Getting your book reviewed in The Guardian

As a footnote to yesterday's blog, I've posted a few notes on how I got Déjà Vu reviewed in The Guardian on this UKAuthors thread. The short version is: I got lucky!

Déjà Vu reviewed in The Guardian

Well, an exciting day today - I've been reviewed in that illustrious publication, The Guardian Review. Here's the full review (penned by Jon Courtney Grimwood):

Financial investigator Saskia Brandt is dedicated to fighting high-level crime, or at least she thinks she is. David Proctor has no memory of bombing a British research facility in 2003, but plenty of people seem to think he did it. Then there's Bruce Shimoda, who is doing his absolute best to hide from a metal shark. While John Hatfield is a billionaire American philanthropist. Unless, of course, he's something else ... Ian Hocking's first novel mixes terrorism, time travel, counterintelligence and virtual reality.

What makes Déjà Vu interesting is the understated, almost 1950s feeling Hocking brings to what is essentially a post-cyberpunk novel about murder and identity. His layering of the narrative is thoughtful and the way he makes events from different decades mirror each other shows quiet skill. This is a small-press publication; as such, it probably won't get the exposure it deserves. Larger publishers may want to take note."

Unfortunately, this blog will have to be mega-quick because I'm with my family in Cornwall and working hard as impromptu IT support! Thanks to the three As in getting Déjà Vu to the stage where it's fit for review: Andrea, Aliya and Anthony. And thanks to Jon for his kind words.

If you will excuse me, I will now go to the pub: The Rasheligh in Charlestown, St. Austell. I'll be the one with the newspaper.

Busy Busy Busy (Part 2)

Well, this week has been - what's the word? - ah yes: 'busy'. My non-writing work is starting to overflow into my spare time, which is already full with writing and martketing-related business. The major part of this non-writing work centres on my teaching fellowship. Not only do I seem sit on every bloody committee associated with the University of Exeter (I don't do anything on these committees, you understand, unless you count dribbling) but I don't have enough time during the day to prepare my teaching.

What does this mean? Well, rather than turn up at a class with nothing prepared but a shrug, a one-liner about teaching load and a promise to let the students go early, this means that weekends will now become even more frantic with work. I understood this was going to happen, and have prepared for it, but I will reach the shore of our Easter break with the joyous whoops of a drowning man. Teaching staff don't get days off during out-of-term time - and I don't write fiction on the department's ticket - but the pressure should ease somewhat; days should end with a leisurely stroll across the keyboard rather than a sprint finish.

"But, Ian, what has this tedious biographical stuff got to do with anything?"

Well, one of the difficulties of writing a novel is that the pay-off is years away. The days spent building that wobbly tower of words are dark days indeed; what if it all crashes down? You probably won't know until you're near the end. That's why the occasional bit of feedback can make all the difference. This week, I heard that my short story 'Jubilee' - one of my favourites - has been accepted for publication by a magazine called Aesthetica. This magazine does some good work (workshops, etc.) and I've read a goodly number of outstanding fictional pieces in its pages. The acceptance came completely out of the blue.

So this is just a little pat on the back, a little whistle for my dolphin ears, the click of a toy cricket signalling a chocolate drop is on the way. The rest of the weekend isn't looking so bad after all.

The Tough Get Going

I don't know about you, but when I read a book I don't like, I stop reading it. Who but the most perverse of souls would read on to the end? Professional book reviewers, that's who. There's a big difference, obviously, between the reviews I do and those produced professionally. For me there's nothing to be lost by giving up on a book (in fact, only time to be gained). I also have a vague feeling at my core that I should be helping to promote other writers, not hinder them.

So - partly as a break from the laugh-out-loud funfest of my rollicking new, fresh and innovative novel - I got up early this morning and wrote a review of 'A Certain Chemistry' by Mil Millington. You might remember Millington as the author of, deep breath, 'Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About'. Building on the success of his website, TMGAIHAA is the fictional story of relationship between Pel, and IT manager, and his German girlfriend, Ursula. It would be uncontroversial to say that Pel is a suitably-fictionalized version of Millington, and Ursula likewise Millington's girlfriend. I was going to write a review of TMGAIHAA but couldn't quite resolve my feelings about it; on first reading it, I was extremely disappointed. Having expected a stonking novel from a young, high-calibre comedy writer with a clear talent for The Gag, I found a novel of amusing situations sellotaped onto a wonky sub-Lock Stock plot involving triads and some other rubbish I forget. I gave up on the novel and told my (German) girlfriend not to bother reading it, despite her having loved both the website and Millington's Guardian column. She did, though, but only got a few pages in before the story-shaped hole in the book caused her to put it down.

A few months later, I came back to it in one of those desperate moments when I find myself without a book to read. To my surprise, I chuckled away. Then I laughed. The book came alive again. I interpret this as sudden drop in expectation. I forgot that I was reading fiction, where a character would normally undergo a journey of some kind, and my problems with the book evaporated. So it's a series of vignettes, I thought. It ain't a story. And it's OK.

So, am I wrong to give up on reading a novel when the going gets shit? I don't think so. But the expectations that I bring to a book certainly influence how I perceive it. No doubt I enjoyed 'A Certain Chemistry' much more than I would have done if I didn't class Millington as a writer who can be funny in pieces but not handle a book-length narrative. However, 'A Certain Chemistry' is pretty well put together as a book, and I can recommend it. Yes, indeed, my high expectations have bounced back. What a fickle character is the reader!

The Richard Whiteley Effect

Well, a nice surprise in my inbox this week: my story 'Coming Home' has been published in Issue 6 of ThisIsIt magazine, a bewilderingly-designed online mag full of interesting stories and artwork. I note that the editor, recounting the submissions process, laments that home and death seem to be closely related for many writers: the majority of her submissions under the theme 'home' were about characters popping their clogs. Surely she can't be talking about my little story? Well, yes, she can. My girlfriend has often asked me why so many of my stories end in suicide. Er, pass. (As long as it isn't the last resort of a desperate writer tyring to conjure a twist from thin air, I don't mind.)

On the theme of 'the lighter side of life' - and, interestingly, 'home' too - work continues apace on my new novel (working title: 'Proper Job'). I've said it before and I'll say it again: writing humour is the Devil's own work (and this is me speaking as a science fiction author, not a humorous author yet, at least not by track record). When I wrote parts of Déjà Vu, it was clear that I had certain freedoms in writing scenes: as long as the scene climaxed in a particular way (i.e. an interesting one!), there were dozens of paths I might have trod to reach that climax. Writing humour is a fishy kettle of a different persuasion. If there are twenty ways to express a joke, one is funny and nineteen are not. The way I write, I can count on writing something funny appearing about one time in five. I often know there is a good gag in there somewhere (I write a note to myself in the margin saying as much), but it could take draft after draft, working like an archaeologist, to dig the bugger up. That's before the normal constraints of story are applied: keep the characters developing, keep them in conflict, etc. All the time there exists the nag that what you're writing is simply not funny.

Oh the hilarity.