Much Ado About Something
Or yet another peer into the mirror.
I have been writing occasional entries in notebooks for nearly forty years. Most often these have focussed on an assessment of where I am with my work and what my future plans might be. Think ‘crystal ball’; my notebooks are not ‘diaries’. Especially in the first couple of decades they also served as somewhere I could try and flesh out ideas and navigate plot and character. Most often I would find that after a few dances I could settle on a way forward i.e. that I would write A or B. Actually, most likely I decided I would work on both A and B..! The longest gestation period — idea to end-product — was defined by an initial note which preceding the publication of the associated book by 32 years!
Four years ago I took the trouble of writing up most of my historical hand-written notes and combining them into a single volume — Shrapnel from a Writing Life — which I then published (largely just to ensure there was a permanent record). Since then I have continued with my notebooks, often having more than one on the go, filling them with sporadic entries made when I decided I need to step back and take stock of where I was with my projects.
But a now tangent for a moment.
After nearly two-and-a-half years on Substack I still struggle to know what my readers want. I reach a threshold (in terms of numbers) then write something which sees subscribers or followers increase — then the next time I do the same thing, they go down again… I’ve tried almost daily posting and have then been more relaxed about it; the fluctuation is the same. Maybe there’s no secret or trick (other than already being ‘famous’); maybe it’s like landing an agent: you have to be lucky and offer them exactly what they want exactly when they happen to be looking for it…
I know I shouldn’t care about numbers but I’m afraid it’s in my DNA. I spent my previous (long) career constantly worrying about them in one way or another: dates, budgets, plans, estimates, metrics etc. etc.
This afternoon, feeling the need for one of those notebook entries, I picked up the relevant journal (last entry the end of September, which in itself says something i.e. I’ve been busy writing!) and prepared to scribble.
And then I thought, why not — just for a change — write the notebook entry on Substack? Just to see what, if anything, happens. So here we are — and the tangental joins up with the theme.
But first… I consider myself a serious writer. I work at it every day. I have written numerous books not because that’s easy but because I am compelled to do so. I’m an addict. I run groups and events, dabble in a little hybrid publishing for others, not to make money but because it feels like the right thing to do — for other writers and for the craft. And all the while in my writing I strive to communicate my interpretation of the world and what it means to be human, in the hope that I will touch someone, make a difference.
My favourite review came from someone in Boston, Mass., who said of one of my books “you made me cry on the subway”…
Yet it’s a flooded market, and yes, there are thousands of voices crying out, striving to be heard. And how do we know when we have been heard? Subscribers, followers, sales — and so we’re back to numbers again… But isn’t it really recognition and validation we’re after; that constant and nagging need…
Anyway, that notebook entry… and one made slightly more coherent than usual, just for you!
Good progress on Dead-heading Roses in the Museum Garden and Other Stories — though another couple of Beta readers would be useful. As you may have seen eslewhere, the cover is designed (I really like it!) so it’s just a question of when to push the publication button. I’m awaiting feedback from another publisher before I go again myself.
Also good progress with some new short stories spawned from my London visit in October. I’m thinking of editing a new version of my novella Writing to Gisella with a view to adding that to what would almost instantly become another collection: Writing to Gisella and Other Stories. I’ve even gone as far as to prepare a potential cover — always a positive sign! This would probably make an autumn publication.
I’ve booked an Arvon Clockhouse retreat for April. Planning to use the time primarily for a final edit of The Extra Shot, a novel for the second quarter of the year. Maybe. I’ve been working on this one for at least 3 years. Again cover done.
Re Coverstory books, I’m now actively working on two new poetry collections for others; I’m at the first stage of compiling and formatting. I think they should both be great books; more news later. Also there’s the New Contexts: 8 anthology for which submissions close at the end of January — so you’ve still time! — and the first of a new round of Contextual virtual poetry readings starts on 26th February; the readers are lined up.
So that’s all good — and busy! However, I’m always looking ahead, seeking the next project.
I am likely to perform Crash again in 2026, this time in Louth library (date to be confirmed). And I’ve started drafting a somewhat experimental piece of long-form fiction. The idea for its structure first came to me many years ago and I’ve had a couple of false starts since then. I won’t have any real idea as to whether I’ll see this one through until I’m about 15k words in, so it’s early days yet (even if the signs are promising).
Writing poetry bothers me, however. I wrote just a handful of new poems last year (no more than five). I haven’t been fully able to get to the reason behind that abandonment — though I’m sure part of it is driven by the dismay as to what passes for poetry these days. I still enjoy good poetry otherwise I wouldn’t be putting together New Contexts: 8 (click for ChillSubs link) or the Contextual events, the quality of poetry in each is always top-drawer! Maybe I’ll get the spark again when I least expect it.
So there’s a great deal there; enough to keep me busy for the next three months at least. And yet I can never shake the urge for something new — or, to be more specific, can’t rid myself of the feeling that’s there’s something missing, something else I should be working on…
Watch this space — please!
Love this idea. I’ve always been fascinated by why we write, why we read, why we forge this connection. I wrote my first couple articles here on Substack on these ideas. Cheers!
Ian, I am a trained proofreader. My daughter is dyslexic. She went to university, and I proofed her essays, checking for reversed spellings. The reason I am telling you is that you may possibly have made the same mistake. Did you really say your notebooks were not 'dairies'? My daughter initially suggested that Thailand's principal trade were 'diaries'. Would you like to swap spellings with her?