Back in my day

Over tea and cake just now - for my writer's day has been taxing, and Keats once said something about indolence - I listened to a podcast of Andrew Marr's excellent Radio Four show, Start the Week. This show is entertaining on several levels, one of which being the placement of Marr's accent, which flits between Scottish and English with the frequency of a caesium beam oscillator. Marr chats to studio guests on topics that might range from the decline of the left to Victorian pornography (alas, not yet the relationship between the two). This week's instalment included a discussion on the UK government's target of achieving a university-level education for 50% of our population. Is this (i) laudable or (ii) stark-staring bonkers?

OK, so this is not a writing-related issue. But as my blood reached 100 degrees Celsius, and the surface of my tea rippled with rage, I knew I that I would have to devote half an hour of my life to venting the black humours of my spleen across the Internet (and, because I'm English, coming back later to apologise and dab at the gunk with a hanky). I should point out that my views are mine alone.

Here we go:

The government has demanded that the capacity of university-level education be expanded. To support this, the cap on tuition fees has been lifted. Universities can now (with some technical exceptions) charge viable fees to students, which should supplement income. What is the result of this? Students have to fork out 'stonkingly large' (this is a googleplex to the power squidillion, plus one) sums of money in order to attend university. This millstone will then be slipped over their neck by the Chancellor during the graduation ceremony. (By the way, the Chancellor of the university my girlfriend works at is Floella Benjamin! How cool is that? During her speech for graduands, she said, "In my time, I've taken people through the round window, the square window...")

Look, I understand, if we wish higher education to expand that we need to get the money from somewhere. But is it appropriate to levy this charge at the point of use? I have no data with which to continue, but I will make this point: I was the first person in my family to attend university. My family were/are not poor, but if I had been faced with the choice of attending university and incurring such a huge debt versus getting a job (as some of my friends did), I would have gone for the job in a trice. No great loss to academia, I'm sure, but this pattern is likely to be repeated across the land.

The next problem is the transformation of the relationship between university students and teaching staff. In short, if you pay a shitload of cash for a service - as much as you would expend on a luxury car - you will wish to see the fruits of your investment. The identity of the student will change from 'knowledge apprentice' to consumer. The result of this, which can already be seen in many universities, is a rationalisation and bureaucratisation of the educational process. There are some advantages to this, but overall it seems quite toxic to the teacher-student relationship, and therefore to learning.

The second prong of the fork that our illustrious government has jammed up the rear of our university system is a concentration of research funding. The tines go by the name of the Research Assessment Exercise. It will, generally speaking, shrink the opportunities for general research funding (a significant tranche of a given university's income) to the toppermost of the poppermost universities. Those who can demonstrate that their academic staff publish research in high impact journals and - not coincidentally - draw in external grants that provide the best biscuits at staff coffee on a Tuesday morning...it is these who will get higher RAE ratings, and therefore a better chance of access to the money pot.

The result of this? Universities across the UK are falling over themselves to recruit researchers with a track record of articles in high-impact journals. How much time do these researchers have for teaching? Well, not a great deal. And all their financial rewards and punishments centre around their research. A knock-on effect of this is that the researchers are not, shall we say, the best teachers in the world. The government's argument appears to be predicated on the idea that the best researchers make the best teachers. Maybe...but I've never seen any evidence of a positive correlation between the two, while intimations of a negative relationship has cropped up once or twice.

So these are my thoughts on the matter. There are some concomitant points that I'll spare you. But the main one is this: What is happening to UK higher education? We need John Reid (tsk, he isn't even a proper doctor) to come and sort it out. Come on, Andrew. Invite him on.

Please Please Me

The title of this article, of course, comes from The Beatles' early LP (recorded over a nine-hour session in 1963), and I've chosen the title for this blog entry because it sounds so much more enticing than 'editing'.

Still reading? Aye, 99% of the writer's lot is editing. Writing the original draft? Child's play. Revising the bleddy thing until it squeaks with quality? Sisyphus himself knows no such endurance.

Alright, editing is marginally easier than pushing a rock up a hill, but the views are worse.

The story so far: Our hero has written and published a technothriller with a small press. Small press has decided to withdraw it from publication. Through dumb luck, our hero snags an agent. About the same time, a publisher (who shall remain nameless) offers to take said technothriller, providing certain edits are made.

And here I wish to pause. As a group, readers tend to hold certain myths about writing and publishing. Charmingly, one of these is that bookchains promote books on the basis of their quality (the reality: on the basis of publisher cash). But I don't want to talk about that. I want to talk about the myth that the text of a book is solely the product of the writer whose name is often found, in gold-embossed holographic pop-up plutonium, beneath the title. Not so, dear reader. Not so.

You're looking at the end product of a long, long process. The author, the agent, content editors, structural editors, book doctors, word nurses, and quite possibly Clippy from *Microsoft Word have all conspired, liked aligning planets, to work their witchy forces on the manuscript. To be sure, there is a scale of fiddling. Some writers can't stand to be edited. Others require a great deal of help. I've heard, for example, that Baron Archer has difficulty completing his sentences.

Ah-thank-yaw.

My point is that editing is a natural component of the process. It comes in many forms. Anything that constrains the shape of an art 'object' has an editing effect. Your personal history edits your writing. Your culture edits it. Your sensibility censures it. Your conscience may demand that the good end happily and the bad unhappily. These - undetectable as background radiation - are significant forces before we come on to the explicit, interactive force of explicit editing (i.e. the weighty report that suggests you burn your manuscript and start again in twenty years, when you can write).

On the scale of 'attitude to editing', I'd put myself at the pole that reads 'can't stop fiddling'; and when it comes to calls of 'please please me' from editors, I'm usually happy to oblige. Why? Well, I see any draft of a book akin to the rough cut of a film. I've done a fair amount of film editing in my time, and I know you can't fiddle enough with cutting, pacing, experimental juxtaposition, changes of tone using music, and so on. A book is not a unchanging object. It is constantly fluid. The published version of a book is only a snapshot of its flux. Its ebbs and whirls will continue in the mind of the writer long after the printing press has finished its run.

So, those are some thoughts on the whys of editing. Later this week I want to talk a little about the process itself. How does one go about it? Is one's judgement during the first draft to be trusted over one's judgement a year later? Is a novel an inherently less structured object than a movie or a short story?

Buggered if I know.

(Image at the top is George Martin. For me, the fifth Beatle. And the best editor in the game.)

* "It looks like you're trying to write a novel. Would you like to see a list of local psychiatrists and anger management consultants?"

Signed by the John Jarrold Literary Agency

Well, m'friends, much has happened over the past two weeks. It culminated on Friday morning, when a phone call to John Jarrold sealed my fate as the latest addition to the John Jarrold Literary Agency. My steely professionalism prevents me from writing things like "I hope he knows what he's letting himself in for" but does permit me the odd swallow of champagne, in which manner I spent the greater part of Friday night.

Who is John? He's a relatively recent addition to the agently hordes of UK publishing, having set up his agency in 2004. Before that, he ran Earthlight, the dedicated science fiction and fantasy imprint of Simon and Schuster. He's also been director of Orbit Books (an imprint to which most SF readers will need no introduction). At Orbit, he published Arthur C Clarke, Iain Banks, Harry Harrison, and many others. So John is well versed in the dark art of publishing, and I'm very happy to have him representing me. He also sounds like a nice bloke, which can only help in dealing with my monstrous ego.

The Cunning Plan For World Domination involves working some more on the second edition of Déjà Vu. As I mentioned in a recent blog post, there is a goodish chance that Déjà Vu will rise up again in 2008, so we'll be working on getting Déjà Vu into the best shape possible. Next up is the second sciffy novel, which is set in the same universe as Déjà Vu. John's a well-read guy despite his genre specialism, and I'm waiting to see what he thinks of Proper Job, my comedy novel. If he doesn't want to ritually burn it, we'll try to hoodwink some publisher into taking it. Sorry, that last sentence lacked professionalism. I meant: We will try to find a publisher that deserves a book like Proper Job.

Hmm. I'll try to work on my professional polish. Meanwhile, as an example to us all, here is the press release that John prepared over the weekend. I'm aware it makes me sound like a certain Aramaic-speaking carpenter, but that's all part of the fun.

PRESS RELEASE – IAN HOCKING

British SF author Ian Hocking has joined the John Jarrold Literary Agency. His first novel, a science fiction technothriller entitled Déjà Vu, was published in 2005 by the UKA Press. The Guardian described it as ‘showing quiet skill’ and SFX called it ‘a solid technothriller’. Author Ian Watson praised it as ‘gripping, fascinating, and powerful’. Other reviewers have written ‘crisp and professional’, ‘a smart read full of fresh, clever dialogue’, ‘mind-blowing’, and ‘thought-provoking’. The book is thriller that encompasses time travel, virtual reality, and digital minds.

‘Ian mentions Jon Courtenay Grimwood and Ken MacLeod in his acknowledgements,’ said John Jarrold. ‘Having had the pleasure of publishing a number of books by them both, I can say that the many readers who love their work will thoroughly enjoy Ian’s writing. Ideas jump off the page, and his characters remain in one’s mind over a long period of time’

Hocking is presently writing another novel in the Déjà Vu universe.

Contact John Jarrold for further information by e-mail at j.jarrold@btinternet.com or by phone at 01424 440652.

20th January 2007

Cubic Parsec

It is, of course, well known that the density of our galaxy (Milkus Wayus) is approximately one star per cubic parsec. Less commonly known is the fact that 'cubic parsec' is the name of a new blog by Nick Moberly, a mate of mine. The blog covers...well, er, lots of stuff. Nick is a psychologist currently studying the cognitive mechanisms that underpin depressive rumination, so there's no doubt that some of his posts will about our esteemed is-it-or-isn't-it science. Metal music also features. You have been warned.

The Samplist

My review of Francis Ellen's The Samplist has been published on Spike Magazine. It's a self-published book with plenty of p'zazz, and is pretty funny to boot. Here's an excerpt from my review:

In sum, The Samplist is an enjoyable scramble through a certain world on which Mr Ellen has the dope. Excerpts will not appear in style guides, and its appeal will be limited to those like a good fart joke to round off a discussion on Bach as the composer's composer. But, for all that, this self-published book is no vanity project.

Keeping it real

Sass that hoopy Roger Morris. There's a frood who really knows where his socks are.

The evidence.

News on Deja Vu

Following the somewhat epic moan of 3rd Jan, here's a quick update on what's happening with Déjà Vu. I've been speaking
to some interested parties - can't reveal their secret identities, I'm afraid - and the result is that Déjà Vu is
likely to rise from the dead, like Baron Samedi at the end of Live and Let Die. Nothing is set in stone, but a second edition (revamped, pimped and tinkered with) should appear in 2008 as a regular book (possibly in hardback, but that depends on 'secret factors').

My job, right now, is to go back to Déjà Vu and set about it with a red editing pen. And, in the spirit of Web 2.0, you can help!

That's right.

You.

Yes, you.

Really.

What?

Yes, your webcam is switched on. Nice pyjamas.

But listen. I'd like to send a big WASSUP to all the guys and girls who have bought and read Déjà Vu. Capital job. Do you want to be part of the second edition? If so, post a comment to say (i) what you liked most about the book, and what you least liked about it.

I'm not looking for major critiques (though I'll be casting an eye over my more in-depth reviews), but it would be nice to have as much feedback as possible from real, pyjama-wearing readers about the book before I put knife to paper. Just a sentence or two would be helpful.

The most perceptive/useful comments will be punished with a signed copy of the second edition!

Timbers? Shivering? With my reputation?

Mark Kermode - the fountain of vitriol at the centre of the BBC's film review effort - has had plenty to say about Pirates of the Caribbean II: Dead Man's Chest. In short, he didn't like it. He thinks it represents one of the failures of modern cinema. Holding Dr Kermode's opinion in regard, I sat down to watch the offending DVD with my girlfriend last night. I had pre-loaded my brain with jokes a la Johnny Depp needing to be dragged to the Terence Stamp Hospital for Outlandishly Hammy Acting and "God, it's sooo commerical. There'll be a bloody theme park ride next."

Anywho, I liked it. I'm one of these tiring people so entranced by the wee flashy lights on the goggle box that I'll laugh at anything, but POTC: DMC made me laugh heartily. "Look! It's the dog from the first film! And he's carrying -" I broke off for a gigglin' fit - "the jail keys!" (My girlfriend said, "Hmm," which is a subvocal imperative for me to shut up.)

Overall, the film is quite complex. Interestingly, not as a complex as a Shakespearian comedy - which, I'd suggest, the film resembles in many respects (as popular entertainment with lots of shipwrecks, cross-dressing, double- and triple-crossed viewpoints, and plenty of sword-on-sword action). But keeping up with the stakes is difficult. As a viewer, you just have to know, instinctively, what the characters are gunning for. If you need to use written notes (or stop the DVD and ask your boyfriend) then the film is probably too convoluted.

Arrr!

Look, I don't know why I wrote 'Arrr!'. But this is a post about a pirate film, land lubbers, and we've's got rules.

Bragg Strikes Again

Oh, Melvyn. You spoil us with your radio programmes.

Regular readers of his blog (hi, Dad) will know that I hold Bragg's In Our Time programme in the highest of teeteringly-high regards (with a cherry on top), and I am pleased to report that Lord Bragg of Wigton has done it again with this week's episode on the Argentine poet, essayist, reviewer and novelist Jorge Luis Borges.

Borges is often cited as the inspiration for several of our most regarded writers (David Mitchell, for example), and his name has been niggling me for years and I haven't yet read a word of his work. But Bragg has done his work, and I'm keen to seek out some of his stuff.

Sadly - because my local Waterstone's branch is incapable of placing books where one might expect to actually find them - I'll have to bone up on the pronunciation of Borges's name, which, like the General Theory of Relativity, I can only seem to remember in the hour after it was explained.

L Lee Lowe's Mortal Ghost podcast

(*Updated to better reflect the sex of the author*) I'm very keen on podcasts, particularly when they're recorded by people other than myself. L Lee Lowe, a YA fantasy author, has secured the services of a young British theatre student to read out the first chapter of her new book, Mortal Ghost. You can check out the podcast via this page: http://lleelowe.com/home/. Your podcasting application (for example, iTunes) should be able to use this URL as a place to scrape up new episodes as they're added. Sounds like a great idea, and a great podcast. It would be nice to know the identity of the young British theatre student, though.

The Kindest of Cuts

It's not all doom and gloom, of course. Over at Roger's plog, we find that Roger Morris has got a second book coming out (the first being Taking Comfort, which I reviewed here) complete with a global release that, frankly, smacks of world domination. Still, if one writer had to dominate the world, we could do worse than Roger. Pre-order your copy of A Gentle Axe here.

Last Chance to See Déjà Vu

Tabula rasa is a term very familiar to a psychology graduate like me, and doubtless familiar to anyone who has bumped into Aristotle or Locke. It's appropriate for the New Year, of course: blank slate. This year, I'll be making a fresh start with Déjà Vu.

Let me explain. Déjà Vu is published using a technology called Print on Demand, where a copy of the book is printed at the point a customer's order is received. This contrasts with the traditional model associated with publishing: a run of books is printed in the first instance, held in stock, and handed out as required.

By and large, bookshops like Waterstone's do not display POD titles on their shelves because POD publishers tend to be small, and this means they can't bear the (frankly draconian) discounts demanded. A company like Waterstone's wants a large cut of the Recommended Retail Price; they want money from the publisher to pay for promotion (i.e. displaying it sensibly); and they want the publisher to accept the financial risk of unsold stock. This is why publishing is a big boy's game. (To be fair, some small bookshops, like Mostly Books - who currently stock Déjà Vu - will sell POD books.)

Still reading? There's more.

The distributor behind the publisher of Déjà Vu has decided that it no longer wishes to distribute books that are POD. Why? Aggravation. Waterstone's staff, for example, will often claim that POD books - with an ISBN, a British Library copy, etc. - do not exist. They will persist in this behaviour even when a POD book is waved in front of their eyes. So my book's distributor would be forgiven for adapting its business model to that of the big retail chains.

What impact does this have for Déjà Vu? Well, Déjà Vu will go out of print at the end of January. From that point, you will no longer be able to order a copy from Amazon. Waterstone's staff will actually be correct when they claim it does not exist.

I was a little surprised by the news. My publisher shares some of its financial machinery with another publisher, and though this OOP (out of print) shenanigans was known early last year, news didn't filter to me until late December.

My advice would be that, if you want a copy of the book, get your order in before the end of January. For those who remain desperate after that, I will have a personal stock of copies, but since I have to buy them from my publisher, I probably can't afford to stock more than fifteen or so (and most of them I'll have to earmark for small bookshops who had the balls to stock my book on the basis of its reviews, rather than the bank balance of my publisher).

What next for Déjà Vu? In truth, I don't know. Because the book has gone OOP (in smoke, lad :-), the contract with my publisher is voided. This leaves me with a book that (i) has been professionally edited, (ii) has been critically acclaimed in national publications like The Guardian and SFX, (iii) exists in an even better second edition and (iv) is complemented by a sequel that, I believe, takes things up to a whole new level.

A straightforward job to place it with another publisher, then? Well, not really. It's quite difficult to contact someone in a position to adopt a book that has already been published. I'm guessing that this is because the 'front door' submissions process is geared towards slush. Time and again, a nice covering later that contains reviews and a precis of the sequel seem to go unanswered because they don't fit the standard form of a manuscript submission (I can't be sure about this, of course, because publishers either don't reply or send you a little postcard with a pre-printed response).

Surely I can slip it in through the back door, then, using my network of spies? This too is difficult. In the middle of last year, best-selling author Ken MacLeod, who had read Déjà Vu, contacted an editor within A Well-Known Sciffy Publisher and did the whole, "There's this guy called Hocking who..." Bubbling over with gratitude, I sent off my book with a covering letter - beautifully printed, no typos - that outlined my second book (Flashback) and...nothing happened. A month later, I called up the editor and spoke to his secretary. Apparently, it was extremely oddball behaviour on my part to send a book when everybody knows (I imagined the secretary rolling her eyes) that editors can only cope with double-spaced text. I mentioned that this hadn't been made clear me. She directed me to the author submission guidelines, and suggested I stick to them to the letter. I did, and heard nothing back.

Anyway, like I said, tabula rasa. Quite possibly I'll find a home for the second edition of Déjà Vu, and those who own a first edition can rejoice in the fact that it will go for twice the amount on eBay in a few year's time...particularly if its author happens to be browsing.

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