Ironic, or What?

I’ve just been massively complimented and hugely insulted. Ironic or what?

     I didn’t send in Passive Voice with any great hopes. I don’t do optimistic. On principle. But there was still part of me that couldn’t help thinking it was pretty good for a first novel. Not that it was my first novel, of course. Not really. I was convinced I had penned a masterpiece (or several) before I left junior school. While others were just starting to read chapter books, I was writing them. They were pretty dire, of course. But this is the first “adult” (no, not that sort of adult!) book I actually finished. At first I thought I was following the old Jane Austen maxim of creating a heroine I didn’t much like. But I suspect she actually liked Emma Woodhouse very much, and I was also rather fond of Lucrezia Pollard. 

     Anyway, the letter has come from the publishers (I was too skint for an agent, it goes without saying!) and they like it! They like it very much. They are prepared to consider it for publication.

     But there are buts. Now much as I would like to proclaim but me no buts I had known there would be buts. I am even prepared to compromise on my heroine’s name (not least because it seemed like a good idea at the time but now I’m by no means so sure!). If they prefer her to be called Lucia or Louise, fair enough. I can live with it. The Borgia clan does not play any significant (or insignificant) role in the story.

     But Mark Trelawney has other ideas. He wants it to be more upbeat. To have more of a feelgood feel. 

     I can feel myself cringing with the same sort of sensation as when you put in one of those sickly, sugar-hit sweets that end up tasting contradictorily sour and leaving a nasty after-taste. Show me a book (or a movie, for that matter) that promises it is feelgood then I will show you one person who has no intention of reading or watching it. Oh, and Laugh Out Loud falls into the same category. 

     Now I am by no means entirely humourless. I do irony. I do droll. I do wordplay and hints of the absurd. But I think most so-called classic comedy is hugely over-rated and my objections to the shows some still go into ecstasies about aren’t because they’re hideously un-PC (though some of them are) but because I just don’t think they’re funny. Ditto books. Oh, I will make certain exceptions – I like The Diary of a Nobody and Lucky Jim. And I’m certainly no fan of the doom and gloom laden for the sake of it.

     Anyway, I don’t know what he’s talking about. I mean, everyone is still alive at the end of Passive Voice, aren’t they? And Lucrezia’s best friend Tamsin and her husband George are still married despite George’s affair (though if he thinks she’s forgiven him, he’s much mistaken!). But I had no intention of her discovering that her irritating boss Clyde was really an absolute darling and falling into his arms in delight when he popped the question. Nor of her realising that the tedious brat next door was in fact a delightful child who had many life-lessons to teach her. And I still have no intention of changing that, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr Mark Trelawney.

     Not that I suppose he has a pipe. Not like Mr Braithwaite next door to Lucrezia who blows noxious tobacco fumes into her face whilst not even bothering to say that he’s not a racist but. And he doesn’t turn out to be a charming and fascinating old gentleman.

     So he can forget it!

A couple of hours and a couple of cups of coffee later. I have already written the draft of my email to Mark Trelawney remaining (just) polite but telling him that though I may be prepared to compromise on the matter of the name, and am even (reluctantly) prepared to slim it down a bit (even if some writers do seem to sell their books by weight!) I am not going to make any further concessions or amendments, certainly not that affect the intrinsic nature of my book. I was quite proud of that phrase intrinsic nature.

     But it is as yet unsent. Now it is no bad thing (as I have learnt to my cost) to pause and think it over before pressing send. Especially if you are in a state of anger, lust, or indignation. Oh, or have had too much to drink – particularly if you are also in a state of anger, lust, or indignation. Well, I’m not inebriated (too early for the red wine, even for me!) and most certainly not lustful, and as for anger, well, irritated, perhaps. Indignation however – well, that’s another matter.

     Still – should wounded pride be added to that list?

     Oh, hell! This was one thing I hadn’t factored in. I dreamt of acceptance (inasmuch as I do dreaming, at least the daytime variety) and could have coped with rejection. But somehow this slipped through the net. 

     I want to be a published author! Of course I ruddy well do! Suddenly thinking of that episode in the TV series of Little House on the Prairie where Laura doesn’t sacrifice her principles in the end and refuses to accept a literary contract because the unscrupulous publisher wants to change her story so much. Not that there isn’t an irony there as the TV series took absolutely massive liberties with the books, but tempting as that tangent is, I won’t go down it, though I’m never averse to a good tangent.

     I have edited the email a bit. Included a few words like I feel they want (or he wants!) to change the intrinsic character of the book. This time I did press send, thinking that the bridges might be somewhat charred but were not wholly burnt. 

     Well, that was quick! 

To: JasmineMeyer@litmail.com

From: MarkTrelawney@constablepublishing.co.uk

Subject: PassiveVoice

Dear Jasmine

Thank your for your email. I wish I heard from all my authors so quickly. Of course there is always an element of give and take and bouncing ideas off each other. There really is huge potential in Passive Voice, but please don’t be offended if I say it does need some changes.

     I see we live fairly close to each other. I like to meet up with my authors if possible. Sometimes it’s a lot easier to thrash things out over coffee than on a screen.

     Looking forward to hearing from you.

     Mark Trelawney

Well, I don’t quite know what to make of that. I’m certainly not going to be mollified by all the please and thank you, not that it does any harm. I may not have developed a taste for feelgood and laugh out loud and never will, but I am not without manners.

     But what has impressed me is that he said my authors. Twice. And I rather like that. Or did I? My cynical side (that suggests I have an UN-cynical side, which is open to debate) says he’s taking a lot for granted and it must be a one man company. Except I know that, although they’re never likely to rival Penguin, the latter, at least, isn’t true. 

     Anyway, what have I to lose? A posh coffee and talking about myself? Bring it on!

So it was duly brought on. And it was both highly enjoyable and highly irritating. Ironic or what? I am getting decidedly too fond of that phrase. After all, I have never had much time for catchphrases, even if those who employ them are supposed to be national treasures. I have never quite grasped why something that was never that funny to start with becomes funny through repetition.

     We met up in Carlito’s, whose owner is actually called Charlie and comes from Leeds, but at least doesn’t affect a false Italian accent and can certainly make a decent coffee. Mark Trelawney – I knew it was him – not psychic, I’d seen a photo of him! – was already there. He’d had a hair cut since the photo, and no bad thing. I like a man with either long (pony tail acceptable in certain circumstances) or short hair, not that in-between. Still, what Brownie points he gained for his attention to matters tonsurial, he lost for wearing a T-shirt proclaiming Save the Pangolin. Not that I disagree with the sentiment, of course, but anyone who wears slogan T-shirts over the age of 18 is suspect!

     I was glad he kept pleasantries to a minimum. Then he said, “Well, Jasmine, your email made it pretty clear you’re not really open to discussion.”

     “That’s unfair, Mark,” I said. Somehow “unfair” is just about acceptable for an adult while “not fair” isn’t. Or at least according to my own rules! 

     “Okay. But there are – certain areas that you see as pretty unnegotiable. That’s not how it works.”

     “I am aware of that,” I said, sounding rather more frosty and prim than I meant to.

     He seemed determined to do the good cop, bad cop business single-handed. “Sorry. That came over as condescending.” He took a sip of his cappuccino while weighing up what to say, which mildly irritated me, though I had no intention of letting mine go cold. “I’m probably more on your side than you might think. As soon as I sent that email I thought better of the “feelgood” business.” He paused again, though he didn’t take another sip of his coffee. “I’m not for one minute saying people can’t change. And they can certainly surprise you. But frankly, I’m up to here …..” (he gestured in the rough direction of his chin) “with slimeballs who turn out to be saints. You wouldn’t believe the number of manuscripts I get where that happens. If Clyde had turned into Prince Charming there’s a good chance you’d have got a different kind of letter! And you get a metaphorical pat on the back for resisting the temptation to make Mr Braithwaite endearing. I really liked it being fine to carry on not liking him!” I could have pointed out that the temptation was never there to resist, but I can take a compliment gracefully on occasion. Anyway, at this point I had a mouth full of cappuccino. “I also like the fact that you’re not so desperate to have your book published that you don’t care what happens to it and how much it’s changed. But please – because I think it’s totally worth publishing – would you at least think it over? At least read it again and ask yourself – isn’t it possible to lay on cynicism with a trowel, as well as sweetness?”

     At one and the same time I found that last question (probably meant as hypothetical!) both condescending and entirely reasonable.   Still, I suppose re-reading the book can do no harm. I agreed, with the air of doing him a favour. I rather liked the way he smiled when I did, though hurriedly reminding myself that Lucrezia (okay, Lucia or Louise if needs must!) wouldn’t be especially moved by a boyish grin, and neither would I. 

     I was oddly nervous about re-reading it. Oh, I never intended to be one of those writers who say they never revisit old works, in my view that’s just an affectation and false modesty. But it was something like the feeling you get when returning home after a long holiday. I would probably have been mad at Mark if he’d suggested I tried to imagine I was reading a book by someone else, but in a way, I was. And I still thought it was pretty good! But absence had not necessarily made the heart grow fonder. And at times Lucrezia did start to get on my nerves and – well, not in a good way! Like when she went to her colleague Vivienne’s birthday do and had an entirely enjoyable conversation with her cousin Simon. Simon was a thoroughly nice man. I might not have intended to create a thoroughly nice man, but I had, intentionally or not. That did not necessarily mean that he and Lucrezia should even entertain the tiniest flicker of a thought of them becoming an item (though it might not be impossible) but what was I actually trying to prove by having Lucrezia think of him (at some length and with some vitriol!) as a bland, sanctimonious bore? On the evidence of that conversation, he certainly wasn’t bland or boring, and instinct told me he wasn’t sanctimonious either. I might not have set out to make her instantly appealing, but I hadn’t intended her to be quite so bleak in her view of humanity. That was the point. Her outlook wasn’t entirely bleak. She had a sense of humour and could be kind. Or could have been kind, if I hadn’t decided this wouldn’t do at all. 

     I said I liked word play and a weird sort of portmanteau word has just come to mind. Have I fallen prey to “Pollyannaversion”? Not that an aversion to Pollyanna (and those latter-day clones who make her look positively peevish!) is necessarily a bad thing. But – well, this notion that because goody-goody smiley feelgood characters can be hugely vexing, the only kind of characters worth writing and reading about are unrelenting cynics and any sign of deviation from this is to be come down on with a ton of bricks? The child next door being a tedious brat didn’t mean ALL children were! Lucrezia could have been quite fond – very fond, even – of her niece Lynette if I gave her half a chance. 

Have met up with Mark again. If he expected me to eat humble pie (which, to be fair, he gave no appearance of doing) he would have been disappointed. But I indicated that I might be prepared to meet him half way. Keep Lucrezia spiky and cynical – that’s the essence of her – but make her a bit less one-dimensional. Because at times is one-dimensional. I might as well admit it. 

     And he smiled that boyish grin of his and when I asked myself What Would Lucrezia Do? I honestly didn’t know the answer, and that made life decidedly complicated. Not that life needs to be made complicated.

     “Oh, and on reflection – don’t change her name. I think it works rather well!”

     Ironic or what?