Rejected

Sara Crowley7 Comments
It may be bad form to talk openly about rejections, but really, fuck that, it’s such a part of this writing lark. If one submits stories to good quality magazines there are bound to be some rejections. We all know that no writer has a ‘hit’ rate of a hundred percent. I vowed to send work out, and in my own small (fairly timid) way I am. It’s kinda new to me though, so I am still learning markets. 
I have had a really encouraging rejection from an excellent magazine. The editor said he felt I’d have no problem placing the story elsewhere, but that it was more mainstream than the type of work he favours. He praised parts, suggested a change even and made the whole rejection blow an easy one. 
I had a couple of flat form rejects.
I have had a couple of nothings…HOW RUDE!
And I have had a reject that said the work was ‘bitterly clever’ ‘dry, witty, realistic’ ‘nicely crafted’  but concluded that whilst ‘someone who appreciates fine fiction may read on, the average reader might not’.
I keep mulling that over. Fine writing is an insult suggesting purple prose, pretension, florid language etc. I am certain that my writing is not flouncy in that way at all. I was converted by reading Bukowski long ago, I don’t do flowery bollocks, and if I did, how would that then be ‘dry, witty and realistic’?
Ach! I don’t want to sound all sour grapes, but I don’t think I’ll sub to them again as I don’t ‘get’ what they mean. I am more bothered by their rejection than any other I have had, because I can’t make sense of it. It’s not that I thought my piece was ace, it’s that that their message confuses me. 
Anyway I am not going to write for some ‘market’, I’m going to carry on writing my words, for me, and then see if they’ll fit anywhere. I can’t possibly tailor work to anyones individual preferences except my own.
In fact, right now, I’ll borrow a line from a Barenaked Ladies song “I can’t hear a thing, cause I’ve stopped listening, ‘ and I’ll quietly get on.

The usual, except this time I’m being a bit gushy.

Sara Crowley4 Comments

 Sometimes I feel lucky. I know I moan about the bookshop, or rather, the customers, but really, it’s pretty cool bananas.

I work one day a week at the moment, in the coolest bookshop I know. Not only that, but I work in my favourite section; fiction. I work with some very funny, intelligent and lovely people. I honestly really like my managers! I wanted a short story section and they said sure, go ahead, order in what you like. Seriously. It’s fun. I also get proof copies to read, and discount on books I buy. 
So, a little ‘yay’, today.
The usual customer arse though.
A  well dressed older man and his wife bought 2 hard back books priced £16.99 each, but with orange stickers on the front that said there was £4 off, plus a book at £6.99. He watched me put it through the till, and the way it works is that the discounts come off automatically at the end. So he saw £16.99, £16.99, £6.99 go in, and queried the total. I am used to that, I understand it, do it myself in other stores, “Did it take the discount off?”
So, I smiled, I said yes, the total was  £32.97, and would have been £40.97 without discount. I tried to make it clear. He paid, I packed his bag, asked if he wanted the receipt in the bag or not. He took it, and scanned it. I waited.
Now, if he had said something along the lines of ‘Oh, sorry, I don’t see the discount’ or whatever I would have carried on not minding. But of course he didn’t. He triumphantly shouted “Hold on! You haven’t taken the discount off. I told you you hadn’t. Look here.” And he showed me the receipt, and I pointed out the places where it showed the discount, and he blushed, but didn’t apologise, and moved slightly away from the counter.
Unfortunately for him his wife hadn’t heard any of this, she’d wandered off for a while, but she returned, and wanted to browse the books at the counter, and smile at me, and make little friendly comments. So he was stuck, awkwardly ignoring me, feeling daft I hope.
And that’s what I don’t understand. Mistakes happen, we’re all human, why do people ever feel the need to be shitty about the tiny things in life. There are so many big, crappy things that can happen, how on earth do these people cope with real problems?

Argh….

Sara Crowley1 Comment

I know I have been super crappy at updating lately, but dear blog, it’s not personal, everything has been on hold. It’s just one of those times when things collide: ill health, family needs, holidays, and things to do, always things to do.

It has been pretty gloomy actually, but today the sun shone a little, I think Spring is on its way. I have been on a mad subbing frenzy (well, mad for me who rarely subs) and sent off 5 things in the last couple of days, so fingers crossed.
In other news:
The Apprentice started last night. Now it is usually my telly highlight of the year, and it did not disappoint at all. It was all about Alex’s pretty lips, silly old De Lacey-Brown and his patronising ways, and Raef, whose words are tools, and whose hair is odd. Oh, and the wonderfully steely Margaret and Nick.
Didn’t all the blue eyes look extra blue? Odd. Anyway, I have even gone so far as to add the dubious facebook application, so if anyone wants to be hired by me just give me a shout!

Reviews – what should I do?

Sara Crowley3 Comments

Reviewing is taking up a fair bit of my time lately. I think I should probably spend more time writing my own stuff than writing about others, but I love reading, and when I find something brilliant I really want to share.
Anyway, I pride myself on integrity and honesty and all that good stuff.
But.
Yes, but.
I am not putting up reviews of books I don’t like.
I feel concerned for the author; they may be offended, they spent time writing the book, who the fuck am I to trample on their words?
And yet…

A lot of the books I recently read were proof copies. I read 9 proofs in the last few months, and of the 9 I thought that 1 was good. Not my kind of book, but good. I expect it to do well and I will be glad when it does. The other 8 were varying degrees of not good. From disappointing to utterly shite. Now they are appearing in the bookshop, being reviewed in the papers and online. I am feeling a wee bit disgruntled actually. There is definitely a jealousy thing going on. A “this crap is published whilst I struggle” feeling.

I read a review on a respected blog yesterday that said one was ‘a cracker’. I found it trite, obvious, dull. I was going to post a reply to that effect, but then the publisher posted, said how pleased they were with it, how hopeful they were for its success. I’d be wrong to damn it, not that I think loads of people listen to me, but…

What if that was my book? What if finally I finished my novel, and it was published, and someone influential said it was ace, and then someone else said, no, actually I though it was caca? How would I feel?

So. What do you think? Is it best just to keep my mouth shut?

Bookshop blether part four thousand and sixty seven

Sara Crowley5 Comments

My first customer of the day walked around the counter, spotted the ‘gay fiction’ sign, and dragged his wife from the shop proclaiming that he wasn’t going to stay somewhere where they allow ‘filth like that.’
I knew it was going to be a grand day!

A woman approached me for a book written by someone with ‘A strange name. I’m not sure how it is pronounced but it is spelt C L A R E. Clar, perhaps, or Cla ray?’
‘Claire?’ I ventured, ‘Claire doesn’t have to be spelt with an I’
‘Yes, Claire, that’s it. Do you have a book by someone called Claire?’
‘Is that a surname, or first name?’
‘First.’
‘Right. Well we arrange our books alphabetically according to surname, do you have any more information? No? Oh!’

The fifty millionth customer asked me where we keep Shakespeare, and I told them his plays are…yup, you guessed, with the plays, not the classic novels. How come nobody knows that he wrote plays?

A woman asked for the Magic Bus series for children, and I misread the computer screen and thought there was one called ‘The Magic Bus explodes’. I thought it wouldn’t be that jolly! (It was The Magic Bus Explores)

My manager told me that with stock take coming up I need to clear out my reservations pile. I totted up how much money I’d need to buy my stash of books, and when I hit the £100 mark I figured I’d best put some back!

Fifteen Modern Tales of Attraction by Alison MacLeod

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I realise that I didn’t post this review when it was first published at The Short Review, so here it is now!


These are indeed fifteen modern tales of attraction in which MacLeod relates stories of love, electricity, hearts, and death. Here is an author unafraid to push at the shape of what a story can be, what it can say.

Some of the stories are surreal and startling, the characters revealing unusual desires. It is because of the author’s skill that we accept the strange urges: Nineteen-year-old Naomi wants to have sex with a dead man in Sacred heart, and she is utterly believable. Gloria craves both electric shock therapy and the doctor who administers it in Live Wire.

Nina ponders her knowledge of penises and describes them thus: “…primitive life forms: single-celled creatures who live, blind and unpigmented, in the pools of caves, sluggishly longing for transformation.” She is very aware of the effect that she has on all males, including her friend’s young son.

Rosie’s tongue is playful and wordy, E-Love: Heloise and Abelard offers up email exchanges between the lovers. It is excellent to see such experimentation with form, and yet it leads to a slightly choppy feel to the collection. Personally I found two stand-out stories to be two of the most conventionally told. They were written with such brilliant illumination, and were both extraordinarily moving. The first is So that the land was darkened, where we witness a relationship over six years, glimpsed in three parts that reveal everything to make this a living, breathing, love affair. I won’t say more for fear of ruining it for you, but I found it powerful and resonant.

Dirty weekend explores a relationship in two parts, one where both characters are full of life and lust, and the other, a couple of years later, with one of them dying as they make a last attempt at a traditional smutty weekend break in Brighton. Even when dealing with such subjects MacLeod never resorts to sentimentality or saccharine.

Oh, and don’t be put off by the cover, it doesn’t do justice to the intelligent and provocative work within!

The Book of Other People edited by Zadie Smith

Sara Crowley1 Comment

A new edition of The Short Review is now up, and includes my review of The Book of Other People.

Zadie Smith has persuaded an impressive roster of writers to respond to her remit to “create a character”, and their names alone should encourage plenty of people to buy this collection.

The book opens with the disappointing Judith Castle by David Mitchell. I am unsure if this was a deliberate pastiche of one of those women’s magazine twist-in-the-tale stories, but it is an obvious and clichéd story about a deluded middle class, middle aged caricature of a woman who has been informed of her lover’s death. Jordan Wellington Lint by Chris Ware unexpectedly moved me. This is one of the two graphic stories, and the illustrations and text combine to produce a heartbreaking portrait of a boy up to the age of 13.

A.L Kennedy’s Frank is typically well written. This story of a broken man has depth and emotion thanks to Kennedy’s attention to detail that adds layer to layer and makes Frank “real.” Hari Kunzru paints a vibrant picture of Magda Mandela. She stands in her lime-green thong shouting on her boyfriends’ doorstep, worrying the neighbours, singing and threatening. “I HAVE A CONDOM. LINE UP. I AM READY.”

Somewhat surprisingly in a book of characters, both Toby Litt and Dave Eggers chose to write about a monster. Both were well written, but neither made much of an impression on this reader. Miranda July writes a tender story of lost opportunity realized too late in Roy Spivey. Spivey, a Hollywood heart-throb who the narrator finds herself sitting next to on a flight, gives her his phone number.

“I felt warm and simple. Nothing bad could ever happen to me while I was holding hands with him, and when he let go I would have the number that ended in four. I’d wanted a number like that my whole life.”

Colm Toibin writes a beautiful mournful story, Donal Webster. Andrew Sean Greer succeeds in capturing a child’s imagination in Newton Wicks. Some stories I read with a “so what?” shrug. Reading taste is subjective, everyone will have his or her own favourites and least liked. My own highlight was Puppy by George Saunders. To be honest I thought he was a writer that I did not “get”, but in this dreadful aching story I was both absorbed and horrified. The two central characters remain with me, and how I wish I could change the outcome. I will definitely explore more of his work.

This book serves as a showcase that will bring new readers to some of these authors and is varied enough that there really will be something for everyone. It is a pity that it seems as if some writers dashed off a character study rather than stopping to create fully rounded stories, but the good ones shine out.

Reviews, proofs, and marketing untruths

Sara Crowley5 Comments

I began putting short reviews of books I had read here on my blog so that when I inevitably forget what I thought of such and such a title I can check! Yup, I really am that vague. Now I review for several different places, which is kinda a mixed blessing.

When buying books I am careful, I know what I will probably like, I avoid what I’ll probably loathe. One of the reasons I signed up to read and review proofs for work was to force myself to read outside of my usual range. Most times my impulses are right and I have to force myself to grind on through, hating it, and yes, frankly resenting the fact that somehow the author has managed to get a book deal. Once so far, out of say 15 books, I have read something that I would never have picked, and I thought it was okay, good even. I can see there will be a market for it. Big whoop.

What is fascinating to me though is the marketing that goes with these as yet unpublished books. They come with covering letters and blurbs hailing the author as a fresh, new talent, the next [add name of famous author], an exciting voice etcetera. I usually roll my eyes and ignore. However this latest made me really quite grr.

“This is a true word-of-mouth bestseller and a classic bookclub read.”

Now call me pedantic, but to be a ‘true word of mouth bestseller’ I would have thought that the book would have had to be published, no? And talked about? And to be a ‘bestseller’ erm, wouldn’t it have had to have sold a lot?