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Sunday, 16 September 2007
Publishers, Perfection, Penises & Precioussssssssss
Just finished dictating the last pad of Death in Venice to send off to Gillian the typist. Finished the fifth (six, seventh? – completely lost track) edit on Friday, so decided to get the last pad in quick before Gillian forgot what the hell it was about. My handwriting's bad enough without the added stress of trying to remember what that particular Aramaic hieroglyphic is supposed to represent in this particular storyline. If you get my drift.
Sorry, my brain's fried.
Anyway, that means that both Death in Venice and The Boy With Red Hair will be done and dusted as soon as she's finished that.
Well, they'll be ready for editing at any rate.
Death in Venice is quite good, but The Boy needs serious work. It tootles along quite nicely in its first person narrative, a fairly competent 18th century voice, then it goes into dialogue and sounds like a cross between a gangster movie and badly written mock-Victorian porn.
Actually, it probably does nothing of the kind, but it sounds that bad to my ear.
Either way, it hasn't got its voices sorted out, so that would have to be fixed.
I think there is a good story lurking in there. Just needs a bit of mining. Chancery Stone's answer to As Meat Loves Salt, except of course, I was first. (Bear in mind here that I am talking through my arse as I have never read Meat Loving the Old Salt. Hey, it's period drama, man. That's all we need to know to bandy genres and "It's just like…" about.)
Do I sound a bit hyper? I do, don't I? Or is it disillusioned? Panicked maybe?
Actually, panicked is dead on the nail. Time is inching away from me.
I have to edit through 905 pages again to remove an excess of commas (over-compensated); track down all the 'half' uses and hyphenate them (God, I hate that and don't see why I should, but it's a convention, don't you know?); restore some of my sentences beginning with 'but' and 'and' (put too many into commas – might be correct but you can hyperventilate trying to read them, so fuck that rule too), plus decide on all the highlighted 'undecided' adverbs (they're yellow) – do they go or do they stay? Does Danny saying something tightly (overused, but you try and find a better word) convey the meaning better than him just saying it any-old-how?
Worse, sort out the dreaded 'green screen passages'.
These get their name from being highlighted in green (surprise!) and because I hate them. They mean, "Chancery, this is so the wrong word. In fact, this whole fucking passage reeks. What the fuck are you trying to say here? Is this the best you could do? Didn't I just read this crap with Stephen two minutes ago? Doesn't it contradict everything Rab said in the barn scene? Haven't we heard enough of this shit? Is it serving any purpose? Why don't you do something? You're a writer, aren't you?"
Green is critical, because green means WRONG – NEEDS FIXED. CANNOT BE LEFT.
There's not a lot of green left in there, just the odd word rather than complete passages. Which is just as well as I have a fortnight left to do all this work.
Isn't going to happen of course. 14 days into 905 pages just doesn't go. So I'll just do what I can, send it off to Scarlet and hope our reviewer's so wrapped up in the story she doesn't notice the odd off adverb, the odd dull phrase, the odd neurosis of the author.
IT HAS TO BE PERFECT! NOTHING LESS THAN PERFECT WILL DO. I MUST HAVE PERFECT.
There, it's out, I've confessed it. My name is Chancery and I am a perfectionist. God, the shame.
No, I don't secretly think it's a good thing (although it often produces exemplary work). No, it doesn't make you a better person (quite the opposite). No, it doesn't make you a better creative (although it often produces exemplary work, she says again).
Actually, that's about it. It often, but not always, makes for exemplary work. It can also make creatives stop entirely and reduce your output to one book every twenty years.
Hey, I'm nearly there. 'One book' in 17 years (you have no idea how scary that is).
Still, mine is the equivalent of 408 Mills & Boons and 72,000 P.D. James novels, or whatever it is (it's on the website – go look it up yourself) – so I suppose, technically, I could retire after finishing DANNY and consider myself reasonably productive.
But, seriously, seventeen years on one book. Is that dedication, insanity, laziness, nitpicking – what?
None of the above. It just is. I did it because I had to. I wanted to. A compulsion, a drive, an obsession. Doesn't feel like it to me, but it might look like it to others. I wouldn't dare to assume. Do you think I'm obsessed?
Don't answer that.
Well, I'd been going to tell you about the big marketing scheme we had for the UK publishing industry. Maybe not quite a last-ditch attempt to get them on board, but almost.
We were all set up, had the campaign, got the offer set up with Publishing News - £3,000 for the front cover and the first two pages. A scoop indeed. November 23rd issue, just before Xmas when, apparently, the publishers are announcing their Spring titles and scouting for anything interesting. Perfect. Only…
We got them to send some issues. Haven't seen a copy since 2004 when DANNY was being launched.
I'm sitting in bed - Thursday, I think - reading these and I'm thinking, 'Christ, I know how to market better than these guys; they're dinosaurs, a dying breed,' and suddenly I realise why I went it alone, what it was that bothered me about them in the first place.
Seth Godin is right; the publishing industry is dying. I might as well try and convince The Catholic Mothers to take a risk on DANNY as this lot.
Another one bites the dust.
Back to the drawing board.
I admit it, I was disappointed. I was all fired-up, ready to do it. It was a name and shame campaign, aimed to get the media talking, and designed to attract anyone astute enough to know a good risk when they saw one. But flashing a risk at these people is like waving your penis (if you have one) at the Pope – only likely to end in screaming, pursed lips and lifelong banishment.
I've been banished already, of course, (more than once, now I come to think of it – what is it with me?) and I've had plenty of screaming and pursing too – but I don't really need to fork out £3,000 to repeat the exercise, or prove my point.
There is no-one – I repeat, no-one - in the British publishing industry who would touch DANNY.
I'm not even convinced they'd want to know if and when it gets famous, or infamous (is it that already?).
How many 'units' would it take for a big house to want to be associated with it?
It's all very well for the girly editors at Penguin (actually Mr Scratchmann says it was Canongate – no difference) to get in a huddle over it and drool over Danny's interesting "beefcake", but recommend it for publication – I don't think so.
After all, they were too scared to stand by it the first time.
Upside of all this, of course, is it saves £3,000. We're earmarked to run a campaign on Take a Break's website, but they're still monitoring their current ads (Littlewoods' catalogues only) to see what the results are - so they know what to charge, no doubt. Still, we're top of the list when they do go 'public'.
Other than that?
We're back at square one. We've been testing lots of little things with varying degrees of success, but so far nothing great or guaranteed.
Of course, if I found something guaranteed I'd be rich.
So, until I discover The Secret of Marketing Success I shall have to rely on all you dearly beloved fans to spread the word, go forth and evangelise.
Ah, how I wish I could get more of you, sprinkle magic dust on you to make your honeyed words sink into people's ears so they all went and bought a copy like brainless - but addicted and appreciative - automatons.
Maybe I should pay for you all to go on a course - with Anthony Robbins, say - to make you all super-persuasive, sneezers to die for.
How far do you think £3,000 would go?
Never mind. I love you all anyway. You are mine, and I'm damn well keeping you. I don't care if you never sneeze (that is a lie), you are still my little Preciousssssssssss…..
(Retires to cave at centre of earth to cry and massage wrist, whispering endlessly, "Once more, with feeling…")
You can now read this blog at the following locations:-
To subscribe to this blog on Blogspirit (my base camp) without divulging your email address click on the Newsgator button on the left-hand sidebar or simply post the following text into your RSS browser: http://www.poisonpixie.com/chanceryblogfeed.xml
Not yet read DANNY? You can check it out now at Poison Pixie where you can read an extract for FREE! Or grab a copy on Amazon here.
You can also see me in person on my YouTube site (as well as DANNY's various trailers and ads)here or you can see the same material on the Poison Pixie film site where you can also hear our Mr Scratchmann read his delightful comic verse in his podcasts.
Lastly, there is an independent Live Journal DANNY Discussion Board run by fans, C Stone's DANNY where anyone is welcome to go along and chat about the book till their guts bust.
22:22 Posted in Blog , Books , Leisure , Web | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Wednesday, 05 September 2007
The Making of a Modern Masterpiece
SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't read DANNY Volume 1 you might want to give this blog a miss as it contains some spoilers. Of course, you could always buy the book, read it, then you get to see the blog. It's a thought…
Hi, running horribly late with my editing - it's taking longer than I expected - and missed the Scarlet deadline for the November issue. However, they're still keen to have us so we're provisionally booked in for the Xmas issue. I've got to get a PDF to her for the end of September, but I doubt if it will be all shiny-finished by then, which means she'll be reviewing a slightly under par edit. Can't be helped.
Further downsides are that I've had to stop getting the Minor Works typed up because I can't take the time out to dictate then transcribe them - so that's on hold too - and I've got no time to blog. My work days are a nightmare. All day (and night) at the computer, sore necks, perpetually sore wrist (hell, arm), bored, irritable, sleeping badly, depressed. Jesus Christ, it's a great life.
Sooo… in order that you do not forget about me entirely I thought I'd give you an opportunity to see the work in progress. Now here's something I'd never normally do. I'm going to let you see some first draft. Dear God, the pain.
What follows below isn't the original first draft – that would be covered in lots of brackets and alternate lines. Unfortunately, because I didn't wise up fast enough, there is no original, original first draft of DANNY Volume 2 as transcribed from the handwritten page. This draft you see below is the first(ish) corrected draft taken from the hand-written version (when I first realised I ought to be keeping the damn things). It is still only very roughly punctuated and contains nearly all the salient material contained in the original.
It's followed by the scene as it stands as of yesterday when it was edited (it's around p649 of the current 906 pages). Even a cursory comparison will show you three major shifts. Changes in punctuation and layout, deletion of adverbs, and then, most noticeably, concentration of dialogue. The latter tends to get whittled down and down and down again till it only contains the most salient tilt of the conversation – the object being to make it faster, sharper and, paradoxically, more 'natural'.
This example is not the most edited of scenes by a long shot (some of them are virtually restructured), but, because it is essentially still the same scene it is actually easier to let you see how it's done and, more importantly, what gets lost in the process.
Hope you enjoy it.
ORIGINAL VERSION
It was Gerry's luck to bump into Stephen as he came down the hall from Danny's room.
He smiled and found Stephen banging him up against the wall. He didn't even have time to say, what?
"What do you do for him?" Stephen hissed in his face. He looked almost demonic in the darkness. "What do you do, suck him and cut him at the same time? What shit do you lay out for him to keep him there, little butter-wouldn't-melt-up-my-arse MacAtear? You're a real crafty little shit, aren't you?" Stephen banged him against the wall again. The picture behind Gerry thumped. Gerry felt the corner dig into his shoulder blade. "You fucking cock-sucking little shit."
"Why don't you just put him down Stephen, eh?"
Gerry turned to see Danny coming down the hall towards them.
But Stephen didn't put him down.
"Why don't you make me Danny?"
Gerry said, "Steve..."
But nobody was listening. Danny came up to them.
"I'm not going to stand brawling here with you Steve-o you can forget it."
"Hear that you little runt? You're not worth it. Whatever you give beautiful here it isn't worth it. Join the fucking ranks. Flavour of the month, like the rest of us."
"Put him down."
"Suck my dick."
Danny punched him. Stephen let him go and they began swinging into each other, a tight grunting knot in the hall. They thumped against the wall, the hall table. Gerry stood there saying, "Oh God," hopelessly. He heard Rab say, "What the hell?" Then his feet on the stairs. He came round the corner. "What the fuck...? Hoi... for Christsake."
He got in between them. Gerry joined him. They pulled Stephen off. It wasn't easy. He looked like he was trying to throttle him. When he let go he did it suddenly, like he'd just given up. Rab pushed him belligerently creating more distance between him and Danny.
"Have you two gone off your fucking heads?"
Silence. Gerry could see Danny wipe his mouth on his sleeve. Even in the dark he could see his eyes black, furious. Stephen looked just as bad, like someone at the starter's block just waiting for the word go. Rab seemed to sense it too. He said suddenly, "Danny... clear off."
For a moment it looked like Danny was going to refuse. He looked at Rab, one arm across Stephen's chest keeping him back. Please don't let him say anything, Gerry pleaded to himself.
Danny said, "Yes sir," lazily insolent. He got up off the wall that was holding him up. He walked slowly back to his room. The door slammed.
Rab turned to Stephen. "What is wrong with you?"
"Go fuck yourself Rab."
Rab tugged him round to face him. "You're going to have to get a grip Stephen, you'll end up like John."
Gerry stood in the shadows, listening, they seemed to have forgotten him entirely.
"You mean dead? Is this a threat?"
"It's not what I mean and you know it. He's Danny. He's the way he is."
"He's a fucking whore," Stephen said bitterly.
"Alright. If you like... yes."
"That you're paying to have."
Rab's face became tight with anger. "Don't start on me Steve-o. Don't start off-loading what he won't give you on me."
"Like hell. You said it yourself, remember? 'I won't let him'. If you weren't here he'd come with me."
Rab laughed. "Oh grow up. Danny wouldn't go with Jesus Christ himself. Danny's like a cat, he doesn't belong to anyone. The only person Danny would have followed is dead. The only person big enough to make him."
"And aren't you glad? Dead and out the way, and now you can hire him by the hour."
"You've got a really big mouth Stephen, know that?"
"All the better to suck you with. Want it now Rab? You're always badgering me for it. Want it now? Want to play with my big muscles? I know you go for it. Me, John, it's what you like, isn't it? Being the passive little faggot under the big boy. How the fuck does Danny fit in? You get him to lay it on you too? I mean he wields a wicked weapon. I know. My little weakness, Danny's big tool. What's yours?"
"Why don't you shut up?"
"Why? Think I don't know what you're like in bed Rab? Think Danny hasn't told me? Rab likes to take it. Rab likes the rough stuff. Rab's the one who always takes the bottom bunk, isn't that right?"
Rab turned suddenly and walked away. Stephen moved across the hall calling after him, "You fucking queer!" He pushed his door open violently and slammed it shut behind him.
CURRENT EDITED VERSION
It was Gerry's luck to bump into Stephen as he came down the hall from Danny's room.
He smiled and found Stephen banging him up against the wall. He didn't even have time to say, What?
Stephen hissed in his face - he looked almost demonic in the darkness - "You're a real crafty little scout, aren't you?" Stephen banged him against the wall again. The picture behind Gerry protested like chalk on a blackboard. Gerry felt the corner dig into his shoulder blade. "All knife craft and Boy Scout knots."
"Why don't you just put him down, Stephen, eh?"
Gerry turned to see Danny coming down the hall towards them.
But Stephen didn't put him down.
"Why don't you make me, Danny?"
Gerry said, "Steve..."
But nobody was listening.
Danny came up to them. "I'm not going to stand brawling here with you, Steve-o. You can forget it."
"Hear that, you little runt? You're not worth the fight. Flavour of the fucking month. Like the rest of us."
"Put him down."
"Suck my dick."
Danny punched him.
They immediately began swinging into each other, a tight, grunting knot in the hall. They thumped against the wall, the hall table. Gerry stood there saying, "Oh God," hopelessly. He heard Rab say, "What the hell?" then his feet on the stairs. He came round the corner. "What the fuck...? Hoi!"
He got in between them. Gerry joined him. They pulled Stephen off. It wasn't easy. He looked like he was trying to throttle him. When he let go he did it suddenly, like he'd just given up.
Rab pushed him belligerently, creating more distance between him and Danny. "Have you two gone off your fucking heads?"
Silence. Gerry could see Danny wipe his mouth on his sleeve. Even in the dark he could see his eyes, black, furious. Stephen looked just as bad, like someone at the starter's block just waiting for the word go. Rab seemed to sense it too. He said suddenly, "Danny... clear off."
For a moment it looked like Danny was going to refuse. He looked at Rab, one arm across Stephen's chest, keeping him back. Please don't let him say anything, Gerry pleaded to himself.
Danny said, "Yes sir," lazily insolent. He got up off the wall that was holding him up. He walked slowly back to his room. The door slammed.
Rab turned on Stephen. "What is wrong with you?"
"Go fuck yourself."
Rab tugged him round to face him. "You're going to have to get a grip, Stephen. You'll end up like John."
"You mean dead?"
"Oh, get over yourself. He's Danny. He's the way he is."
"He's a fucking whore," Stephen said.
"What's your point?"
"That you're paying to have."
Rab's face became tight. "Don't start on me."
"Yeah, it's nothing to do with you. You'd never try to stop him from leaving."
Rab laughed. "Oh grow up. Danny wouldn't go with Jesus Christ himself. The only person Danny would have followed is dead."
"Yeah, dead and out the way, and now you can hire him by the hour."
"You've got a really big mouth, Stephen, know that?"
"Yeah, want it now, Rab? You're always badgering me for it. Want it now? I know you go for being the passive little faggot under the big boy. Me. John."
"Why don't you shut up?"
"Why? Think I don't know what you're like in bed? Think Danny hasn't told me? Rab likes to take it. Rab's the one who always takes the bottom bunk."
Rab turned suddenly and walked away.
Stephen moved across the hall, calling after him, "Fucking John shoved you under there and you're still crawling." He shoved his door open. "You fucking queer!" Then slammed it shut behind him.
P.S. Have you checked out all our great new, free, gratis and for nothing icons ? Go check 'em out here. My favourite is the flying super cat, followed by the disco cat - Christ knows what that says about me.
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You can now read this blog at the following locations:-
To subscribe to this blog on Blogspirit (my base camp) without divulging your email address click on the Newsgator button on the left-hand sidebar or simply post the following text into your RSS browser: http://www.poisonpixie.com/chanceryblogfeed.xml
Not yet read DANNY? You can check it out now at Poison Pixie where you can read a BIG extract for Free! Or grab a copy on Amazon here.
You can also see me in person on my YouTube site (as well as DANNY's various trailers and ads)here or you can see the same material on the Poison Pixie film site where you can also hear our Mr Scratchmann read his delightful comic verse in his podcasts.
Lastly, there is an independent Live Journal DANNY Discussion Board run by fans, C Stone's DANNY where anyone is welcome to go along and chat about the book till their guts bust.
18:20 Posted in Blog , Books , Leisure , Web | Permalink | Comments (4) | Email this