Bookness

As of Easter, my editor has finished with Solace and Grief. Apparently, she even enjoyed it, which makes me glow with a quiet firefly-warmth. I’ve taken a break from the sequel these past couple of months, so hearing this now is like snuggling happily into a favourite blanket. The exhausting thing about trying to get a first novel published – or rather, one of the many exhausting things – is that if you stop work on it, nothing happens. Editors do not magically gain access to your halfway finished draft, nor do agents ring and ask if they might peruse the most recent chapters. Instead, you are alone in your creative universe. Progress only happens when you make it happen – and when the necessity of eventual publication hangs over your head like the proverbial Pointy Thing of Damocles, there is a guilty need, both pressing and urgent, to always be doing something. Submission is only a temporary fix, elation quickly overriden by a nagging question: now what? Most publishers take months to respond – what happens in the interim? Editing what you’ve already sent off is a good way to keep busy, but waiting for a response still feels like sitting on your hands. In more ways than the obvious, publication comes as a refreshing change. Perversely, it grants the freedom to vacation from your characters sans guilt, to sit back and work on something else (or catch up on your DVDs, whatevs) in the delightful knowledge that somewhere, some wonderful soul is tinkering away on your behalf. The novel is being Worked On, and all is right with the universe.

Solace and Grief, as I may or may not have mentioned, is the first of a trilogy. Book 2 is currently under construction to the tune of about 40,000 words, with the caveat that the last 20,000 are in disarray. Literally. Many scenes have been roughly hacked into a new order, but before I read through and start a-stitching with my elegant surgeon’s keys, there’s a small matter of imperative: a new character whose intentions I must fathom absolutely before putting her – and the middle chapters – back in play. I’ve not addressed the problem for a while, but now that the editor is done, certain mental wheels have started clicking. Soon enough, the story will start to itch at me, and when the internal pressure reaches critical strength, I’ll fling myself back into it with a vengeance.

Assuming all my uni essays are done, that is. Publication changes many things, but – alas! – the intrusion of the real world isn’t one of them. Damned necessity.

Gleeful Tidings

Currently, it looks like Solace and Grief will come out circa March 2010, which announcement I consider to be a thing of extreme shininess. Also, my copy of the contract has been returned in the illustrious company of my first ever advance cheque, which I banked today at lunch. Behold! – I have been paid for my words. I am officially Writery. Authory, even.

 Muahaha. Roll on, 2009!

Novel News

I signed my first book contract yesterday. In a way, it was a more momentous event than actually hearing the novel had been accepted, because it was concrete, fixed in paper. For the first time, I spoke to my publisher on the phone. We chatted about the contract, diverting fragmentarily into what comes next, and now it’s finally hit me that there is a next, that I don’t have to start reshopping again, and that all the emailed back-and-forth about series names and schools and libraries had a point.

I’m actually getting published.

Dazedly, I keep wandering into Reader’s Feast at lunch, greedily eyeing the ‘M’ slot on shelves and noting where my book, potentially, could sit. At home, working on the next volume, it startles me to think of not needing to submit all over again; that, like a privileged second child, it will never know the anxiety and heartache of its elder sibling’s early days. Wandering into Readings, I feel my stomach jump to recognise books on display as originating from my new publishing house. And so on.

I don’t have many details yet. I’m new at this. But the book, for those who are interested, will be called Solace and Grief. It’s young adult fantasy. I’m working with Ford Street Publishing and the wonderful Paul Collins. Also, I’m now on Twitter. And I am – and will continue to be – extremely, wonderfully excited.

The Nihilist Ice Cream Parlour

Delightfully, the good folks over at Village Wit have published a short story of mine called The Nihilist Ice Cream Parlour. Check it out!

For those who’re interested, the concept came from a night out with philosophers – the night of this conversation, actually – after Zach posited the idea of a nihilist ice cream vendor. Everyone, naturally, thought it was hilarious, and I vowed on the spot to write a short story about it. Zach agreed, but not before making me promise to give him joint credit. I accepted. On we went.

A few days later, I found myself with a free half hour at work. I thought about nihilist ice cream, grinned, and wrote the first version (850 words long – the published iteration, due to submission guidelines, is 700)  in about twenty minutes. I printed it out, and, as it was a Friday, proceeded to the Melbourne Uni postgradute philosophy room to join my Long-Suffering Husband. Zach was also there. With a triumphant flourish, I dropped the finished article on his lap. He read it. I waited.

After about a minute, he looked up.

‘Foz?’ he asked. ‘I don’t get it. I mean, I get it, I just don’t get why.’

Turns out, he’d forgotten the entire conversation, as had almost everyone else. So in a way, the story is my reward for not ending up utterly drunk that night.

It’s like an After School Special come true.