The Writers' Workshop

Where do you get the ideas for your amazing books? is a question I am asked all too often, and it's not the only question either! Sometimes it's how do you write your amazing books? which is of course another matter entirely. Naturally, were I to answer such questions on each occasion of my being asked, I would barely have time to write my amazing books! Therefore it seemed high time I offered some more general address in hope of satisfying everyone's curiosity, affording my readers a precious glimpse of how the magic comes about; and so today I'll be sharing some of my thoughts on the work of a few aspiring authors.

War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. Whether it be Star Trek, Star Wars or Babylon 5, I love science-fiction, and science-fiction novels can be great too. In fact I'm unapologetically a particularly huge fan of Philip K. Dick, the crazy genius who brought us both Blade Runner and Total Recall. Unfortunately, anyone reading War of the Worlds hoping for anything in the vein of one of Dick's famous twist endings will be disappointed. War of the Worlds is a steampunk novel, and steampunk is Victorian science-fiction, although I know I hardly need to explain that to anyone who, like me, follows the adventures of that mysterious traveller in time and space known only as the Doctor! If War of the Worlds sounds familiar, then you're probably thinking of the wonderful BBC serial of which this is the novelisation. Wells strives to tell an exciting adventure in jolly old Victorian England but comes unstuck by concentrating on the action whilst ignoring the powerful character development we saw on the screen. I'm all for writers branching out and doing their own thing, but not at the expense of the drama. My advice would have been to develop some conflict for George, perhaps with a childhood scene wherein (for example) his father makes light of our young protagonist, perhaps being dismissive of a childish drawing the boy has done for his dear old dad. Wells' War might then serve as a clever metaphor for George's internal struggle as he wrestles with feelings of abandonment, subconsciously seeking the approval of a father figure while fleeing from the Martians and their terrible ray guns. Wells might do well (no pun intended there!) to pick up a few of my officially licensed He-Man and the Masters of the Universe tie-in novels so as to see how his somewhat flat characters could have been better handled.

Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence. No-one loves to curl up on the sofa on a rainy day with a super-gooey romance like I do, but I have a hard time believing that D.H. Lawrence feels the same even if that's what he's tried to write here. This is probably the grumpiest, gloomiest romance I've ever tried to read, and the hero doesn't even sound particularly dashing. There's an introduction by one of the author's snooty friends making a big deal out of Lawrence's descriptions of the natural world, but to be honest I found this aspect even more depressing than his failure to summon up anything approaching lovey dovey. My advice to D.H. would be to treat himself to a binge watch of Midsomer Murders for some pointers on creating a charming rustic atmosphere, and because romance does actually feature in the show every now and then - certainly more than you'll find in Women in Love. Women Having a Bit of a Moan would have been a more accurate title!

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Behind each successful author there will always be a queue of others hoping to ride on the same ticket to YA publishing stardom, and I'm sure Stephenie Meyer has lost count of those hoping to duplicate her success with the fantastic Twilight franchise. Mary Shelley can hardly be faulted for her ambition in picking such a well established character as Frankenstein, but she  should have done a bit more research. Whilst this Frankenstein sounds familiar from Shelley's long-winded steampunk influenced description, the problem is that old bolts-through-the-neck never shuts up, instead delivering long lectures which I doubt even the great Boris Karloff, the original Frankenstein, would have had the patience to memorise. With a little more effort, this could have been the beginning of an amazing, if not terribly original, franchise with  Frankenstein meeting a spooky Egyptian mummy, a werewolf and so on, but it's hardly surprising that Shelley's publisher declined to pick up the option on this one.

The Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. I know what you're thinking - it sounds like one of those super saucy Confessions films from the swinging seventies starring Robin Askwith, the key to which was the suggestion of lewd material without showing too much. If Mr. Burroughs saw any of those films, I would say he probably didn't learn anything because this book doesn't make any sense, and is extremely lewd with page after page describing what two men of certain inclinations might get up to if left to their own devices. Now I'm no prude, and I'm a great supporter of the LGBT community, but this sort of thing really is beyond the pale. There isn't even any description of anyone sharing a romantic lunch in suitable preface to the bedroom unpleasantness described in such detail, which I'm sure the author thought was very clever indeed. No-one likes a toffee nosed show off, Mr. Burroughs. In the author's defence, it seems the publisher has mistakenly published the pages of his novel in the wrong order, resulting in a mish-mash of such bewildering composition as to resemble the sort of insanity which was popular amongst the spaced out druggers of the 1960s, and fans of cult classic The Prisoner might enjoy some of The Naked Lunch had Burroughs not spent so much of the book describing things I would rather not discuss with children present.

London Fields by Martin Amis. I have to confess that I don't know how this one ended, having given up half way through. The problem is that whilst Amis clearly strives to recreate the charm of the beloved Cockney characters from EastEnders, he fails to imbue them with what we writers refer to as relatability, which is a quality where the reader is able to imagine him or herself as one of the characters in the book. My advice to Mr. Amis would be to pick up a couple of volumes of Black Pudding Row, my popular series of heart-warming tales of down to earth folk living in a pleasant town in the north of England. It's possible to write working class characters without recourse to foul language, Mr. Amis. You simply have to keep at it.

So there we have it for this time. I hope you've enjoyed my sharing a few humble suggestions as much as I've enjoyed sharing them with you; and if you're a budding author, I hope this has provided a few pointers. A book should transport its reader to a magical world of wonderment and make believe, so it's important that we who have been blessed with the task of arranging that transport should get it right!