive publishing contract, making a fortune through massive sales, getting accolades or being a bestseller.  What you consider success may depend on what you foresaw when you first felt compelled to write. For me it was a very secret ambition I held for most of my life. I daydreamed about writing a novel but I was always too busy with my life and pursuing my "proper" job. I was too full of doubt about myself; this idea stopped me - who am I too write a book? I quite literally woke up one day with the idea in my head and, when I got an empty house, seized the opportunity; I lifted the laptop and started writing. Within a day it became an obsession but I told no-one. I even took my laptop on holiday in the hope I would steal some time to keep going with the story. At that point I had to confess to my husband that I was writing a novel. I had such a sense of achievement and happiness when I completed it, but I still did not tell anyone I had done it. In other parts of my life that sense of achievement would have been accompanied with an element of pride but it so personal creating something and then finding the courage to share it with the world.

I slowly ventured into the virtual world and started to share my story. What I found was, people liked it but technically I had a lot to learn. I have accepted criticism, compliments, read and read more, absorbed as much as I can about the writing world and the technique of writing and continue to do so. I have found the quick high of writing flash fiction and short stories, the slow burning passion of writing a novel. I have managed to complete two novels (although that first one is going through a rewrite of the whole story) and I am currently writing a third. Due to the writing, I participate in more social media than I ever have before. Where has all of that led me?

One of my novels, The Glass House, was chosen as a One to Watch in March by the editors of the HarperCollins owned Authonomy blog but I have not self-published, I have not won any writing competition awards, I have not got an agent or a publisher. So, am I a writer?

I have the confidence now to say I am a writer but I see that as being different from an author. I think of an author as someone who has published. I write under a pen name and I do not talk about it much in my real life. That leads me to one of the top-tips from Jonny Geller that I found most interesting. Top tip number 5: Look For Career Writers.

To quote from the article: We get around 13,000 manuscripts a year and I'm looking for someone who is a career writer. There was a statistic recently about self-publishing that 75% of those asked said it was a hobby for them. I'm interested in the other 25%.

I'm interested in people who are obsessed with writing, who cannot not write. It's a very peculiar and distinct little group of people who will make their living as a writer.

My job really is to identify somebody who can write a story in a way that only that person could have written it. If I can identify that voice then I'm half way there. It is easier to help someone with a story if they can write, than the other way around.

My career is a solicitor. That is what I studied, trained, worked and pushed for to qualify as. When I  admit to people that I write I say, 'it's just a hobby.' I feel like that because, whilst I love it and would be thrilled to find an agent and publisher, the realist in me recognises how difficult that is and just how many unknown, undiscovered writers there are out there dreaming the same dream I am and never making it a reality. Does that mean I should give up and it will never happen? Not a hope. I get far too much pleasure from writing. I had to take a hiatus from writing, including this blog due to my full-time work commitments. I found room for it all again and know how much I missed it. The characters and story ideas were still with me and I needed to find time to express them. That is the compulsion that drives me to keep writing.

I can understand the description Jonny Geller applies to his vision of a career writer when he says they are obsessed with writing and cannot not write. I have been there and felt that compulsion, the need to get the story that I could watch in my mind into words, despite a lack of sleep and stinging, sore eyes from spending too long in front of the laptop. So, maybe I do have it in me. Perhaps one day I will be that career writer but to achieve that I believe it is important to be able to write in the first place and that is what I am still trying to discover about myself; do I have the talent to make it? In the meantime,  I will continue to love this crazy, emotional obsessive hobby.

My favourite tip is number 10: don't take the job or yourself too seriously.

It's important to remind yourself that you are not really in control of anything and learn from your experiences. 

Advice I could apply to just about every aspect of my life and that we could all do with remembering.

You can read the full BBC article here.

One To Watch

My manuscript, The Glass House, has been chosen by the Authonomy Editors at the Harper Collins Authonomy website as this week's One to Watch. I'm so thrilled that it was chosen and at the comments they left on their blog about it.

If I didn't already have an incentive to get back to something I love, this has provided the nudge I needed.

I've been saying I feel like framing it...

And if that wasn't shameless enough, here's a link to the full blog post.

Opening Lines

I've read a lot of writing books, tweets and blog posts saying how important the opening line to a story is. Writers must work hard to avoid cliches and grab the reader with it.

I know the first sentences are probably the most often changed in my own novels.

When I write a novel, my first draft usually contains too much backstory and character building as I develop an understanding of my characters and their stories. This means the first draft doesn't open where the story begins and I'll end up cutting my first chapter, weaving elements of it into later chapters as I edit. I'm sure I'm not alone in that.

No matter which draft I'm working on I keep going back to the initial lines, trying to hone them. I want to draw the reader in, get them interested in the setting, plot or characters (or better still all three) but it's very difficult to achieve.

So, here are the latest versions of the opening paragraphs for The Glass House and for the rewrite of Twisted Truth (now Finding Us). 

The Glass House:

Caitlin ground her teeth in rhythm with the ice machine in her sister's oversized, glossy fridge-freezer. It whirred and cracked, spitting shards of ice into the glass Niamh held under it, before filling it with purified water.

'Sure you don't want one?' Niamh turned, holding her glass up to Caitlin.

'We live in the West of Ireland and it's January. Freezing cold water isn't going to warm my bones.' Caitlin shuffled the gardening manuals spread across the island in her sister's kitchen, wishing Niamh would have the sense to offer her a hot drink.

'More fool you for choosing a career that leaves you outside most of the day.'

Caitlin rifled through the pages, marked with sticky notes, to find the next one she'd highlighted.

'Look, just tell me what you think about these.' She gestured towards the page. 'What about the Clematis montana, this honeysuckle, maybe the winter flowering jasmine and an evergreen cistus?'

'I've no idea what any of those are.' Niamh flicked her hand backwards across the books. 'You choose.'

'Won't you at least look at the pictures?'

'As long as you get rid of what's out there and plant something new I couldn't care less what it is. Besides, I trust you.'

'Sometimes I despair of you,' Caitlin said, pushing a stray curl back into her pony-tail. 'I'm never going to convince you gardening is good for the soul, am I?'

'You inherited those genes,' Niamh replied, holding up one hand, the sparkling, well-tended talons on display. 'I much prefer nail extensions to green fingers, thank you very much.' Setting the glass down on the gleaming surface, Niamh pushed the gardening manuals closer to her sister. Caitlin accepted them, revealing her stubby finger nails. The skin on her hands coarser than Niamh's and stained from the green and brown of plants and soil, the tools of her trade.

'Lucky you found a rich man to marry then.' Caitlin tucked her hands between her jean clad, legs, shifting on the uncomfortable bar stool, watching her sister bristle as she grabbed the edge of the granite.

'Ah for God's sake, don't get on your soap box again.'

'My little sister marries some divorcee, with a daughter closer to her age than he is, and I'm just supposed to shut up and accept it.'

'Honestly – yes. It's my life, I've made my choices and it's about time you learnt to respect that.'

'Respect. That's a laugh. Not a word I'd link with your husband and his finances.'

'You can be such a judgemental cow,' Niamh said, slapping the books laid out before her. 'And don't forget, it's Tom's generosity paying for your services.'

Caitlin opened her mouth to reply that he hadn't paid for anything yet but the noise of the phone ringing stole Niamh's attention.

Finding Us:

This is what happens when your best friend disappears, your mother's driving you loopy and work's taking over your life. You go out with a group of crazy friends, drink far too much, especially when it's only mid-week, and wake-up to find you aren't in your own bed and all you're wearing is yesterday's make-up and some hairy arm.

Trying to peel the offending arm off her stomach and roll out off the bed undetected, Charlotte cursed Katie for lining up all those shots and herself for not making a 3 am flit.

Retrieving her dress and underwear she tip-toed from the bedroom, steadied herself against a sofa and dressed. Searching the combined kitchen and slob-out room she stumbled over her shoes, stabbing her toe with the spiky heel.

Charlotte tried pulling on the hem of the dress but couldn't make it reach her mid-thigh, never mind the knee length suitable for work. Releasing the security chain and teasing the door handle downwards, she slipped out of the stranger's flat. What to do now? Make the walk-of-shame into work wearing last night's clothes or a mad dash home to change. Over-stuffed Tube or a taxi stuck in rush-hour traffic? Charlotte closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her choices all lead to one thing; she'd be be late, the last thing she needed.

The Glass House is women's fiction and deals with the difficult relationship that has developed between two sisters, exploring how rumour and bad judgements can alter perceptions of people. Caitlin is the earthy type, preferring the sanctuary of her restored Victorian Glass House to the sparkling, modern home and material items Niamh adores. I hope the opening lines set the tone for the tension brewing between them, whilst showing they are everyday women, the reader can identify with.

Finding Us is also women's fiction but has lighter elements of romance and chick-lit. Charlotte's a workaholic solicitor with a phobia to commitment. Her best-friend's pregnancy is a surprise but it brings a bigger shock into Charlotte's life; Mark Porter, her first and only love. He disappeared, from their town in Northern Ireland, thirteen years ago and now he wants a second chance. Charlotte's tempted but she has a secret to protect and finding each other could risk revealing it. 

I'm still not sure whether I've cracked it with these beginnings and I think I could spend the rest of my life rejigging them because I know how important it is to get them right.

If you'd care to share, I'd love to hear some of your first lines and how you go about deciding the best way to open your stories.

For anyone who wants to read some of those articles I mentioned, here's a selection of links to get you started:

Darley Anderson: How Not To Start Your Novel
Writers House: Chapter One
Emma Darwin: Finding The First Line
Writing.ie: Worst Opening Sentence Ever
Writing.ie: Opening Lines
Moodywriting: Beginnings And Their Endings

Online or Not Online?

I keep seeing articles on blogs and websites, hearing writers who've attended writing courses and workshops, say how important it is for an aspiring author to build their own brand. The world is money shy and publishers don't want to take risks on those who don't have a name or a band of followers. I've heard it touted that being an outgoing and flamboyant personality online is a necessary step on the road to publication and that it all reflects the promotion you'd have to do if your manuscript does get picked up.

As I see it, one problem with all of these ideas is that unless an agent or publisher notices your activity they probably won't know you exist. If you read any of their websites they all say how busy they are and that's why it takes them a while to get back to you about your submission. They have existing clients, who are earning them money, to look after. So, I'm guessing they don't have a lot of free time searching twitter, or any other online source, in the hope of finding a new client.

You could of course mention some of your attempts at own branding in a submission letter but, if you're including chapters with it, I'm sure most writers would be happier to think it's their writing that grabs the agent/publisher, not how many followers they have on twitter.

The other issue is, these activities take time and when you start with them you can get sucked in and distracted. Time that could have been spent writing, editing and submitting.

After reading this you might think I'm anti-online but I belong to a few online writing communities, I tweet and use Facebook, I have this blog and I still manage to find time to write. These activities do have advantages. You can chat to others interested in writing any time of the day or night, you can learn more about the craft of writing, find out what some agents like and dislike, do some research on them prior to submission. I've found the writing communities a way to get reviews on manuscripts to help me identify what's working and what's not.

So, as if I wasn't online enough already, I've joined another one. Wattpad now has a chick-lit section and I've added the opening chapters for The Glass House and Finding Us to it.
Wattpad

Whether you are self-publishing or hoping to go down the traditional route to publication, what are your feelings on the need to be seen online and what methods do you use to try and build a name for yourself?

Writing Workshop

I had the pleasure of meeting author, Bernie McGill, this week. She's the author of The Butterfly Cabinet - the story of an upper class family in Northern Ireland in the late 1800's, told by one of their servants through letters she writes in the 1960's and through the prison diary of the mother to the family. It captures the wild beauty of our North Coast, reveals life in the Big House, deals with the murder of a child and the confession of a long-held secret. Whilst touching upon the divisions and turbulence in our history, it also portrays the hardships and joys of life.

Bernie is also the current writer in residence for Northern Ireland Libraries. Through their collaboration, a writing workshop was held in my local library on Wednesday night.

My first writing workshop, I approached it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Happy to meet other writers, face new challenges and learn something about the craft but nervous about what tasks we might be given and whether I'd be able to accomplish anything. The fear of a blank page.

We had a lively evening amongst pleasant company. Plenty of different writing styles and tastes led to some very interesting stories. As someone who writes on the more commercial side of things, I listened in awe to some of the poetic and literary voices within the group.

Bernie gave us three challenges, throughout the evening.

In the first we were given the word LOST and a few minutes to write whatever came to mind. I tried a piece of flash fiction about a mother losing her child, probably giving voice to one of my deepest set fears. Scribbled quickly, it needs a lot of polishing but this is my attempt:

She's gone.
I search the faces, push against the crowd.
The imprint of her hand still felt in mine.
It only took a second.
A moment of distraction.
I call her name but no-one responds.
Why doesn't anyone even stop to look at the mad woman, calling names in the middle of the street?
She can't have gone far.
Those little legs I've cradled and kissed so often, can't run so fast, yet.

For the second task some black and white pictures were passed around. Each person chose one, selected a character from the picture and then paired up with their neighbour. In the mind of the character, we were to answer questions from their POV. I found this a very useful exercise because a character questionnaire is something I've been thinking about. Don't groan because I'm going to mention that book again - Write A Blockbuster. It advises drawing-up a character questionnaire and provides a useful template for doing so but I found it so much easier to answer those questions when someone else fired them at me. I asked Bernie about character development in a Q&A at the end of the night. Some of the ideas she put forward gave me a deeper understanding of how to tackle the character questionnaire - for example if your character saw a road traffic accident or a spill at the supermarket, are they the sort of person who drive/walk away, would they seek assistance or would they stop and get involved?

After answering questions in pairs, Bernie gave us 4 questions to tackle:
1. What do you want?
2. What is your secret?
3. What are you most passionate about?
4. What are you afraid of?

I chose a humorous, whimsical photo but it got me thinking about this innocent, happy scene and what it might hide. I decided to think about one of the characters as a grandfather, watching his grandchildren at the fair, with his wife. Their happy day out hid sadness. A broken marriage, daughter and mother lost to cancer, a man more aware and scared of his own longevity. I got the bones and thoughts of the characters and plan to expand it, give it a mixture of light and dark and develop it, at least into a short story. So watch this space  - you may yet get to meet Gladys and Norman.

I found the last task most difficult as it seemed more personal. The blank page did get filled but I felt more dissatisfied with that effort. We were given a poem, Snakeskin Stilettos by Moyra Donaldson and were asked to write about a time, as a child or young adult, when you did something mildly or strongly forbidden. Certainly one to shake the grey cells and one I'd recommend you try.

I've had a productive writing week. My edits of The Glass House continue and it's getting stronger and positive reviews from the online writing groups. I've started a complete rewrite of my first full MS - Twisted Truth - and have managed to rewrite over 7,000 words so far, cutting all the teenage chapters, moving the pace forward and changing it to 3rd person. Another MS which has languished unfinished may get re-started as the spark has arrived for how to move it on.

I learnt a lot from the workshop, overcame my fear of writing on the spot and sharing it with others and discovered a writing circle in my local area. A few of us have swapped twitter ID's and numbers and hopefully we'll be meeting up soon for a coffee and chat. Writing can be a lonely business and at the end of the day, you alone are the only one who can bring your characters to life and fulfil their story but there are plenty of others out there, experiencing the same thing as you and together you can find a shared topic of conversation and spark ideas of each other.

Would I recommend a writing get-together? Absolutely.

Bernie McGill
NI Libraries

Pitch

As I edit The Glass House I continue to think about the overall theme of the book; the underlying and surface plots. I need to keep the plot and pace moving towards the climax and resolution but, as this is women's fiction, keep the characters and their development at the forefront.

Thinking through these issues has given me some fresh ideas about the short and long pitches for the MS. Thought I'd share the latest version.

Her sanctuary and workplace. When a blackmailer finds a use for it, what secrets will Caitlin's glass house cultivate?

 

Restoring her Victorian glass house, growing her horticultural business and rescuing her crumbling home, force Caitlin into accepting a job offer from TV producer, Stuart. As the presenter of a gardening show she thinks she's found a solution to her money worries.

Niamh is revamping her new husband's house. Tom may be twice her age but he's given her the financial security she's never had. When Ellie, his teenage daughter, is expelled from boarding school, letting her move in is a price Niamh must pay. After all, what trouble could an eighteen year-old girl give them?

Some people will do anything for money.

In rural Northern Ireland, the Maguire sisters are about to find out.

Pace and Structure

I belong to two online writing groups. On each you upload chapters of your manuscript to seek reviews from other writers. I've been getting some very encouraging reviews for my current work in progress, The Glass House. Although the name is in a state of flux as I search for a new title. These are snippets from recent comments:

After a crappy day at work I was very happy to read 'The Glass House'. I really enjoyed this. In part because Caitlin is a very engaging character...I hope to see her use her undoubted yet hidden...ish charms on the local menfolk.

I enjoyed the family relationships and excellent Irish banter...and despite myself also rather liked Niamh and her nouveau riche ways!

I also liked how the story was about to have a large change of direction with the introduction of the presumably rather challenging Ellie....

All in all a thoroughly good read....I would read more.

What a fascinating look at rural life in Western Ireland with excellent description...I also rated your Dialogue, Voice and Language 5. (5 is full marks)

This is very good. I can't think of very much to criticise. It is well written and the characters are all well drawn. The dialogue is good and natural sounding.

This is a well-written story with well-drawn, believable main characters and pretty good dialogue.

The chief complaint has been the pace. There isn't enough happening to get the reader sitting on the edge of their seat. So pace is my new focus. The opening chapters are set in rural Co. Tyrone and reflect the slower pace of life away from the city. The intended hook in the opening is the family dynamic and questions over Tom's financial dealings. 

To help me tackle this I tried a new method of editing. I mentioned in previous posts that I've been reading Write A Blockbuster by Helen Corner and Lee Weatherly. The authors recommend using memo cards to plot out your story. This WIP is complete so I'm beyond that stage. Instead I used individual memo cards to map out the characters, scene, action and points of tension in each chapter.

That gave me a picture of how each chapter contributed to the pace and plot. 

As a result I've already cut 4000 words, which included two chapters, and restructured the opening. Let's hope that improves the reviews further. With some hard work and a bit of luck maybe this one might get closer to publication. 

Your Theme Tune

I was asked on The Next Big Thing blog hop about who I'd like to see act the roles in The Glass House.

I suspect there are plenty of writers out there who dare to let the mind wander; have a little daydream about your story in print and on the big screen.

It got me thinking about theme tunes.

My first completed novel length MS, Twisted Truth, is a romance. It tells the story of Charlotte and Mark, their coming-of-age, the disappointments that tore them apart and what happens when that first love is reignited over a decade later. I've always been able to hear The Undertones and Teenage Kicks play in the background to that story.

The Glass House is women's fiction, revolving around the lives of three women and the turmoil they are thrown into when a blackmailer finds a use for Caitlin's Victorian Glass House. Sticking with the Northern Irish theme, I'd choose Snow Patrol's Open Your Eyes.

Have you thought about theme tunes and if so, care to share?

Northern Ireland 2013 & Famous Faces

It's no secret that I love to read and create stories. I also get fed-up with the negative press this little corner of the world gets. There's no denying we've had more than our fair share of bad news but there's just as much, if not more, good about Northern Ireland.

For both of those reasons it always pleases me to see positive stories and the recent surge we seems to be having as a film location is no exception. I've blogged before about some of our beauty spots and the tv/film crew they've attracted; Your Highness, Game of Thrones and Blandings have all been mentioned here.

Last week Liam Neeson returned to Northern Ireland to receive the freedom of his home, Ballymena.

Lian Neeson receives Freedom of Ballymena


This week starts with the news that Sir Ian McKellen has also visited Northern Ireland and, like James Nesbitt and Liam Neeson, it turns out he has roots in Ballymena. He was here to receive an honorary degree from the University of Ulster. It was presented at the Magee Campus, in Derry-Londonderry, the 2013 City of Culture.

UTV: Ian McKellen
City of Culture 2013

Maybe, someone out there might even take a chance on a little story set in Northern Ireland by an unknown Northern Irish writer! One that has some reference to the residue of our past but focuses on family, the Northern Ireland setting and how first impressions can taint how we view people. Fingers crossed The Glass House finds an audience.

The Glass House: Chapter One

I've been playing around with the chapter order to decide where best the open The Glass House. In the end I opted to keep the first chapter as originally drafted but I've edited it further.

I've tried to give a sense of place in this story, both within the landscape and buildings but also within the people and culture of their lives. I felt it was important to give a taste of the relationship between the sisters from the offset but I hope the editing also starts to show more of the family and their Northern Irish roots.

Am I getting there?

Chapter One

Caitlin sighed as she looked at the gardening manuals spread across the island worktop in her sister's kitchen. The sound of her exasperation muffled by the grinding of ice as Niamh refilled a glass with cold water.

'Sure you don't want one?'

'We live in the West of Northern Ireland and it's January. Freezing cold water isn't going to warm my bones.'

'More fool you for choosing a career that leaves you outside most of the day.'

Caitlin rifled through the pages, finding the next one, marked with a sticky note.

'Look, just tell me what you think about these.' She gestured towards the page. 'What about the clematis montana, this honeysuckle, maybe the winter flowering jasmine and an evergreen cistus?'

'I've no idea what any of those are. You choose.'

'Won't you at least look at the pictures?'

'As long as you get rid of what's out there and plant something new I couldn't care less what it is. Besides, I trust you.'

'Sometimes I despair of you,' Caitlin said, pushing a stray blonde hair back into her pony-tail. 'I'm never going to convince you gardening is good for the soul, am I?'

'You inherited those genes,' Niamh replied, holding up one hand, the sparkling, well-tended talons on display. 'I much prefer nail extensions to green fingers, thank you very much.'

Setting the glass down on the gleaming surface, Niamh pushed the gardening manuals closer to her sister. Caitlin accepted them revealing stubby finger nails. The skin on her hands coarser than Niamh's and indelibly stained from the green and brown of plants and soil, the tools of her trade.

'Lucky you found a rich man to marry then.' Caitlin tucked her hands between her jean clad legs, shifting on the uncomfortable bar stool, watching her younger sister bristle as she grabbed the edge of the granite.

'Don't knock my man, it's his generosity paying for your gardening services.'

Caitlin opened her mouth to reply that he hadn't paid for anything yet but the noise of the phone ringing stole Niamh's attention.

Opening the glass door of the stove, Caitlin rubbed her hands in the heat that emanated from the fire, the strong peat and charcoal aroma of the coal and turf escaping into the room around her.

The two dogs unfolded their long limbs and stood, shaking their mahogany coats before moving to her side, pushing their soft, brown noses closer to the warmth.

'Don't get too close you pair,' she said, ruffling their long, floppy ears. 'Don't think Niamh would appreciate singed setter hair.'

She rotated, warming herself all round and closed the door again. 'Where did she get to anyway? That has to be the longest phone call in history,' she muttered at the dogs. Roise lifted her large paw to rest it against Caitlin's leg. 'I know you want a bit of attention but I'll have to go soon.' Caitlin pulled the dog beds closer to the stove and went in search of her sister.

Standing in the doorway, between the kitchen and the hall, Caitlin could hear Niamh's voice drift from the drawing room. Following it, intending to indicate she'd call back later, she stalled as Niamh's voice rose.

'I don't bloody care. I'm sick of you trying to manipulate us and if I had my way your life would be a lot less comfortable. I will tell him you rang, this time, but you're getting nothing more out of us.'

Caitlin heard the sound of the phone clatter onto a table. She padded quietly on the wooden hall floor, her thick woollen socks muffling the sound as she retraced her steps back to the kitchen.

By the time Niamh returned to the kitchen Caitlin was sitting by the granite island. Niamh set the phone down on the gleaming worktop. 'Sorry about that. Mum called to remind me that Tom and I promised to have dinner with her and dad tomorrow night but you know what she's like. Couldn't get her off the phone.'

'Mum? Surprised she didn't want to speak to me.'

'Like I said, it was hard enough getting her off the phone.'

'Suppose I should call round and see her later. I must be due another lecture on coming to my senses and moving back in with her and dad.'

'She worries about you. Can't blame her for that and you must see why we all do. Living like that can't be healthy.'

'Don't start.'

Sounds from the hall that lead to the rear door, stopped the conversation.

'Hello. What are you two plotting? Tom Whitley asked, his leather soled shoes, clipping on the white travertine tiles, as he crossed the kitchen to join his wife.

Niamh turned to him, pointing at his feet. 'Thought I told you to leave those shoes by the door. Look at the black marks they're leaving all over the floor.'

'I'm only gonna be a minute,' Tom said, reaching across the island to draw a manual towards him, while pushing away the transparent, crystal vase and the five white lilies it contained. 'Wish you'd stop buying those damn things. Hate the stench of them. Remind me of funerals.'

'Some inspiration for the garden,' Caitlin said, watching him leaf through her book, its corners worn from folding, notes scribbled alongside the photographs and fluorescent colours highlighting the black print.

'Nothing wrong with it the way it is,' Tom said, flipping the manual closed. 'No need to spend any money on it.'

'It's the last reminder of your ex-wife in this property and I want it gone,' Niamh said, prodding his shoulder.

'That's not playing fair,' Tom said, pulling her into his arms. 'You know I can deny you nothing.' He kissed her glossed lips. 'If you insist on changing it, I'm sure Caitlin will be offering me family rates.'

Caitlin, immune to Tom's placating smile, remained silent. Having no intention of offering him anything she retrieved her book, flicking back to the pages she'd been trying to show Niamh.

'Anyway, I don't have time for this right now,' Tom said, releasing Niamh. 'Just popped home to pick up my passport, had a great tip about a property in Marbella that would be prime a-list rental. Rushing out to see it before the family of the recently deceased little old dear sell it to someone else for a song.'

'Wait a minute.' Niamh pushed her hands under his open blazer, holding the shirt, tucked into his jeans. 'You're going to Marbella, now?'

'That's what I said, isn't it?' Tom muttered, side-stepping her to rifle through a kitchen drawer and retrieve his dog-eared passport.

'You're not going without me. Give me an hour to get ready.'

'Be serious pet, the flight leaves at four and you know it'll take me two hours to get to Belfast. I wish I could, but I don't have time to wait for you.'

'All I have to do is pack a bag, change my clothes and freshen my make up.'

'And we all know how long that takes,' Caitlin said, forcing a mocking smile onto her face, when Niamh narrowed her black-lined eyelids, obscuring her blue eyes as she cast a withering look at her sister.

'Look, if you've got time to pack, then so have I,' Niamh said, turning her back to Caitlin.

'Not packing,' Tom said. 'I'll pick up a few things at the airport. Besides, I haven't booked you a seat,' Tom continued, 'and, even if I could get you one, you'd be bored whilst we try to get a good deal out of the family.''

'We. Who's we?'

'Just a business contact who's interested in investing in this property with me.'

'Male or female business contact?'

'Would it matter?' Tom said, glancing over his shoulder at her, while pulling out the next drawer. 'We're still newly-weds after all and you know I only have eyes for you.'

'You better have.'

Clutching the passport, Tom reached around Niamh, tucking his hands into the rear pockets of the jeans that clung to her slim legs, pulling her close and swivelling her around, resting their hips against the island.

'Why would I need to look elsewhere when I have my gorgeous wife waiting here to welcome me home?'

Niamh stroked the lapels of Tom's jacket and cradled into his embrace. When Caitlin saw her stick out her lower lip, a gesture she'd developed as a child and used to great effect on everyone ever since, Caitlin smirked. Tom's escape was about to become conditional and she was glad his condescension was about to be parried.

'You better make sure you bring me home something expensive and dazzling.'

'As always. I'll call you later.'

Caitlin was relieved to see him break the embrace and turn to leave the room. The man repelled her and she couldn't imagine how Niamh could bear his touch.

'Wait a minute,' Niamh said. 'I need to speak to you about...'

'Can't. Tell me tonight.' He ruffled the ears of the two Irish Setters as he spoke, before striding to the back door. When he slammed it behind him, Caitlin realised he'd side-stepped the issue of who he was travelling with.

'How can you stand him talking to you like that?' she asked.

'Oh don't be such a feminist. Your attitude is the reason why I'm happily married and you're alone.'

'I'm alone because I have standards and anyway, I'd rather have no-one than an old man groping me and talking down to me like some brainless doll.'

'Tom's not old. He's only fifty.'

'Exactly. He's twice your age.'

'He looks after himself and he's fitter than some of the men I know in their twenties. Sometimes I think you're jealous. I have a loving husband and two beautiful homes whilst you dig around in the dirt every day, just to pay for a scruffy van and that crumbling house. Tom says if you knocked it to the ground and sold the plot you could make a fortune.'

'He would, but how can you be so soulless? You know how much I love that house and I happen to like digging around in the dirt. It's more honest than digging for gold.'

Gathering the catalogues, and heading for the door, Caitlin found her muddy wellies.

'That's typical, throw insults at me and then run away,' Niamh said.

'Goodbye, Niamh,' Caitlin called, not looking around and letting the door slam behind her.

*

The headlights of Caitlin's van picked out the change from wild to neat, curving hedgerow that marked the entrance to her parents home. Turning off the tarmac road onto the concrete driveway she could see lights shine from the rear side of the house. The kitchen window illuminated, her mother would be preparing dinner.

The 1950's farmhouse didn't offer the luxury of a utility room or the convenience of the scullery that older properties provided. Instead, when Caitlin opened the backdoor with the accustomed shove of the hip, she walked straight into the kitchen.

'Ah Cate, I didn't hear you drive up. You near made me cut my finger off barging through the door like that,' her mother said, brandishing a small, serrated knife.

'Not a bit of wonder. You've that tv up so loud a bomb could go off in the yard and you wouldn't hear it.'

'Well, turn it down then and pull up a chair. I'll stick the kettle on.'

Forcing one foot against the heel of the other, Caitlin shook off her boots and sat in a wooden chair by the old cream Aga, its lids scratched and worn from decades of use. 'Want a hand with that,' she asked, watching her mother enact the daily ritual of peeling the potatoes and throwing them into the pot of boiling water. For more than half of its life the thirty year-old range had been fuelled by coal and Caitlin's head swam with delightful memories of her father sticking his feet on the edge of the fire to warm his toes, her mother scolding him for yet another pair of charred socks to be darned. Now oil-fired, the coal and the darning needles had long ago been discarded.

'No, it's grand. Almost done. Thought you were going round to Niamh's?'

'I was,' she answered, pulling out another chair and putting her woollen sock-covered feet on it. 'Didn't she tell you I was there when you rang?'

'I didn't ring. Popped over to see her last night. Such a gorgeous house.' Mary Maguire said, covering the pot of plumping potatoes with a lid. 'She's so lucky but Tom works so hard for the pair of them. He was holed up in that study of his most of the time I was there. Did you see him?' she asked, turning to Caitlin.

'Briefly,' Caitlin answered, shrugging.

'He looks after our Niamh so well but I thought he looked tired. Hope he's taking care of himself.' She flicked Caitlin's feet from the chair, sitting down on it. 'I wish you could find someone like that.'

'I don't want to be looked after and certainly not by someone like Tom.'

'Why do you have to be so hard on him?'

'Aside from the fact that he is a misogynistic dinosaur?'

'That's nonsense. He's good to your sister and she's more than happy to be looked after, so who are they hurting?'

Caitlin stared at her mother wishing she could answer, almost speaking the words which boiled in her head. If only she could be sure of what she saw the night of Niamh's wedding. She wished yet again that she'd gotten a better look at the man, then maybe she could voice her suspicions. She knew Tom was from a world she wanted no part of and she hated the way Niamh had succumbed to his cash, however he'd earned it. Instead she hung her head, knowing her mother would assume she was sulking.

'Anyway, were you able to help her out with the garden?'

'Sort of,' Caitlin said, drawing out the words.

'What does that mean?'

'I made some suggestions but we had a bit of a disagreement before I left.'

'You two don't know how to have a bit of a disagreement; blazing row would be more like it. I've never met two sisters who fight as much as you two do.'

'That's not fair, Mum. All siblings squabble.'

'I remember that day we brought Niamh home from the hospital. You were four years old and kept telling us how excited you were to be getting a sister, then you looked at her and you both burst out crying.'

'We're very different people,' Caitlin said, standing to lift the lid on the pot, relieving the pressure, as the cloudy water forced against it. A plume of steam rose, carrying the starchy smell into the kitchen.

'Niamh was always more like me, I'd love to have had the advantages she has, but you're so like your father and your grandmother. Never happier than when you're up to your elbows in muck.'

'Speaking of which, I better get back to work.' Caitlin scraped the chair legs on the tiled floor as she slid it back under the table. Pushing her hands into her pockets she wondered if she'd ever gain her mother's approval in the way Niamh managed.

'Aren't you staying for dinner? I've done enough spuds for you and your dad.'

Eager to leave the conversation, but equally keen not to look any more of a petulant child than she already felt, Caitlin acquiesced, thankful that her father would be home soon and she could update him on the glass house.

Next Big Thing - Blog Hop

A fellow blogger and member of Authonomy, Audrey Bennett, has invited me to join in The Next Big Thing blog tour. The idea is to hop from blog to blog to discover exciting authors and their books we might not have heard about or that are still Works in Progress (WIP).  This is Week  23.

The hop rules require me to answer questions, and then at the bottom of my post, to list links to authors who will answer the same questions on their blogs next week. 

So, the Q&A part:

1) What is the working title of your book?

My latest manuscript is called The Glass House.

2) Where did the idea come from for your book?

I love gardening and inherited a glass house from my grandmother. I write women's fiction and I wanted to write a story about judging people on first impressions and the dangers of doing so. I took inspiration from the old phrase, 'People In Glass Houses Shouldn't Throw Stones.' That gave me the idea to make my main character a gardener and from that the story revolved around a Victorian Glass House that she discovers and restores.

3) What genre does your book fall under?

Women's Fiction with a hint of crime/thriller.

4) Which actors would you choose to play in your movie rendition?

As the story is set in Northern Ireland, preferably natives of Northern Ireland or at least someone who can do a plausible Norn Iron accent. Three women and three man are pivotal to the plot so there are a few roles to fill. I recently watched a film called Cherrybomb, set in Belfast. Rupert Grint plays a lead role and I was pleasantly surprised at his Northern Irish accent. Robert Sheehan is also in it and, although from Co Laois, he can also do a good accent. He would make a great Stuart. Homegrown talent in that movie is in the form of James Nesbitt and I could see him in the role of Tom.

5) What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

A sanctuary. A Workplace. When a blackmailer finds a use for it, what secrets will the glass house cultivate?

6) Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I hope it sits well within the realm of women's fiction. It has a surface plot of romance, deception and blackmail. The underlying issue of judging people on impressions develops throughout the story so I hope it will have commercial appeal. I intend to submit it to agents and see what sort of reaction it gets. So far the feedback, on the sample chapters, on two writing sites has been positive and encouraging.

7) How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I started the story and wrote the first few chapters about a year ago. Then I turned my efforts to editing my first MS, Twisted Truth. Feeling that I've done all I can with it, for now, I returned to The Glass House and wrote the rest of the first draft within two months.

8) What other books would you compare this story to?

I read a lot of chick-lit and women's fiction but can't think of another one that combines gardening and blackmail in this manner, or that is set in Northern Ireland. Hopefully that all makes up for a unique selling point.

9) Who or what inspired you to write the book?

This answer mirrors that to question two. My own love of gardening and the phrase, 'People in Glass Houses.' One of the characters in the story is too quick to judge people on first impressions. Combine that with a stubborn mind and it's a recipe for trouble.

10) What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I hope the Northern Irish setting will appeal. I've used my blog to try and highlight this corner of the world and I hope the book could do the same. Caitlin gets a role presenting a gardening show which takes her around Ireland. The glass house is near the village of Sion Mills, which has some very unique architecture and parts of the story are set in Belfast, which provided an opportunity to show the changes and development but also reflects our history and ongoing problems.

Next Wednesday, you can visit the blogs of friends listed below to read the answers on their 'Next Big Thing.'

Melanie Jones - Melanie's debut novel will be released next year and you can also follow her on Facebook.
SJ McClanahan - a husband and wife team who write together and can also be found on Facebook.
Gail Cleare - Gail writes women's fiction and runs a critique group on Authonomy for those who write in the genre.

Synopsis Hell

Time to have a go at drafting a synopsis for The Glass House. I detest writing these things; distilling an entire story into one page, especially when this one has three female leads.

I've had a few attempts at it but this is what I've got so far:

The Glass House: Synopsis

Set in contemporary Northern Ireland, The Glass House has a surface plot involving...but the underlying theme considers the dangers of judging others.

When Stuart needs a gardener to present a day-time programme, he hires Caitlin Maguire. The eldest of two siblings from the Co. Tyrone village of Sion Mills, she's reluctant to leave the safety of her restored Victorian Glass House, but her dwindling finances force her to accept.

Younger sister, Niamh is married to Tom Whitley, a fifty year-old property developer with a scorned ex-wife and an eighteen year old daughter. Expelled from her boarding school for drugs offences she denies and sent to live with her father and Niamh, Ellie is given work experience on a costume drama. She hopes her mother will stop forcing her into academics she hates, letting her follow the career she wants, but Angie isn't a women who gives up without a fight.

Filming and her developing relationship with Stuart see Caitlin temporarily move to Belfast. When Ellie shows a talent for gardening, Caitlin employs her and Ellie gets closer to local man, Jack.

...Ellie is threatened with the exposure of... Ellie has no memory of it and she's afraid her family will lose all trust in her. She agrees to the blackmailer's demands, taking delivery of...

Sorry for the ellipsis but I can't give the whole story away or give you the rest of the synopsis. I'll fill those blanks in for those I submit the MS to.

Descriptions

As I edit and tweak, one of the things I've been looking at it is the description applied to certain scenes. I have reworked the opening to chapter two (previously posted a version), to include some of the wider setting for Caitlin's home and glass house. So, here's the latest draft:

    A deep, satisfying warmth filled Caitlin, once again safe in her sanctuary. Her glass house. This one, no ordinary, domestic greenhouse of glass and aluminium. At almost five metres long it dwarfed the contemporary structures she'd grown up with. A perfect piece of Victorian architecture and engineering, it sat outside a walled garden, in a property once owned by Caitlin's grandparents, near the village of Sion Mills. Nestled in the County Tyrone countryside it was surrounded by low hills, that were home to farms worked by generations of local families. Patched hedgerows, their holes manipulated by the sheep they attempted to contain, bounded the roads and the network of fields. Hawthorne, ash, beech and sycamore trees dotted their lines and prickly, yellow gorse bushes spread from the nearby Sperrin Mountains. Around Caitlin's home the trees were dense enough, when in full leaf, to obscure her view of the mountains.

    Since the death of her grandmother two years ago and the passing of her grandfather a year later, their home had passed to her. Now in her care, the glass house looked stunning, with its dwarf brick walls, sparkling glass and the white, cast-iron frame, topped with a ridge of fleur-de-lis. It had been a very different picture when she'd inherited it. Caitlin’s heart had swelled with sympathy the first time she'd glimpsed the rusted framework, most of the glass broken and what little remained so black with dirt it was unrecognisable. Crumbling brickwork, overgrown with nettles, and layers of mud, so thick they could have sent a geologist to heaven.

    Her grandparents had spent years caring for and developing the garden apart from one corner, which they'd never tackled. Always leaving it wild, to bring in the welcome, pollinating bees and butterflies. It was whilst clearing that overgrown corner to gain access to a crumbling wall, requiring repair, that Caitlin discovered the doorway in the wall. Its paint flaking and its hinges rusted and seized, Caitlin had needed to unscrew it from its warped frame to get to the other side of the wall but when she did she made her greatest discovery.

The Editing Begins

The Glass House has been under the microscope of a book-club-type review group for the last two weeks. I was nervous, especially given I'd put a first draft in front of them. If they hated it there was a chance it would knock my enthusiasm for the story.

I'm pleased that none of the reviews were negative and excited that those who read the whole first draft were particularly positive, saying they saw commercial viability, lots going on in the plot and with the characters. They enjoyed it and picked up on the themes and twists, some offering to read it again when the edits are complete. It needs some work, as you'd expect with a first draft, but the editing process starts in earnest now.

Perhaps this post should be a challenge to myself? Get it tightened up and start submitting to agents in the new year. An early New Year's Resolution?

New Pitch

Having finished The Glass House, I realised I needed to work on a new pitch for it and I'm hoping this one sums it up better.

A peaceful life, ensconced in her restored Victorian Glass House was all Caitlin wished for. When a television producer comes calling her dreams become nightmares.

Caitlin: is twenty-eight and lives in a crumbling house near the village of Sion Mills in Northern Ireland. Her energy and finances are focused on her restored Victorian Glass House and her burgeoning horticultural business.

Niamh: at twenty-five, she's Caitlin's younger sister and the siblings seem to have little in common, Niamh preferring nail extensions to green fingers. She's married to Tom, a fifty year-old property developer and her relationship with her sister is strained by Caitlin's dislike of him.

Ellie: Tom's nineteen year-old daughter who meets her step-mother when she's expelled from boarding school and has to move in with her father.

Tom, Jack and Stuart are the three men who are drawn into the lives of these women. When they are all pulled into the residue of Northern Ireland's paramilitary gangs, impressions are challenged and the value of family, friendship and honesty is revealed.

A Good Feeling

Over 76,000 words, 240 double-line spaced pages and 40 chapters, the first draft of The Glass House is complete. It's the second manuscript I've finished and I feel very satisfied having written that final word.

It's taken me by surprise. My first pitch for it suggested the main character would be Caitlin and the story would centre around her relationship with her sister, Niamh. I had a third female character planned, Chloe. Her name has changed to Ellie and she's gone from a minor character who created a situation Niamh and Caitlin needed to get out off, into a central character who helps drive the plot. I'm going to need a new pitch.

Caitlin's Glass House

Following on from the post about the walled garden at Crom I thought I'd share some extracts from the new manuscript I'm working on, The Glass House, where the reader is first introduced to Caitlin's glass house.

A deep, satisfying warmth filled Caitlin, once again safe in her sanctuary. Her glass house. No ordinary structure of glass and aluminium, but a perfect piece of Victorian architecture and engineering, sitting at the edge of a walled garden, in a property once owned by Caitlin's grandparents. Now in her ownership and care, it looked stunning, with its dwarf brick walls, sparkling glass and white, cast iron frame, topped with a ridge of fleur-de-lis, but it was a very different picture when she first inherited it. Caitlin’s heart had swelled with sympathy when she first glimpsed the rusted framework, most of the glass broken and what little remained so black with dirt it was unrecognisable, crumbling brickwork, overgrown with nettles and layers of mud so thick they could have sent a geologist to heaven. Her grandparents had spent years caring for and developing the garden apart from one corner which they had left wild to bring in the welcome, pollinating bees and butterflies, and it was whilst pruning and shaping that corner that Caitlin discovered the doorway in the wall leading to the glass house.

A rap on the glass and the scraping of the door being opened, interrupted Caitlin's solitude.

'Thought I might find you in here.' Jack announced as he stepped into the entrance porch of the glass house.

'Where else? I hope you haven't called round for money?' Caitlin asked, without looking up, recognising his voice.

'No, we're all settled up. Just wanted to see how my baby is holding up?'

'She's fabulous, but she's a high maintenance girl.'

'Just the way I like them.'

'My finances would appreciate it if she wasn't.'

'She'll pay you back for all the love you've given her one day.'

Love is the most appropriate phrase Jack could have chosen, nothing but that amount of dedication could have saved the glass house from its almost complete destruction. Restoring it had been a labour of love, and often torture, for Caitlin, but it was also in homage to her much loved and missed grandparents.

'Do you remember the first day you saw her?' Caitlin asked.

'I remember walking round that garden for fifteen minutes trying to find you and then wondering what I'd stumbled into when that mud monster materialised through the wall.'

'I was a bit of a sight wasn't I? That mud was so thick, I still don't know how I landed face down in it. If it wasn't for your help I'd still be digging it out.'

'I've never seen anyone so excited at discovering soil and stones.'

'How dare you,' Caitlin laughed. 'You know fine rightly they were more than soil and stones; flower beds, bordered with that gorgeous brickwork.' She pointed to the beds, now filled with an abundance of plants in various stages of growth, framed by intricately twisted deep red bricks.

Caitlin suspected Jack stayed longer that first day than he had intended to, and perhaps the next, and the next. The problem was, every time they made one discovery it led to another. After the beds, came the pipes running through them. Then he was there for the water tank that had to be scooped and drained clean of algae ridden, foul smelling, stagnant water; he offered his home and internet access to research how the pipes, tank and stove should connect to operate as irrigation and heating systems; he provided an extra pair of eyes and arms for the many hours in salvage yards and the heavy replacement materials; he helped free the winches for the ventilation windows from rust before finally restoring all the glass, which had required meticulous measuring and cutting.

He'd helped restore the glass house to its former glory and now it provided a flexible and perfect growing environment for the plants Caitlin cultivated for both her own enjoyment and her burgeoning gardening business.

Crom Walled Garden

I'm in the midst of a new manuscript, The Glass House. The main character, Caitlin, has inherited her grand-parents property, near the village of Sion Mills, and their love of gardening. On clearing a wild corner of the walled garden, on the property, she discovers a door that leads to a dilipadated Victorian Glass House. With the help of local handy-man, Jack, she restores it so that it becomes the centre of her burgeoning horticultural business. The Glass House contains other themes that run through the story.

I had already drafted the second chapter, in which Caitlin's glass house is first described but I was thrilled when I discovered the walled garden and derelict glass house at Crom Castle. I'm grateful to the staff member who told me about it. This glass house, like Caitlin's, is in a very sorry state. It doesn't exactly match my vision or description but does show the remains of pipes, brick walls and benches. It's a ghost of the beautiful and functional building it must once have been. The National Trust staff also told me when they cleared some of the wall and area round the glass house last year, they revealed marks along the wall. These show where other houses and structures once stood. In the barn building that the Trust use at Crom, there is an information centre. Within it they have an excellent plan of the walled garden from early in the 1900's, which includes the walled, circular rhododendron pool at the centre of it. Today only one corner of the garden is in use as allotments.

National Trust: Crom
Discover NI: Crom
http://lordbelmontinnorthernireland.blogspot.co.uk/2008/08/enchanting-walled-garden-of-crom.html