The Cheat

Today's snippet of new prose is a piece of flash fiction arising from another of Morgen Bailey's Story Writing Exercises: Monday Monologue: Her girl/boyfriend is cheating on her [25th February 2013].

 

 

It’s Sally who tells me. She can’t wait to give me the good news; bitch!

 

“Guess who I saw in The Happy Hunter the other night?” she says.

 

“Brad Pitt? George Clooney? Arthur Askey — no wait, he’s dead, isn’t he?” I joke, although I know what she’s going to say. I just don’t want to hear it. Until she says it out loud, it doesn’t need to have happened; I can pretend it’s just a mistake. He wasn’t really out with someone else when I was at home nursing a streaming cold, too ashamed of my blotchy face and snotty nose to let him see me. He was sitting at home, watching television — that RomCom we’d planned to watch together — well, I’d planned it anyway; I hadn’t actually got around to telling him, but I’m sure he’d have been okay with it — well he watched it on his own, didn’t he?

 

Well, no actually, he didn’t, the bastard! I tried to phone him around ten thirty — after I’d given up waiting for him to phone me — and his mum said he’d gone out with his mates. To The Happy Hunter! And I knew what that meant. Girls — lots of girls — free girls — free in all senses of the word, apart from the cost of a few vodka and limes, of course. More importantly, girls who were able to talk for more than a few sentences without stopping to blow their noses. Girls who would be happy to take my Marty away from me.

 

“Your Marty,” Sally says. “He seemed to be having a great time. Good of you to let him go out on his own like that." The bitch really is enjoying watching me squirm. "Most girls wouldn’t trust their fellas out on the town on a Friday night, on their own. You’re so brave, so trusting.” ‘So stupid’ are the words she doesn’t say, but they’re written all over her face.

 

I asked him on Monday if he’d done anything over the weekend. He just shrugged and said ‘not much’ and then shoved a bunch of roses into my arms. And not just petrol station flowers this time. This was an honest-to-goodness florist’s bouquet with raffia and pink cellophane, the works.

 

God, he must have been so bad to need to spring for one of those. I wonder how long I can make the guilt trip last this time. Could be good for some chocolates as well. Now I’ve got my taste-buds back, it would be nice to have something to nibble while we’re watching the film tonight.

 

Giving It Away: Should We Write For Free?

[By pure co-incidence, fellow-writer Patsy Collins has also been blogging about the same topic this week, although she is talking about the provision of free books for Kindle. Read her article here.]

If there is one subject that seems to cause more conflict among writers than any other, it's the question of giving our writing away for free. I've seen some quite vicious arguments break out on some of the forums (and as writers, we all know how to use our words as weapons, don’t we?) each time the question is raised. At the one extreme, there are some people who believe that we should never write anything for nothing; we may be craftspeople, but we still have to pay the bills; publishers and printers all get paid, so why should writers be any different? At the other extreme, there is a view that the words are more important than the money and that we should use any and all opportunities to get our writing published — even if we have to pay for the privilege rather than the other way around.

Personally, I sit somewhere in the middle — and as always, I am looking at it from the point of view of a business-woman as well as a writer. We should never be ashamed to expect payment for our writing. It may take thirty minutes, an hour or a day to write something; but it has taken twenty, thirty or more years to learn how to write that something.

However, very few of us only do one type of writing all the time. We tend to write in different ways for different purposes. For example, here are some of the ways in which we might write. Most, but not all, further our businesses, although not all of them do so with direct financial returns. The key thing is to understand which is which and to decide whether each individual piece of writing is worth it or not.   

·       Articles for newspapers and journals are generally written on commission. Hence we have a formal or informal contract and an expectation of payment on delivery or on publication. (Don’t forget to send an invoice with the piece.)

·       Non-fiction books and fiction books by established authors are generally written on commission. We would expect a formal contract and, if we are lucky, an advance paid at time of contract and/or delivery of the manuscript. Further payment will depend on sales of the book, although we will not be asked to pay back the advance if the book bombs.

·       Fiction books, for first-timers, are generally written on spec. We are continually being told that this is not the way to a fortune, unless we are very good and very lucky. Hence this would come under the heading of potential financial returns.

·       To succeed as a writer these days, we all need to develop our ‘platform’. Increasingly this implies engagement with social media plus blogging.  No-one is going to pay me for writing this column (and nor would I expect them to) but if it brings my name to the attention of more potential readers, it is beneficial for my business.

·       Like musicians, writers get better with practice. When I first started writing creatively, I spent some time working on articles for one of the dreaded content sites. I never expected to make much money from those articles (and my expectations were not exceeded) but working out how I could improve my writing and watching my ratings to see what worked and what didn’t was a valuable exercise.

·       All businesses need planning and development. We covered planning in an earlier article. Development might include writing proposals for articles or books. Not all of those pitches will be successful, but the more we do, the ‘luckier’ we become. We would never expect to get paid for these proposals (I’m always suspicious of anyone who offers me a ‘free quotation’ — what else should it be but free?) but they are an important part of growing our business.

·       Writers get all sorts of requests to provide their work for free. And we always have the option of saying no. But sometimes we might want to say yes. I write for and publish Chudleigh Phoenix, a small local community magazine. It has no funding, so my co-editor and I don’t get paid. But that’s our choice — and I make sure it doesn’t eat into too much of the time that I need to devote to my business. (I also make sure that the readers of the magazine know about my books and short stories as well, so even my ‘donated’ writing can benefit the business in some way.)      

Swanwick: Intelligent Silliness and Thelma’s Pants

This posting should have been a detailed account of how hard we’re all working and all the writerly activities we are getting up to. As the title suggests, I may well fail in that objective.

Joyce Ward set the tone for her Chairman’s Welcome when she informed us that the numbers are up this year; there are 3.5 women for every man; and there are 55 white badgers (or Swanwick virgins), of whom 7 are Top Writers. She didn’t tell us what this influx of youngsters has done to the average age of attendees – we were left to work that one out for ourselves. We learned that Xanthe and Peter are co-habiting in a cupboard; we whooped like an audience at The Good Old Days when the raffle prizes were announced; then applauded the winners of the annual competitions. Swanwick 2012 was thoroughly launched.

My journey to Swanwick had been less than wonderful. Stuck at the opposite end of a jam-packed train from the refreshment trolley, I was one of the few people in the carriage who didn’t come prepared with bags of sandwiches, crisps and cans of drink. I almost resorted to the emergency chocolate buttons but remembered just in time that after a week of three meals a day at the Hayes, I would look back on a missed lunch as appropriate preparation.

Arriving at Derby with more than an hour before the coach was due to leave, I expected to find myself a quiet corner of the cafe and get on with my book. What I actually found was a noisy gathering of Swanwickers that gradually swelled to a crowd as more trains arrived. We immediately fell into the usual “what are you writing” and “what courses are you going to attend — or give” conversations. Within minutes, I was answering questions relating to my own topic (writing as a business) and noting recommendations for more reading around my dissertation subject. The rest of the afternoon flew by with visits to the book room, chats with old friends, plus the aforementioned Chairman’s Welcome and soon we were queuing for supper — oh, how I’ve missed my annual meal-time queues!

I can report that food portions are as generous as ever and the custard is even brighter yellow than I remember it.  Only one thing marred the evening – the news that the chocolate man won’t be with us on Wednesday. How will I be able to return home without the usual ‘I Love You’ heart?
All of which brings me to the intelligent silliness (his agent’s description) of Steve Hartley, who was the guest speaker. Not having any children or grandchildren, I have to confess I’ve never read any of the Danny Baker Record Breaker series — but I may well have to fix that, after hearing Steve talk about the fifteen years it took him to get published and the lessons he learned along the way. His stories about brown penguins, armpit orchestras and being banned from one primary school were memorable. His five rules for getting published are well thought through and each one was illustrated with cautionary tales. [I was particularly struck by rule four: get lucky] Steve told us he was only allowed to speak if he agreed to bring one of his props with him. No, it wasn’t The World’s Biggest Bogey. It was Thelma’s pink spotted pants and therefore, I think it is only fitting that I close this account of day 1 at Swanwick with the picture of 11 writers breaking the record for the greatest number of people in one pair of pants.

Swanwick: S Day minus 1

Every year, during the second week in August, around 300 writers gather in Swanwick for the Writers' Summer School, which has been running for more than sixty years. I don't think any of the current delegates having been going from the very beginning — but some have been attending for the past twenty or thirty years. They talk about 'the magic of Swanwick' and reminisce about the days before the rooms were upgraded to en-suite facilities and all the walkways between the conference rooms were roofed in. Throughout the year, regular attendees keep in touch via Facebook and the Swanwick monthly newsletter. They yearn for tea and cakes on the lawn; the chance to catch up with old friends; and the opportunity to peruse new releases in the book room.

I first attended Swanwick in 2006 and, frankly, found the whole experience rather overwhelming. There was a small group of us, all white-badgers (as first-timers are called) who alternated between throwing ourselves into everything that was going on (until exhaustion took over around day 4) and trying to keep out of trouble (not laughing at the serious bits or being late for notices or meal-times). It felt rather like moving to the ‘big school’ for the first time.

I returned in 2008 and 2009, during which time I learnt to be more selective about the timetable and allowed myself some down-time during the week.  I also presented a session on writing as a small business. In 2010, I managed just one day and two nights; last year, I missed Swanwick altogether due to pressure of the day-job.

This year I am returning for the whole week. This time tomorrow, I will be on a train heading towards Derby and the Hayes Conference Centre. I am looking forward to meeting old friends once more — and getting to know writers that I have so far only ‘met’ via Facebook. I am also presenting another session on the business of writing and leading a write-around hour. For the first time, I am attending not as a part-time writer of non-fiction, taking time out of the day-job, but as a full-time writer; so this year, Swanwick is part of the day-job.

I don’t know whether I will come away from Swanwick talking about magic and counting the days to next year; I do know that I’m going to enjoy the opportunity to ‘work, rest and play’ with lots of other writers over the next week - and that I will return home full of energy and ideas.

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