writers – Arthur Hofn

Everyone Should Read This, But No You Can’t See It…

Writing is personal, whether consciously or subconsciously parts of yourself, your inner-self, will bleed into your work; which is one of the reasons I hide behind a nom de plume, sorry Trevor. But there is more to it than that. The amount of work that goes into writing something, especially a novel, can make it very strange when it’s released into the wild to fend for itself. It’s all too easy to start worrying about what people will think about it, but then isn’t that the reason why it was made available? Either by traditional or self publishing.

The first book I self published via Amazon was my second novel Framed Of Rathgar and when my paperback copy came I was delighted I had a physical product of my own work. It led to me publish my first novel, Humanity, and start work on my third.

Indoldrum was published about a year ago and at that point I had social media set up to promote it and all of that. But as much I was so proud of it, I was also worried that people might read it. I’ve heard it said elsewhere, and I wholeheartedly agree, writers are a funny lot. We swing from shear shameless arrogance (this work of mine is so good strangers will give up hours of their life to read it) to being full of self doubt (everything I’ve ever done is utterly terrible), within seconds and often at the same time.

Yet that is the problem, we’ve done the work, the book exists and now we have to step into that role of actually telling people it’s good enough they should spend money and time on it when simultaneously not believing a word we are saying is true, and thinking we’re due an award.

Because of the time and soul I have put into my work, knowingly and unwittingly, I have this fear that other people won’t see it in the way I do; which is stupid, because of course they won’t, it’s impossible. No book that I have ever read means the same to me as it does to another person, let alone the author. I’ve had reviews of Framed Of Rathgar where people have not remotely understood the concept of the novel, despite the fact it’s clearly written on the back (yes call me a hypocrite if you’ve read my blogs, I have said I never read the backs of novels – I’m happy to be a hypocrite it means I get to negatively judge people for doing things I do, you should try it sometime, it’s liberating). The result then is that I start to think maybe people shouldn’t read it. The fact that it exists is good enough and it only complicates things if others have a say or an opinion. I understand it’s amazing and no one should say a bad word about it, and that it’s so bad nobody should bother with it, which leads me to the same conclusion each time.

In 1987 there was a rather good Doctor Who story called Paradise Towers by the writer Stephen Wyatt. I say “rather good”, in fact I’m very fond of it. “SPOILERS” are coming to misquote a later character from the same programme. The concept of Paradise Towers was based on the novel High-Rise by JG Ballard. Ballard’s book is about a self contained block of flats where society collapses leading to all sorts of terrible things, it’s worth a read.

In Paradise Towers the incredibly designed eponymous Towers start out as Paradise but soon these too fall apart, but this time it’s because the Great Architect, Kroagnon, loves his building so much he doesn’t want people moving in and messing it up, therefore he’d set traps for them in the hope they will all be destroyed and he can have the his work back the way it was, without people.

Kroagnon is obviously the baddie of the piece, but I can kind of see where he is coming from, of course I’d never send cleaning machines to drag people down their own waste disposal system- that would be unethical, but was it the fear of a different way of understanding and use of his work that made him not want the very ones he’d designed the block for to have it?

‘Like everyone else in Paradise Towers,’ he began, ‘you seem terrified you seem terrified to face up to the reality of of what’s happening here. I mean, killing me won’t help you find out who is sending those robotic cleaners out to kill people… Unless, of course, you’re giving all those orders yourself.’
― Stephen Wyatt, Doctor Who: Paradise Towers

“A new social type was being created by the apartment building, a cool, unemotional personality impervious to the psychological pressures of high-rise life, with minimal needs for privacy, who thrived like an advanced species of machine in the neutral atmosphere. This was the sort of resident who was content to do nothing but sit in his over-priced apartment, watch television with the sound turned down, and wait for his neighbours to make a mistake.”
― J.G. Ballard, High-Rise

I’m getting close to the end of my next project, Beck’s Game, and I’m there again. I want everyone to read it, it’s that good… but what if people do read it? What will they think? Will they like it? Will they understand it? Will they realise it’s all a mistake and I should never have been allowed near a word processor? Will they discover I’m a fraud? I need to publish it after all the work I’ve put into it, but maybe I don’t want others to actually read it.

Buy Doctor Who: Paradise Towers by Stephen Wyatt
Buy High-Rise by J G Ballard

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Did January Actually Happen?

What happened to January? It went so fast that I didn’t properly notice to write a blog complaining about it until the third of February. I find it hard to believe that I was listening to the manic fireworks set off near where I live over a month ago, yet I was. What has this got to do with literature?

I don’t know about you but I was happy to start a new year, a fresh start. As well as drawing a line under 2020 I thought with excitement about all the new books I’d discover and the ones I’d been meaning to read that I would finally get round to. By this time last year I’d completed reading five books, was well underway in writing my novel Indoldrum and managed a few blog posts and a trip to Albania; this January… well I made myself finish reading the book I started in December last night (which I ended up microwaving but that’s a different story), and this is only my second blog of the year. It’s true I did finish writing the first draft of my biggest project, but that was on the 13^th of January and I’d done the majority of the work between summer and December last year. So what have I been doing with my time? Between me and you I think “they” have stolen several minutes out of each hour and we’ve had a far shorter month. Amidst all the conspiracies, here’s the one “they’re” getting away with. I can think of no other explanation.

I think we’re all worn down with “the virus” and its affects. A lot of my friends productivity this year has slumped as well. I don’t feel low in myself, but there is a sense of lethargy in the air running parallel with the fact that time just seems to have sped up. I redrafted the fist two thirds of my work-in-progress several times last year; the third section is has remained unopened in its first drift since I completed it mid January. I know what I want to do with it and have notes stored in many places yet I’m still to sit down and get on with it.

This is not unusual, type “procrastination writers” in a search engine and you get many results, of which I am now adding to. As writers we are known for it it seems, read books or interviews by very successful authors and this doesn’t appear to change. The considered work ethic is delay, delay, delay, stay up until four o’clock in the morning because we’re on a roll. Although in general this is not totally me, there is more than some truth in it, I’ve done many a late late night at the keyboard. I hear of ones speaking about goals of “words per day” etc, but I’ve never been able to get my head round that. I love writing, although at times I’ll tell you a different story, but to push myself when I just don’t feel in the mode, to force myself everyday to achieve a target, would for me take the pleasure out of it, I’d be writing words not stories. I know I would have to come back and change it all later anyway and that would be a bigger stress. I can’t move forward until I’ve got at least the structure of the section passable, on the occasions I have just written it and moved forward I’ve had to go back anyway and the changes have messed up everything after that. I’d rather wait until I’ve got my head in the right place and I’m feeling inspired. That doesn’t mean I just give up at a hard part, there are times I’ve needed to just push on through a difficult passage, but I try and keep this to only when I have to rather than just to hit a target of words.

That is me as a writer, as a procrastinator in life in general I’m not, and this is probably half the reason I can find other things to do, that I decide I must do, before I can carry on writing. As I’ve convinced myself January was a shorter month than it usually is, the time I’ve had I’ve somehow filled with “work was really busy today so I need a rest” or just “stuff” that I don’t really remember doing.

It’s February and I really want to get some more books read and I must get round to completing what I’ve written. Way back last summer I assumed I’d be able to have it nearly finished by now – I’ve still a ton of work to do yet it sits there on my hard drive waiting for me to make the changes I know will make it so much better. So why am I writing a blog and not working on my novel? To slightly misquote Rusty Shackle “3 a.m. I’ll soon find you again”.

I don’t think it’s unusual that this year we’re all feeling a sense of ennui or listlessness and I wouldn’t beat myself up over it. It’s good to have a routine though, I’ve read this in many places. My problem is I can make a routine of a lot of things other than writing and from what I’ve read that’s normal in writers.