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A Christmas welcome!

Alternative Outcome, by Peter Rowlands

Updated December 2022

This was one of my first blogs, and was written to celebrate the publication of my first novel. I’ve now edited it substantially so that it makes more retrospective sense.

I hadn’t publicised my website at all when I wrote the original version of this blog, so I said I assumed that people arriving at it over the Christmas fortnight were probably friends or relatives of mine, and I’d bludgeoned them into looking at it!

I thanked them for visiting the blog, and expressed the hope that I’d got them interested enough to read the first part of my book (click here to use my online book reader). If they really were interested, I added, they could click the front cover of Alternative Outcome on this page, which would take them the book page on Amazon.

The cover design that you can see above for Alternative Outcome is a revised version, with better text positioning than the original, and it no longer features diamonds scattered on the left-hand side. Some readers told me they thought these were bubbles – which made the book appear to be a more “frothy” affair than I intended.

When I wrote this blog I said I was mulling over the possibility of publishing an earlier stand-alone novel, Escape Sequence, as a follow-up. In the event, didn’t; I felt it simply wasn’t good enough. But since then I’ve published five new books instead.

However, I did massively revise and streamline Escape Sequence, and I still have a lot of fondness for it. I’ve been offering it free to people who sign up to join my mailing list. Maybe I’ll publish it one of these days.

And meanwhile, at the time of editing this new version of the blog in 2023 I’ve published my seventh novel (the sixth in the Mike Stanhope series), and I’m limbering up to publish a new stand-alone soon. Watch this space!

 

  
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Who actually wrote that book?

Not all writers are gifted when it comes to detail. That’s why book editors exist. My understanding is that conventional publishers employ them (partly, anyway) to put the shine on what might have started out as a rough diamond. With the best will in the world, it’s one reason why some self-published books miss their mark. Lack of an editor sometimes turns out to equal lack of finesse.

But what about those of us self-published authors who do have an eye for detail? How are we supposed to feel if we ever get to see early drafts of some conventionally-published best-sellers? What should we think about the elementary spelling mistakes, the missed or duplicated words, the suspect grammar? What if even the writing itself is not that convincing? What hidden magic persuaded the publisher to invest in the work in the first place?

It raises an interesting question. Just how collaborative can and should a book be? We tend to think that a novel (unlike a film or play, for instance) is essentially the work of an individual. That was certainly my understanding as I grew up. But is this really the case? When the author says in his acknowledgements, “I’d like to thank my wife for reading the manuscript,” is he really saying, “and for rewriting half the plot”? More important, is this how we should think of all novels?

If it is, how far can this kind of collaboration go before it materially alters the very nature of the work? If a book editor radically rewrites an original book, does that mean it was a great book in the first place, and was simply waiting to be “released” from its inadvertent flaws? Or is it now a different work? Should it still be attributed exclusively to the original author, or should the editor really be credited as a co-author?

In ninety-nine per cent of instances, I suspect it’s the author alone who will in fact get all the plaudits. But is that fair? It’s a bit like saying a Premier League footballer is a multi-million pound goal-scorer, just so long as someone else is on hand to tap the ball across the line for him.

Perhaps this has always been the way of things; but what are we to make of it? We read a book believing it represents someone’s unique personal vision, yet arguably it is often really a team effort – considered, keenly targeted to its market, and little different in practice from a film or a play. I’m not saying any of these media are necessarily flawed; only that we confront them with varying assumptions, when perhaps we shouldn’t, since they are all to some extent a collaborative effort.

Most significant, what is the elusive ingredient that persuades a talent-spotter or book editor to give the time of day to a sloppily-drafted book packed with elementary flaws, and to ignore one that is well presented from the outset? Presumably it’s down to the indefinable magic that singles out the great from the merely competent. But why has nobody shared this information with me?!

  
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Writers I like

Who are my own favourite novelists? Well, I tend to take a pretty broad-brush approach, though I suppose I do tend to opt for mystery dramas or mystery thrillers. I’m a great admirer of Michael Connelly and his Harry Bosch series. I love Connelly’s spare, economical prose style. And I can’t deny a liking for Lee Child, though I’ve found his later novels much less engaging and more formulaic than his earlier ones. But I’ve read that his latest marks a return to form. I’d better read it!

I also love CJ Box and his series about game warden Joe Pickett: wonderfully vivid and atmospheric, even if they sometimes turn a bit melodramatic. Lately I’ve discovered a newer series by Paul Doiron about another game warden – this time set in Maine, whereas Box’s are mostly set in Wyoming. Doiron shares Box’s ability to evoke atmosphere and details of location beautifully, even if it isn’t always a pretty picture, and his flawed but determined leading character Mike Bowditch is very likeable.

I think I’ve read all the novels of Peter Temple, the Australian-based writer. His thrillers were written in the 1990s and 2000s. I’ve enjoyed them all to some extent – even when the local vernacular used by some characters has threatened to defeat me! I’ve been puzzled by the lack of information on the web about why he apparently stopped writing altogether in 2010, but I guess I’ll work it out eventually. If he is still able to write more, I wish he would!

Looking back a bit, I remain a big fan of Dick Francis in his heyday. In my opinion he hit his best form in the late 1960s, when he came out with a succession of truly outstanding thrillers – full of vivid characters, cleverly wrought plots and economical, witty prose. My favourite is Blood sport, a mystery that ranges from the Thames to east coast America and then Wyoming. It didn’t appear to be available in digital form when I first checked, but now it’s on sale on Kindle. It’s outstanding. Flying finish would be my second choice. Dick Francis’s later novels became a bit formulaic and contrived, but I would argue that nothing can detract from his best.

And my favourite novel of all time? Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis. It would take a whole blog to explain why, but suffice to say that it’s the funniest and most engaging story I’ve ever read.

  
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Shocks and reverses – too many of them?

A lot of current and recent thrillers and mystery stories aim to astound readers with a series of extraordinary revelations – sometimes towards the end, sometimes part-way through: developments that make you rethink all your assumptions about the plot. You sit up and think, “Wow! I never saw that coming!”

When this is done well it can be really impressive. It makes you do a double-take. Maybe it provides unexpected new insights into the plot and characters, adding richness and depth to the whole experience. But is this technique in danger of being over-used? Are reviewers right when, in some cases, they complain that books without shocks like this are flawed in some way? I’m not so sure.

Fair enough, it can be a disappointment if the outcome of a story is blindingly obvious from an early stage; but do we read mysteries and thrillers simply to be astounded? I wonder. It’s a bit like expecting all food to be spicy, even if it’s just a fillet steak. Yes, we want books to contain puzzles and mysteries – issues that the leading characters unravel or the plot finally explains. But surely it’s not a weakness if the world of the story isn’t always turned upside down?

Readers who like or even expect this kind of shock often seem to describe the book as a “page-turner”, but here again, I’m not so sure. Admittedly, if you’ve read elsewhere that the book contains a massive shock, you might be in a hurry to find out what it is. But if you’re simply reading the book “sight unseen”, then you don’t actually know about the first shock until you come to it, so it can hardly be beckoning you in page-turning fashion! Even when you do, you don’t know if there will be another one.

My own view? I think books like this can be really fun, but I don’t think high-impact plot development should necessarily be considered essential to a good mystery drama or thriller. Sometimes readers might just want to enjoy the ride.

 

  
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Girl

Post edited and updated, November 2022

Is a young woman a girl? In the early years of the present century, when I started writing my first novel (as yet unpublished), my very first paragraph introduced someone who was referred to as a “girl”. But we soon learn that she is 24 years old, and after a while it dawned on me that I might be breaking societal rules and even offending readers if I called her anything but a young woman.

It seems to me that this awareness reflects a massive shift in attitudes over recent years, and consequently also in the use of vocabulary. Take, for example, the thrillers written by a writer such as Hammond Innes in the early 1950s. You’ll find that his heroines (usually their mid-twenties or older) are nearly always described as a “girl”. When I was reading those books as a child, I’m certain I saw nothing wrong with this, but now it shouts out at me as being inappropriate and out of keeping with modern thinking.

When I wrote the original version of this blog in 2015, I spent a paragraph or two at this point worrying away over what circumstances might justify the use of the word “girl” for a woman. How young, I asked, does a young woman have to be in order to qualify for being called a “girl”? Twenty? Sixteen? Five? Or to look at it the other way, how old could she be? Thirty? Forty-five?

Total transformation

I feel I must have undergone a total transformation since I wrote that, because now I can’t imagine ever referring to female characters in my books as girls unless that’s what they actually are – people in their mid-teens or younger. I don’t mind if the characters in my novels describe adult women as girls; that would be a sign of their own unreconstructed attitude; but the “authorial voice” shouldn’t do it.

Yet in contradiction of this, there are the exceptions. In my teens I once had a holiday job in a laundry, and a wonderful old guy who worked there as a part-time driver used to call the women in the factory “girls” to their faces. They all looked over sixty to me, but they all seemed to love it. By the same token, to this day women still often refer to each other as “girls”, just as young men might talk about having a night out with “the boys”. Context is all.

Where the term “girl” seems completely out of place now is where a man is using the term automatically, without any contextual rationale, to refer to a woman of his own age. To me it feels demeaning, and suggestive of a very unequal power balance in the relationship. Calling the woman a “girl” implies that the man sees her as somehow delicate and vulnerable –perhaps not even a fully-fledged adult. I suspect that this is hardly how she would see herself!

Beware modern sensibilities

But what are we to make of all those old novels that did use the term “girl” for women up to at least 30 years old? Back in the day it was almost the norm, though even then, it probably conveyed a misleading and inappropriate message, albeit subliminally. It was an indicator of different times and different attitudes, and a clue to the struggle women would have to join in subsequent years to even out the inequality. However, should that stop us from even reading such books? I hope not! If we abandoned anything historical that might contain nuances offensive to modern sensibilities, there wouldn’t be much left.

That said, I’m much more conscious now than in the past of the need to avoid pitfalls like this in my own writing. I’ve even been gradually checking my existing portfolio of books in case there are any instances where I’ve broken my own rule. If you find any, rest assured that I’m on the case.

  
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© Peter Rowlands 2024

 

 

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