Speculation, Fact and Fiction

As I was near a local Ottakar's-soon-to-be-Waterstones today, I dropped in to see what new titles are being published this month, and naturally, to check how many of my own new book, the aforementioned Eastern Tide, that they were stocking.

It turned out that there's been another reorganisation of the layout since I was last in there a few weeks ago and I couldn't find any fixture devoted to the month's new titles. This had previously been easily found inside the door between the latest 3for2 promotion and the Richard and Judy shelves.

Since there were two staff at the desk and no customers waiting, I queried this. I was told the latest directive from Waterstones HQ has been to do away with the space dedicated to new titles to expand the shelving available for the currently discounted selection. Branch managers have argued against this, apparently, to be told they have no discretion in the matter.

So it would seem midlist and genre authors have now lost the very limited front-of-store exposure that they could expect when their new titles appear. They're just shelved straight to section, and apparently, the stock budget for new titles not in promotions has just been cut. The manager telling me this as I signed the half-dozen copies on the SF&F shelves (now no backlist held at all) added that he's currently working out his notice.

This leaves Waterstone's current statements in the press about their commitment to range and depth of stock ringing very hollow indeed to my ears.

So, my trip to Scotland. Bear with me, I will get onto the course itself after I detail my journey there. And make sure you read about my journey home as well.

I decided to go by train because I’m at least an hour and a half’s travel from any airport and by the time I’d added on the minimum time for check-in and security goings-on, there wasn’t actually much time to be gained by flying. And I can work on a train far more easily than in an airport lounge or standing in a queue for a metal detector.

That theory worked very well, right up to the point when I arrived at Birmingham New Street to discover the train for the middle leg of my journey had been cancelled due to engineering works. The amiable Virgin Trains chap found me an alternate route – which would get me into Aberdeen at around 11.30 pm rather than 9 pm as planned. I was less than thrilled and asked if I was entitled to complain or get any refund? No, not according to him, with what looked like genuine regret.

Getting my mind round this new schedule, I realised I had to ring my hotel in Aberdeen. He kindly offered me the use of the phone in the customer services office. While I was in there, making that call, a second Virgin employee, a lass this time, asked why I was going to be so delayed and double-checked in case I could get there any faster. So I asked her if I could complain. She told me I had to complain to my ticket issuer. Since I had an unexpected two and a half hours to kill in New Street, and that number on my documents, I rang the ticket issuer. To be told it was Virgin’s problem. So I went back to customer service, where another bloke told me I had to claim from Railtrack since they were doing the engineering.

As it happened, as I crossed the concourse, fuming, I spotted a chap in a suit talking to a chap in a Railtrack jacket. After a deep breath so as not to take out my frustrations on the two of them, I asked how one complains to Railtrack. They told me I had to complain to Virgin so I explained how Virgin seemed to think it was everyone’s problem but their’s. At which point the helpful and charming Railtrack chap went to get me the relevant form from the Virgin desk – and advised me not to send off my original tickets since apparently unaccountable numbers get lost in the post, leaving Virgin unable to resolve complaints as the customer no longer has any proof of their journey. I can’t possibly comment on that. Not yet, anyway.

Eventually I continued on my way, on a train packed to bursting. When other delayed and re-routed passengers asked the ticket inspectors for a form to complain, they were told no such forms are carried on trains, they can only be got from stations. Great. Anyway, I finally got to Aberdeen and to my hotel at just before midnight, having had no opportunity at all to get any kind of evening meal thanks to the revised train schedule.

So not the best start to the week. Added to that, this was the first week’s residential course I had taught. While I wouldn’t say I had concerns, since I had done a lot of preparation, I was alert for potential issues arising. Like one very dominant personality. I’ve had a few of those on day courses, never unpleasantly so, but forceful enough to skew group work and prevent everyone getting their say, if I don’t politely and unobtrusively squash them a bit. I don’t think I’ve ever caused offence doing that but frankly, if I have, it makes very little odds on a day course. It could potentially be a very different matter when we were all living together for a week. Then there was the weather. We arrived to find torrential rain, which did raise the possibility of spending the whole time all cooped up and thus suffering an out break of cabin fever!

I’m delighted to say none of these issues arose. The weather cleared after the first full day and we could go for walks around the grounds to admire the castle against a splendid backdrop of blue sky and flourishing trees. The promo photos that I’d seen beforehand did make it look very pink indeed but actually the colour is much softer in natural light, more a peachy tone and very tasteful in that setting. I did ask why the render was coloured and apparently this was due to blood mixed in with the lime, in the olden days anyway. Some will tell you this was a specifically Jacobite custom but Bill Breckon, owner of the castle, along with his wife Lois, reckons that’s unlikely. After all, it would have made the job of hunting down the rebels so much easier for the redcoats. Pick the castle you’d like to stake out…?

As to the course, there were no clashes of personalities there. The students were full of ideas and keen to engage with the material I’d prepared, and were all equally ready to listen to each other and debate things constructively in the group sessions. I structured the week in a way that will be familiar to anyone who’s done one of my day or half-day courses but was able to greatly expand what I could cover. On Monday, we did plotting and structure; on Tuesday we did characters; on Wednesday we did world-building. Thursday was given over to the tools of the trade, the actual word-smithing aspects of writing, including the absolute need for revision. Then I covered the cold hard commercial truths of publishing and bookselling on Friday. I’d start each day with an hour or so’s lecture (with handouts) then we’d break for coffee and spend the rest of the morning on group work, structured around collectively developing a theoretical novel. Which will always remain theoretical, not least because it will always be a bit of a camel. In the sense that a camel is a horse built by a committee. That doesn’t matter. It’s the process that’s the key thing for teaching purposes.

I’d set exercises for after lunch, as well as allowing everyone time to apply what we’d discussed in the morning to their own work. While they were doing that, I was doing in-depth one-to-one consultations on work the students had submitted before the course. I’m firmly of the opinion that detailed critique is an activity strictly for consenting adults to be done behind closed doors. This was another element of the course where I was braced for potential difficulty. Some people find it very hard to take even the most gently worded and carefully constructive criticism of work that they’ve poured their heart and soul into. Again, I need not have been concerned. Everyone took on board what I had to say with an open eagerness to learn which left me really pleased I’d had the opportunity to give this kind of feedback.

Then we’d come together for a final review of the exercises and brief questions for an hour before dinner. I didn’t schedule any evening sessions and I’m glad I didn’t. Everyone had worked very intensively by then and we were all ready to relax in what felt as friendly as a family home, with all the conveniences of a good hotel. The castle strikes a lovely balance between elegance and comfort and Lois Breckon is a fabulous cook, well able to cope with inconvenient guests like me, with my dairy-free diet. One student who’d done an Arvon course did comment very favourably on the difference between a week sharing the cooking and one being so wonderfully catered to. Though, obviously, that’s a case where you pays your money and takes your choice.

Conversations over dinner and the post-prandial dram in the drawing room were fascinating. The students were an interesting lot, including (but not limited to) a journalist who’s lived in Russia and Portugal, and a recently retired Greek doctor. Bill Breckon has worked in Fleet Street and for the BBC and for the first half of the week, we were joined by John Jenkins and his wife, June, who run Writers’ Forum magazine. John has extensive experience as a journalist in the national press and is a very interesting person to talk to. I’ve noted a few things he said for use the next time I run a course, with due attribution naturally. As anyone who’s been on a course with me knows, I’m a great believer in learning by listening to other writers of all disciplines and genres.

It wasn’t all work. Two local musicians visited one evening, Alex Green and Madeleine, who talked about the local folk song traditions and entertained us on piano-accordion and penny-whistle. I made notes that I know I’ll use as I develop my ideas for a Lescari Civil Wars trilogy. We also went out for a walk along the Moray Firth coast one afternoon, to see Findlater Castle. Sea-girt on a rocky outcrop, it’s the kind of castle that sceptics might well accuse fantasy writers of inventing as just too unlikely. No, it’s really there and the bold hearted can get over to the ruins. I did think that we might lose one of the castle’s labradogs over a precipice, mind you, but fortunately they seemed to know just how far they could safely go.

By Friday, I reckoned everyone would be suffering from information overload so I’d only scheduled the course till lunchtime. That was definitely the right thing to do. Some of the students disappeared to their rooms with their laptops, inspired to get cracking with their own work. Two hired a taxi and went to visit a local distillery. After I’d done my final one-to-one, I read Anansi Boys in the drawing room and chatted about this writing life, foreign book jackets and all sorts of stuff with the others. It was an ideal way to wind down at the end of the week. Subsequently, I’m delighted to say, all the feedback from the students has been very positive.

And then it was Saturday and time to come home. We had a final coffee at the railway station as some of us had morning trains to catch and others were leaving later. They were taking the opportunity to see something of Aberdeen, always a good idea if you get the chance as it’s a fine city. At the station, we realised there was an international football match on in Glasgow… There were a lot of muscular men in kilts and highly visible alcohol-ban signs as well as quite a few police. The train wasn’t that full when we left Aberdeen but more and more got on at every stop. By the final leg of the journey, there was barely standing room left and the volume of the singing was such I gave up trying to read my book.

All the excitement and enthusiasm was entirely good-natured and wholly fuelled by Irn-Bru. There were a couple of blokes (neds?) whom I suspect had a racist song for every occasion but when their first attempts were greeted with a concerted refusal to join in by the rest of the carriage, they gave up. Well, OK, they did all sing the one about Maradonna, to the tune of the Hokey Cokey; ‘you put your left hand in, your left hand in, you do the Maradonna and you score a goal…’ which I thought was hilarious. The rest of the time everyone was busy singing ‘We’re the Tartan Army’ and the like, interspersed with Flower of Scotland and assorted Proclaimers’ numbers. And bizarrely, ‘Doe a Deer’ from The Sound of Music came round several times, in its entirety, note and word-perfect. You really can’t feel intimidated by that kind of football supporter. Then we had six rousing choruses of ‘The Wheels on the Bus’. Really, we did.

As we were running late into Glasgow Queen Street, I was getting a bit concerned about making a fairly tight connection so got ready to make a break for it as soon as the train stopped. Saying ‘excuse me’ inevitably identified me as, and I don’t often get called this, ‘a wee English girl!’ The enormous kilted football fans in the train’s vestibule were all very friendly, most concerned to help me with my case, to advise me to catch a cab to the Central Station, even to escort me to the taxi rank. This had a particular resonance as I’d been reading the new Terry Pratchett book, Wintersmith, in my off-duty hours at the Castle. I now have the Mac Nac Feegles and these football fans inextricably entwined in my imagination.

I made the connection. The trip home was entirely uneventful in a train that got progressively emptier and emptier. The train I wanted at Birmingham was running and on time. Husband and younger son collected me from Oxford station and we came home via the Chinese takeaway which was definitely a good plan.

So all in all, I came home satisfied that I’d acquitted myself well, and not to put too fine a point on it, given the students good value for their money. But equally, I’d had a thoroughly enjoyable and very rewarding week on my own account.

The Castle of Park
Findlater Castle
Writers’ Forum magazine
Wintersmith, by Terry Pratchett