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Now don’t get offended – I can’t think of an author who doesn’t LOVE to have readers. Naturally! But…

When I get together online with other writers, it becomes apparent to me that there are two kinds of author. One kind tends to ask, on online forums, ‘What kind of book will readers BUY?’. The idea is to pinpoint what people want to read, and then write it. And then sell it. The literary equivalent of the real estate adage, Genre, Genre, Genre!

And the other kind? They’re the ones who ask ‘I wrote this book…now how can I get people to read it?’ They write because they have something to express – a story, an experience, a perspective – and they want to share it.

It’s pretty clear that Type A is likely to be more successful than Type B.  They target their audience. They tailor their content. They write what people like. I’m not taking the high moral ground here – we all like money and we all want readers.

BUT…for me, writing comes from a place where money and readers frankly don’t matter much. It has to. Imprisoned in chains of genre and marketing, the impulse sickens and dies. I write because I want to speak, not because I want to be heard. Although I do, of course, also want to be heard.

So are readers – you – really necessary? For me, YES…and no. Without you, I’d still write books. I’d just feel more depressed about doing it. What do you think?

Do you believe in life after death?

When her musician husband Orpheus disappears from a party boat in Sydney Harbour and is later found drowned, Eurydice goes through all the usual stages of grief. Disbelief, blame, anger, withdrawal. And then finally, she decides to find him.

But how do you go about finding someone who is dead? Where do you look, and how? And supposing that you do find them, what then? In 2001: A Space Odyssey,  the world of the aliens is so, well, alien that the humans can’t even begin to understand it, let alone communicate. Is the world of the dead any less strange and inconceivable to the living?

In the book I’m currently writing, I’m trying to explore love and death – in particular the kind of obsessive and intense love that binds the beloved even beyond the borders of material existence. Death is something that’s interested me for a long time – our last great adventure into the unknown. Love, for me, is also unknown to an extent. Like most people I’ve fallen in and out of love, have felt (so I thought at the time) an eternal bond and then lost it, but I’ve never felt so strongly about a man that I’d willingly follow him into the grave. For a child, yes. So I’m having to work quite hard at imagining how Eurydice feels…and this while backpacking Europe as it happens.

What do you think about love and death? Have you loved greatly? Have you ever seen a ghost or had an NDA? Talk to me (fallaciousrose@outlook.com) – I’d love to hear.

Photo by Filipe Almeida on Unsplash

Lots of authors hate publishers. And agents. Let’s face it, nobody likes rejection emails.

I admit, I’ve submitted to publishers a few times over the years, and been roundly rejected. Now my friends – who’ve read my latest book, Pandora’s Jar – say,  ‘Send it to an agent, it’s fantastic, they’re sure to pick it up!’

Well, it is a pretty good book, one of my best. So I’m thinking about it. On the plus side, a Netflix deal, oodles of money and Pandora’s Jar in the front window of Dymocks.

On the minus side…agents are SO annoying! Agent A only accepts manuscripts in July,  Agent B wants them submitted by snail mail, Agent C isn’t taking unsolicited manuscripts at all unless they’re from Jodie Picoult, and ALL of them want a monogamous relationship – only one agent at a time, even if that agent takes months to decide. Plus you have to write a ‘pitch’ which will amaze, captivate and intrigue the bastards. What! I put every creative ounce of flesh I had into writing the actual book,  and now you want me to seduce you with a pitch?

So what if, against all the odds, they do pick Pandora? Well, then whoever they get to publish it can ask me to take bits out, put bits in,  go through it with the proverbial fine tooth comb for anything that might offend…anyone really. And they can change my title! I don’t like people fiddling with my things.

I have readers (just not Netflix, yet). Why do I need a publisher? Do I need a publisher?

“That time I went to Bible group, when I prayed to God to grant me a wish? I said look, God, if you want me to believe in you, this is what you’ve got to do, alright? Give me a family. I wasn’t thinking, give me a wife or a kid or nothing like that, I know I don’t have no kids and I don’t want a wife, not at my age. I was thinking maybe, just maybe…”

Paul smiles encouragingly. He can see that Trevor, for the first time since he’s known him (but then, he hasn’t known him very long) is overcome with emotion. His eyes narrow in an effort to hold back tears, the knuckles on the steel table clench.

“I was thinking maybe he’d find my mum, after all these years. It would’ve been a real hard ask, yeah, but he’s God, he can do what the fuck he wants, so no harm in asking him. I didn’t really expect him to come up with the goods, I thought the whole Jesus thing was a load of bullshit to be honest, but then…he did. Jesus gave me a family. A sister, a nephew, two nieces, a whole bunch of other folks too, but it was her that turned up. So I said to God, fair’s fair, Lord, you answered my prayer, when I didn’t even believe in you, so now I got to keep my end of the bargain, right? Cause I never break a promise, Paul, that’s me. I always keep my word.”

Paul is really moved. He speaks into the phone. “That’s a really wonderful story, Trevor. I’m so glad your sister found you, that must make a real difference to…”

Life in here, he means to say. Trevor wipes at his eyes with his free hand. “Yeah mate, it gives me hope, you know what I mean? Like, this place isn’t it for me, it’s not like, all I’m ever gonna be. I got someone who cares about me and you know what? Even though we never met before and she didn’t even know she had a half brother let alone one who’s in the fucking slammer for, you know, bad stuff, she does care about me. She’s a real nice lady…I’ve been lucky, and it’s all down to God, right? So, I guess it’s about time I paid him back, that’s what I’m thinking now. He did me a favour, now it’s my turn.”

And that’s an excerpt from the novel I’m currently working on, The Point of Us. The story involves Paul, a Catholic school teacher who signs up to visit Trevor, a maximum security prisoner and former hitman. Trevor’s recently got religion, and wants to explore, with Paul, the topic of God. Now this is HARD for an atheist. I don’t know what it feels like to love God, or believe in Him. I’ve read the Bible but I don’t find it convincing, let alone inspiring. So why is faith so important to Paul? And how does Trevor come to believe?

I guess you could call this cultural appropriation; an atheist trying to imagine herself into the skin of a devout believer!  Not to mention a law-abiding citizen trying to worm her way into the soul of a murderer for hire. It’s certainly a challenge…

Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash