Most people are like cats – they live not just one life, but many. Writers are no exception. Here’s how my third writing life saw everything change.
Life 3 – Size Isn’t Everything
After cutting the cord with Voyager Books, I wrote a dark fantasy novel called Panopticon. The title, inspired by an architectural concept for a prison devised by philosopher Jeremy Bentham, referred to a magical building dating from human prehistory. Viewed from the outside, the walls of the building appear to be unbroken stone. When you enter, however, you find yourself faced with twelve windows, each of which looks out on another world. The story is told through the eyes of an illustrator called Armstrong Campbell who discovers that, just by drawing what he sees, he can summon living creatures through the windows and into our world.
I wrote Panopticon longhand in half-hour bursts while sitting in a train carriage on the way to my day job as a multimedia designer. It was a totally different way of working for me, and a process I came to love. It took me about a year to finish the manuscript, after which I packaged it up and sent it, along with my bibliography of published work, to a list of agents I’d compiled. I got a modicum of interest, and plenty of rejections, before finally hooking up with Dot Lumley of the Dorian Literary Agency. Dot duly sent the manuscript on a tour of likely publishers, none of whom liked it nearly as much as we did.
Looking back, I now see Panopticon as a kind of transition piece. There’s heaps in it that I like (and that may yet see the light of day in some form or other) and just as much that needs serious attention. It’s big on character and atmosphere and thin on story. But it’s got a good vibe, you know?
After setting Panopticon aside, I tried out a number of ideas for novels, all of which stalled after the first few chapters. I expressed my frustration to Dot, who told me to stop worrying and enjoy the process of experimentation. Then, one day, out of the blue, she casually asked if I’d ever considered writing short fiction?
Coincidentally, I’d just finished reading a pile of short story anthologies, including a Dashiell Hammett collection. Feeling all noirish (and suspecting that Dot’s throwaway suggestion hadn’t been nearly as casual as it sounded) I wrote a short story called The Wooden Baby, a lighthearted fantasy-noir mashup. To my delight, Shawna McCarthy, editor of the now sadly defunct short fiction magazine Realms of Fantasy, bought it.
Before long, I found myself smack in the middle of my third writing life. I was writing short stories and novelettes, some of which were getting published. I was also getting depressingly good at writing novels that never got past the 20,000 word mark. I’ve now amassed quite a collection of these: a dragon book called Shikari; several versions of a book I may yet still write called The House on Memory Street; a space opera called Unsuitable Worlds …
More importantly, I’d learned to relax. I can’t deny that part of my mind was still fixated on producing the Next Big Novel, but mostly I’d rediscovered the simple pleasure of writing for writing’s sake. The creative urge is both a blessing and a curse, and indulging it is the most powerful form of therapy going. I suppose if I wasn’t cursed I wouldn’t need the therapy, but being blessed reminds me that the whole process is a kind of karmic wheel. Or a vicious circle, depending on how you look at it.
Even though I’d grown to love writing short fiction, I still felt a growing urge to create something a little more substantial. I had more ideas for novels than I’d ever had before, and less ability to decide on which of them had any merit. And I still couldn’t get past that damn 20,000-word barrier. To make matters worse, I’d become intimately acquainted with the demon called Doubt. You’ve probably met him yourself. He’s the guy with claws who perches on your shoulder, stinks of sulphur and asks constantly if what you’re doing is really any good.
How was I going to break the deadlock? It wasn’t writer’s block – I was actually more productive than I’d ever been before. It was an inability to see a long-term project through from beginning to end. Luckily, just as the demon on my shoulder started cackling that I’d never finish another novel in my life, an opportunity came along.
In order to take it up, however, I was going to have to become a ghost.
Next time I’ll tell you about my fourth writing life, during which I wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
Graham Edwards – Author & Journalist 
2 thoughts on “The Many Lives of a Writer – 3”