You may have noticed that I’ve not been around for a while.  You- You did notice, didn’t you?  I mean, I’d hate to think I just vanished from the site and no-one would even realise it…

Anyhoo – I’ve been suffering from SLIME FLU, which is the monsters’ version of swine flu.  It’s pretty much the same illness except, in addition to the high temperature, bad cough and aching muscles, the sufferer also develops temporary tentacles and grows a second nose to accommodate the extra sneezing.  Thankfully, I’m over it now and, aside from a short tail, there seem to be no lingering effects.

Whilst laid up in the monster hospital cave (DON’T annoy the nurse with the purple, suckered feet…), I wrote a short article which answers – in my case at least – one of the questions most asked of writers: how did you get published?  The piece was written for a website called How Publishing Really Works, although I wanted to share it here as well.

So, here’s how I did it.  If you’re interested, perhaps my fellow authors might consent to do the same and write their own stories (please note – contracting slime flu is optional to the process).

Tommy

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How I Got Published by Tommy Donbavand

One of the questions I’m asked most often (aside from ‘what are you doing in my garden?’) is how I got published.  What’s more interesting than the question itself, however, is the belief and/or hope that there is some sort of magic formula or shortcut that I have found and can give the questioner to stop them having to do it the hard way.

Guess what?  There is no magic formula.  You have to do it the hard way.

I started writing while still at school, eschewing the teenage norm of hanging out on street corners to sit at home and practice my art.  Thankfully, I hit the library (no Internet back then…) and knew enough about how books were made not to submit my first ever attempts (although I did send some sketches out to Spitting Image, Stephen Fry and Ben Elton, getting very kind ‘keep it up’ letters in return).

After college I made the obvious career move – and became a clown called Wobblebottom (no, really).  I worked first at holiday centres around the UK and later on cruise liners, entertaining children.

A few years later I joined the cast of a musical in London’s West End – Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story – and even that was down to one-part perseverance and two-parts metal balls.  I went to see the show with my parents, spotted a part I thought I’d be good at and wrote to the producer that night, claiming I would be a much better choice than the current guy.  That landed me the audition – but, when I got there, they asked me to read for a different role.  I knew I would only have this chance once in my life and so I stopped halfway through and told them they should let me audition for the character I wanted.  They did, I got the part, and stayed with the show for the next eight years.

While in Buddy, I continued writing and continued being rejected.  Neither agents nor publishers were interested in the fiction I had to offer.  So, I turned to the old phrase ‘write what you know’ and put together all the games and activities I’d created and developed during my work as a children’s entertainer.  I pitched the book far and wide and, soon after, Quick Fixes For Bored Kids was published by How To Books in the UK.

Three other books – More Quick Fixes For Bored Kids, Quick Fixes For Kids’ Parties and Boredom Busters – followed.  Before long I was running events in book shops and being interviewed on both local and national radio as an expert in keeping kids entertained.  It wasn’t what I wanted to write, but it was a foot in the door, nonetheless.

Then the door closed over my foot.

Buddy ended, I left London, and the events dried up.  The books weren’t selling very well at all – partly because parents who buy books telling them how to keep their kids from being bored don’t generally have the type of kids that get bored – and partly because the publisher insisted on classifying the books as ‘parenting’ titles, instead of ‘activities’.  I would often go into book shops and find my work far away from the children’s section, sandwiched instead between toilet training guides and books of baby names.

I worked for a few months on a computer tech support line, then auditioned for a role in a small-scale children’s show visiting schools over Christmas.  I did the tour, and stayed with the production company afterwards in order to write their next shows – for next to no money at all.  But hey, at least I was writing again.  I often found myself playing a part in show ‘A’ while writing show ‘B’.  It was exhausting.

I was still writing fiction in what little spare time I had, sending off my work to publishers and agents, and amassing an impressive collection of rejection letters in return.  Apparently, my four previous books (now rapidly dropping out of print) counted for nothing.  I was back on the outside, forcing my work into the bottom of the slush pile.

I began to teach writing to adults in the evenings and set up a web forum to enable people in the classes to stay in touch.  Before long, an established writer posted on the board saying that Egmont Press was looking for writers-for-hire for a new children’s horror series, but that only writers with published fiction to their name need apply.  It was steel balls time again…

I called the editor and convinced her to let me write a sample chapter.  I was successful and soon chosen as the first author for the Too Ghoul For School series, eventually writing five titles for the range.  I was paid a one-off fee for each book, and no royalties – and it wasn’t even my name on the cover – but it was published fiction, and a step in the right direction.

My school events continued apace and I soon spotted an ad looking for a new writer-in-residence at Seven Stories, the UK’s centre for children’s books, based in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne.  I applied and got the gig, ready to spend the next 12 months running workshops and writing exclusive material for visitors.

It was time to take a leap of faith so, in September 2006, on the day my son was born – I quit my job at the theatre company and became a full-time writer.  I started writing to agents again, pretty much to deaf ears until one of them suggested I contact Penny Holroyde at Caroline Sheldon Literary Agency.  I sent her my latest manuscript – a comedy space adventure for kids – and waited for her response.

Penny asked me to come to London for a meeting and explained that the book wasn’t what she was looking for, but asked if I was working on anything else.  I pitched an idea I had for a comedy horror series of my own and she liked it.  I signed with the agency and settled down to write what would become the first title in my Scream Street series.

I worked for almost six months on refining the manuscript and redrafting until it was in good enough shape to submit.  Penny’s notes were invaluable and, eventually, the series was picked up by Walker Books for publication in the UK from October 2008 onwards.

Now the hard work really began and, with my new editor Emma, I got stuck in to writing the series while doing as many school events as I could.  Part way into book three, I had an idea for a ‘second’ Scream Street series and, whipping out the metal orbs again, I pitched it to Walker at their annual sales conference.  The six book series was now doubled to 12 instalments (later upped again to 13 so I could drop a longer ‘hinge’ book between the two sets of adventures).

My regular school visits paid off when I was approached by Reading Is Fundamental (part of the UK’s National Literacy Trust) and asked to become the first RIF Ambassador, attached to a primary school in Middlesbrough and charged with the task of getting the pupils into reading and writing.  It was a great experience – and the school even initiated the ‘Tommy Donbavand Writing Hero’ award!

In January this year, I contacted seven other UK children’s authors with the plan of setting up a joint website through which we could promote books and ‘share’ readers.  The premise is that we were on our way to write the ultimate anthology of monster stories – when the monsters got to us first!  Now held captive in dark, damp caves, we’re made to blog about great kids books in return for food and toilet paper!  Trapped by Monsters can be found at http://www.trappedbymonsters.com

Scream Street began to sell to other countries around the world, including Australia, Italy, Sweden and Japan.  In August 2008, the series was launched in the US, published by Candlewick Press.

So, that’s where I am today.  I’m busy putting the final touches to the 10^th book in the Scream Street series, and have added events at literary festivals to those I still run in schools.  I’ve written two novels for Barrington Stoke, a publisher specialising in books for dyslexic and reluctant readers, and have just been asked for a third.  I’ve even been invited to the Houses of Parliament at the end of this month to discuss getting kids excited about reading.

I’m not sitting on my laurels, however.  I work hard at promoting my books online through websites, guest blog posts and Twitter – and the old steel balls are always polished and ready to use, should the need ever arise…

Anyone who has studied Physics at GCSE or above will probably be able to finish the the title of this post. Sir Isaac Newton formulated his 3 laws of motion some time around 1700 (I’m no historian) and these have been taught to physicists ever since. This third law of motion: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, is one I often quote in writing workshops. However, I must apologise to Sir Isaac, as I’ve sort of hijacked his law and adapted it into Mark Robson’s First Law of writing short fictional stories.

Mark Robson’s First Law goes like this:

For every description there must be a reaction.

If you apply this rule religiously, it will stop you waffling and keep you from falling into the most common trap that young writers fall into when starting a story – the dreaded “information dump”. Even the best descriptions can fall flat if they’re not relevant in a very personal way to your protagonist. Whenever you write, try to imagine you are the character.

As Barry said in a previous post, you can use the senses of the character to explore your environment, thus making the description a personal one that the reader can relate to. Sometimes, however, you do need to throw in a few straight facts. When you do this always ask yourself the question “How does my character feel about this?” If the answer is “Scared!” don’t just write: Jack felt scared. Think how you would physically feel if you were in Jack’s situation. How does it feel to be scared? Does your heart start to pound? Does your mouth go dry? Do you feel hot or cold? Do your hands start to shake? What would you be thinking? Show the reader something real and you will take the reader deeper into your world.

Here’s an example of a description that I wrote of a teacher for one of my short stories:

Everything about Miss Liverwort said ‘No nonsense’. Her voice was hard as concrete and her every movement was sharp and precise. She always wore her hair scraped back and wound into a tight bun on the back of her head, which made the rest of her face seem more angular and harsh. Her most deadly weapons, though, were her eyes. They were like lasers. I reckon she could drill a Year 4 kid at a hundred yards with them.

The description paints a fairly vivid picture, but then I add the reaction …

Right now she had one eyebrow raised at a sharp angle and a chill ran down my spine as her lasers wound up to full power.

Now the description has particular relevance to my main character. It’s become personal.

In a couple of weeks I’m running a workshop for adults on how to write for children. So this afternoon I’ve been composing my thoughts and putting a few things together. There’s a lot that I don’t know, but there’s also a lot I won’t be able to fit in. I’ve decided to focus on the stuff that I do know and will also be able to fit in. I think that’s a good tactic.

Which leaves two things for me to rant about here, which I’m going to call, ‘Writing that really annoys me.’ Both these things particularly annoy me when they crop up in children’s books.

1. My biggest one is beautifully summed up by a cartoon I found a week or so ago:

Why can’t we stop people writing novels in the present tense?

Sometimes I can see what the writer is trying to do, and, yes, there are some very good novels written in the present tense. Not many, but some. And they are good despite being in the present tense. They would be even better if they were written properly, in the past tense, the way that humans have understood stories for centuries. I know it’s just a convention, but it’s pretty well entrenched and there is no good reason to muck about with it.

2. Journals. I have read (or tried to read) so many children’s books which at some point near the beginning have a passage that goes, roughly, something like this: I’m writing this to set down exactly what happened in my amazing story. Maybe someday, somebody will read it. Who knows. There are parts that I couldn’t possibly have seen myself, but those bits I’ve pieced together from what other people told me. Or I’ve made them up.

Just tell me a story. Don’t pretend that somebody has written all about it in a diary and that I’ve somehow found that diary and I’m reading it. A variation on this is the ‘Police Report Narrator’. Books that use that little trick have a passage near the beginning that goes something like this: I’ve been a detective for 27 years but I’ll ever forget this case. I’m going to set everything out in this official report, hoping that my seniors will know what to do. I promise this is all true and I’ll try to be fair to everybody. I was at my desk late one night when I got a strange phone call…

To top it all, this week somebody gave me a children’s book to read which began with the Police Report Narrator trick, and then the policeman writing the report very quickly explained that he’d found a diary, and that the whole story was set out this diary that I really needed to see if I was ever going to understand what really happened…

I threw the book against a wall. But at least it wasn’t all written in the present tense.

OK, I’m fully expecting plenty of you to disagree with me on these two points and plenty more of you to wonder why I seem to mind so much when they’re just little things I should be able to get over. That’s fine. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

There’s a book by Roald Dahl that sometimes gets underrated or overlooked these days: Tales of the Unexpected. It’s hard to say what’s my favourite thing Dahl wrote – my opinion changes all the time! – but right now it just might be a story from that book, called Lamb to the Slaughter.

Lamb to the Slaughter concerns a housewife who commits a perfect murder. I first read it when I was about twelve years old, and today I still think it’s one of the very best short stories I’ve ever come across. I’m not going to tell you much more about the story itself: if you haven’t read it I don’t want to spoil it for you. What I do want to tell you is that I’ve been lucky enough to have seen Roald Dahl’s original handwritten pages.

A few years back, as a birthday treat, my girlfriend Laura took me to the Roald Dahl Museum, in Great Missenden, Buckinghamshire. If you’re a Dahl fan like me, visiting the museum is a must – it’s full of all sorts of great stuff. But if you go to the museum’s website, to their What’s On page, and check their monthly events list, you’ll see that on certain special days they give visitors the chance to look at things from the Roald Dahl Archives. On the day Laura and I went, guess what the archivist brought out and showed us? Yep.

In front of me were the actual sheets of paper on which Roald Dahl had written Lamb to the Slaughter. You could see the furrows his pencil had left as he pressed it into the pad. I got so excited, I could hardly breathe.

Why? Because it reminded me of something important: Roald Dahl wasn’t a wizard, or an alien, or a superbeing. He was a writer – someone who sat in a room and made up stories. Lamb to the Slaughter is a wonderfully sinister story – one of my absolute favourites, as I say. But it didn’t arrive in a flash of light. It wasn’t trumpeted in by choirs of angels, or beamed down from space. It was written by a person sitting in a chair with a pad and a pencil.

For an up and coming author like me, that’s hugely inspiring. It reminds you that, if you work hard and put in the hours, one day you might write something that good, too.

Happy Roald Dahl day. Happy reading – and writing – everyone.

Warren Ellis, who I think is a genius, has just published this typically splenetic but utterly inspiring response to news that the BBC are to adapt the Just William books (again).

He’s – ahem! – not a Just William fan let’s say, and I suppose I should warn you that if you’re bothered by the odd swear-word then don’t click the link. But I think the article’s a jolt of electricity for what fiction for young people could be. And if, like me, you grew up watching Thunderbirds it’ll put a big grin on your face too.

Step up to the challenge, someone: not another remake, but something new. Some fresh, suave, thrilling Rescue Fiction would be AMAZING.

Browsing the monsterweb, it’s easy to realise that a lot of people out there want to try their hand at writing, but don’t know where to begin.  So, here’s the first in a brief series of quick, 100 word writing exercises for you to try.

Take a look at this picture…

Now, in approximately 100 words, write about it in as exciting and compelling way as you can.  Who is this man?  Why is he running?  Is he running to something or from someone?  It’s up to you.

Post your 100 words in the comments thread.  There’s no prize – except for becoming a slightly better writer, of course!

More quick writing exercises coming soon…

This is Elmore Leonard.

Though I didn’t personally get into his books until I was in my twenties, now he’s one of my absolute favourite authors. You can pick up any one of his books (the cowboy stories are a great place to start) and know that in a quiet way there will be something stylish and smart and brilliant about it, guaranteed.

Here are his ten rules of writing. Numbers three to five made me nod vigorously. Number six made me blush (though I hope it’s ok to say  “all hell broke loose” if, like The Black Tattoo, your story is actually set in Hell). And number ten is just awesome.

Ahem! Er, sorry about that, but I’m rather excited. Here’s an interview with me by Tracy Baines for her blog, Tall Tales & Short Stories. Tracy’s brilliant blog is a great information source for aspiring and up-and-coming authors. I’ve done my best to pass on a bit of whatever wisdom I’ve managed to hang onto so far(!) but if you click on the link you’ll also find exclusive details about Phase Three Of My Sinister Masterplan to Conquer the Universe — including, at last, the book’s real title!

As an author and illustrator I’m often asked what comes first, the words or the picture. Well, in truth it’s a bit of both. I like to write lists, single words usually, that form the beginnings of a busy page of circled words connected with arrows and phrases, in an attempt to spark an interesting idea, or brighten up a dull one.

At the same time I use my sketchbook. And for me, as an illustrator who thinks mainly in pictures, this is probably my favoured starting point.

I’ll be posting more samples from my sketchbook very soon but I thought I’d show you a ‘thinking technique’ for want of a better phrase, that inspired me from the great Maurice Sendak. For many years he set himself the task of drawing what he called ‘Fantasy Skecthes.’ He called them Homework Drawings. The idea was to draw a sequence of doodles quickly in a set time  onto a single sheet of paper with the only thought that he would try and ‘tell’ some kind of story. The idea was that, without doing too much thinking, the drawings would open up curious ‘stream-of-conscious doodles’ which in turn may lead to a new and exciting way of thinking, drawing, telling a story.

I tried this framework although without the music. His set time was the piece of music he was listening to at the time. I gave myself (a silent), 10 minutes. I like to play around with a simple scenario or character and see what happens. But the same principle applied. That is – to draw quickly and without too much time to reflect. I use a single sheet of  A4  paper and start at the top left, working my way across and down, with the one single notion that I will try to complete an idea or story by the time I reach the bottom.

What you see  here, are two examples. To be fair Maurice Sendak’s drawings are much more exciting than mine. But they are great fun to do and it’s an excellent way to really fire the imagination. What has surprised me is how easy it is to actual complete the idea on a single page. I had visions of needing two or three pages.

I thoroughly recommend you give it a go. And remember, getting the idea is the important thing – it doesn’t matter what the drawing looks like. This, of course is easier said than done I’ll admit (and I’m an illustrator!), but as an alternative way of brainstorming an idea I think you’ll surprised at what you might come up with. Give it a go.

More soon!

Usually when I plot a story I try to reduce every decision to an either/or.

If you’re writing a story or working out what should happen next in a story-plan and you think you’re stuck, you can always reduce your choices to two. Things become much simpler that way and can stoke some great imaginative leaps.

At the very simplest level, you always have the fundamental choice: either my character dies now or doesn’t.

Most of the time you’re going to choose to keep your main character alive, I would have thought, though there are plenty of examples of dead protagonists, or main characters who die at unexpected moments half-way through a story.

Writing the Jimmy Coates books, I’m always reducing my plot decisions to either/or. Either Jimmy finds out that someone has betrayed him, or he doesn’t. Either Jimmy escapes with a computer chip intact or he doesn’t. Either NJ7 track Jimmy down and trap him, or they don’t.

You get the idea.

Then I explore the consequences of each choice, following each potential branch of the story into other branches until I get to a point that doesn’t work, which means I can eliminate that branch and go back to the ones that are left and haven’t reached a dead end yet. Or I might reach an unexpected consequence that I find particularly exciting, which means I’ll immediately discontinue all the other branches and stick with that one.

The other thing you have to add in to this system is that I always know where I’m heading, because I plot out my climax points first. So the splitting branches are simply offering me different paths to the points I know I’m ultimately trying to reach.

The reason I’m telling you this is because something interesting has come along.

I find myself working on a story where I have to pursue ALL the branches – fully. I have to keep all of the options alive and make each of them as exciting as any other.

This is not easy.

I don’t want to explain what this project is yet, I just thought I’d share with you the concept, and the basis of my new challenge.

Every moment is a potential choice. What if every possible choice were fully explored, leading to an infinite number of other choices, and each of those were also fully explored?

There’s a school of thought that believes this is what happens in real life. Alternative worlds, parallel universes… they all exist, branching off from each other, exploring every possible scenario that could ever exist in the universe.

It’s a tricky thing to try to write.