Alex Bell – fantasy author

This is something I’ve come across in several different places, both online and in real life: when is it okay to call yourself a writer? It’s one of those weird labels that people seem strangely reluctant to claim, and I am no exception. When I was writing my first novel I hesitated to call myself a writer because I had not achieved any measure of success yet. I therefore felt that I did not deserve the title somehow. It seemed akin to announcing myself as a king simply because there was a Burger King crown on my head.

The problem is that with most professions you either are something, or you are not. There is no inbetween, no fuzzy grey area of uncertainty. Writing is different because it very often starts out as a private hobby, and there is certainly no qualification you are obliged to take before officially achieving the status of ‘Writer’. And therein lies the problem. You can call yourself a writer even if you’re a really bad writer, and you can call yourself a writer even if you’ve never written a single story. I don’t believe you have to be spectacularly talented to call yourself a writer but you probably should be writing something even if it is awful.

Before I got my first book published I more or less stopped telling people that I wanted to be an author because I got tired of the pitying, condescending looks I received in response.

‘It’s very difficult to get published,’ people who were in no way experts on the publishing industry would helpfully say to me. ‘Very difficult.’

‘Really?’ I replied. ‘I had no idea! Thank you for pointing that out to me . . . Seriously, though, how much of a naïve fool do you believe me to be?’ 

Or, at least, I would think that silently in my head, and out loud I would say, deadpan: ‘Yes. I have heard that.’

I thought that once I got my first book deal it would be easier to say: ‘I am a writer’ without turning red. But it wasn’t really. People still looked at me with pity or, worse, disbelief. It doesn’t help when a lot of people say they are writers when what they really mean is that they like the idea of being a writer and may give it a go if they ever have the time, but probably lack the discipline to even successfully complete a novella, never mind a novel.

I saw quite a lot of this at the writing group I joined at university. One guy in particular seemed excessively and never-endingly impressed with himself because he had been writing a ‘novel’ for the last three years, and had reached 10,000 words during that time. He had never written an actual full-length book, and yet he spent every one of our weekly meetings dishing out advice about how such a book should be written. He even attempted to advise me on more than one occasion despite the fact that I had a book deal by then. I felt like laughing, but everyone else looked so grave and impressed that I thought it best not to. Another bloke I knew insisted on referring to himself as a ‘poet’ even though he had written only one very short, and not very impressive, poem the whole time he was in the group. This is the literary equivalent of someone who calls themselves a vegetarian but, in fact, eats all meat as long as it’s not chicken. These people are the reason that when I refer to myself as a writer, most people take that as a euphemism for ‘unemployed layabout with high and mighty ideas of themselves’. The mind forms this image of someone trying to be all creative and arty and passionate and intense when, actually, they’re just a bit of a tit suffering from visions of grandeur. 

I briefly tried ‘author’ and ‘novelist’ instead of ‘writer’ but those just sounded even more pretentious. Basically, I think if you are writing something then you are perfectly entitled to refer to yourself as a writer if you want to. Publication is not conclusive proof of worth (it just indicates that someone in the publishing industry liked your book, and thought it would sell), and non-publication does not mean that your work is shite. Literature is a subjective thing. That is why it is impossible to qualify. The Discword books would still be works of genius even if they had been rejected by every publishing house in existence. Even eventual popularity and sky-high sales figures are not concrete evidence of worth.

But, personally, I still hesitate to call myself a writer because people who’ve not seen/read my books still tend to react with either disbelief or condescension. I thought it would come easier once my first book was actually out on the shelves, but it didn’t. Indeed, although I have two published books out now, and two more that will be published in the next two years, I still feel uncomfortable referring to myself as a writer. I suppose it’s because I just tend to assume that I will not be believed. So many people claim to be writers (including those that do not write and probably never will) that it makes the title almost meaningless. The fact of wanting to be a writer does not turn you into one unless you actually do something about that desire. Just because you wish you were Captain Kirk, doesn’t mean you are Captain Kirk etc.

So although I certainly do consider myself to be a writer, I tend to skate over that when talking to new people, and only say vaguely that I am self-employed. That way I do not get pity or disbelief, and once they have gone I can still quietly whisper defiantly to myself: ‘I am King!’ or ‘I am Captain Kirk!’ Or something. But who knows, perhaps when I have written one hundred books, then I will finally feel justified in calling myself a Writer with a capital ‘W’.

I’ll start off by saying that John and Edward Grimes are not my top favourite in the competition. That place is currently filled by Joe McElderry – I love his voice, and his demeanour, and I really hope that he wins. But I do like Jedward as performers, and I think the flak they have received in the press, and elsewhere on the internet is ridiculous and absurd. This is, after all, a TV show, and the nature of that show is that someone has to go out every week. It is therefore foolish in the extreme for people to be outraged simply because an act they preferred was voted off. Even more nonsensical is to direct that outrage towards the judges when it is, after all, the public who decides who ends up in the bottom two.

Whilst I was at university I worked in the customer complaints department of a travel agency, dealing with letters of complaint that clients wrote regarding their holidays. I read hundreds of these letters – many of which were written by the sort of person whose philosophy regarding grammar runs something along the lines of: ‘why use just one exclamation mark when you can use ten?!’ – and I came to realise that there are some people who should never, ever leave the UK, for business, pleasure, or anything else. They are simply not cut out for the trials and tribulations of travelling. Having seen some of the astonishingly vicious and emotive remarks floating round the internet regarding the X Factor, I would have to say that the same applies for talent show viewers – some people should never, ever watch any talent show of any type. If you cannot cope when your favourite act does not get through, then you should not tempt fate by watching the show. It is as simple as that.

I watch, and enjoy, the X Factor, but in the three years that I have been watching it, my favourite act has never won. This has never yet sent me into a cyber-rage, and I don’t believe it ever will, for the simple reason that, to me, the show is a pleasant diversion on a Saturday night, not the thing that consumes my entire life. It’s bad enough when people get unnecessarily upset because their favourite has not got through, but to descend into hysterics because your least favourite did get through is mean-spirited, petty and cruel. It is a real shame that people take such delight in singling out a particular act to hate in this manner. I could understand it if that act was, say, racist or sexist, or otherwise grossly bigoted in some way. I could understand it if they had committed some act of criminal violence or terrorism. But when their only offence is that their style of music is not to everyone’s tastes . . . I’ve just got to say it again: how patently absurd!

Personally, I actually preferred Lucie’s voice – in fact she was my second favourite, after Joe – but I really enjoy Jedward’s performances too, and I have a huge amount of respect for their cheerfulness and enthusiasm. To come on smiling week after week, even when the audience is booing them (and I think that behaviour is utterly outrageous) shows a tremendous amount of professionalism, and I take my hat off to them for it.

I suppose this nonsense is something that all celebrities have to put up with to some extent. When you get people attacking Steven Fry on Twitter, or hitting Leona Lewis at a book signing, you realise the sad truth of this. But I, for one, sincerely hope that the twins can rise above the blood-thirsty beast that is the Public, and go on to achieve some form of long lasting success.

END OF RANT

How great to have a blog where I can spout off about things like this. Join me next week (or whenever I get around to it) for my next cyber-rant on how much I respect Iain Duncan Smith, despite the fact that I am no Tory.

(And just in case anyone was thinking about leaving an excessively hateful comment about Jedward/their performance/their singing abilities/or whatever – don’t bother. Any such comment will very promptly be deleted by myself. This blog is to remain a malice-free cyber-zone at all times.)

I have recently been catching up on series three of The Tudors and, having now got about half way through, I am feeling an outpouring of love and gushing admiration for the show. I think it is outstanding in every conceivable way. Superlative, in fact. There is no bettering it.

It has to be said, in the main, I am not a big fan of British TV. I was therefore predisposed towards disliking The Tudors when I began the second series (having missed the first one). At the risk of making a sweeping statement, it seems to me that British shows are usually inferior in the extreme to their American counterparts (except for Jane Austen type period dramas, which the British do very well). I can’t conceive of a British version of Stargate or Star Trek, for example, that would not be terrible. Perhaps the money just isn’t there. But the acting is a problem for me as well. If it seems cheesy and unbelievable, then I can’t get involved in it. Dr Who is the classic offender. I made myself watch two episodes, and it was like watching a Christmas pantomime. Which is odd, because I do think David Tennant, in other roles, can act. So maybe it’s the corny script writing instead.

I can’t quite put my finger on it but, for whatever reason, British TV doesn’t usually work for me. Even Merlin, which I really like, is not quite up to American standards. The Tudors, on the other hand, is another story altogether. It’s the only show of its type that I think the Americans couldn’t possibly improve upon. It ticks all the boxes. It is entertaining, sexy, violent and exciting. The acting, costumes, production, direction and writing are all truly excellent. I can’t fault a single actor in the whole show. I am terrified of, yet morbidly fascinated by, Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Henry, and am so convinced by him in this role that I actually can’t imagine him doing something normal like having a pint down the pub.

Natalie Dormer, the actress who plays Anne Boleyn, does an absolutely fantastic job of what seems rather a difficult part to play. Her performance is practically mesmerising. Not to mention the fact that she is stunningly beautiful. If I were going to have a girl-crush on anyone . . . but let’s not go there. Of course, Dormer, sadly, does not feature in the third series because, well, we all know what happened to Anne.

Moving on, despite the lavishness, polish and professionalism of the series, I have seen it criticised for not being 100% historically accurate and, I have to say, I think this accusation is absurd. Michael Hirst has stated: “Showtime commissioned me to write an entertainment, a soap opera, and not history … And we wanted people to watch it.” Seems fair enough to me. I am a history buff myself, but if I want to seriously learn more about history then I wouldn’t think to do it by watching a TV show. I would watch a documentary or read a book. I don’t watch The Tudors to learn more about the period, I watch it to be entertained. The story comes first! Besides which, the show itself is so good that I’m sure many people find their interest in the Tudor period piqued, and then try to find out more later. If Michael Hirst had to be slavishly faithful to historical fact then the series would not be so good, and so less people would watch it. If Henry, for example, were an obese man waddling grotesquely about the Royal Court, would anyone want to see any of his erotic dalliances? I seriously think not.

This show makes history accessible – bringing it “to the masses” as it were. I’m sure it has inspired many more people to take an interest in Henry VIII and his times than any dry, historical article ever did. I therefore think it quite ridiculous that historians like David Starkey (who I have been inclined to dislike ever since his unnecessarily antagonistic attitude towards his fellow panelists on Question Time) should brand the show as “gratuitously awful”, simply because it is not one hundred percent accurate. Not only do I think it impossible for a show like this to be entirely accurate, I do not think that it should be. If it is slavishly faithful to fact, to the point that only professional historians have any interest in watching it, then the show would soon be cancelled due to a fatal case of gross unpopularity. Shooting itself in the foot, as it were. A Pyrrhic victory indeed.

So, personally, I’m afraid I would have to dismiss as pure nonsense the claim that the Tudors is ruined because it sometimes takes liberties with dates, dress or characters. I love the show – I do not want a fat Henry – and I would dearly love to see it go on to cover Mary and Elizabeth’s reigns as well.

Last night I was watching an old episode of Dragons’ Den and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is something I must stop doing, for the simple reason that it is just costing me too much money. As soon as I saw the Scents of Time range of perfumes, I wanted one. I mean, who wouldn’t want a recreation of the perfume Cleopatra herself wore? Or one that elegant ladies onboard the Titanic might have worn? It’s just such a cool idea. It’s unique, and it’s classy. And – as it turns out – it is ethical. 

I resolved to Google the product as soon as I’d finished the episode, but I didn’t hold out much hope of being able to order one for the simple reason that the vast majority of perfumes seem to be animal tested. The very suggestion that testing cosmetics on animals can be in any way justified is patently absurd. And – to be quite honest – disgusting. I would never buy any product from animal testing companies such as Proctor and Gamble (producers of Fairy Liquid, Head & Shoulders, Crest, Daz, Vicks, Iams, and many other household brands). I will probably blog about this in greater detail at some point but, in the meantime, more info can be found at http://www.uncaged.co.uk/pg.htm. The website states that: ‘It’s hard to think of anything more vicious than poisoning and killing animals for the sake of tinkering with cosmetics and washing powder formulations. P&G are responsible for relentless cruelty at its most calculating.’ I agree entirely, and I boycott companies such as this for the plain, simple reason that they make me sick to my stomach, and I have no wish to contribute to their already massive profits in any way whatsoever.

But, happily, there are companies out there who do not torture countless animals every year in the name of beauty (which just goes to show that those who do, do so unnecessarily). When it comes to perfume I have mostly been limited to Donna Karan – a brand I love, and who do not test their perfumes or ingredients on animals. But it’s nice to have a change every now and then. Imagine my delight, therefore, when I looked at the Scents of Time website (http://www.scentsoftime.co.uk/) and found in their FAQ’s that they do not test on animals! Yay!! I ordered a bottle of the Night Star perfume on the spot, partly because I think it’s a cool idea, and partly because I would always want to support any business that chose to be ethical in this way. Thank you very much, Mr Pybus – the Indiana Jones of the perfume industry – for not testing on animals, and for therefore enabling me to buy your products!

This is a post I have been meaning to do for a while, but never quite got round to. However I have been inspired recently by a brilliant post on a similar subject by novelist Faye L. Booth: http://fayelbooth.blogspot.com/2009/01/when-emperors-are-in-buff.html. Faye’s post is much more comprehensive than mine, but I feel the pressing need to add my twopence to this discussion.

Writing a book is a labour of love. If it wasn’t then you would never get past the first chapter before you sickened of it and threw it in the bin. When you’re first starting out, you need a tremendous amount of faith in your own novel if you’re ever going to succeed in getting it published. I firmly believe that there must be unpublished novels out there that are phenomenally good but will never be published for the simple reason that their authors just aren’t determined/bloody-minded/stubborn/arrogant enough to withstand the ego-battering onslaught of rejection letters, and to send the book out again and again until it lands on the right desk of the right editor of the right publisher at the right time.

The ‘correct’ philosophy here is to say that everyone has their own opinions yadda, yadda, yadda, and not to be too disheartened because even if some people don’t like your book, others will. I accept this, in principle. But I also believe that not only must you have faith in your own work in order to succeed, but that you must love it practically to the point of being quite arrogant about it. There is no room for modesty here, my friends. If you don’t think your book is the best thing since sliced bread then how can you expect a publisher to? If you can’t be defiantly proud of your book even when it’s being rejected left, right and centre then you’ll be in danger of giving up at the first hurdle. There are countless examples of famous books (now considered masterpieces) being sent out time and time again before someone, somewhere recognised them for what they were. 

Here I would like to direct anyone who hasn’t already seen it to go and watch Randy Pausch’s ‘Last Lecture’: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji5_MqicxSo This lecture on achieving your childhood dreams is probably one of the most inspirational things I have ever seen in my life. One issue Dr Pausch talks about, which has stuck with me ever since I first watched the lecture, is that of brick walls. These are the hurdles and problems that anyone will face when trying to achieve their dream (whatever it may be). I think any writer can sympathise with the disappointment of a generic, single sentence rejection letter, or a witheringly negative review. But as Dr Pausch points out, the brick walls are there to give you the chance to prove how much you want something. They are there to keep the other people out, not you. They are there to stop those who only half-heartedly work towards their goals, rather than those who are utterly determined to get there even if they half kill themselves in the process. You can’t half-heartedly want to be published – you must be prepared to fight to the death for it.

I think this especially applies to writing – and trying to get published – because writing is its own reward even without publication. You can therefore, if you are so inclined, decide to write for yourself alone. You can view writing as a pleasant hobby and nothing more. You’re certainly not (with a few obvious exceptions) going to get rich and famous pursuing a writing career. So the only reason I can see for embarking on the rocky, perilous road to publication, is because you love your novel so much that having it all to yourself is simply not enough – you want other people to read it and enjoy it too. That is why hearing someone praise your book is one of the very best feelings in the world. But it is also why negative reviews are so abhorrent to a writer. If your final goal is not publication itself, but for people to enjoy your work, then getting a bad review is like falling at the last hurdle. I have now acquired a much thicker skin with regards to bad reviews, but at the beginning, when The Ninth Circle had just come out, I will admit that I found poisonous critiques of my work almost physically painful to read. And it was one of those unfortunate facts that a good review would make me feel good for about ten minutes, whereas a bad review could ruin my entire day.

Really, this is a case of: ‘If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen’ coupled with ‘if you stay out of the kitchen you won’t get burned, but you will go hungry.’ If you can’t take criticism of your books, then you’re probably better off writing for yourself alone. But if you are going to attempt publication then, in my opinion, you really do have to be an arrogant little so-and-so. You have to be able to look at rejection letters you receive from publishers – actual professionals in the industry – and think ‘you are wrong, and I am right.’ That is harder said than done. But, assuming you do not get picked up by the first publisher/agent you approach, it is necessary. You must love your book so much, that anyone who doesn’t like it must a) have bad taste, or b), be an idiot. Of course, logically you can acknowledge that this isn’t really the case because people have different literary tastes etc etc, but this is the illogical feeling you must feel with conviction when you first open that rejection letter. That way you can stick your tongue out at it, rip it up into little pieces, throw them in the fire and firmly tell yourself that clearly this commissioning editor is an utter fool who has just lost their publisher an awful lot of money by passing up on your masterpiece. Ahem.

But – and this is the tricky part – you somehow have to counter-balance that arrogance with some degree of humility, especially if you are fortunate enough to get any kind of professional feedback. I’ve been extremely lucky with my editors, both at Gollancz and at Headline, in that they have both vastly improved my books with their comments and advice. It’s no use clinging to the idea that your book is perfect and cannot be improved. That’s taking the whole arrogant thing just too far.

Ultimately, readers and reviewers are entitled to their own opinions, and I would never begrudge someone for disliking one of my books. No book, no matter how wonderful, is going to appeal to everyone. Even geniuses like Terry Pratchett and J K Rowling are not universally adored by every reader in the world. You cannot do more than love your own book absolutely, and trust to the fact that, eventually, it will find its way to the people who are meant to read it.

My point, then, is that I am extremely arrogant when it comes to my books, and I ain’t sorry for it because the fact is that I couldn’t have got here if I wasn’t. But, at the same time, I would hope that I’d always be humble enough to acknowledge that nothing I write will ever be perfect. I would always strive to make my new book just a little bit better than the last one. And for that reason, I am certainly going to listen very carefully to anything any editor, reviewer or reader says to me about my books – i.e. I will pull the little pieces out of the fire, paste them back together, and read the letter/review/rejection again later when I can be calm and professional about it. If I still don’t agree with what’s been said then I will throw the letter back into the fire, and leave the damn thing there for good.