Irish Writers Centre Novel Fair
One evening last December, at the darkest end of a dark afternoon, the phone rang. I ran to answer it before it switched to voicemail. Probably a wrong number, or an appointment reminder from the dentist.
Neither: it was the Irish Writers Centre, calling to inform me that I was one of their twelve Novel Fair 2019 finalists. I’d been waiting, wondering, but hadn’t dared hope for this. When the call ended, I clenched my fists and jumped around the kitchen for a full minute. With joy. And relief. The joy of accomplishment, fulfilling a dream, having something to unabashedly whoop about. The relief of validation. We all need it along the way, whether in tiny crumbs – a few generous words of praise – or as a large dollop, such as a prize. I’d had some of the former, none of the latter. And so this was a huge step forward.
From nothing, a novel
A year previously, after what seemed like a lifetime’s procrastinating, I had begun to write a novel, about a 19th century botanist, Ellen Hutchins. At an early stage I decided to use the Novel Fair deadline as a target to finish a decent first draft. Used to deadlines in my work as a designer, I’m always more focussed and productive when I have one. A day course in the IWC with novelist William Ryan left me with a better sense of how to structure the novel and build compelling characters. By the end of July 2019 I had reached 90,000 words and typed ‘END’. I allowed myself a full week of satisfaction. Then I printed a hard copy and began the first forensic read through. I carried this draft everywhere, stealing minutes whenever, wherever I could, working on the train and on the Luas, in waiting rooms and in the car. The clean white spaces of the manuscript filled up with scrawled notes, rewrites, looped arrows relinking sentences and paragraphs. In effect, I rewrote every page. Savage as the process was, I could sense something coming to life. The more I edited, the more the rough shape of the story began to form into something solid, real.
If Hilary says it
An early reader, someone I trusted, advised me to scrap my initial first chapter. This had been painful (my lovingly crafted words, the long hours in front of the screen, undone in seconds by a heartless sweep of the cursor), but once executed, the beginning of the book felt tighter and more immediate. Pages of backstory could be woven into the following chapters, as the character struggled to process her new surroundings. I cut the opening paragraph of almost all chapters (this advice from Hilary Mantel, and if Hilary says it…)
With a month to go to the Novel Fair deadline, I went back and concentrated on the first 10,000 words. Were they as lean and sparkling as they could be? How would they strike a discerning critical eye? Over the years I’ve learned to embrace an ‘it’ll be grand’ philosophy to many things (snagged hosiery, cleaning the car, Christmas shopping). Novel Fair, I decided, is NOT one of these occasions. Perfection, or a close to it as I could get, would be the minimum standard.
12 writers, 12 agents/publishers
The day of the fair: a blur of faces (all smiling) and voices (all considerate, enthusiastic). After a shaky start (they’re interested in story, not historical context!) I got into a groove and began to enjoy myself. I was talking about books, to people who love them as much as I do. What could be better, or more fun? To see their eyes widen, as they became engaged with my story. At the lunch break, I couldn’t eat; in the atmosphere of the Irish Writers Centre – supportive, encouraging – it’s impossible not to get caught up in the excitement of it all.
Whatever happened next, I knew I had done my best to pitch my book.
Shortly afterwards, New Island got in touch with me. Could they read the rest of my manuscript? Something else learned from the experience: enjoy every reach-out for what it is. Possibility, a stirring in the universe. Store up the moment, for future dark afternoons.
My novel ‘A Quiet Tide’ will be published by New Island in spring 2020.