This Is Why We Do It - Liz Kessler

What is it that defines us? 

Have you noticed how often it’s about our jobs? But how does it really work? As writers, is it about the number of books we've written, the number of people who've read them, the amount of money we've made from them? What exactly is the thing that means we can confidently claim the title of 'writer' as part of what gives us our place in the world?

Before I was published, my day job was as a teacher, although writing was my passion and the thing I spent most of my hours doing. But I found it hard to say to people that I was a writer, because it wasn't what I did as an actual, paid job. 

My best friend recently passed a test which means she is now trained to work with the local Coast Watch station – an organisation which exists to keep an eye on people out at sea, and which in all of its years of existence has saved many lives. Loads of people congratulated her when she passed this test, but she was embarrassed by the congratulations – because this is ‘only’ a voluntary role and not a 'proper' job. 

But why do we find ourselves defining our role in the world and our status by how we earn our money? This can't be right. So I've decided that we should start doing it differently. I believe a better way to think about our role is in terms of the difference we make to other people. 

So…if you work in a shop and you recently helped a customer buy a lovely Christmas present for someone they love – just think, when that present is opened, you contributed to the smile it will bring! If you’re a teacher and you gave a pupil some praise for their work this week – believe me, that praise could stay with them for years. (I know it did for me!) And my friend at the Coast Watch station, think of the difference she could make to the world with just one phone call if a fisherman were to get into trouble along the local coastline. 

These are the ways we should judge our place in the world – not by money or cars or houses. 

So what about us writers? Where do we fit in with this idea? How do we know when we've made a difference to someone's life? Well, how about this as a start? A picture that one of my readers sent me this week. (It's my character Emily Windsnap, in both her human and mermaid forms!)

To think that a child has been so involved in one of my books that they have taken the time to make such a sweet picture, and then wanted to send it to me, is absolutely heart-warming. 

Or this, from a recent message on my facebook page… 

“I lent one of my best friends your book, "The Tail Of Emily Windsnap", for her book report. She hardly ever reads and didn't like to read, and now she's reading your books like crazy! Thanks for helping my friend to like to read!” 

I helped a child to learn to love reading! Wow! 

If you'll forgive me a tiny moment of trumpet-blowing, my latest book, A Year Without Autumn, has just been shortlisted for an award. (The first award I’ve ever, ever EVER been shortlisted for, which is why I can't resist sharing the news!) 

The best part of it is that this is the Blue Peter Book Award, which is judged by children, not adults. Whether I win or not, if only a few of those children enjoy my book the most, I will know that I've had the opportunity to contribute to a few enjoyable hours of their childhood – and what could be better than that? 

Well, actually, I'll tell you what could be better. 

This.  

What’s this? I hear you ask. A pile of books? 

This is, in fact, an example of the generosity and all-round wonderfulness of my fellow writers. 

I’ve recently become involved with a charity that has been building a children’s hospice here in Cornwall. The hospice, Little Harbour, has just opened and has, this month, started taking in its first families. When I visited, I noticed some empty bookshelves. A few messages and a few calls later, and within a week, I had over 200 books - mostly signed specially for the hospice from fellow writers, and a couple of boxes from my publisher and agent, too. 

I took the books to the hospice this week, and saw the bedrooms where they’ll be placed, the family room where they’ll adorn the bookshelves, the cute little nooks and crannies all around this amazing place, where children in the most difficult circumstances that any of us could imagine will be able to sit quietly and get wrapped up in the wonderful world of a book. I have to say, my heart melted on the spot. 

So, yes – of course we want the pay cheques, the advances, the royalties – and yes, we dream about the film deals and the sales and even the book awards. But really, these are only the things that make us feel good on the outside. What matters most is what makes us feel good on the inside. 

And if I can play a part in the short life of a child who comes to stay at this beautiful children’s hospice – if a child spends a few happy hours curled up with one of the huge Little Harbour teddy bears, reading one of my books and losing themselves in its world – well, THAT is why I am proud, honoured and grateful to call myself a writer.

Find out more about Liz here

Find out more about Little Harbour Children's Hospice (including how to make donations) here

A confession of my own - John Dougherty

It's my view that Liz Kessler's post of the 27th November is one of the most important we've ever published.

It's certainly been among the most popular; within hours of posting our stats page was showing it as one of the ten most-viewed pages on the site in its five-year history, and within a couple of days it had made its way up to the number four slot. Meanwhile, 92 comments were left, which is probably a record, and all of them were positive. As Liz says, as a society we've come a long way.

Which is why it feels appropriate this morning to make a confession of my own. You see, I used to be a bigot.

Is 'bigot' quite the right word? I'm not sure. My dictionary defines a bigot as someone who has 'an obstinate belief in the superiority of one's own opinions', and actually it was other people's opinions I held to be superior: God's, mostly, or at least the people who claimed to know what he thought. And apparently in God's book gay people were Very, Very Bad, and so were you if you disagreed with him. This chimed with what I'd been taught in the playground - gays were weird; gays were different; gays were to be cast out and mocked and despised; gays were you if you didn't conform or if the kid at the top of the pecking order didn't like your face.

Essentially, as so many things are, it was about stories. The stories told us that being gay was a choice; that it was a sin; that it only happened to people who were Not Like Us and who we'd probably never meet as long as we continued to be Good and Normal and stayed out of trouble.

What changed my mind? Stories. First and foremost, the stories of a friend who'd been told the same stories that I had, and found they weren't true; who found that he had no choice about being gay; who found that that no matter how hard he tried to be straight, he just wasn't; who did all the things prescribed by the People Who Know What God Thinks and found that the more he did them, the more messed-up his life became.

I wish I'd heard stories like that sooner. I wish that, when I was younger, there had been stories about people who happened to be gay without 'gay' being the whole point of who they are, who were gay without being ridiculous caricatures like Mr Humphries, who could have been my uncle or my friend's mum. Of course in those days even the hint of a gay character in a children's book would have been enough to have the Daily Mail and the Sun thundering BAN THIS EVIL BOOK! But I can't help wondering if perhaps the publishing industry should have been brave enough to try.

I'm glad it's different now. I'm glad there are books, however few, like Morris Gleitzman's wonderful Two Weeks With The Queen. I'm glad that Liz's publishers now feel the market is ready for her forthcoming Read Me Like A Book. And I'm glad that my friend no longer has to hide who he is. But I wish I'd made friends like him earlier, in the safety of the pages of a book, so that when I first met him I'd have understood him already.

______________________________________________________________________

John's next book:  

 Stinkbomb & Ketchup-Face and the Badness of Badgers, illustrated by David Tazzyman & published by OUP in January 2014

Let’s Get This Out There…Liz Kessler

Last month, two things happened to make me realise how much the world has changed. The first was that I got married.

Why would that make me think the world has changed? Well, because I married a woman.

OK, officially, I got Civil Partnered. What I actually did was stand up in front of a room full of my beloved friends and family and make a legally binding commitment to my partner of six years. So, yeah, I married a woman.

Twenty two years ago, I went to my brother’s wedding. It was a beautiful and emotional day. I remember looking round at everyone in the room and feeling overwhelmed by the love and support for my brother and his new wife, and I remember being so happy for them. And then I remember having a fleeting feeling of sadness as I realised that I would never have that. It never occurred to me that one day it might be possible. And last month, I proved my younger self wrong as I found myself at the centre of a room of my favourite people and felt wrapped up in love and happiness as two families became one.

The second thing that happened last month that made me realise how much the world has changed was that my publisher offered me a new contract. A very special new contract, and one that is close to my heart – especially this year. It is for a book that I wrote over ten years ago and which has waited patiently for its time to come. The novel is about a teenage girl learning about love and life – and coming out as gay. Ten years ago, none of us could really see how we could publish this book. It felt like a risk in all sorts of ways and my publisher, my agent and I were all happy to put it to one side and get on with writing and publishing all the other books that I’ve worked on since then.

But in the last couple of years, all sorts of things have made me start thinking again about this book. Incidents of gay youngsters committing suicide after unbearable bullying hit the news in the states. Violence against gay people increased in Russia after anti-gay laws were passed.

Amongst the campaigning against homophobic bullying, a wonderful song was released last year by a group called the L Project which I played over and over again. It’s called It Does Get Better and ever since I heard the song, I knew that I wanted to be part of a movement that was telling young people that it didn’t matter who or what they were. They were OK and they would get through it.

So I looked at my book again. I dusted it down, polished it up and sent it back to my agent. This time, when she sent it on to my publisher, the answer came back very quickly. ‘Times have changed, and we are ready to move with them,’ was the reply. My publisher not only wanted the book but the whole team was ready to support it, celebrate it and get it out into the world with enthusiasm.

Read Me Like A Book will be published in the spring of 2015 – and I can’t wait. It’s been a long time coming and, in many ways, it is the most important book I’ve written. But I’m also quite nervous of what this might mean for me, personally as well as professionally and commercially. I write books that are mostly read by girls aged between eight and fourteen. I like to think that my books have strong underlying messages about family and friendship and love and loyalty. These things are close to my heart and judging by some of the letters and emails I get, they are close to the hearts of many of my readers and their parents, too. But people sometimes have different ideas about what they mean by these values, and publishing such a different book could possibly create difficulties for me. Maybe it won’t – I have no way of knowing.

But in the year that my partner had very serious major surgery that made both of us think about the fragility of life, and the year that I took a legally binding vow to love, cherish, honour, respect and be faithful to her, I think that it’s time for me to stop letting fear dictate what I am prepared to do publicly. And it’s time for me to tell anyone who needs to hear it, for whatever reason, that it is OK to love whoever you love.

After all, if Ashleigh, the seventeen-year-old main character of my new book can do it, then it’s about time I did, too.

Follow Liz on Twitter
Check out Liz's Website
Find out more about the L Project and their work here
Watch the video of It Does Get Better
All photographs by Mark Noall. Check out his website here

Writer's Brain Strain: An Occupational Hazard - Liz Kessler

When I was about eight, I decided I was going to be a poet when I grew up. This decision was justified with some early publishing success. At age nine, my poem, Jinx’s Shop, was printed in the local newspaper. A fact I am still so proud of that I carry the battered paper around with me whenever I do school talks – even if I do have to explain that yes, human beings had already inhabited the planet as long ago as 1976.

My early publishing success, and creative peak for about 25 years

In my teenage years, after I’d got bored of getting caught smoking and skiving lessons, I fell in love with poetry again. I immersed myself in ee cummings, John Clare, Louis Macneice and many, many others, believing the poets were the only ones who really understood the truth, and told it. I still wrote it, too. The tortured, unrequited, angst-filled poetry that only a 17-year-old can write. And then I read something in the newspaper that changed everything.

Apparently, poets were twenty times more likely to go mad than anyone else.

Suddenly, I wasn’t quite so sure of my long-term career plans. I didn’t really like the idea of throwing myself into something that promised me a lifetime of mental instability.

So I became a teacher instead. And then a journalist, and then a combination of the two. The poet quietly sloped away without making a fuss.

But whatever I did, the writer was always there in the background. Finally, about ten years ago, I left everything else behind and put myself on the line. I was a writer, and damn it, I was going to make a living being one.

But that statistic never went away. Even though I wasn’t writing poetry, I was writing – and surely all writing is a form of poetry anyway? Perhaps I wasn’t twenty times more likely to suffer mental illness than everyone else if I was writing full pages at a time rather than rhyming couplets. But I was pretty sure the odds were still fairly strong.

And sure enough, over ten years of writing, my mental health has felt a bit ropey at times. Nothing too awful – although there have been some bad times. But I am definitely prone to high levels of anxiety, insecurity, even panic attacks, and I worry about everything. And I don’t think I’m alone in this.

A writer buddy and I have this joke about our mental state. We call it Writer’s Brain Tumour. OK, so maybe that doesn’t sound such a great joke. But the idea is that whilst ‘normal’ folk will get a little twinge of a headache and pop a couple of paracetamol and get on with their day without thinking about it, we are instantly consumed with thoughts of bleeds inside our brain. A tiny itch to most people means they’ve brushed a nettle. To us, it can only mean the most dramatic of tropical diseases. Even if we’ve never been anywhere tropical. It is impossible for us to have a minor ailment without escalating it in our minds to catastrophic levels.

But it’s not our fault. Making huge leaps of imagination, upping the stakes, thinking of the most unlikely and unusual scenario - this is our day job! This is how our minds need to work in order to do our jobs properly. If we sat down and wrote about a girl who accidentally walked into some nettles and got a rash, no one would be interested. But give her a tropical disease and a mystery person who gave her the disease, and an exciting adventure that she has to go on to find a magical cure, and we are approaching the realm of a plot.

So it stands to reason – if we spend our working hours training our minds to function in this way, there’s bound to be some fallout. Doesn’t make it any easier though, when we’re fretting about the latest lump of fatty gristle on our legs that we ask partners, doctors and anyone who happens to be passing to have a feel of.

So what do we do? Drive everyone mad and hope they’ll stick around? Read lots of self help books? Meditate - or even medicate?

Meditate or Medicate?

And then, just last week, something occurred to me. If we were tennis players, we might get Tennis Elbow. If we were golfers, we may suffer from Golfer’s Knee. That is because those would be the parts of our body most vulnerable to injury in our sport. We wouldn’t be embarrassed to admit it. We’d take extra care to look after our knees and our elbows, and would seek physiotherapy when they suffered. Very straightforward.

And so it is with writers. The muscle that we constantly call upon, work hard every day and exhaust from time to time is our mind. So it’s no wonder if our imaginations can sometimes get a bit overworked and strained. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; it doesn’t make us abnormal. It’s simply a professional hazard – and we need to look after it. And sometimes, as with physical injuries, it can take a few different approaches till we find the one that works for us. It might be yoga, counselling, or exercise; it might even be medication.

The fact is, our mind – our brain, our imagination, whichever sounds right to you – is the number one tool for our jobs. So if we suffer from Writer’s Brain Strain (as I’ve decided to rename it) from time to time, well, let’s not be embarrassed, or try to pretend it’s not happening. It’s part of what makes us the writers we are, and we just need to call upon our own bag of tricks to work out how to give it the care and attention it needs.

On which note, I’m off to walk my dog on a big, white, sandy beach.

Dog + beach + sunrise = the best therapy I've discovered so far

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Letters From a Dentist - Liz Kessler

Last weekend, I went to Vienna with my father. It was the first time I’d been to the city where he spent the first eight years of his life. The city he had to leave in 1938, because the Nazis didn’t want him there.

I have told his story before – so forgive me if you’ve read or heard it – but it was only when my latest book came out this year that I realised how deeply it resonates within me, on so many levels. And so I’m going to tell it again.

A Danube Steamer today

See this boat? It was a moment aboard one of these that changed my father’s life forever.

Picture the scene. Vienna 1934, and my father, aged four, was recovering from whooping cough. My grandfather was Czechoslovakian, my grandmother Austrian, and they lived in Vienna. As a treat following my father’s illness, his father took him on a Danube Steamer, where he knelt in his smart clothes looking out at the world passing by, not realising his feet were inching closer to an English lady beside him.

‘Careful with your shoes, Heinzele, you’ll dirty the lady’s dress,’ my grandfather said.

The lady smiled, and replied, ‘No, no, it’s all right,’ in halting German. ‘What a lovely boy,’ she added, pointing to my father, in his ‘pretty’ clothes and golden curls.

 My father as a young boy, with my grandfather

My grandfather and the lady got into conversation – as far as they were able, given the language barriers. She and her husband were in Vienna for a dental conference. The adults soon became so engrossed in conversation that the English couple, Mr and Mrs Jones, missed their stop.

As they reached the end of the line and discovered their fellow conference members had disembarked at an earlier port, my grandfather offered to show them a little of his city and bring them home to meet his wife and share some traditional cakes and coffee. And so, the Joneses came briefly into my father’s and grandparents’ lives.

The only contact after this was a note, written in stumbling German, which my father still treasures.“My dear Mr. Kessler. We have nothing forgotten. I cannot the German well write but I think often out of you and that so lovely son.” It’s signed Gladys H. Jones and was written on the paper printed with her husband’s dental practice address.

The original letter from Gladys Jones

Shortly after this encounter, the world went crazy.

My father had spent the first few years of his life living a happy, innocent existence in a small, Jewish family. In the late 1930s, families like his were no longer welcome in their own country.

Because my grandfather was Czech, they were able to move to Czechoslovakia, which they did in 1938. They were among the lucky ones. Soon, however, my family were once again unwanted Jews living in a Nazi world. Only this time, there was nowhere they could go. That is, nowhere unless they had a mass of signed certificates, permits and papers which would allow them to leave the country.

My grandfather began a long, difficult bureaucratic paper chase until, eventually, he had everything. Everything, that is, except for the final and most crucial item. An affidavit from someone in the country they wanted to go to, taking full financial responsibility for them. Without this legal document, there was no way for a Jewish family to leave the country.

So the trail reached a dead end. My family knew no one overseas. They had nowhere to go, and no one to help get them there. But then one day, my grandfather rediscovered the letter from Gladys Jones. The English couple they had met four years ago! Maybe they would write the letter that would give them their lives back. It was a very, very long shot. This couple had no reason to do such a thing. A day trip around Vienna was hardly a fair exchange for what he was asking. But my grandfather wrote to them anyway. It was the only option he had left.

Within weeks, the affidavit came. Yes! They would do it! Come to England – we will do whatever you need. My family had been saved. They came to England and lived with the Joneses for six months – and were finally free to live the rest of their lives.

But what if they had never met the Joneses? What if my father hadn’t been ill; if his father hadn’t decided he needed cheering up with a boat trip; if he hadn’t knelt on his seat! If the Jones’s hadn’t missed their stop...

At the end of all those ifs is an unthinkable alternative. No one needs reminding what kind of future awaited a Jewish family living under the Nazis.

This tiny chance moment that gave my family a chance of a new life makes my mind tingle. The thought of all those seemingly random decisions we make every day that could change the course of our lives forever absolutely fascinates me. In fact, this idea is at the heart of my latest book.

In A Year Without Autumn, Jenni finds herself transported a year forward in time, and discovers a terrible tragedy has torn her best friend’s world apart. Jenni needs to work out how she got there, and – more importantly – if she can get back and make everyone act differently so that both families face a different fate.

Even though this is my eighth children’s book, there’s something special about it for me. I think it’s because its inspiration lives within me at the deepest level possible. The tiny moment that saved my father’s life, and the fact that without this moment, things could have been so very, very different.

It may not say so in the pages of my book, but in my heart, A Year Without Autumn is dedicated to the many Mr and Mrs Joneses of this world, and the things they do every day without realising that they have just changed another person’s life forever.

A Year Without Autumn is now out in paperback.
Find out more about Liz on her facebook page or her website

Good advice I can’t seem to follow . . . by Tracy Alexander

I love lists of helpful advice, from ‘Five warning signs that you’re not as healthy as you should be’ to ‘Ten ways to save ten minutes’. Tips for writers are just as keenly devoured. It’s just a shame I don’t put them into practice. Here's a list of my own.

1a Plot thoroughly

I read Liz Kessler’s blog about her method of plotting. Then I read it again. It’s brilliant. I could see it working. I will never do it. For me, it falls into the same category as knowing that if I filed all my receipts I could make a sensible attempt at my tax return.

Conclusion: Knowing and doing are two entirely different verbs.

1b Plot mindfully

I read Tony Bradman’s blog too. It made sense and seemed less arduous.

-       If I have a strong character and a clear idea of his/her goal it should be straightforward.

-       I must resist the urge to give away too much.

-       I must study plots on telly.

Conclusion: The third point is definitely doable.

2 Writing a minimum number of words each day

I tried this for ten days and, as I like rules, duly typed the required amount every day (and no more). Excellent. The feeling of achievement was very pleasant. Unfortunately the words were very mediocre.

Conclusion: Quantity had replaced quality.

3 Morning pages

We had to do this for one of the modules on the Creative Writing diploma I took at Bristol University. I treated it like an onerous task. I don’t want to write whatever comes to mind. I want to write the next bit of whatever I’m working on.

Conclusion: I sometimes have an attitude problem.

4 Set times of day

Most people who work have a set time to start and finish and a gap in between, as I understand it. If (a large word with two letters) I was in charge this is something I would consider. The set times would be eight o’clock in the morning, with a huge cup of tea, until eleven, with a gap for a second cup and also porridge. (I’m with Heather Dyer, in that writing for longer than 2/3 hours is an impossibility.)  (I’m also with Liz Kessler in that pyjamas are my favoured writing attire.)

Unfortunately for my writing, but fortunately for my joie de vivre, I have four people I live with who interfere with the idea.

Conclusion: I wouldn’t have it any other way.

5 Stripping out adjectives

Evidently too many adjectives are the sign of a novice writer. Pare them! Bare them! Oh dear, I like adjectives. The page I’m writing includes: small, huge, nicer, big, brown, caramel (in a non-noun sense), soft, great, big (again), weird. I particularly like uber (without the umlauts). I have never used the word mellifluous.

Conclusion: My adjectives, on inspection, are very Key Stage 1.

6 Show not tell

Here we go – the mantra. I get it, really I do. But every so often I fancy a bit of telling. 

Conclusion: I don’t care.

7 Throw away the sentence you’re most proud of

Really?

Conclusion: The advice of a saboteur.

8 Never think about the story when you’re not working

“ . . . if you think about it consciously and worry about it you will kill it and your brain will be tired before you start.” Ernest Hemingway

Conclusion: I have a very tired brain. Too tired to address the issue of not thinking about the thing I shouldn’t be thinking of.

Please keep the lists coming. Advice for school visits, Christmas presents, writer's block, stress-free cooking for guests, all welcome, because in between the gems I rail against are those that I adopt with gusto, wondering how I ever functioned without that wise word in my ready-to-listen ear.

TM Alexander

www.tmalexander.com

Everybody's Free (To Wear Pyjamas) by Liz Kessler

Ten years ago this month, my first book, The Tail of Emily Windsnap, was published.

It was a book that I had started writing a few years earlier when I'd left a job as a teacher to pursue a writing career. I left my job in 1999, and in that year one of my favourite ever songs, Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen) came out. 

So in honour of both of these events, I've written some advice for new writers setting off today on the path that I began a decade ago. I've written my advice in the style of that wonderful song, so if you haven't heard it (or even if you have, because in my opinion, you can never get enough of this song) do have a listen via the link below. In the meantime, here is my advice...

Everybody's Free (To Wear Pyjamas)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’13, wear pyjamas.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, pyjamas would be 
it. The long term benefits of working at home in your PJs have been proved by 
scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable 
than my own meandering 
experience…

I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the freedom and independence of being unpublished. Oh never mind; you will not 
understand the freedom and independence of being unpublished until you get a book deal. 
But trust me, in ten years you’ll look back at those early notebooks and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much autonomy you enjoyed and how many long, lazy days you were free to spend working on a single chapter.

Your opening chapter is not as bad as you imagine.

Don’t worry about getting a book deal; or worry, but know that worrying is about as 
effective as trying to write a bestseller by coming up with an idea about vampire wizards in bondage. The real writing troubles in your life are apt to be things that 
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that ping into your inbox at 4pm 
on some idle Tuesday when your editor tells you to lose 10,000 words by next week.

Write one sentence every day that excites you.

Read.

Don’t be overly critical of other people’s books; don’t put up with 
people who are overly critical of yours.

Edit.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes 
you’re behind. The race is long and in the end, it’s only with 
yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive; forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old readers’ letters, throw away your old rejection letters.

Stretch. (Especially when you’ve been at your computer for three hours solid.)

Don’t feel bad if you don’t know what to write next. The most interesting authors I know didn’t know at 22 what they 
wanted to write about. Some of the most interesting 40 year olds still don’t know what they want to write next.

Drink plenty of tea.

Be kind to your editor; you’ll miss them when they’ve gone on maternity leave.

Maybe you’ll get a book deal; maybe you won’t. Maybe there’ll be a five-way auction over your book; maybe there won’t. Maybe you’ll be a best seller at 40, maybe you’ll go to see the opening of the movie of your book on your 75th birthday.

Whatever you do, don’t
 congratulate yourself too much (especially on Facebook and Twitter) or berate yourself, either. Your book’s fortunes are half chance, so are everybody else’s.

Enjoy experimenting with your voice; use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of your imagination, or what other people 
think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

WRITE. Even if you have nowhere to do it but your own living room.

Read all of your editor’s notes, even if you don’t follow them.

Do NOT read someone else’s tweets when they are retweeting their latest five-star review, it will only make you feel inadequate and cross.

Get to know your publicist; you never know when they’ll move on to another publisher (and they might end up representing you there as well).

Be nice to your fellow authors; they are the ones who will relate to you the best and the 
people most likely to understand what you’re going through when you feel stuck.

Understand that editors come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to do everything you can to keep your publisher happy because the older you get, the more you need the people who championed your writing when you were the hot new thing.

Go to a publishing party once, but leave before you are so drunk you make an absolute fool of yourself in front of the MD; visit a primary school once, but leave before you get asked to run eight workshops and a full school assembly in one day.

Travel. (And remember, if it’s research, it’s tax-deductible.)

Accept certain inalienable truths: Amazon will always sell your books cheaper than anyone else; e-books will probably one day be as piratable as music is now; you too will go out of print, and when you do, you’ll fantasise 
that when you were young, independent bookshops still existed, books were made out of paper and children got lost in reading.

Get lost in reading.

Don’t expect anyone to keep on publishing you. Maybe you have an agent, maybe you have a stash of cash from a six-figure advance; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your proof copy or by the time you send it back, you’ll have to pay for all the extra changes.

Be careful whose writing advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it.

Giving writing advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a bit like looking back at our out of print books, giving them a quick edit and self publishing them via Kindle Direct for 99p.

But trust me on the pyjamas.

***

And now have a listen to the original...

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The Silly Season - Liz Kessler

OK, so some of my recent posts have been a bit on the deep and meaningful side, often talking about dealing with tricky times. So I thought that I'd redress the balance this month with some light relief - especially as it's summer and the sun is shining (or at least it was when I wrote this).

Firstly though, a warning for any ABBA police out there. I confess, this post has very little (OK, nothing) to do with writing. It's basically about having a smile and a giggle and I would have a hard job pretending it was anything more or less than that. So I won't even try.

So, get yourself a cuppa, take half an hour out, and enjoy some of my favourite funny videos that I've seen online over the last year or so...

This is probably my favourite ever video. Remember the incredibly dodgy, odd music videos they used to produce in the 80s? Well, here's one of the best - only with new lyrics to match what is actually going on in the video.

Total Eclipse of the Heart 'Literal Version'  

While we're on music videos, here's another one. I've gotta say, I like this version better than the original. (And if you enjoy this one, there are many more 'goat versions' out there. Look up 'Titanium', 'Baby' and 'I Will Always Love You' goat versions on YouTube.)

Taylor Swift 'Goat version'

One last music video. I only just saw this a few days ago, and it's gone straight into my top ten list of funny vids.

Beyonce/Justin Timberlake Single Ladies

OK, so this one is for all those who fear the dentist. Or who have every had anaesthetic and felt a bit odd afterwards. Bet you never felt quite this odd!

'I feel like a unicorn just took me on a ride to a magical palace...'

This one is pure genius. And a wonderful response to homophobia and bigoted people who don't believe in equal rights.

We will marry your girlfriends

I couldn't compile a list like this without a few animal videos. So here are three of my favourites...

Who did it?

Ultimate Dog Tease

Cats Playing Patty Cake (French version with subtitles.)

And finally, this one isn't a comedy video, but there's something about it that I find so infectious and happy-making, so I thought I'd include it.

Cool guy dancing to cool music

Stop Press! One final video has just sneaked onto the list. Slight warning - this one contains adult content and a bit of nudity. But it's VERY funny!

Amanda Palmer sings a letter to the Daily Mail

Hope you enjoyed some of these as much as I did. Now, get back to work!

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WIN 'A Year Without Autumn' - Liz Kessler

Hi! I’m very excited to be taking part in this online literary festival. Hope you’re enjoying it so far!

To celebrate this fab weekend of literary loveliness, I’m giving away three signed copies of my latest book, A Year Without Autumn.


The book involves a girl called Jenni, who finds out that she has gone forward a year in time, and has to try to work out how it happened, and how she can get back again. If you would like to win a copy of this book, tell me what you think YOU might find if you went forward a year in time!

Put your answers as comments at the end of this post. I will pick three winners and they will all win a signed copy of the book (UK delivery only). Be imaginative and have fun! You have until 20th July at noon (UK time) to enter . Either leave your email address in your comment, or check back to see whether you've won!

Liz
www.lizkessler.co.uk

Bring Me The Teenagers - Liz Kessler

Last month, I wrote about how overly attached we can get to our phones and to the desire to share everything we experience – instead ofjust experiencing it. (How did you get on, by the way? Did you cut down at all? I…um…well, I tried!)

I guess this blog might be continuing that theme in a way. It’s about social networking. Only, this time, I want to pick your brains.

Next May, I make my YA debut with my novel Read Me Like A Book (which, incidentally, I just received the bound proofs for, and I am completely IN LOVE with this cover, designed and painted by my very talented artist friend Joe Greenaway.

This book is HUGELY important to me and I want to do everything I can to give it a good send off into the world. Because this is a brand new tack for me, I’ll be doing a lot of things differently. I’m already fairly active on Twitter and Facebook – and I do my monthly blog here – but there are all sorts on online hangouts that I know almost nothing about – and I think it’s time to get educated.

Currently, I use my author page on Facebook to write about my books, post lots of photos of sunrises and my dog and the sea, and have lovely chitchat about mermaids and faires and time travel, mainly with my readers, their parents, a few librarians and a bunch of supportive friends. On Twitter, it feels much more about chatting with my writing peers – other writers, bloggers, bookshop people etc. Think publishing party, only without getting drunk on free champagne and making a fool of yourself in front of the MD.

So that’s all well and good, and I enjoy it. But I want to spread my writerly wings. In particular, I want to talk to teenagers – and I don’t know where to find them!

So this is a question aimed mainly at teenagers, parents of teenagers, writers of books for teenagers who interact online…

Where are you? Where do you hang out? Which are your favourite online haunts? And what do look for or expect from in the different places you frequent?

I take a LOT of photos, and should probably be on Instagram. (In fact, I kind of am but I don’t really use it.) I have been told I should get onto Tumblr – and would love to go for it, but every time I glance at it, I feel overwhelmed and bewildered. I’m also kind of half-heartedly on Pinterest, but only so I can look for desks for my new office. And I have got a few videos on Youtube.

The thing is, though, when we try to keep up to date with ALL the places, there’s no time left to, well, you know, write the books. Which I kind of need to keep doing. So I don’t want to join them all. But I’d like to pick the best one (or at most, two) new social networking sites and give them a good go.

So, help me out here. What should I pick? What do you use? Where are my potential new teenage audience most likely to look for me? Any and all opinions on these questions will be gratefully received.

Thank you! :)

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Only Disconnect - Liz Kessler

As writers, one of the things that lies at the heart of our intentions is connection. We write books that we want people to read. We share our thoughts, our fantasies, the products of our imagination, sometimes our biggest secrets and the deepest angst in our souls - and we put it all out there for the world to read about.

‘Only connect,’ said EM Forster, and, over a hundred years later, this is still what drives us. And I don’t think this desire is restricted to writers. We all want it. That’s why telephones were invented. It’s why the internet has pretty much taken over the world. It’s why Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat etc etc etc are as massively popular as they are. They allow us to reach out, communicate, share, meet, interact…connect.

So what happened? How did these means of connection suddenly become the very things that keep us isolated and disconnected?

Actually, it didn’t happen suddenly at all. It sneaked up on us so gradually that most of us don’t even realise that it has happened to us.

I used to live on a narrowboat on the canal. I remember the day BT put a line across the farmer’s field and I plugged a phone into it. Out there, on a boat on a canal in pretty much the middle of nowhere, I was connected. It was incredible. (Till the day the farmer ploughed his field and cut the line to shreds – but that’s a different story.)

Me on my beloved boat, Jester. Crikey, my hair was short back then.

I remember my first mobile phone. I remember the first time someone showed me how to send an email – and my awe at the notion that the recipient could read it from anywhere in the world moments later. It was all very new at that time, and I’m glad that I am part of a generation that still remembers a time before these things were taken for granted. I still am in awe of the internet and what we can do with it.

But sometimes I wish we could all take a couple of steps back.

Phones today can do SO much – and the problem is that, nowadays, we so often use them to separate ourselves from the world around us, rather than connect us to it.

A couple of examples.

I was catching a train yesterday. Whilst I waited for my train, I looked around. On the platform opposite there were about eight people. A few of them in pairs and a few on their own, waiting for the same train. EVERY SINGLE ONE of them was looking at their phone. Every one. Not talking to the person they were with. Not smiling at a stranger. Not noticing anyone or anything around them. Each of them was locked away on their own with their screen.

The night before that, I’d been to a Lady Gaga concert. (It was amazing, by the way. The woman is utterly bonkers but WOW – what a show she puts on!)

The best decision my partner and I made (other than to buy 'Early Entry' tickets and get a great spot!) was to leave our phones at home. We met a couple of guys on our way in and became instant friends. The four of us watched, listened, sang, danced and loved every minute of the concert. I took it all in. Gaga, the dancers, the crowds, the outfits, the music. I was there.

Around us, probably half the people I could see spent most of the evening holding out their phones to photograph and record the gig – presumably to then share it on some social networking site and say ‘Look, I was there!’

But were they? Were they reallythere?

Generic photo off the internet - as I didn't have my phone/camera to take a pic!

We’d been chatting with a young woman beside us before the show began. Once it started, she was one of those who brought her phone out. At one point, when Lady Gaga was behind us, the woman videoed her back. At another point, when Gaga was too far away to get a decent shot, she videoed the dark stage with the blurry figure at the edge of it. When Lady Gaga and the dancers were out of our sight completely, the young woman held her phone out at the big screen and videoed that! 

She wasn't the only one; far from it. All these people around us, so busy framing their shots, zooming in, zooming out, focussing, refocussing, they weren't even aware that in their haste to show they were there, they actually weren't there at all. They were watching an event via a tiny screen held up in the air that they could have watched for real if they put their phones away.

This isn’t a criticism of any of these people. Heck, I’ve done it myself. I’ve experienced something and started composing a Facebook status about it in my head before the moment is even over. I’ve half-watched a TV programme whilst on twitter and spent as much time reading tweets about it as taking in the programme itself. I’ve even sent a text to my partner from one end of the sofa to the other, asking for a cup of tea. (Only as a joke, I should point out.)

But I can’t help thinking that we have to start reversing things before it’s too late and we forget the art of human interaction altogether.

Last weekend, I was told about a site that I’d never heard of, but which apparently most people in their twenties already know about/use, called Tinder. The idea is that you log in to the app, tell it who you are looking for (gender, age group etc) and what kind of radius you are interested in, to a minimum of one kilometre, and the app does the rest. Any time someone fitting your wishlist comes into your specified zone, you get a notification. You check out their photos. If you like them, you give them a tick. If they like you, they give you a tick – then you can ‘chat’ and arrange to meet or whatever. (And I imagine that for many of the users, it’s the ‘or whatever’ that interests them.)

At the risk of sounding like the oldest fogiest old fogey in the room….

REALLY?????

What happened to looking around? To conversation? To gradually getting to know someone? I’m not against online dating. Not remotely. I’m not, in fact, against any of this, and like I said, I'm as guilty of iPhone overuse as the next person. But I'm concerned by the constant speeding up of everything, and the taking us out of our surroundings to make us look at a screen instead of the things and the people around us.

So here’s my challenge – and I make it for myself as much as for anyone reading this. It’s not a super-radical idea. It’s about taking small steps.

Each day, use your phone a tiny bit less than you used it the day before. Make one decision a day where you say, ‘No, I won’t take my phone out of my pocket, I’ll smile at a stranger instead.’ Or one occasion where you decide, ‘I will allow myself this experience without having to share it online afterwards’. Just one small decision a day. Before we know it, we’ll all be connecting up again.

On which note I’m off for walkies with my partner, to chat, look at the waves, feel the salty air in my face and throw some stones for the dog.

And no, I’m not taking my phone.

Here's one I took earlier. 

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