On Gatekeeper Validation

In the first year of my writing career I have learnt tonnes about the writing world. I have met some fantastic people on both sides of the publishing divide. I self published 'Splinter' in July on my 42nd birthday. To date sales have been steady with positive feedback and good reviews. My plan is now to finish writing my second novel ‘Personal Space’ and publish it in the New Year. Sales of Book 2 will increase interest for Book 1 and Book 3 will be huge and if it isn't then I am still learning my craft in the process.

"Head down, write, edit, design, publish, rinse and repeat." is my mantra. Well at least that is the idea with reference with those writer good enough to share their knowledge and experience.  

The writing part has been fantastic. I love immersing myself in the writing process and I buzz with energy as I lose myself in developing the story and the characters. I have even had conversations with readers about my characters and their motivation. How fantastic is that?

There have been some negative aspects in dealing with the literary world and the worst is that after 20 years of experience in building businesses I am in a strange new world and I don't know the rules of "Gatekeeper Validation".


The Rules puzzle me. In a recurring dream I imagine there is an exclusive members-only club for writers and I want to join.  

Standing outside I can see through the windows and watch as the in-crowd quaffs cocktails and champagne. They laugh at jokes while being served canapés by deferential servants. The men wear silk cravats, tweed jackets with leather elbow patches and the women wear pearl necklaces and pashmina shawls.

To gain entry you follow a red carpet that leads up the marble stairs to the big wooden door. At the top, hung between chrome posts, there is a plush velvet rope blocking the way. The Door Supervisor in a crombie overcoat and bow tie stands behind the rope. He shows me the palm of his hand in flat refusal.

"If you don't know the rules you can't come in.Son!"  

The brass plate on the door says “The Traditional Publishing Club”

In my dream I continue to walk along until I come upon the next venue, a brightly coloured 'festival marquee' with a handmade sign saying "The Self Publishing Pavillion". 

Not as posh or permanent as the clean brickwork of the traditional club and at times a cold wind blows through the sides of the tent.

More of a scrumpy cider and organic burger type of place than champagne and canapés. 

There were no bouncers keeping me out so I put on extra thermals and went in. As I went into the crowded Self Publishing marquee I walked past the different groups of dancing writers all dressed up in the different costumes of their genre. PC Plod (Crime), Halloween (Horror), Grease (YA), Tarts and Vicars (erotica) and almost everybody was friendly. 

They waved and asked me to join their groups. I thanked them saying "perhaps later" and kept walking on. At the centre of the tent a group were coming together to have a serious conversation about making the marquee stronger for the future and they were friendly too. Some said they had been inside the traditional club and told me that the champagne was warm and flat and the canapés were stale or soggy. They said they now preferred to buy their own Prosecco and pigs in blankets. But I still wanted to see for myself. 

Then I woke up. In the half light between sleep and consciousness my mind raced.

"What were the rules. Why don't I know the rules."

In my daytime/nighttime job as a nightclub bouncer I know a thing or two about the rules of “Gatekeeper Validation”. On the front door of a real life club or pub there are many reasons for turning a punter away. Too drunk, too wired, too aggressive, dodgy id, even the wrong clothes.

My job as the door supervisor/gatekeeper is to ensure that nobody I let in will disrupt the smooth and safe running of the venue’s business. My main rule of thumb in deciding to allow entry in the few seconds that I have a customer in front of me is their attitude and demeanour.

If they can’t stand up straight it leads to a refusal. 

If they approach in an agitated manner, their pupils are dilated and there is white powder dangling from the hairs of their nostrils then they are refused. 

If they bite when I ask them a simple question then they are refused. If they are going to be nasty with me on the door then they will be nasty inside. The nightclub holds a thousand people and some nights I might turn five to ten people away, often to cursing and threats.

It is a busy nightclub and there will still always be some grief inside but on the whole the night is calmer without the erratic, bad or dangerous behaviour of those I refuse.

So I am conscious of my own attitude with others in all aspects of my life. 

Away from the doors I am a nice guy. So when I first took up my pencil to offer my unfinished novel to the literary gatekeepers of the publishing world I did so with a positive and friendly attitude. I also have 20 years of sales and marketing experience and I thought that by being professional and writing a good story I would attract interest. 

Alas the entry policy was not clear and I was not too sure of dress code. Despite my research I did not know the rules. 

I was definitely not famous so did not qualify for the Celebrity ‘Access All Areas’ VIP pass. 

Did I need the special Creative Writing MA secret pass? 

Did I need to know the DJ? 

Or should I just bung the Doorman twenty quid?   

Sending out submissions is a nervous and confusing time for any newbie writer. I know there is a crowded market and to date that door has remained closed. Rejection letters arrived on my doormat.  A friendly response leaving me with hope that if I come back later there could be access in the future.

The equivalent of ‘Not tonight sir, you are wearing trainers’.

I had read about the slush pile mountains of hopeful's manuscripts so I was happy enough with that response.

When I accepted that I was on my own I resolved to complete my novel and entered the world of Self Publishing. Book 1 is published and selling and Book 2 is on the way. But I am easily distracted and knowing that I need to build my own author platform I derail my attention onto Facebook and Twitter and this monthly blog post. As an independent author I have nobody but myself to guide me so I raise my head above the parapet and look around. 

In the physical world I went to a local writing group and was hit the next day with the snide comments of the resident literary “guru” denigrating self publishing in her next blog post.

On the door it would have been a sly dig when I was looking another way.  

A couple of months later still hoping for goodwill and introducing myself as an independent author I approached a literary organisation asking for technical support. I was treated with cold derision and a sneer.

I couldn't understand why? Was I wearing beach shorts and flip flops to a black tie event?

Still being positive later I introduced myself to a publicly funded book distributor. I was even ready to accept their terms and conditions without a quibble. On hearing I was independent I was fobbed off with cursory answers to my precise but innocent questions. When confused at the response I eventually contacted by phone to speak in person I was met with a full on aggressive attitude ending with the memorably dismissive words, “We know what sells!”

It was the equivalent of a doorman’s hand in the chest pushing me backwards down the steps.  

I was tempted to reply, "I've seen the figures. Do you really want to go there?" But being  a good lad I didn't bite back.  

My last attempt to contact a literary organisation was an email to a highly paid manager again asking for technical support. This time there was zero response, not even the courtesy of a reply.

Even though I could hear the bang of the music inside and see the protectionist eye peering back out through the peep hole in the closed door.

Did I expect to be welcomed with open arms to the literary fold? No, I am more hard bitten than that.

Yet I did expect to be treated with the same courtesy as I would treat a decent customer who approaches my venue's front door standing up straight and smiling. I was neither aggressive nor agitated in my approach and I did not expect to be ignored and rebuffed. All because of my decision to embrace modern technology, to take control and not to wait for the professed validation of the literary gatekeepers.

Perhaps I turned up after a nasty row, adrenalin was up  and tolerance levels were low. To be fair it happens to me after a hassled night. 

Oh well, in time there will be another door to approach. Perhaps I don’t know the rules or the secret handshake. Perhaps when I do I will not want to go in anyway. I am more a Real Ale sort of chap, more at home in dodgy disco dives with sticky carpets and a kebab on the walk home than the exclusive members only club. By this time in my life I should know my place and learn to doff the cap.

I have now given up putting my head above the literary papapet and am concentrating on finishing book 2 and my life is much simpler.

I am still hugely enjoying my writing adventure. I have found a warm welcome in the support network of the Alliance of Independent Authors and am inspired by the professional efforts and self publishing successes of ALLi members and other indie authors that I have encountered.

Despite the lack of literary gatekeeper validation I am positive about my future as a writer and I do know that proper writers don't all wear tweeds, pearls and quaff champagne.  

Merry Christmas one and all. Even to the scrooges of the literary world.

Now there was a writer's writer who made up his own rules. . 

Nadolig Llawen from North Wales 

JRS    

www.jrsheridan.com

"Age shall not weary them nor the years condemn"

This is the week of Remembrance for the “fallen” of world wars and modern conflicts from the Gulf Wars to Afghanistan. On Sunday my daughter, who is in the Sea Cadets carried the standard and lowered it in tribute at her local parade.

As my daughter makes the first big choice in her life over which A levels to take I continue living a battened down life trying to write my books supplemented with security shifts. I have been wearing a poppy on my lapel so this last week I have thought much about the real heroes commemorated by the British Legion campaign. Young men and women who never had a chance to develop into maturity and to find their way through the character shaping trials and tribulations of life.

This was brought into a personal focus last year when we visited the grave of my wife's great uncle killed at the battle of Arras in 1917. The family connection made the headstone of Private Richard Clune of the Royal Field Artillery, born in Limerick, all the more poignant.

The ranks of white tombstones in just one French cemetery bore witness to the lost generation of the first world war. Perhaps with next year's centenary there will be a time to reflect on the unfulfilled potential of those who did not return from war.

Without enforced participation in wars and conflict I have had the opportunity to live a full life and to make my my own choices leading to mistakes and fulfillment. When contemporaries of my age would have been mobilised for war I was living in Hong Kong and having a blast. Playing rugby, selling crisps and working on the door of a dodgy night club in the then British colony’s Lan Kwai Fong Bar area. I was nineteen and working on the door of a club with a supposed 21 age limit, which was all part of my adventure.

The plan had been to go travelling for a couple of months before coming back to blighty and joining the Royal Navy. In the end I stayed for nearly two years and to my partial regret never did join the Services.

For part of my time there I was living in a shared flat in Discovery Bay on Lantau island, which was about an hour away by ferry from the skyscrapers of Central. The occasion I first remember wanting to write stories, was on the top deck of the slow Disco Bay ferry passing the iconic waterfront and out into Victoria Harbour. After a long shift, rounded off with a couple of beers, I caught the early morning ferry and passed the mighty aircraft carrier (I think it was the USS Midway) surrounded by buzzing military craft and escorts. It set me thinking and sowed the seeds of looking to writing as a future career .

The Midway and the rest of the fleet were in town on the way to the first Gulf War and there were ten thousand American sailors and Marines out on R&R. Lan Kwai Fong and my club was mad busy. Uniformed American Military Police with their snowdrop helmets and long nightstick batons were patrolling the streets.

Saddam Hussein’s forces had just invaded Kuwait and the American Pacific Fleet were going to give him a bloody nose. As far as the US Marines were concerned this was going to be their D-Day and some of them did not expect to live. They partied like there was no tomorrow and spent their money on having what could be their last good time. We had little trouble that weekend and in the end the Iraqis were easily defeated but I remember that experience and my immersion in what felt like a scene out of a Vietnam war movie.

After all this excitement the fictional character that developed in my head in 1990 was a young Royal Marine stationed in Hong Kong on anti smuggling patrol and his adventures dealing with Triads and loose women. My book would capture the sights, smells and atmosphere of what was to me the most exciting city in the world as much as explore the details of his career in the military. 

Apart from a few scribbled notes I was too busy living life to write all the story down but the idea stayed in my head. My life progressed at a fast pace and I returned to Liverpool, joined a business, bought a house, married and started a family. As time went by my thoughts kept returning to my Royal Marine character called ‘Dan Richards’ and every so often I sat down to write the first chapter of my book.

My first effort was about Dan on his fast pursuit craft chasing smugglers. Then a couple of years later another first chapter was based on an ex serviceman who was starting an import export business called ‘Richards Agencies’.

The writing urge never coincided with having the time and when I did have the opportunity to take time out to write in 2007 I ran headlong into running a hotel business. After a few months it became obvious that I was not a natural hotelier and should have stopped a bit longer to explore writing as a job option with money in my pocket.

In an effort to make sense of my rather daft lifestyle choice I started making notes for a book about the lessons learned in the hotel. When I escaped chastened and lighter in the pocket I continued to write that book. When I had poured my heart and soul into those pages I put the 120k word manuscript to one side.
Only then did I finally sit down to write a novel with my hero being an ex Royal Marine called Dan Richards.

I went back to my writing roots and the first section started off in Hong Kong and was meant to show Dan as a carefree young man. The rest of the story was an exploration of where that young man had ended up 20 years later, a battle hardened veteran of modern warfare with the mental and physical scars to prove it.

When I had finished writing the whole story it struck me that the first section was not hugely relevant to the rest of the plot and so in a dramatic gesture I cut it out, all twenty thousand words of it.

The manuscript went to my editor and after further rewrites I published my first novel,
    

Then thoroughly enjoying myself I embarked on writing Book 2 of Dan’s adventures, ‘Personal Space’. However that first Hong Kong section of Book 1 that I had surgically removed was still stored on my computer and its ghost was calling to me.

As an independent author I have to consider the sales and marketing aspects of my writing life. So I thought I would add some content to my portfolio by publishing the Hong Kong story as a prequel novella calling it ‘Dragon’. I took my eye off the ball with Book 2 and diverted my time to polishing up the old story that had been rattling around my head for so long.  

I thought it would be a quick easy win to boost content on my author platform. That is until I sent it to my editor. Editors take their time and although I knew there would be a certain amount of rewriting I was keen to press ahead and carry on with Book 2.  So while the edit was away I had fun sorting out my cover for Dragon.

Then reality struck, my editor liked the story but knowing the history pointed out that it was obviously an early work and on top of the rewrites, the story would be better developed into a full novel to cover the plot twists that I had chopped off to keep it brief. I wanted to move on quickly so it was hard advice to take.

When I contacted an experienced writer friend for advice she told me about William Faulkener’s phrase that “in writing you must kill your darlings.” That made sense and I have put the young Dan back in his box until I have time to relive his adventures again.  

The truth is that when I invented the twenty year old Dan he was my contemporary inhabiting a part of my life that I was experiencing at that time. Now my contemporary is the grizzled and damaged ex-sergeant that Dan was to become. I find I have more interest in the current Dan with all his problems rather than the callow youth he once was.  

As a writer my own story is deeper now and enriched with my own experiences. I have freedom and vitality to be creative and to write my own thoughts and when needed to make the choice to kill off my 'literary darlings'. But on this week of remembrance for the fallen and survivors of world war and modern conflicts I bear in mind those who have never had that chance. 

JRS 

www.jrsheridan.com

Oxbow Lakes, a publishing analogy

Oxbow lakes – A publishing analogy.

Last week on holiday in Scotland I watched salmon jumping up rapids on the beautiful and fast flowing river Dee. My wife and I had rented a cottage and visited the area to see old friends. The friend standing next to me on the riverside is a Doctor of Geology and works in the oil industry and I am vicariously proud of his achievements. I listened in admiration as he pointed out the different rock types to his young sons.  While my friend went on to great academic heights, for reasons of teenage rebellion and inattention as much as inability I failed my Geography exams.

The experience of standing by the river and walking the wild country glens rekindled my dormant memories of school geography lessons. We were close to the River Esk and I recalled the term “Eskers” with affection. As we walked along glaciated landscapes scoured into U's by the ice we stepped across a “Moraine” on the map and I recognised “Truncated Spurs” and “Hanging Valleys”.

It is funny what comes back to you from school. As we walked on another forgotten lesson came into my mind about “Oxbow Lakes”. Later recovering from our exertions in an old Aberdeen pub over a ‘round the regions’ whisky tasting platter I developed my concept about meandering rivers and their relevance to the modern age of publishing. 

In a definition pulled from the recesses of my memory, Oxbow lakes are formed over time when a river meanders around its valley and forms a loop. The slow flowing river deposits silt and debris and faster flowing winter flood water erodes away at banks making the meandering loop more pronounced. Eventually the entrance to the loop becomes tighter and as the silt and debris builds up the river becomes backed up and forces through a new channel. This leaves the former meander cut off from the main river current and forms a lake looking like the loop of a ribbon bow or an ox’s hoof. The straighter river then rushes past at a faster pace on its way to the sea. The Oxbow lake forms its own ecosystem separate to the river. It either finds a new water source or it dries up and disappears.

As we savoured the whisky fumes I hypothesised about the state of the popular publishing industry.

The source in the mountains was the ancient history of Caxton’s printing press and the novels such as Robinson Crusoe and Moll Flanders became a babbling brook. Heading down as the water of the upper stages of the river were the works of Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and Mark Twain and down to the broader waters of Agatha Christie and John Buchan. As we reach the mature river further downstream the flow becomes ponderous with slow loops making navigation difficult.

Then the internet comes along and with each modern book published traditionally or by independents the raindrops build up at the head of the river and insist on finding their way down to the sea of readers at the rivers estuary. The skies darken and the weight of new content makes its way down to the meandering loops.    

As in nature, pressure builds up behind a constriction or blockage in the flow and the waters/words find their way down to the sea by the easiest route.  It pushes through the neck of the loop on its way to the readers. The loop becomes an oxbow lake of silted up ideas, viewpoints and traditions.

Riverside dwellers are now faced with stagnant water and insist that their waterfront views should stay the same. They stamp their feet in anger at the clever engineers who insist that they can not re-route the flow as the river of words has moved on. The canny ones have planned for this. They are prepared when they need to move and are ready to take advantage of their new location on the revitalised publishing landscape.

My Geologist friend took another sip of his whisky and concurred that is indeed how oxbow lakes are formed although he was not sure about the world of publishing and we laughed about our Geography teachers. After the hangover cleared I carried on with my writing hoping to add another raindrop of content to the flow of published work.

As the content flows by there will be oxbow lakes created from entrenched positions on all sides of the future of publishing debate but the content of words being added to the flow will not cease to find their way to the readers. The distribution channels might change but books are here to stay. Slainte!

www.jrsheridan.com

The Psychology of the "Put Down"

Freshers week is upon us at my local town’s University. Tonight as a Door Supervisor (the new term for bouncer) I start a week long stretch of late nights on the Door at the local nightclub I work in. Lots of young new students away from their parents will be making lifelong friendships and probably drinking too much.

Freshers Week

By the end of tonight my colleagues and I will be moaning that we are babysitting these kids barely out of nappies. They will be throwing up their pre-loaded cider and we will watch as they go off to make their first sexual mistakes as students. What they will not realise is that we will also be keeping them safe in our venue.There will be predators who look at these wide eyed and naïve young adults as fair game or fresh meat. Outside the club we watch them losing their new found sophistication and pairing up. As a father I hope against experience that they will be safe, although it is heartening that many do look after each other as they weave their way home. 

Sadly around the town some locals look at students as a menace to their self esteem and react accordingly. There will be threats of violence and intimidation will occur. The psychology of a certain type of local youth is that the students are parasites on their town and so they will be abusive and nasty. The university is a big employer in the area and generates thousands of jobs that spread to all areas of the local infrastructure but the locals will not see it like that.

Last year a talented male music student was attacked on the high street. His hand was badly damaged and his promising career threatened. Despite CCTV the attacker was not found. The student was not a threat but for his own reasons the local yob wanted to put that student down so that the student would be made to feel inferior to the yob. Note that the attack took place away from the police and bouncers like myself and that the attacker did not try to threaten me but the student. For months afterwards the student was scared to come out and we made a special effort to look after him and invite him into our club.    

Not every put down leads to violence so I wanted to look at the psychology behind the personality of the put down.  I'm a big guy and in a previous sales job the only people who have ever commented that I had put on weight were competitors that I had recently taken sales contracts from and I knew they were trying to put me down for their own self esteem. I smiled sweetly. 

On the door I receive a lot of threats when I, for whatever reason, won't let somebody into the nightclub. No matter what they say they still can't come in. I take the grief, don't bite back and smile sweetly. The outcome is that the night is calmer inside the venue and I've done a good job.

As a new writer I am enjoying the journey of writing and converting my thoughts into a readable story. After publishing my first novel “Splinter” 7 weeks ago I am waiting for my follow-up novella “Dragon” to go through the editing process.

I am hoping that the editor will not be too harsh with me but I know that whatever he comes back with will be constructive and worthwhile. It should be constructive because I am paying for his professional opinion. Whatever he says I will mull over and have a big warm glow at the compliments and a little sulk at his criticism. I found my editor when he was interviewed about editing on a podcast and I liked the cut of his jib. He was the first professional literary person that I had ever spoken to and he had the same accent as me so I thought he would understand my writing voice better than somebody from the Home Counties. 

When I summoned up the courage to contact the editor then all my years as a successful businessman were forgotten. I was just a very nervous new author who knew nothing about writing apart from I had written a story and I wanted others to read it. After several discussions I entrusted my manuscript to his electronic red pen and had no choice but to sit back and wait. I wasn’t sure if the promised timescale for completion would include weekends or just weekdays. I couldn’t ask because this person held my future in his hands and I wanted him to like my work and not rush through, angrily crossing out as he went.

   

In the end the manuscript came back, I took a deep breath, digested the criticism I had paid for, tucked away the compliments and started working towards publication. I submitted 95 thousand words for editing and the final book that I published is 75 thousand words, (which is 400 pages long but with a biggish font and easy to read layout).  That loss of 20,000 words is not the whole story because there was reworking, rewriting and pruning of tangents. I learnt a huge amount and the finished book is better for his input, as will be my future work, because of the lessons I learnt.

I respected that input because I was paying for it and he wasn't try to put me down for his own ulterior motive.

Feedback has been good and I have worried about all aspects of the book but have been pleased with the good reviews and the constructive comments. It is not a “perfect novel” but in the debate to say there is a perfect novel we start to see battle lines drawn and the debate becomes subjective and bloody as each side tries to put the other down.   

This week somebody has tried to put me down. Not about the content of my book, or the story, or my characterisation. They tried to put me down because I didn’t wait to find an agent or publisher. They say that my book should not have been published. I find this view protectionist and at least 5 years out of date. Having recently spoken to a traditionally published author who has hit the best selling lists and then found he has been shafted by his publisher then I am glad I have taken control to publish myself. 

After posting the bones of the story in a friendly author’s group I have since heard of similar comebacks from the world of academia. It seems many creative writing tutors for whatever their own reasons do not like self published books and give grief accordingly. I started a creative writing course 12 years ago and gave up halfway through. This was not because the tutor was rubbish but more that I felt that I would be better to spend the time sitting talking about writing actually sitting down to write.

In my mind writing is like rugby or soccer, I was taught the basics at school and the only way I will learn is while playing the game. I need boots and a ball in the same way a writer needs a pencil and a blank piece of paper to be filled. I no longer need to be told by a teacher what I can or can’t write about or to be put down for handing my homework in late. Some literary professionals seem to disagree and there is an emerging law of "inverse snobbery" that the more commercially successful an independent author is then the higher the level of animosity and the level of trying to put the other side down.

As far as I know there are no keys to the secret treasure of literary success and in this digital age then the Agents and Publishers are no longer the gatekeepers to the promised land. So what is the motivation behind the protectionism?  What is the psychology behind the put downs?  An image comes into my mind of the Wizard of Oz hiding behind his booming voice and the green curtain.

Behind the Wizard's green curtain 

These are exciting times for all authors and by the time the blood has dried on the bar room floor we will look back with derision at the protectionists who sneered at the lesser mortals who tried to write and self publish their book. Good writers will find readers, bad writers will not. 

If a reader doesn't like your creative work then that is one thing. But if somebody puts you down its always worth taking a bit of time to look at the psychology of why. As a fellow writer nicely suggested to me perhaps the creative writing "guru", who blogged against me self publishing was jealous that I held a physical book in my hand. I did joke that I had bought fish and chips for my wife with my first payment from Amazon and was therefore a paid author. Perhaps I should have been more sensitive to their feelings.  

For the next week on the nightclub door I will have people who I won’t let into the club and they will try to put me down. Locals and students together. Locals will threaten me violence and Students will tell me their father is a lawyer. If they offer me physical violence and if necessary I will (literally) put them down to the floor to protect myself, my colleagues and my customers. If they try to put me down verbally because I am old, bald, fat or all three then I will smile sweetly, which will annoy them even more. For their own reasons they are trying to steal my energy and I don’t care.

If a reader doesn’t like my book and gives me a bad review based on their thoughts then I will be sad. But if somebody who has not even read my book tries to put me down because I have self published then I will smile sweetly and carry on writing Book 2 and Book 3. 

James Sheridan

www.jrsheridan.com

'Facts of Life' - What's in a title?

As sales are ticking along nicely for 'Splinter' I am being asked why I have called the Dan Richards adventures the "Facts of Life" series. 

When I started writing the novel I needed a working title. As described in a previous blog I had the name 'Dan Richards' rattling around my head for 20 years and I had started 3 or 4 first chapters without a book name. With each attempt the creative juices dried up due to life's imperatives at the time rather than lack of a title. 

Last year I realised the non fiction book about hard lessons learnt at the hotel wasn't going anywhere and when I put it aside I was working on a pub door in a University Town. The more I dealt with young customers  both locals and students the more I thought how naive and innocent they were and that they still had a lot to learn about the 'Facts of Life'. As the story developed and Dan Richards dealt with local idiots in the plot he came across 'Facts of Life' issues. A main theme in the book is that a local thug who has seen nothing of the world is not a threat to a combat veteran however tough the young scrote thinks he is. However that doesn't mean that the young thug's arrogance and stupidity is not a threat. Again Facts of Life for young and old. 

After writing the first few chapters I thought I was happy with my work and sent away a synopsis under the title of "Facts of Life" to various literary agents who (fast or slow) universally rejected the story. This was a bit of a blow but spurred me on to finish the book and then to allow the story to settle. During the settling and review period the idea of the psychological 'splinter' seemed to dominate the book and I came round to the idea of "Splinter" as a title. 

I also realised that I had learnt my own 'Facts of Life' during the agent submission and rejection process. I still liked the title but thought it was a bigger theme than jut one book. There are too many books published for any single word title to be totally unique. So "Splinter: Book 1 of the Facts of Life Series" ticked lots of boxes for marketing the novel and promising for a series of future exciting adventures for readers to buy into emotionally.    

In terms of 'Facts of Life' lessons being learnt. I worked at a nightclub last week for the night of the A'Level results partying. The queue was long, the club was full and the atmosphere was good. There were lots of young people enjoying themselves excited at their results and the prospects of their bright futures. I wished them well and was pleased that they could still be innocent, naive and stupid in this age of online damnation and I felt old. There is a lot more grey in my newly grown literary beard these days and I must have looked ancient to the youngsters on their exciting night out. 

Drink was taken and with some from the dilated pupils of their eyes I am sure recreational drugs were too. We checked IDs all night and turned those away whose faces didn't match the photos. The attitude of most was fantastic but there were enough spoilt little princesses and arrogant hard man wannabe boys to keep us on our toes. I was confronted with a temper tantrum where the girl literally stamped her feet and screamed at me when I simply said "no" to her. A young lad tried to eyeball me to show how tough he was, so I didn't let him in. "Facts of life pal!" 

In a nightclub queue anywhere in the world, checking IDs is not just about age it is also about attitude. There are always excuses for the 'management to reserve right to refuse entry' even when faced with threats, especially when faced with threats. If the queue outside is run properly then the positive attitude of punters we do let in allows for a good night inside.  

There are plenty of 'Facts of Life' for my characters to learn and Dan Richards has plenty of more adventures ahead of him. 

Any examples of Facts of Life lessons learnt gratefully received. 

JRS  

PS. I now have a list of over 50 titles ready to use. The words behind them will come when I let them.

Location North Wales

I am a man of mixed loyalties when it comes to nationality. I live in Wales and love living here. My Grandmother spent most of my life living here and we came to visit her. I played rugby here and drank my first beer in the pub under age with great friends. My wife is Irish and I was born and grew up in Liverpool. I have travelled all over the world and for a time lived in the Far East. The place I have always missed and come back to is the beautiful Ynys Mon, the Island of Anglesey connected by two bridges to the North Wales Coast.

 

In an effort to survive living in North Wales, where there are very few jobs I bought a hotel business in Wales’ most northern village and expected an “idyllic” life. I had been a dynamic high living sales director and now I was going to be a successful hotelier. We did win awards and grew the business but in the end I was ground down by the hard slog of the constant worry about so many woes. Guests, chefs, local eejits, tripadvisor reviews, uncertainty over the local economy and record breakingly bad summers. By my fourth and final summer at the hotel all the enjoyment of my location had been leeched out of me.

That is until a regular guest, who visited the local nuclear power plant and kept telling me about how great Cornwall, said he had never seen further than the hotel bar and the inside of the plant. The gauntlet had been thrown down and I spent a pleasant evening escaping from my chores and driving this guy around Anglesey and showing him the best bits. He was shocked and impressed at the stunning beauty and the quality and location of the restaurant (The Ship Inn in Red Wharf Bay) I took him to. There were still comparisons with Cornwall but for that evening I played the proud host showing off my home.  It was then that I realised how much I loved this beautiful area.

Early on in the hotel I made the mistake of becoming involved in the bigger picture. An American friend told me on my travels that “if you don’t like the world you live in then change it!” So I became involved in projects that I thought would change the world I lived in. I had great business experience, I had made money and at my first tourism meeting I argued with a guy who tried to tell me how he should run my website. My company had run seven websites but he insisted he knew better than me and was messianic about his own project. At the end of the heated discussion another hotelier told me that he had agreed with me, as did others. I had brought a confrontational perhaps arrogant style to my new supposedly more laid back life. With other like-minded incomers who had invested in Tourism businesses we were going to shake up the cosy world of manana, rural indolence and self satisfied smugness that we had walked into.

I became a Director and then Vice Chairman of the Anglesey Tourism Association. I sat as an adviser on a body for social economic development and was Chairman of the local town community enterprise. Yet in all the bustle to develop my business I had lost sight of the very reason that I wanted to live here. It is a beautiful life-enhancing place and I wasn’t enjoying it.

A young customer in my pub, just 18, said when he first met me asked “why have you come here its shit?” and full of gusto I replied that “When you’ve travelled around the  World as much as I have then you appreciate a place like this.” He didn’t believe me then and as I watched him grow up with few prospects and some stupid friends who dragged him back to their level he perhaps never will realise that. He was going to join the army as his way out, get training, self discipline, self respect and a paid job. Then he punched a wall in a drunken rage one night and had a metal plate implanted into his wrist, which was the end of his army hopes. The fantasy author Terry Pratchett used an analogy in his novel “Unseen Academicals” about the crab bucket and how a bucket full of crabs doesn’t need a lid because if one tries to climb the side then another one will pull it back down. Living in a small town where one of the only local products is Crab and Lobster there is a certain truth about the crab bucket.

 

I was told that shellfish grow bigger close to the warm water outlet from the Nuclear Power plants but I never saw any that glowed in the dark or had three Claws, but they wouldn’t be caught I suppose, but that is another analogy to dwell on.

There is huge hope for North Wales. In my role with the Tourism Association I was asked to support a business seminar at Holyhead Comprehensive for fourteen and fifteen year olds. One Friday morning I went into the gym hall and the organiser thanked me for coming and introduced me as a local businessman to the eighty or so young adults in the hall. You have never seen such a bunch of uninterested students in your life. The aim of the day was to give the ten groups of eight pupils a couple of hours to come up with a Tourism business idea. The lady teacher organising it was explaining the project and kept saying “be quiet children!” which they were largely ignoring, as I would probably have done myself.

The Thursday night I had been working behind the bar at a Karaoke night, stopped a fight in the car park and had not had much sleep, plus I have never been very good with teachers so I was becoming frustrated. When it came to my turn then I decided to try something different and pulled out a £20 note out of my pocket. “Business should be fun and it should be rewarding” I said. “The group that gives the best presentation will get this money” This focussed the hall’s attention and I was quite pleased with myself. In the next hour I went round the different tables as they discussed their project. One table of boys were not really interested and I asked them what they liked to do that would interest them “Eat Kebabs” came back one reply. “Well open up a kebab shop then”. “Can I do Chilli sauce kebabs”. “You can if you like, its your business, sell what you want.” This started a discussion of gut exploding concoctions for the kebab aficionados. Another boy said “why should I bother, I will never get a job” and another said “why should I bother all my stuff will be nicked” which I found indescribably sad from such young lads who had given up on life already. It humbled me to be in such a privileged position to own my own business and be healthy and happily married.

The groups had access to computers and the internet and at the end of the two hours we were given presentations. Creating any entrepreneurial business idea is not easy and the groups coped well enough. A kebab van with lots of Chilli sauce on the menu by a beach was one idea. The reopening of the town’s fruit and veg market as a youth centre was another fabulous concept. The winners of my £20 were a group of girls who did a full powerpoint presentation with financial project and a marketing plan for an eco-friendly holiday village to attract tourists and well paid jobs for the locals. It was a stunning idea and I should have shouted praises about their intelligence, enthusiasm and creativity from the highest rooftop to all that would listen in the council and local media. To my shame and regret I went back to my hotel and was bogged down in the day to day running of the place and by the time I thought more about it the relevance had passed. It would have taken me just half an hour to write a public relations piece to send to the papers but I probably poured a pint for a thirsty fisherman, or plumber, or nuclear power station worker. Out of all the money I lost in my lifestyle choice adventure not congratulating those kids in the papers was perhaps my biggest mistake.

So I escaped the hotel and lost money. Pretty much every idea I had on Anglesey lost money and between ourselves, my wife and I call a bad financial idea an “Anglesey Investment”. In the end it was perhaps a good job that I didn’t go ahead with my grand plans of opening a second or third venue. Or for that matter the seaweed baths that I had seen in County Sligo and thought would be great for a tourism attraction on Anglesey. I spoke to the Bangor University people who knew about seaweed and I learned a lot about thalassotherapy. In a meeting a Welsh Government affiliated business adviser thought it was a good idea but would perhaps be better located nearer to the bridge. I looked at him twice and wanted to scream but said calmly that “that maybe so, but I have a hotel that I want to attract visitors to”. Admittedly to be fair (Chwara Teg) that hotel was as far from the bridge as it is possible to be on the island so perhaps he had a point.

Now I have time to enjoy the beaches and cliff walks and my Anglesey born dog moans if he doesn’t have a run a couple of times a day. I was told that although I was experienced and talented I was probably unemployable, which was true. Soon after leaving the hotel a job came up for a business and tourism development officer for Anglesey council. For a whole thirty minutes I considered applying just for the hell of it. But although I am trying to learn, I didn’t speak fluent Welsh and I would probably get into trouble with my bosses and so I let the job go unapplied for.  Or did I chicken out and not put my money where my mouth is. Perhaps the struggling council would have been open to my brand of marketing and promotion. Could I have done as good a job as a paid official? Would I have tried to understand the constraints of official responsibility rather than being a mouthy maverick answerable to nobody but myself? Now there is an uncomfortable introspection.

Instead of a sensible mature, properly well paid job I went back on the doors as a bouncer and the part time job has allowed me to write and given me great material as a writer. When I check ages for people coming into the nightclub I know, which villages and towns have feuds and don’t get along. It often comes down to cousins and who treated whose cousin badly. Welsh families have a lot of cousins. Many years ago in a much earlier incarnation as a bouncer I stopped a fight in a Welsh nightclub. It was a young farmer’s night and it turned out the brawl had been over which village’s bull had won that year’s top prize at the Anglesey Show. There was bound to be a cousin involved somewhere.

In my job standing on doors I speak enough Welsh and understand a bit more to pass inspection. If England are playing Wales at the rugby then I play on my wife’s Irish accent and denounce my English heritage. It is normally good natured banter but many years ago I saw the St George’s cross burnt and it is a sad fact that the arrogance of the ignorant is everywhere. At the hotel two drunken and aggressive Scousers from my own city wanted to come into the bar and I refused them entrance. They called me for everything but I barred their way. Some of the local lads took great offence and became protective of me. The scousers called us all “sheep shaggers” and “Welsh bastards”. They threatened and provoked violence. It was returned by one of the best flying punches I have ever seen and they were taken away by the police in tears. I knew that they wouldn’t understand the irony that these proud Welsh lads would not go into the middle of Cantrill Farm, Kirby or Toxteth and shout “Come on you Scouse bastards!” As I said there is ignorance everywhere, sometimes the wider view needs to be appreciated. Outside a pub where I was working the door a stupid little Welsh lad called me a “Sais C***”, which I didn’t react to. When he then spat at me for the third time I put him on his backside and notified the police of his disgusting habit being a physical assault rather than his ignorant racism. It would have been the same if I were a Liverpudlian Bouncer in Manchester or a Protestant one in a Catholic area of Glasgow. Ignorance is everywhere. 

The Welsh are a proud literary nation and I am writer living in Wales rather than a Welsh writer. One of these days I will go on a proper course to learn the language and be able to hold a full conversation. For the moment I get by on “Dwyn Dysgu Cymraeg” (that I am learning Welsh), which is universally replied to with an appreciative “Di’Iawn” (that’s great!). Lets face the facts, its not all that great. I have been coming here all my life and a handful of words in the native language of good friends who speak Welsh fluently is rather ignorant.

An Irish friend of my wife came to visit recently and remarked how lovely it was to hear Welsh used in normal daily conversation. Both girls were taught As Gaelige at school in Dublin and are rusty in their own native language. My wife only uses words like Gombeen or Omadon to me when I am doing something uncommonly thick (like buying a hotel in Wales). Yet the Irish are more self assured in their independence and nationhood. Wales has just as proud a history going back to the days of Llewellyn the Great and Queen Siwan and hold the true heritage of Ancient Britain. Ynys Mon was the base for resistance against the invading Roman Legions. How cool is that? With politicians, writers, actors and singers this country has long fought above its weight in terms of international influence.

These are hugely interesting times ahead for Wales, Scotland, Ireland and England, the United Kingdom and Europe as a whole. It is a great time to be a writer with so many themes to explore. An independent Wales anybody? My only comment is to be careful what you wish for? Politicians of all Nationalities want power and I am wary of their reasons. I fear the smugness of the politicians as much as the process itself.

 

The hero of my Facts of Life books Dan Richards was conceived in Wales of proud Welsh ancestry, but born and raised in a nameless English city. He fought in the British Armed Forces and saw action around the World. When he was wounded he returned to the land of his grandfather and become part of a rural coastal community where he has found a Croeso Cynnes Cymraeg (a warm welsh welcome). In his story he is shown the best of family life and sees the worst of peoples’ characters either in North Wales or in a hot war zone. His relationship with his Welsh girlfriend is passionate, rewarding and fiery.

Dan Richards journey of adventure reflects my own love of Wales and the characters, places and attitudes that I have come across. There is provincial small mindedness and ignorance but there is also warmth, generosity, humour and intelligence. Apart from the rugged beauty of her mountains, coast and countryside, Wales has much to be proud of in its people. I just wish sometimes they would believe in themselves some more. 

Cymru Am Byth! 

Iechyd’da (Cheers)

JR Sheridan (18/04/2012)

By the way, now that I have no money left to “invest” on Anglesey, I live and write in Gwynedd. Its closer to the shops.

Route into writing

I came up with the character of Dan Richards more than 20 years ago when I first had the idea about wanting to write when I was a 19 year old bouncer in Hong Kong. After coming back to the UK and my home town of Liverpool I became involved in delivery sales for a small company. The inevitable barriers of building a  business and family imperatives stood in the way and whenever I was frustrated at work my thoughts turned to writing about Dan.

Then as the business grew and became more successful I forgot about him. When after 15 years in the rough and tough world of sales and marketing I decided to have a lifestyle change and move to beautiful North Wales in 2007 instead of trying to be a writer I bought a hotel, pub and restaurant business instead and with high hopes dragged my wife to a rural coastal North Wales village. I had worked as a glass collector as a kid and then a bouncer and I had stayed in hundred of hotels. Plus I was a great businessman and I wanted to be my own boss so what could go wrong? It turned out that plenty could go wrong. Despite building the turnover and improving the reputation after a couple of years it became a hard slog. Realising that our lifestyle choice adventure was turning into an unprofitable and unrewarding venture and after yet another wet and disappointing Summer I managed to escape with my sanity barely intact in Autumn 2010. 

After being told by a business headhunter I was “unemployable” as having too much experience to be hired by a new company and too little money to buy or start another business I was pretty downhearted. I had all this business experience of success and failure and I wanted to pass on my hard won knowledge. So I started to write about my experiences in the hotel. At first it was called “The Lifestyle Choice – Don’t Do it” and then as I quantified how much money I had poured down the drain in the experience it became “Ten Thousand Bottles”. It was a cathartic exercise and I looked at the hotel as much more of a journey although it was a business failure I did leant a lot about running a business, dealing with people and about Life in general. The book was a sprawling mess and if I had let it would have run to 150K words. So I pared it down to 120K words and tried to sell it to Literary Agents who not surprisingly were not in the least interested.

In the meantime I wanted to stay in North Wales and my wife was just happy to be out of the hotel and concentrate on her own separate career. I also didn’t want to return to Sales again and the traffic jams on the M6, speed cameras and customer’s problems. So at 40 I turned back to my old stop gap profession of becoming a Bouncer. I had dealt with trouble at the pub and I still played rugby and so I asked around, took my Door Supervisors course, sent off for an SIA License and have now done the job for two years. Its been great, I have worked in pubs, football grounds, rock gigs, concerts, hotels, nightclubs and even a big fat gypsy wedding and a sheep shearing contest. I have even taken an SIA Close Protection course and am qualified to be a bodyguard and have been asked to look after minor celebrities. I have made some good friends, met a lot of decent people and plenty of idiots and I have had a lot of fun.

I don’t know as much of the lovely lyrical Welsh language as I should do but I do know when I am being sworn at. If a customer is rude or aggressive then I throw them out. I don’t even have to smile. I am experienced enough  that I have nothing to prove and am too old to be a threat to the young lads’ egos but can make my presence felt when it is neccessary. I do the job, get paid and go home again. The only downside is that the late hours in the nightclub mean I am grumpy the next day. The pay is not fantastic and we have battened down the hatches in the way we live, but is better than bar work or labouring and for the moment I enjoy it.

In the Autumn of 2012 as I came to the end the umpteenth rewrite of “Ten Thousand bottles” and was struggling to keep up the enthusiasm Dan Richards came back into my head. At first it was a faint knock saying “remember me” then the banging became more insistent and in October I put my non-fiction (pass on my hard won experiences) work to one side and started to write Dan’s story. I was 5 years older than when I had changed my career from Sales Director to hotelier, restaurateur and publican. I had been through the mill and I had learnt a lot about the hard facts of life.

Dan’s story rapidly progressed and the writing flowed. I started the book in Hong Kong, where I had first thought about becoming a writer. The smells, sounds, bustle and general excitement of living there came back to me although I have only revisited the former colony once since leaving after my prolonged two year stint in 1991. Then I developed Dan’s story twenty years on. I know a number of current and ex-service men and women some of who have been traumatised and others who have not been affected as badly through their experiences.

Working on the doors of a nightclub you see the worst of humanity after drink and drugs lay the personality bare. I have thrown ex-servicemen out of licensed premises and listened to their accusations that they have fought for their country and what have I ever done. I have also had great conversations with men and women who have seen terrible things in combat and who have a quiet reticence, dignity and calm about them. My development of Dan’s character comes from dealing with people who have seen so much and who with fortitude and bravery have survived.

I finished the first draft of my book in February 2012 and realised that I wanted to develop Dan’s journey into a series of books. The first chapter about Hong Kong was surplus and so I have decided to publish it as a separate stand alone ebook called Dragon. Some of the characters he meets are too good not to meet again so will come back in a later period of his life. Dan was my hero so why shouldn’t he have some good sex, mixed in with his hard times. That led me to thinking that perhaps some readers wouldn’t want to see quite so much of Dan so I edited the book and published it as two editions Splinter and Splinter (18). Splinter (18) is the author’s cut but I hope that the story of Dan’s redemption is a good one and I didn’t want to cause offence.

Dan was in the Royal Marine’s because at one stage I wanted to join up myself. Then I went travelling, ended up in Hong Kong and two years later thought myself too independent to join the services. My best friend did join the Royal Navy and as an officer went on the “All Arms” course with the Marines. He was so proud when he achieved his green beret after the thirty mile route march on Dartmoor and rightly so.

Dan is the hero of my story so he can be fit and strong, handsome and an all round capable good guy. I have many ideas for Dan to have more adventures and I hope you will follow him on his journey.  

As a footnote about a week after I had finished my first draft about Dan’s story I was working in a nightclub. It was late on a Thursday night and I went in to stop a fight on the dance floor. As I split the fight up, I was punched twice in the face by a blonde lad of about 20 with wild black eyes who had turned his aggression on me. I was still standing and was just about to throw him out when his father who was with him at the club started shouting in my face. He said the lad was “just two days back from Afghan.” The father tried to say that his son had been provoked but I had been waiting for trouble from the lad all night. He had been looking to fight the world and perhaps should have gone out of the club earlier. His regiment had marched with flags flying behind a military band through the streets of the town just the day before. The lad left but he walked rather than being carried forcibly down the stairs. His father apologised and begged us not to have him arrested. Having just written a book about the difficulty of a soldier coming back to civilian life then I could hardly have him arrested for assaulting me and we let him go with his father’s thanks. Young men going to war and coming back with feelings of hostility towards the civilians who do not appreciate the dangers they face has been going on as long as there have been soldiers and civilians, so since time immemorial. With modern technology and modern understanding of post traumatic stress we must be aware of the issues these combat veterans face. I hope my book will help if only in a very small way.