Lorraine Mace

Notes from the Margin — December 2009

Text Box: Recipe for Success I’m looking for an activity. Preferably something unpleasant. But – and this is important – it mustn’t be in any way connected with writing. Have I gone insane? Well, yes and no. I have a recipe for writing success, but to explain it I’ll have to go back a few years. Whenever I’d daydreamed about an agent asking for the full manuscript of one of my books, the reverie had always entailed euphoria and excitement – wild parties and exotic drinks (with paper umbrellas). I’d pictured myself swinging from the chandelier (never mind the fact that we didn’t have one). In every scenario ecstasy was present (the emotion, not the … okay, just clarifying). None of which happened when an agent did actually ask to see the full manuscript of my children’s novel. No shrieking with joy or screaming with delight. I sat down, head in hands, and exclaimed: “Oh no. I don’t believe it!” and stomped about the house like a female Victor Meldrew. At that time my husband and I had been living in Spain for two years, but were about to return to France. Surrounded by boxes – filled, empty and halfway between the two – unable to find anything, not sure what to keep out, or what to pack, writing had taken so much of a backseat, it was almost in the boot. My children’s book had been written the previous year and the first three chapters had been polished to as near perfection as I could achieve. Unfortunately, the rest of the novel was still in first-draft stage and nowhere near ready. (Of course, the opening chapters should never have been sent anywhere until the whole book was polished – but you know what we writers are like!). I’d submitted to the agent several months earlier and had been intending to work on the remaining chapters, but life got in the way. When the email arrived, I knew I had to revise and rewrite the remaining 30,000 words before sending the full manuscript. At that stage I couldn’t even see the printer because of the goods and chattels piled up in front of it, but managed to manhandle them out of the way to print a copy to work on. The removal van was booked and the date couldn’t be changed, which meant editing the book at the same time as packing up the home. The situation couldn’t possibly get any worse – could it? Well, yes, it could. In my covering email I’d mentioned that I was working on a crime thriller and the agent had asked to see the opening chapters of that as well. In the months since sending the query I’d decided to take the novel in an entirely different direction and the opening chapters were in a state of flux. So those chapters were also printed out to work on. When I’d planned to make a living from writing, it had never occurred to me that I’d be resting on a packing case, red pen in hand, trying to concentrate on serial killers, vampires, werewolves and other assorted weirdo elements whilst issuing commands to my poor demented husband, who was frantically filling boxes ready for transportation to France. By the time the full manuscript of one book and the revised opening chapters of the other were ready to submit, the internet had been disconnected and I had to send the files from the local dirty mac café. Imagine my horror when we were reconnected in France and I received the copy email I’d sent to myself and found that the email to the agent had been corrupted. I’d sent a load of coded garbage. Needless to say, I immediately resent the files, together with an apology. I bet no one is surprised to hear that the agent declined on both books. Happily, I’ve since been taken on by an agent for that same children’s novel – which was obviously cause for celebration – but as the good news came on the last day available to complete my income tax return (in French), there was no pink champagne or chandelier swinging. In fact, no celebration at all, just reams of figures to juggle. My agent has recently submitted the novel to various publishing houses and this is where my brilliant idea comes in. I know exactly how to make the publishers show an interest – I simply need to be too busy to have time to celebrate (with something unpleasant and non-writing related). Suggestions for possible tasks on a postcard, please. Write Away! Notes from the Margin


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