Rick Goldsmith

 

At one point I had to ask myself that question: “What is it that you want from writing a novel?” It may be an easy one for some of you to answer but it certainly wasn’t for me. I had written for many years, even as a child I created comics. In my adult years I occasionally shared the writing work, either at a professional or personal level, but in most cases I simply enjoyed the act of writing, that rush of gentle inspiration or surprise that came from spending time alone at a notebook or computer ( or back of an envelope) and transcribing your thoughts and ideas. But with this novel, things were different. The manuscript had been scrutinised by a published writer and pored over by an experienced copy editor while friends and other budding writers had added comments. All of which was done to prepare the book for ‘being published’. And this is a very different beast to writing poems or musing on the world in one of my black notebooks.

Someone had written in their blog that they’d be happy if 60 people read and enjoyed their book. At that point I had to realise how far I’d come from nursing my ambition to publish a cult book and have it read by the cool dudes in smoky Amsterdam cafes or discussed by thoughtful presenters on Radio 4. Instead I sympathised and thought about the 60 people I’d like to read my book and by doing so had I jettisoned my unrealistic dreams. I know it’s silly but a part of me does hold onto those fantasy scenarios as plausible realities. Creatives require that essential Billy Liar gene.

In regards to the novel I’d spent three years working on (and that’s not counting the two earlier handwritten drafts I’d left on the shelf for nearly ten years) I had to think about whether I’d be happy with a small group of people reading the book or if I wanted it to be a bestseller, and just how far I’d go to securing either of these ambitions. Self-publishing meant I could make a few copies and send them out as gifts to friends and families, but that entailed finding out a whole load of things about the pros and cons of that particular field. Dipping my toe into a handful of YouTube videos and having my head filled with ISBNs, Neilsen Book Data and Gardner’s distribution forms was more than enough to send me reeling. Where would there be any time to continue writing while setting all this up?

Another option was to hold out for the agent that’d really believe in my book and move heaven and hell to get it out there in Waterstones and WH Smith and those gorgeous indie bookshops. But agents aren’t easy to snag and even though my book was as good as I could possibly make it and was dripping with ideas, emotion and plot, I could see it wasn’t obvious bestseller material in the eyes of most agents. So did I play the long game or a different kind of long game? Or think a bit harder about some other long games?

There’s no easy answer, and every writer, every creative needs to find their own level, their own way of satisfying themselves. It’s hard because the doing of the creative work is the fun bit and even when it’s not fun it can offer a deeper kind of soul-stretching fun (alert: lame author joke) unless that is you’re just changing the tenses of your book . Everything else you’re expected to do, the marketing, the social media, networking etc. can feel like it’s taking you away from doing that rewarding creative work. But there’s no avoiding it. Spielberg goes to Cannes film festival, Sally Rooney rocks up for The Observer article. After much consideration I admitted I wanted to ‘complete the circle’ and get the book out into the world relatively quickly rather than holding out for a bigger and better offer that might not materialise. Luckily, a hybrid (or partnership) publishing opportunity came from indie venture The Book Guild.