Suzette A. Hill - Getting Published - My debut novel

Suzette A. Hill is the author of the deliciously quirky thriller A Load of Old Bones. It is also her debut novel of sorts, having published it herself previously. She has very kindly written this piece just for us, telling the story behind her publication with great advice for budding authors from someone who knows the game inside out.

Having a “debut” novel commercially published at the advanced age of sixty-six is a curiously surreal, albeit exciting, experience. Certainly it is very gratifying, but it is also unexpected because despite having a literary background (i.e. reading English at two universities and spending all my professional life teaching Eng. Lit.) I never had the remotest desire to write any fiction. What few creative urges I possessed were entirely satisfied in the vicarious pleasure of textual criticism and analysis. Novels I read, discussed, and lectured upon; but I harboured no wish - secret or otherwise - to actually produce one myself. It was only when I retired and moved up to Herefordshire that the Thing happened - and even then it was entirely unplanned.

It all started in bed on a sunny summer’s morning. As I lolled warmly in that comfortable semi-dozing state, the image of a cat slumbering on a stone gatepost came into my mind and would not go away. I am not especially drawn to cats - on the whole preferring dogs - so don’t quite know why the image haunted me, but it did, and the creature began to assume a personality: urbane, smug, supercilious. The picture enlarged - for, presumably to annoy and punctuate the cat’s complacency, there bounded into my mind’s eye an anarchic ragamuffin dog. And then, hovering diffidently in the distance there emerged the vague outline of an Anglican vicar. Thus, quite by accident and half sleep, I had manufactured a ‘living tableau’!

Where these three characters came from I have no idea, but insidiously they implanted themselves in my imagination and I have lived with them ever since. For what began as a tentative experiment to incorporate them into a very, very short story - just to see what it felt like to write fiction - turned itself into a whole novel, and is now nearly a full-blown trilogy. And the irony is, that when I first took up my pencil and wrote the opening line of A Load Of Old Bones - “It was Bouncer who found the leg.” - I had no idea whose leg it was or what the repercussions would be. Totally ill-prepared, I had embarked on the new venture literally clueless as to how the narrative was going to proceed, let alone turn out!

In my teaching days I had always impressed upon my students that tackling a project without due thought to planning and procedure was a hazardous undertaking. To begin writing something with little idea of its course and outcome was not the most sensible technique. But here I was flagrantly breaching my own precepts - and more or less have been doing so ever since! In principle I think that advice was right; but I also think that, in my case, it is precisely this rather ad hoc approach, this lack of forward planning which is the impetus that drives the writing. As I sit at the computer (now generally composing straight onto the screen) I am telling myself a story, and, as with any listener, I am never really sure what is going to happen next or what the characters will do: I write to find out.

But just as at the beginning of the tale there was little notion of what events and situations would enmesh those three characters, neither did I have any concept of what lay in store for the project itself. As I began to write, the thing spiralled and I soon realized that there was no neat ending in sight. Evidently the story was destined to become a novella . . . not so. Novella proportions were soon exceeded and the piece completed itself as a full length novel. Nevertheless, at this stage I had no thoughts of trying for publication: it was enough that I had discovered what it felt like to write fiction, and that to my surprise I had produced a narrative of approximately seventy-five thousand words with, despite the haphazard approach, a beginning, middle, and (admittedly ambiguous) end. However, I had enjoyed the process and was amused by my three characters and their cranky associates and wanted to share the joke with others. So my immediate aim was modest: to get the thing photocopied, ring-bound and plastic-covered, and then duplicated and circulated to about ten or fifteen friends . . . .

Ambitions rarely remain so contained; and emboldened by favourable comments from those friends (well, they would, wouldn’t they!) I started to think seriously of publication. And thus began the old familiar story: eagerly and naïvely I started to approach the publishing firms, and inevitably the rejection slips came flitting back thick and fast. I had read about rejection slips - but as with any affliction, assumed they would never happen to me. They most certainly did! I then discovered that what was needed was an AGENT. Oh that’s all right, I thought, getting one of those should not be too difficult . . . Idiot child! Agents, I discovered, are even more retiring than publishers, and thus the rejection slips continued to mount.

Obviously I was disappointed, but less on account of not being published per se as that the lives of my nonsensical characters, animal and human, should not be given fuller exposure. They had begun to be alive for me and I wanted them to be so for others. Somehow without that objective recognition they would forever remain mere figments of a pensioner’s quirky imagination. The novel had ended on a cliff-hanger, and to satisfy my curiosity I had already embarked on a sequel in which the original characters were developing and fresh ones emerging. Thus it seemed increasingly imperative to find them a wider and more public outlet. There was only one thing to be done: self-publish. Second best, but better than nothing . . . and for one who lacks all business sense and entrepreneurial skills, quite apart from being idle by nature, the prospect was terrifying!

But that is what happened. I found a small printing firm that specializes in dealing with new authors (Able Publishing), and reassured by their friendly encouragement and shrewd advice, ordered a print run of five hundred paperback copies. I had already been recommended a young illustrator, John Sadler, and the comically graphic cartoon that he designed for the cover gave me enormous pleasure and confidence. Thus I was certainly pleased with the product . . . But how to sell it?

The answer, of course, is with difficulty! It is said that desperation drives; but in my case I think it was also a sort of mulish cussedness. Anyway, things started well enough with a nice launch by my local bookshop and a couple of items in the Hereford press, plus a radio interview; but after that it was a question of touting the thing around to independent booksellers, libraries, church gift stalls, fêtes, or indeed anywhere that might be remotely ready to give shelf space to an absurd crime story involving an addled clergyman, his cat and dog, his pompous bishop, a shady spiv and an assortment of refined oddballs.

Grovelling letters were sent, along with innumerable emails and phone calls; inspection copies were dispatched (most disappearing into the ether), and friends enlisted to ‘spread the word’. I became listed on Amazon, managed to set up an account with Waterstones, found one or two branches of the then Ottakars well disposed, mingled with the hordes at the London Book Fair, gave one or two talks to societies (with the novels piled well to the fore!), and managed to get registered with some of the main wholesale distributors. Some of the effort was fruitless, especially where getting review notices was concerned. But nevertheless sales were being made and people seemed to enjoy what they read; the stocks taking up space in my hallway were becoming less mountainous, and I was receiving an intermittent flow of requests for copies from Bertrams, Gardners, et al. Receiving their little brown envelopes always gave me a buzz and I would trudge to the post office with lightened heart!

Somehow I insinuated myself into the Society of Authors. I say ‘insinuated’ because I rather had the impression that it was rare for them to be approached by a self-published author, let alone one with no more than a solitary unknown novel to her name! However, they kindly offered me Associate Membership for which I was grateful; but later on, looking at the smaller print of the regulations, it struck me that I might be eligible for full membership. Thus I made diffident enquiry and was duly accepted. Joining the Society boosted my confidence considerably as I began to feel less isolated and more legitimate, and I have found it an extremely helpful and convivial organization.

And then, miraculously, I was approached out of the blue by a newly launched audio book firm, Joyful Productions, to whom my novel had been recommended by one of the branch managers of Ottakars. This was very exciting, and even more so when the producer was able to interest the distinguished comedy actor Leslie Phillips in performing the part of the cat - which he does suavely and superbly!

Things were certainly looking up. But the real breakthrough came with Constable & Robinson. Still with no agent, I had sent them a copy of the luridly covered paperback and had included for good measure the first fifty pages of its unpublished sequel Bones In The Belfry. . . . Another wistful arrow shot into the air, but this time it fell to fertile ground! I was told that they considered both pieces “completely off the wall” but were prepared to take a gamble and publish the two. Apart from the obvious delight, I was also mightily relieved, for by now the sequel was finished and the prospect of having to start the whole self-publishing lark all over again made me want to go and lie down. As said, idle by nature, I do not think I could have coped with another circuit!

So thank you C & R for having faith - and let’s hope that gamble pays off!

Comments

[Gretchen Price]

I read the 2nd book first having found it on a new book shelf in the public library. I was initially attracted by the cover art but the story is a real gem! I just can't reconcile a murdering vicar! But I've read both books and laughed myself silly and am anxiously awaiting the 3rd. Thanks for the fun. Gretchen Price in Arizona.