{"id":42700,"date":"2014-06-12T15:19:57","date_gmt":"2014-06-12T05:19:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.booktopia.com.au\/?p=42700"},"modified":"2016-03-01T09:30:38","modified_gmt":"2016-02-29T23:30:38","slug":"guest-blog-notes-from-the-other-side-by-jo-roccioni-author-of-the-italians-at-cleats-corner-store","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/2014\/06\/12\/guest-blog-notes-from-the-other-side-by-jo-roccioni-author-of-the-italians-at-cleats-corner-store\/","title":{"rendered":"GUEST BLOG: Notes from the Other Side by Jo Riccioni, author of The Italians at Cleat\u2019s Corner Store"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"9781922070883\"<\/a><\/h1>\n

I can remember the exact moment I started crossing over to the Other Side, the first time I made that tentative transition from happy avid reader to somewhat less contented beginner writer. It was ten years ago, almost to the month. I recall it so precisely because I came to writing comparatively late in life.<\/p>\n

As a child, I was a bookworm but I wasn\u2019t an endless scribbler, never kept diaries or notebooks, and didn\u2019t always long to be a writer. My first attempt at writing fiction was made somewhere between mashing pumpkin and changing a nappy, and I found that my 8-month-old was cutting his teeth at about the same time as I was cutting mine on short stories.<\/p>\n

I wish I could say it was a lot more romantic than that, but the truth is that writing rarely is. It\u2019s an odd little obsession, practised by a surprisingly diverse set of people, in the face of all sorts of obstacles and knock backs. For me it started out as mummy therapy: a lifelong love of reading, meets a new laptop and a baby monitor on the kitchen counter.<\/p>\n

Two months ago my first novel, The Italians at Cleat\u2019s Corner Store<\/em><\/a>, was released in Australia. So how did I get from a laptop in the kitchen to a publishing contract? In short, with baby steps. It took ten years for me to hold my own novel in my hands. Here are a few of the things I\u2019ve picked up on my trip to the Other Side, things I\u2019m still learning about writing and publishing, and a few I wish someone had told me sooner.<\/p>\n

1: It\u2019s Hard, But Not Impossible<\/strong><\/p>\n

The first short story I wrote gave me a ridiculous sense of accomplishment: it came in second out of a whopping 52 entries in a local writing competition. I was ecstatic. I signed up for an evening course for beginner writers at my nearest community college. I read some famous books about writing. And then I went along to a day seminar at a regional writers\u2019 centre to discover all about that Holy Grail: \u2018Getting Published\u2019. For four hours I sat there intently taking notes while a panel of novelists and publishers detonated the industry from the inside out. My writing ambitions (never overly robust to begin with) were left in smouldering ruins somewhere under my chair.<\/p>\n

\u2018If you can do anything else that makes you happy or makes you money, then do that because writing sure as hell won\u2019t make you either,\u2019 a novelist told the audience.<\/p>\n

\u2018The reality is that even good novels are getting passed up regularly in today\u2019s uncertain climate,\u2019 an agent announced bleakly.<\/p>\n

\"joroccino\"<\/a>

Author Jo Riccioni<\/p><\/div>\n

\u2018There\u2019s no such thing as manuscripts being picked up from the slush pile anymore,\u2019 a publisher admitted. \u2018We don\u2019t even have a slush pile, we just have a bin.\u2019<\/p>\n

I went home and did what any self-respecting wannabe author could do. I filled a large glass of wine, opened my laptop and carried on writing.<\/p>\n

But I didn\u2019t bury my head in the sand either. And I don\u2019t deny that I probably needed to hear what those industry experts had to say. However, what I took issue with was their attitude. It seemed to be all jaded doom-and-gloom, topped with a smidgeon of insider condescension. And yet I\u2019d read three or four Australian debuts that year alone, so I knew there had to be gaps in that publishing stronghold, passages into the fortress somewhere.<\/p>\n

Some time later, in a fit of masochism, I took a job in a bookshop. I highly recommend it as a gauge of serious intention to all aspiring writers. Book selling has to be the bracing cold shower to any writer\u2019s burning ambition, especially if you\u2019re writing literary fiction. If you\u2019re still typing away after sending back boxes of unsold new releases, then you really have got it bad.<\/p>\n

The flip side to this, however, is that unpacking all the new books means you get to see what\u2019s trending in publishing, what\u2019s actually selling and sometimes (not often but, reassuringly, sometimes) those books are works by new writers. The industry has to have new material. It needs fresh voices. It\u2019s looking for the next big thing, or even the next medium-to-fairly-modest thing. And until you actually write, how do you know you\u2019re not the person to give it to them?<\/p>\n

I\u2019m happy to say things appear to have changed a little since that first seminar I attended. Several publishers started accepting unsolicited manuscripts in a more structured way a few years ago and others have followed suit. Check out Allen & Unwin\u2019s Friday Pitch; Penguin\u2019s Monthly Catch, Pan Macmillan\u2019s Manuscript Monday and Hachette\u2019s open submissions, among others.<\/p>\n

2: \u201cOvernight Success\u201d is a Marketing Construct.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ten years after I wrote my first short story, I got a jiffy bag in the mail. Inside it was the finished copy of my debut novel. Sounds great, right? I really showed them, didn\u2019t I? Almost \u2026 if it wasn\u2019t for the \u2018ten years\u2019 part, maybe?<\/p>\n

But ten years is what it took and those years are precisely the important bit, I now realise. I wasn\u2019t actually writing the novel that whole time: I was learning how to write something publishable. Novels might be discovered by a publisher overnight but they certainly aren\u2019t written overnight. One of the lessons I\u2019ve learned is that, in the majority of cases, the publication of a book and its apparent \u2018wildfire\u2019 success shouldn\u2019t be confused with its gestation or the period of apprenticeship the novelist took to get to the point where she could write that book. Whether that apprenticeship took the form of a series of \u2018bottom drawer\u2019 novels, or years writing short stories and poetry, or studying creative writing, or even simply a lifetime of careful reading, it is still an apprenticeship of sorts. Becoming good at anything takes time and patience, and writing is no exception. For me, starting to write felt like learning to read all over again \u2013 this time as a writer.<\/p>\n

\"9780552992046\"<\/a>3: Get Help<\/strong><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been a long-term student of literature as well as a teacher of it, and no one ever criticised me for wanting to learn to be a better reader. I\u2019m at a loss, then, as to why creative writing courses (namely, learning how to be a better writer) should be so frowned upon by some in the literary community. Perhaps we secretly want to think of great writers as being born, not trained? Otherwise, anyone could have a pop at a novel, couldn\u2019t they? And then the intrinsic merit of writing as an elusive (or should that be exclusive?) art form would surely be devalued? I was as guilty as anyone of believing this when I was a young literature under-grad. And then I started meeting novelists and learning about how they work.<\/p>\n

Many excellent writers never finish a novel while some pretty average ones manage to publish a whole shelf full. It\u2019s Edison\u2019s famous quote about genius being 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. A good quality writing course can help teach you to read as a writer (analysing structure, voice, narrative arc and the technicalities of the written form), but it can also offer practical tips for carving out the time to write, managing unproductive attitudes to your work, setting goals and deadlines and giving industry insights from other writers, publishers and agents about how to begin getting your writing into the public eye.<\/p>\n

Writing courses can\u2019t write your novel for you, though, and signing up for them continuously without putting in the hard yards is kind of like trying to train for a marathon by only studying a sports science manual. At the end of the day, it\u2019s just you, your keyboard and 100,000-odd words (see below). But, forewarned is forearmed, and a good teacher or mentor can make that prospect seem a hell of a lot less scary to a beginner writer.<\/p>\n

4: Being a Writer Means Actually Writing<\/strong><\/p>\n

I wish I had another novel for every time I\u2019ve heard an aspiring writer (including myself) say: \u2018I just don\u2019t have the time to write.\u2019 There are lots of valid reasons why we tell ourselves we can\u2019t write, but most of these rapidly lose credibility if, in the next breath, we go on to analyse the latest plot twists of Breaking Bad or who got voted off The Voice. Yes, novels take time. They take a ridiculous amount of time. And yet the average Australian adult manages to dedicate 13 hours a week to watching TV, pretty much without thinking about it. Perhaps I\u2019m being harsh. But sacrifices have to be made. Ask the tough questions and if writing doesn\u2019t come out on top, then give yourself a break. Let someone else write the novels. There\u2019s nothing wrong with that. Life\u2019s too short to put yourself over the rack for something that\u2019s not a genuine priority.<\/p>\n

Having said that, once I\u2019d decided it was a priority, I wished someone had told me that writing productivity does not necessarily increase when you reduce other professional work. I found that I wrote as many words when I had a part-time job and young children as I did when my kids were older and I quit work to finish my novel. And I\u2019ve heard other writers speak of a similarly unproductive relationship with \u2018too much writing time\u2019. Sometimes all you\u2019re doing is giving yourself even more hours to procrastinate. I wish I\u2019d kept my day job. Then I\u2019d have a novel and new shoes. Lack of time can sometimes make you more productive.<\/p>\n

5: \u201cThere is no such thing as good writing, only good re-writing.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

I\u2019m a firm believer in John Irvine\u2019s famous quote. Most of my time spent writing, whether it\u2019s short stories or novels, is spent editing. And any small success I\u2019ve had with getting my work published has been because I\u2019m reluctant to let it \"9780552992053\"<\/a>go out into the world until it\u2019s the best I can make it. (Even when I\u2019m thoroughly sick of it, I\u2019m more likely to file it away than put it out there, if I don\u2019t think it\u2019s ready). You often only get one shot with an agent or publisher, so don\u2019t get so excited at finishing your draft that you forget it\u2019s still a draft. Make it the best it can be and get help if you think you need it.<\/p>\n

6: Getting Published is the Easy Part<\/strong><\/p>\n

I know, I know, don\u2019t you hate hearing published writers say this? I used to convince myself they were lying, that they were saying it to big note themselves, or because they derived a martyr-like satisfaction recounting the endless hardships of the writing life. What is there post-publication that could seriously be harder than getting up at 5am in the middle of winter to a blank screen, having decided to cut three chapters and four months\u2019 work? Or, knowing in your heart you\u2019ve got to get rid of a character and feeling like you\u2019re murdering someone in the family? Surely it\u2019s so much easier to do all this with the comfort of a publisher in the wings?<\/p>\n

Well it\u2019s not. I got signed by a publisher before my novel was completed and the security that offered was definitely offset by knowing I was writing to please someone else not just myself. Getting signed also didn\u2019t preclude a scenario almost worse than not getting published at all, and that is thinking you\u2019re getting published, only to have your book rejected at the last. I managed to avoid this but it does happen to writers at all stages of their careers. I wished someone had told me that ongoing performance anxiety was par for the course in the writing life. Thankfully, I\u2019ve just recently discovered the excellent conversations between Charlotte Wood and Alison Manning in a Mind of One\u2019s Own<\/em>, which pull apart many of the psychological hurdles writers face and the self-sabotaging blocks to writing. They\u2019re like an \u2018on-demand\u2019 pep talk and I\u2019ve found them a great help.<\/p>\n

Before my novel was released, the only end result I focussed on, like most debut writers, was getting that published book in my hands. I now know that really is just the beginning. When I was writing the novel, I was so engrossed in its world, in my artistic integrity, in making it the best it could be, I was barely aware of the book as a business proposition, a product. And that\u2019s the way I wanted it. But the moment a book gets released, there\u2019s no denying it becomes a commodity the author must help shift. I found I was changing hats again, not from consumer to creator this time, but from creator to promoter.<\/p>\n

As much as I\u2019d tried to familiarise myself with the post-publication world, I wasn\u2019t prepared for just how involved I had to be in the actual marketing of my book. I\u2019d made the grave mistake of thinking I could take some much-earned downtime between finishing my proofs and the book hitting the shelves. But this is in fact the busiest time for a writer. This is the time to take leave from your day job. This is the time to get out all those notes you took at that Marketing Your Book course you were smart enough to enrol in before it actually got published (and, no, I was not smart enough to do it before publication). This is the time you should be tweaking websites, spruiking social media, and offering giveaways in advance of release, setting up interviews, events with local libraries, bookshops and book clubs, and writing features that may help plug the book. Don\u2019t assume your publicist is going to secure any of this for you. Don\u2019t assume you are going to be able secure any of this for yourself, either. Debut fiction, especially the literary kind, is notoriously difficult to promote \u2013 which goes hand-in-hand with debut fiction being notoriously difficult to get published. Difficult, but not impossible.<\/p>\n

There is plenty you can do and plenty of resources to teach you how. Take the knock-backs on the chin, keep plugging away, and continue until you get some takers to profile your book. After all, getting published was the easy part: you should be up for a little challenge by now!<\/p>\n

________________________<\/p>\n

Jo Riccioni\u2019s debut novel, The Italians at Cleat\u2019s Corner Store<\/a>, is published by Scribe in Australia and the UK. Her short stories have been published in Best Australian Stories 2010 and 2011, The Age and the Review of Australian Fiction. She has a Masters in Medieval Literature, is a Varuna Fellowship Alumna and also a graduate of the inaugural Faber Writing Academy<\/a> in Sydney.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

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I can remember the exact moment I started crossing over to the Other Side, the first time I made that tentative transition from happy avid reader to somewhat less contented beginner writer. It was ten years ago, almost to the month. I recall it so precisely because I came to writing comparatively late in life. As a child, I was a bookworm but I wasn\u2019t an endless scribbler, never kept diaries or notebooks, and didn\u2019t always long to be a writer. My first attempt at writing fiction was made somewhere between mashing pumpkin and changing a nappy, and I found that my 8-month-old was cutting his teeth at about the same time as I was cutting mine on short stories. I wish I could say it was a lot more romantic than that, but the truth is that writing rarely is. It\u2019s an odd little obsession, practised by a surprisingly diverse set of people, in the face of all sorts of obstacles and knock backs. For me it started out as mummy therapy: a lifelong love of reading, meets a new laptop and a baby monitor on the kitchen counter. Two months ago my first novel, The Italians at Cleat\u2019s…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":""},"categories":[4,24,58,84],"tags":[2499,2829,4008,6624],"acf":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/42700"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=42700"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/42700\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":56346,"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/42700\/revisions\/56346"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=42700"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=42700"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.booktopia.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=42700"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}