Here it is - my last post of 2008. And no doubt, like me, you’re running around doing all those last-minute jobs that have to be done before the holidays can properly begin.  Picking the final gifts, grappling with many square feet of wrapping paper, rolling out the dough for the Christmas cookies or the pastry for the mincepies (depending where on the globe you call home). But perhaps also like me you feel that the main event of Christmas is being with your family and best friends - the people who really make this time of year special for you, and for whom, like me, you gladly travel long distances.

The photo should give you a clue about where I am. Yes, it is London’s Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, and it’s great to be here at this special time of year - though I also miss our Virginia home too (especially our street’s annual sleigh ride - well actually, more of a hay-wagon ride, minus the hay but plus a few wine bottles!). My family can all be together this year and that already makes it a very special Christmas for me.  The trip will include lots of fun things - a couple of shows up in Drury Lane and Covent Garden, and of course a trip to Oxford Street to see the fabulous Christmas lights. 

If you’re thinking of sending me a submission you might want to wait until the first week of January when I’ll be planted at my desk once again, all refreshed and raring to see what the new year will bring.  The ubiquitous Blackberry (aka the Crackberry) has been put to sleep in the depths of a suitcase, only to be pulled out for disasters of a rare and dreadful nature.  Silent night, holy night, and all is peaceful at the Greenhouse.

So I wish you all the happiest of holidays and New Year celebrations and many good things in 2009.  Who knows what the new year will bring - almost certainly many challenges for us all, given the global economic climate.  But also, I hope and believe, many great and exciting events and achievements on a personal and professional level.  I wish you all happy and satisfying writing, a sense that you are making progress in your literary craft and, above all, enjoying what you do.

Thank you, so many of you, for sharing the adventure of 2008 with me.  I’ve loved getting to know many of you in small and large ways.  Have yourselves a merry little Christmas - and I’ll leave you with the great words from John’s Gospel that I was so privileged to read at our church’s service of Lessons and Carols last week.

IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD.

The first thing I should say is . . .  Look!  Sarah’s blog has finally moved into the twentieth-first century; my web-meister, Rowan, has tinkered with the mechanics in the engine-room to allow photos to be inserted.  It’s taken a while and cost thousands of lives, but I’m very excited to be able to reveal our very first image from the Greenhouse.

You see, I felt we all needed some fun in our lives. Because basically the news is Not Terribly Good.  It feels like every time I log on another troubling announcement emanates from the transatlantic book industry. Pay freezes, acquisition prohibitions, staff laid off, retail sales sliding in the final months of 2008, rumours of sales (companies, not book rights), articles telling me that it’s going to be tough to sell debut or literary fiction. And now the most brilliant get-out has emerged - the recession rejection: We’re sorry, but the recession means we don’t feel we can offer to acquire this great manuscript. Well, it’s a lot easier and less painful than admitting that you don’t find the concept or voice or characterization quite outstanding enough.

So am I downcast and miserable as I sit here with the rain sliding down my windowpane?  No I’m not.  Or perhaps (thinking towards the January 20 inauguration, where I shall be flocking together with about 4 million others) I should say: YES WE CAN!

Yes, I believe we can sell books in 2009. And yes, I fully intend to do so.  The children’s area of this industry has always been a little more resilient in bad times than adult books, which should give us hope. And I still believe absolutely that a great manuscript/a great book will be in demand and find its home. But what we do have to recognize is a trickle-down kind of caution. Publishers are under a lot of pressure to make the best commercial decisions, and I can imagine that all houses will be putting their editors through an acquisition process that will make the Inquisition look gentle.  Dollars, pounds - and potentially an awful lot of them - are at stake every time an editor buys a book; not just the acquisition money that buys the rights, but all the other money that goes into production, overheads, publicity and marketing, warehousing. The cost of having an editor sitting at a desk in a room in New York or London is jaw-dropping (I saw the figures for my own seat, my own desk, a few years ago and had a new reverence for my little plot of publishing ground); the cost of an hour of a publisher’s time is very significant when you cost it all in.  And as for agents?  Well, their business doesn’t make any money at all unless they seal a deal (you ask Jerry McGuire). We are, it must be said, quite brave people.

So where does all this leave us?  It leaves us under pressure to make very, very good decisions - which, of course, one only knows fully with the wonderful gift of hindsight. Publishers will be under pressure to acquire the work that will be easy and rewarding to market.  Agents will be under even more pressure to represent the manuscripts that have the best chance of selling. The work that will be squeezed hardest will be the new literary voice, the gentle or not-quite-standout storyline, the experimental, the work that lacks an evident commercial angle, the voice that’s nice but maybe, possibly, not quite interesting enough or that needs to develop a little more. Breathe in, because our belts just tightened a notch.

But having looked down from the tightrope and seen the market, I now intend to look up - to the wonderful world of this industry which I love so much.  It has weathered a lot of storms in the past, and I say again, the best writing, the best ideas, will sell - and deals will be done.  I look at Publishers Marketplace daily and see them - rows and rows of books sold, new writers getting launched, gripping plot lines seeing the light of day, even as bad news trickles in.  Because the fact is, no publisher will survive or retain/grow market share without product - and the product is books.  No one will want to miss out on acquiring strong work for the future, not least because who knows what the market will be doing in 2010 or 2011 when many of these new books will appear on the shelves.  If you don’t speculate now, you can’t accumulate later.  Every sentient agent or publisher is scared of missing a big one!

So what does this mean for you writers out there?  Be informed, read what’s going on in the industry - but then clear your head to write the book that only you can write.  It’s what I’ve said throughout this blog - carve out the absolutely strongest plot you can find, know where its commercial hook and focus lie, and learn the craft of writing with all the means at your disposal. We need a standout story, an original and effective voice, characters that leap off the page and into our hearts.  Achieve all that and you too will be saying, YES WE CAN!

But as this damp and grey day drips relentlessly on, I suggest you forget your plotting and revisions and anxieties.  Because here to amuse you is a piccy of the hotseat of the Greenhouse USA. You will notice that it is an unusual agency:  its senior staff member has completely disappeared, leaving behind only a pair of green shoes. Has she evaporated? Or fled the country? Then, of course, there’s her assistant - the ever-faithful and ever-snoring Hound (NB: My thanks to blog-reader Emily Cooper who wrote expressing her virtual affection for this critter).  How can one feel even remotely dismal when looking at that malodorous mound of fur?

So, all together now.  We’re going to shout in unison and very loudly: YES WE CAN!

Yes, it’s Monday - and I can finally reveal my exciting news.  The Greenhouse is growing! 

A press release went out today to both US and UK trade press, announcing that I’ve appointed Julia Churchill as a new Greenhouse agent, responsible for helping to grow our British stable of authors. Oh, and I’m leaving for the airport in half an hour to collect Julia, who’s spent Thanksgiving in Boston and is flying on to Washington to spend a day or two with me here in the hothouse. Much plotting, planning and bonding will ensue, as we talk about the future - and of course as she takes the final test:  Does the Greenhouse Hound approve of her? Will she give him his requisite number of milkbones?

Julia is British and will be based in London. She’ll be out and about a good deal attending writers’ conferences and events, and generally sniffing out both new and established writers who would like to come and join us in the Greenhouse.  I know you’ll want to know all about her, so I can tell you that she’s very nice (and funny), she is younger than me (not difficult), she loves working with authors, and she’s highly thought of within the British children’s books industry.  Before joining Greenhouse she spent several years agenting for the Darley Anderson Agency in London where she developed quite a track record for finding new talent.  Like me, she’ll be looking for that spark of potential and working with writers in an editorial way prior to submission.  Julia has that small streak of craziness that I love (and with which I identify!); I knew she was the one for the job when it became clear she was prepared to leap on a plane from London and fly out to see me at twenty-four hours’ notice. Now that’s the kind of agent I like!

While I’ll continue to represent my existing American and British authors to both markets - and no doubt take on more British authors myself in the future - Julia’s appointment will enable me to focus even more on the US market, knowing that all bases are being covered in the UK.  I’m out and about such a lot in the States myself now, and have so many opportunities coming my way, that this will make me even more sure that I’m not missing anything.

Given the Greenhouse only launched in late January 2008, I am really proud that we have a platform to grow in this way - and given the tough economic times in both countries.  But with seven debut authors already with deals (and the beginnings of foreign sales too), it would have been silly not to have looked to grow at this stage. Do I have plans for world domination?  Well, let’s just say that it’s my ambition for Greenhouse to be the agency of choice for children’s/teen authors on both sides of the Atlantic.

Lots of things to think about, lots of things to do.  But first I’ll welcome Julia to the heart of the Greenhouse this afternoon and offer her a nice cup of tea. After all, she is a Brit!

Cheers, everyone - and here’s to the future.

I was meant to write you a nice long and meaty piece today - but have run out of time, caught between ‘the rock’ of a contract’s minute detail and ‘the hard place’ of a Thanksgiving dessert waiting to be created, its constituent parts sitting neglected in bags out in the garage. 

So I shall simply say a big HAPPY THANKSGIVING to all my American readers.  And don’t worry, you Brits reading this - I promise to explain Thanksgiving when I see you next. As well as Being Thankful, it also involves doing strange things with marshmallows, the ‘Butterball Hotline’, and many images in the news of car headlights inching up the freeway.  For me, it also involves struggling to work out how (and perhaps why) on earth I must now weigh butter in ‘cups’. Can butter really fit into cups? Yes, when it comes to cuisine, America and Britain are definitely two countries divided by a common recipe.

The planned witty and penetrating blog post is therefore not going to happen.  But I can tell you this - I have some very exciting news for you, which has been keeping me extraordinarily busy. And I can promise that all will be revealed NEXT WEEK!

Oh, and I also have a Very Special Guest arriving with me on Monday!

All of which is, of course, designed to keep you on Thanksgiving tenterhooks - and make you tune in next week.

And now, having been irritatingly and quite smugly cryptic, I shall sign off and head to the garage to retrieve my ‘sweet butter’ and golden raisins. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, wherever you are!

There are many great things about living around Washington DC.  There are the majestic views up the Mall from the Washington Monument to the Capitol.  There are the inspiring words engraved on the walls of the Jefferson Monument, and the spring-time cherry blossoms. There’s the excellent kayaking on the Potomac – and the moment when you hear excessive tooting and know you’re about to spot a motorcade (you can tell I’m not a native DCer because I still get really excited at that).  Yes, I am a living, breathing tourist brochure for this beautiful city and its environs.

But today I want to tell you about two particularly fabulous DC features – linked by what you might call ‘the writing life’.

Fabulous DC Feature #1

THE SMITHSONIAN!
This great collection of museums ensures you’ll never run out of interesting things to see and do, and it also puts on an impressive list of courses and lectures. Last night I went to one of them – a brilliant interview with that goddess of contemporary women’s fiction, Anita Shreve.  Yes, I was quite close to ANITA SHREVE! You may touch the hem of my garment.

It’s hard to think of a mega-selling author like Ms Shreve just starting out, but like all writers she has a fascinating story to tell about how it all started and what it’s like now. How she was a teacher and experienced such an intense and sudden ‘calling’ to become a writer that she left school in the middle of a semester (incurring considerable opprobrium in the process). How she still keeps her box of rejection letters, ‘enough to wallpaper my bathroom’. How she does three or four complete revisions of each manuscript before submitting it to her publisher, always changing at least one major component of her story, whether the narrator or the tense, or something equally fundamental.  How every novel is agonizing to write, and how she is never free of the mental tyranny of her work-in-progress apart from a blessed couple of weeks after sending it off when she’s still waiting to hear back from her editor.  The picture she painted of her particular writing life was one of strenuousness nicely leavened with anxiety.

The one piece of advice she gives new writers?  Never give up.  She didn’t, she got published – and one day her phone rang and it was Oprah! 

Fabulous DC Feature #2

TAMI LEWIS BROWN!
Now, if you don’t know Tami, you must be one of the few people in the US children’s writing community who doesn’t – because it always seems to me that Tami has more names in her Roledex than I’ve met in my entire life. Going to a conference? Tami will be an organizer.  Need a ride to an event?  Tami will turn up at the wheel. As well as being a genuine DC resident, Tami is also a Greenhouse author and this week I sold her first novel, ONE SHINY SILVER KEY, to editorial doyenne Melanie Kroupa of Farrar Straus. Huzzah!

I first met Tami some months ago in a roundabout kind of way, and we bonded even more at the Vermont alumni conference in July (Tami received her MFA in children’s writing there). Recently she interviewed me for the Through the Tollbooth blog that she runs with various other Vermont friends (check it out – it’s a great writers’ resource). So it’s been a great thrill to see ONE SHINY SILVER KEY finally come to fruition for Tami, after what I know has been an arduous creative journey – just as it is each time for Anita Shreve and for any writer who strives to produce work of originality and power.

You might say, reductively, that ONE SHINY SILVER KEY is about two girls (Margie and Peep), a car, and a whole lot of chickens. 
You could also say that it’s a perceptive and moving novel about Margie’s quest to find not only her lost mother, but also her lost self. It embraces coming of age, a major rite of passage – and a particularly fine and hair-raising road trip.

So well done, Tami – I’m delighted that your very first novel will now be joining your very first picturebook (SOAR ELINOR – publishing 2010) on the prestigious FSG list. Not many writers can claim THAT double first in the same year.

Washington DC - a great capital city. Iconic monuments, cherry blossom, The Smithsonian, Anita Shreve (temporarily) – and best of all, my clever, clever Greenhouse author, Tami Lewis Brown!

What can I say about this week? That it was busy?  That I read a lot of manuscripts? That I’m in the middle of making a deal?  That I didn’t get as much done as I should have got done?  That squirrels have eaten so much of our carved Mr Pumpkin on the front step that his grin has got bigger and bigger and more and more insane?

It would all be true.  And yet one thing really happened this week:  there was an election.  Or perhaps I should say AN ELECTION.  Because this was an election worthy of capitalization.

The two campaigns have made me think a lot about WORDS.  These word-gems we handle every day of our lives, so casually, so carelessly most of the time - so weightily, so crucially at others.  I’ve talked before about the gleaming jewels of our language; the diamonds, sapphires, and rubies of inestimable power, capable of arrangement and rearrangement into a myriad of patterns. This pattern can make me laugh; this pattern can break my heart.  This pattern can bring down a Wall; this pattern can create a President. Words can corrupt and betray - and they can inspire and change the world.  Words - the tools of our trade, the love of our lives as writers. The pen is mightier than the sword; the speech can defeat the gun; the wordsmith holds the keys.

Today I went to Washington DC’s incredible new museum - the Newseum.  A glass and steel homage to the power of words, and our history told by journalists, many of whom have lost their lives around the world so that the story WOULD be told. There you can see the original front pages of newspapers from 1485 to the present day, and it is an extraordinary and breathtaking archive:  the Spanish Armada, the Great Fire of London, the Declaration of Independence, the outbreak of two world wars, the deaths of JFK and Princess Diana - right up to this week’s election. But also the origins of some of the world’s biggest ideas - the original writings of Thomas Locke (whose work had such an influence on Jefferson) and Thomas Paine; a fifteenth-century translation from Latin of the Magna Carta.  The Areopagita. Here is the long, long span of history and the development of the media that reflects that history back to us.  Yes, there is wonderful journalistic photography; but accompanying it all are words - and some poignant momentoes of brave people who wouldn’t be silenced:  Veronica Guerin’s Montblanc pen; Daniel Pearl’s passport (cancelled); more than one bullet-riddled car.

So I’m still thinking about this election.  And remembering how I stood on the spot on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial where Martin Luther King said, ‘I have a dream.’ And how we now have a President-Elect who has said, ‘Don’t tell me that words don’t matter.’

He is right.  Don’t tell me that words don’t matter. Yes, most words need actions to accompany them. But those little gems of language still rule. And they can change a life - and the world.

You must have been wondering where I’d got to.  Did I vanish in a puff of smoke? Or fall into a pile of submissions never to be seen again?  Well, the latter is always very possible (except they’re all electronic now), but the truth is - I’m just emerging from probably the busiest few weeks I’ve had since launching Greenhouse. 

If you caught my last blog post, you’ll know I was about to speak at Storyville in London.  Yes, it all went pretty well and it was lovely to see several friendly faces in the audience - though actually quite hard to see ANYONE, given the venue was the very cool and stylish basement of a London club, all tricked out with red and black leather and some very low lighting. Oh, and did I mention I was filmed as I spoke?  Hmm, yes, that did come as a surprise, but thankfully I soon forgot about the camera.  Best bit of the evening for me was the ‘pitching’.  After my talk, aspiring writers came up on to the stage one by one, sat down and simply pitched their novel to me.  Very stimulating and interesting because I had to give instant feedback on their concepts and ideas - not dissimilar, I guess, from the fast decisions agents have to make reading queries (though at least I do suggest you paste some pages of your text into your query so I can get a sense of your writing as well).

Straight home from Storyville to finish packing and then on to the plane home to the USA next morning (basically, where am I? What day is it?).  And everything just coming together nicely to sell Alexandra Diaz’s debut young-adult novel, OF ALL THE STUPID THINGS, to Elizabeth Law at Egmont US.  Alexandra is a very ‘Greenhousy’ (please note new adjective) writer in that she’s American, but living at the moment in England where she took her postgraduate degree in writing for young people at Bath Spa University (very good course - it’s produced a number of great writers, and agents keep a close eye on alumni). OF ALL THE STUPID THINGS is a fast-moving, thought-provoking, very commercial novel told from multiple perspectives, so you really get inside the heads of Tara, Whitney Blaire, and Pinkie - three 16 year olds who’ve been friends forever. In the course of the novel each girl has their own very individual rite of passage, but the story focuses particularly on Tara, whose growing fascination/obsession with new-girl Riley not only threatens to overturn these old friendships, but also makes Tara question herself and her identity in new ways.  It’s a great story, and I’m sure Alexandra will find Elizabeth Law’s editorial gifts (and incredible wit and warmth!) a joy to work with on this dynamic new Egmont list. 

Then Saturday it was off to the SCBWI mid-Atlantic annual conference at Arlington - a wonderful day where I had the privilege of speaking to what looked like 200-300 delegates, as well as thoroughly enjoying doing one-on-one manuscript critiques with ten writers. Not only was it just about the best organized conference I’ve ever attended (Ellen Braaf, Erin Teagan, and Sydney Dunlap left no detail unplanned - and GH author Val Patterson’s lunchtime food was beyond yummy!), but I also thoroughly enjoyed meeting and chatting with a range of editors - Jill Santoplo of Balzer & Bray, Harper; Allison Wortche of Knopf; Marilyn Mark, Marshall Cavendish; Alvina Ling, Little Brown - but also (roll on the drums) spending time chatting with lovely, funny author Jane Yolen.

Fell into a stupor of mindless fatigue on Sunday; no idea what happened on Monday.  And then off to New York on Tuesday, where my friend (and Book Doctor to the Stars) Deborah Brodie (www.deborahbrodie.com) had given me the great opportunity of being part of a panel addressing MFA students and alumni of the children’s writing course at New School.  Very good experience. and lovely to meet my co-panellists, editor Harold Underdown and agent Kenneth Wright of Writers House.  Then on to three great meetings with New York editors the following day - breakfast with lovely Molly O’Neill of Bowen Press, Harper (good cake, good coffee, VERY interesting chat!); lunch with clever Anica Rissi of Simon Pulse (very good noodles, equally interesting chat!); afternoon with one-of-a-kind, style-queen Aimee Friedman of Scholastic.

And guess what?  Throughout all these meetings in New York I was making my way slowly through the increasingly dog-eared, Starbucks-stained manuscript (and final revision) of a novel by a certain new writer, whom I’ve been working with for a few months.  And it is GREAT!  And that’s the best news of all; I feel a submission coming on! 

So now I’m back at my desk again, with the autumn sun turning the leaves glorious shades of gold, red, and green outside my window.  Mr Pumpkin is carved and sitting out on the front porch, all ready to welcome the streams of Halloween trick-or-treaters a little later.  I’m so pleased to be home, it’s ridiculous.  And right now I feel like I never want to travel anywhere again. Ever. Because back on October 13 I celebrated the first anniversary of my arrival in the USA.  And last Monday, October 27, the GH Husband and I celebrated our first year of marriage. It has been an astonishing year of adventure. I salute you, Mr Pumpkin, and your very special month of October.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

People quite often marvel at the unmitigated glamour of my life.  Homes in both the USA and UK?  Flying across the Atlantic? Nipping around New York and London in pursuit of the literary life?  Well, I hardly like to complain, but wish you could see me now: clad in a ratty pair of track-pants and striped apron, my big blue rubber squeegee mop drying out from having cleaned the bathroom floor, the contents of my suitcase strewn across the bedroom, and piles of papers around me as I’ve been practising my Big Speech for tonight.  Oh, sorry, did I forget to tell you?  I’m actually in London, where I’m the ‘top transatlantic literary agent’ who’s speaking for about an hour at Storyville, part of the Big Leap professional development company, which hosts lectures on writing themes each month.  People are paying a fair sum (no pressure, folks, no pressure) to come and hear me, and I’ve been warned to stick diligently to the topic or there could be some complaints.  Actually, I’m quite looking forward to it (or will do once I’ve got the first few sentences out of the way), but there’s a degree of stress here, since I’m also opening speaker for the SCBWI mid-Atlantic conference over in Arlington on Saturday (yes that’s right, with the small matter of a flight and a touch of jetlag in between!).  As my old mother said on the phone just now, ‘You’ve got to remember you’re not as young as you were, dear.’ Thanks, Mother! Don’t you love them?

As always, it’s good to be over here, if somewhat schizophrenic.  I’m pleased to be able to tell you that the price of gas has dropped dramatically - it’s now $6.77 per gallon, so a wonderful decrease from the $7.76 it was last time I was over.  (Of course, we think in litres over here, so I did the math based on yesterday’s exchange rate.) Does that make you feel better, Americans, as you fill your tank? Yes, I thought it would!  The news over here is just as bleak however - full of homes being repossessed, negative equity, and the plight of those whose assets have been frozen in various banks of Icelandic origin (including my sons - great savings advice having been given by their mother some time ago, in easier economic times).  Plus I’m concerned about my old friend who is struggling to keep his business (partly based on the housing market) afloat, by reducing his staff by one-fifth.  Of course, everyone blames him for it all (’I hope you die and your children too,’ as one of the outgoing staff members said sweetly); and the Conservative Party (headed by David Cameron) here are trying to make the case for PM Gordon Brown being responsible for the entire global economic collapse.  Nice try, Mr Cameron.  So the moral of the story must be that everyone wants someone to blame; everyone has an axe to grind. It’s always very interesting seeing the news from a different perspective - not least US election news, which is dominating the media here.  As my Ma muttered the other day, ‘I hope they’re thinking about us as much as we’re thinking about them.’ So, if you’re reading this and you live in America, I’d be really grateful if you could possibly think about Britain right now for a sustained period of time (about 10 minutes would do it), so I can reassure my mother! 

But now I must end this less-than-crafted piece of prose and do a few hundred more jobs before I shoot out the door and on to the Underground. Not least I must make sure my glamorous persona is firmly back in place, which may require several vats of make-up. There’s never a dull moment as a ‘top transatlantic literary agent’ and I’m just setting the stage for an auction for a first novel by a young debut writer I’m representing.  I’ll tell you more about her in due course, but I can tell you that she’s American but lives in England, which is rather interesting.  It looks like we have three New York houses offering, so no doubt I’ll be online or on the phone late tonight (given the time differential) when I’m back from the Big Speech.

Take care, everyone, and cheerio from autumnal, chilly London.  Not only are we ‘two nations divided by a common language’ but also, it seems, ‘two nations divided by a sizeable difference in gas prices’!  But hey, there’s a lot to be thankful for. Right?

The case is black and heavy. I snap open the catches and raise the lid.  There it is - my old friend; the sweetest guitar you ever will see.  The golden wood is satin under my fingers, the piney aroma still magical.  I pick it up, lay it across my legs, and my left hand finds the old shapes; the strong bar of F; triangular D; the small contortions of a minor seventh.  I shut my eyes and start to sing.  And suddenly, I’m back.

*********
There’s fear down here in the shadows, at the foot of the steps.  I wipe my hands, slick with sweat, on my black pants, feeling the reassuring weight of the guitar against my leg.  The boys are behind me - drum, bass, and keyboards - but this is my show; my songs, my lyrics, my life exposed.  My neck on the line for people who couldn’t care less.

Suddenly we’re on, and I stride up the steps into the circle of light.  I’m a moth to this flame. It’s who I am; my identity, my dream.  There’s fear, thrill, and suddenly the intoxicating rush as my voice soars through the microphone and into the blackness.  They’re out there somewhere - I can hear the chink of glasses, the spikes of laughter, the low rumble of conversation.  But here there’s no audience, just me throwing my heart out there into the dark.

I knew when I was young that I could do it.  Armed with my first guitar I conquered the school assembly hall - the shocked, upturned faces of kids who only knew me as lousy at math, and a little too plump.  Then the talent shows, dinner parties, churches, weddings - and much later, getting serious.  Lugging heavy equipment across muddy festival fields; smoky late-night bars and clubs in seedy parts of London; bits and pieces of session work.  Pushing and fighting to be heard, to be better, to be the real thing.  Sarah, the singer-songwriter: ‘I’ve walked this stage, I’ve learned my lines, I’ve played this part oh so many times, and now nothing feels right.’

With two small children this is tough, tough, tough.  You were supposed to do this in your teens, not your thirties, for goodness sake.  Now you should be home, quietly toeing the line and packing the kids’ lunchboxes, not singing sad songs about Sarajevo to crowds of strangers at midnight.  And gradually I start to know that it isn’t going to happen.  That I’m not only not bad - I’m actually pretty good.  But I’m not good enough to be the very best.  And the very best is all that matters.

Slowly, very painfully, I make my way back - and forward; to my real career, the one that rewards me and takes me to the other places I want to go.  To language, to expression, to fulfilment and security - a different path, but in some way, only fully understood much later, a path that is more truly me.

*********

I put the guitar back in the case, close the lid and snap it shut.  I turn off the light and walk away.  It took years for this not to hurt, but now I’ve made my peace with the past.

So do you see now how I understand you?  I WAS you.

To be continued

There are good reasons why I normally do a blog post on Saturday nights - because if I don’t, it just doesn’t happen once the week gets underway. And this week is especially busy, with lots of reading, a submission, contractual stuff, and thinking towards (a.k.a. worrying about/prevaricating) the various upcoming speeches, on both continents, I’ve not yet started preparing. So a bit of midnight-oil is being burned most nights as the rain gently patters down outside the plantation shutters of the Greenhouse.

But I wanted to let you know that I’ve been reading some excellent books recently.  Have you?  Would you like to tell us about them? I’ve also read some that just haven’t really excited me, despite expectations (or the amount of money I know was paid for them!). It’s a very subjective thing, isn’t it - what you love and what you don’t. The extent to which agents and editors disagree with each other might also surprise you, because yes, we do sit down and chat quite passionately about books when we meet up.  As a publisher I was in many an editorial meeting where someone would be looking completely baffled as another person extolled the virtues of a particular manuscript. But this range of opinions is a good thing. Because if we all agreed it would lead to an incredibly narrow publishing scene with everyone fighting for exactly the same book and rejecting all the rest.  So hurrah for diversity, idiosyncracy, and that weird thing called ‘personal taste’!

Would you like to know which books have lit my fire recently?  Here are four:

Top of the list has to be THE HUNGER GAMES by Suzanne Collins.  Yes, yes, I know, you’ve all heard lots about this one and everybody’s going on about it. But there’s a reason why.  It’s fabulous! Every now and then I read a book that makes me think, ‘How come no one has come up with this idea before?’ Or even better: ‘Why didn’t I think of this?’ This is one of those. Set in a dystopic future when North America is in ruins, a new nation called Panem has emerged. At its centre is a shining Capitol surrounded by twelve outlying districts. Every year the Capitol exerts its power by choosing one boy and one girl from each district to participate in the annual Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV. When 16-year-old Katniss steps forward to take her little sister’s place, she knows she’s going to die. However, Katniss is a survivor and almost without meaning to she becomes a serious contender.  But to win she’s going to have to make terrible choices between survival, her humanity, and love.

Fantastic because:  It’s a great concept - strong, original, convincing, and oh so dark. It weaves moral issues with questions about the media and political power, while giving us a growing love story at its heart. Plus the writing is taut and pacy.  (Oh, it’s also pretty violent.)

Next I’m going to choose the very different AUDREY, WAIT! by Robin Benway. Again, it’s a ‘Why hasn’t anyone thought of this before?’ kind of book.  When Audrey decides to break up with her less-than-attentive boyfriend Evan, a wannabe rock star, she little dreams that he’s going to write a song about it.  A song that proves to be extraordinarily catchy. In fact, a song that blasts its way up the charts and launches Evan and his band to big-time success. But what happens when you’re the heroine (oh no, make that the villain) of the song, and everyone suddenly wants to know you and blame you for the break-up?  Now Audrey’s world famous - and suddenly fame doesn’t quite look all it’s cut out to be! (Please note: lots of ‘bad’ language here.)

Fantastic because:  It’s a great concept (again) - smart, funny, and instantly makes the reader wonder, ‘Suppose that was me?’ Plus the voice is fresh and genuinely funny, in a genre where you’d think it’s all been done before.

Third up is a book by one of my favourite, tip-top authors. It’s HERE LIES ARTHUR by Philip Reeve.  Yes, that’s the Philip Reeve of the awesome MORTAL ENGINES quartet, the last of which - A DARKLING PLAIN - won the Carnegie (Britain’s equivalent of the Newbery).  HLA is set around AD 500, when people in Britain spoke a language similar to Welsh and when the country was torn apart by feuding war-bands, including one led by a brutish soldier named Arthur.  When the bard Myrddin sees Gwyna’s swimming abilities, he rescues her and takes her in, immediately seeing a way he can ‘magically’ turn Arthur into not only the most powerful leader of his day, but also an awe-inspiring hero. But as Arthur’s power grows, Gwyna’s life becomes increasingly dangerous as she’s turned from a slave-girl into first a boy, then a goddess, and finally a spy. Can Gwyna survive these perilous times? Is Myrddin really on Gwyna’s side?  And is Arthur quite the hero that legend has made him out to be?

Fantastic because:  It’s a great concept (er, have you heard this before?) - but vintage Reeve in the skillful interweaving of historical erudition with a child’s-eye view of a virtually unknown period of history. Truly masterful, it gives a completely fresh insight on the age-old story of Arthur and how it might have come to be.  Plus (also vintage Reeve) every word is crafted, every word counts, and some sentences you just have to pause and reread.

And finally, I’m picking THIRTEEN REASONS WHY by Jay Asher, the bestselling teen novel that many of you may have read.  Clay gets home from school to find a strange box with his name on it.  Inside are some cassette tapes, recorded by Hannah Baker - the girl he once went out with - who committed suicide a few weeks before.  Hannah’s voice tells Clay that there are thirteen reasons why she ended her life, and Clay is one of them. Following Hannah’s voice he roams the town that night - and starts to understand Hannah’s pain and the truth about himself.  Truth he never wanted to face.

Fantastic because:  What a superb concept - tight, clever, and enabling the author to create an incredibly powerful story taking place over a short period of time for maximum intensity. This is a thriller, but with a real beating heart.  Plus the writing is effective and spare.

Four books for the month of September. Four books I really enjoyed and admired.  How about you?

REVISION!

How could it not be, when I’ve spent most of the past week a) sympathizing with writers struggling with it b) waiting for writers to show me the fruits of it, and c) cudgelling my brains to produce notes that will enable writers to embark upon it.

Yes, Revision is a big, dark, scary word.  It is the Voldemort of writing.  It is the mountain range that stands between the author and an agent.  Between the author and a deal.  Between the author and the nirvana that awaits beyond the magical ‘delivery and acceptance’ clause in their contract - when finally, finally the manuscript passes from being the author’s responsibility and into the hands of the copy-editor, the production department.  Revision - once, twice, three times? Whose counting? - is what comes before the final immense, incredible sigh of relief.

Everyone is frightened of revision, deep down.  Because it means pulling up everything you’ve carefully put together thus far and opening it up once again to the cold and dispassionate light of analysis, rigour and logic.  When any carefully ignored omissions, obfuscations, self-delusions, denials, wobbly bits and messes are forced to meet their nemesis.  Who wants that, when it’s so much easier to keep a few dark corners where the light never shines?  Yes, revision is painful, frustrating and scary, because like a knitted sweater, when you pull out one thread the whole careful ‘knit one, pearl one’ of your beautiful creation can come unravelled in ways you never imagined.  You thought the requisite revision was small, tightly contained, manageable - the sort of hole that might be covered by an orderly little patch, like a puncture in a bicycle tyre. But when you take your gloves off and start getting your hands dirty - changing things, digging deeper - lo and behold, you find not only has the tyre collapsed, but the entire bicycle has folded up and died under you.

This, my friends, is the process and the life to which you have signed up.  It is the way of the professional author, and it is the path of any writer who aspires to be good.  Or great. However tough it is, the more you can open yourself to looking rigorously and honestly at your work and being prepared to rethink, the better the end result is likely to be.  And the less likely you are to be overly ‘precious’ about your writing and creativity. Publishers (and agents) love to deal with authors who will look objectively and exactingly at their work, and who are prepared to be guided in ways to make it even better.

Who do you know who can help you to revise?  Many of you belong to critique groups and that’s a great way to go, enlisting the frank comments and sympathetic support (both being vital) of tried and trusted writer friends whom you respect. But if you don’t know a group like this which you could join, cast about for people you know (probably not family) whose judgement you believe in, and who preferably have some level of knowledge of the market.  People often write to me saying they tried out their story on their children, or on a class at school. Listen to what those children say, but don’t necessarily believe that they will be the best or only arbiters.  All children love to be read to, and the extra dimension of an adult investing time and ‘live performance’ can transform any work of fiction into something superlative.  What you really need, ultimately, are the opinions of those who spend their lives working in the contemporary book scene in whatever capacity - who are used to dissecting plot, who understand the difference between characters that leap off the page and ones that remain two-dimensional, and who are attuned to hearing the cadence of language. If you come upon such a person, make them your best friend!

There are great rewards for those who revise, revise and revise again.  With the right kind of advice and a willingness to learn and rethink, your grasp of your craft will develop and mature, and before too long you’ll be looking back with a hand clapped to your forehead as you yell, ‘That thing I wrote six months ago? How on earth could I ever have written such embarrassing tosh?!’

It’s a bit like my Canon Rebel xti camera.  When I first got this beauteous piece of technology I hardly dared to touch it.  I studied the book for hours, gingerly prodding buttons every now and then.  Six months on I was swaggering around talking about ISO and aperture and shutter speeds (much to everyone’s irritation). I’m still no expert, and I still take some extremely wonky pictures at times, but I’m a million times better than I was.  And if I wanted to be a professional photographer?  Well, I’d do a lot of research and get myself on to the best possible course I could find and pay for, with all speed. Is writing so much different? It is craft. It is art. It is music. It is philosophy and psychology. It is structure, It is all things creative and analytical, all rolled into one form.  It is well worth learning in any way you possibly can - whether from good teachers on simply ‘on the job’.

REVISION. It is a writer’s best friend.  Don’t be afraid of it.  No author ever got there without it.  Be of good courage. 

This weekend has seen a milestone that I’ve been watching approach for some while.  We finally made it on Friday night - 100,000 page hits on the Greenhouse website.

Even allowing for the fact that 10,000 of those are probably my own (well, I LIKE looking at the site. I’m proud, OK?), that does suggest that quite a lot of people - from all over the world - have been dropping in to see what’s going on. In fact, I can almost watch the numbers going up as I sit at mission control; we’re currently at 100,969, so that’s a whole lot more who’ve popped in today!

I guess this is therefore a good moment to declare today the end of the beginning (most definitely not the beginning of the end). The end of that sense of being the new kid on the block who was constantly having to say, ‘Hi, pleased to meet you. This is what I have to offer’ time and time again. Yes, the certificate on the wall behind my head that says the Greenhouse became a Virginia corporation on January 24, 2008 now makes me feel positively venerable.

So it’s time to think about making some changes - not least to my submission policy, which is currently under discussion.  One thing I can tell you is that I’ll be saying goodbye to hard-copy submissions in favour of electronic (so if you’re about to submit something, PLEASE, PLEASE send it electronically and, for the moment, according to the existing site guidelines).  With a business called Greenhouse it makes absolute sense to be as paper-free as possible. 

But the magic 100K figure has made me think about other numbers of achievements that have taken place since Greenhouse’s start date.  I share them with you now.  Please note, some of these are highly accurate and some are . . . well, a little more creative. I leave you to guess which are which.  Ladies and gentleman, I give you the Greenhouse’s post-1/24 mathematical blog!

Number of queries received and perused: about 3,000-3,500

Number of authors launched into book deals:  5

Number of blueberry muffins Sarah has consumed in the interests of ‘easing her into reading’: 60

Number of postmen collapsed under the weight of mail and now requiring hip replacements: 3

Number of mind-bendingly slow ‘walkies’ undertaken with the Hound, in which every blade of grass has been sniffed and contemplated:  420

Number of grey hairs Sarah has gained and now has to conceal:  Sorry, that is not information you need to have.

Number of times Blackberry has been peeked at in the middle of the night:  Sssssh, that’s our secret, and if I tell you you may think I’m insane.

Number of times Sarah has said, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t represent picturebooks’: 987

Number of times someone, anyone, has said, ‘Ha ha, Britain and the USA are two nations divided by a common language!’:  23

Number of frappuccinos (mocha, low-cal sugar replacement, skim milk, hold the whip cream) consumed by Sarah in the interests of ‘easing her into reading’ [NB: See muffin item above]): 60 (NB: Greenhouse Husband says, ‘7 billion’)

Number of people who have believed they and I were a ‘match made in heaven’:  16?

Number of times Sarah has fallen on the floor simultaneously laughing and weeping, while punching the air and screeching ‘YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!’:  1

Number of weekends Sarah has not worked in some shape or form:  0

Number of times Sarah has been caught talking earnestly to herself, while considering some thorny plot point:  7 (NB: I’m good at not getting caught.)

Number of times the phrase ‘Squeeze the juice from the fruit’ has been said:  147

Maximum number of Vermont chocolates consumed in any one evening while looking at submissions:  8 (Do not try this at home without help on hand.  Those babies are rich.)

Number of queries received focusing on corpses, brothels, and automatic weaponry in the Chechen War: 1 (it was not for teens. And actually, not really in English.)

Number of MFA courses addressed: 2 (give me time, give me time)

Number of times Sarah has crossed the Atlantic: 4

Number of times a nervous breakdown/heart attack/general collapse has been narrowly avoided following the sighting of a deceased black snake:  2

Number of times Sarah has been locked out and worn plastic bags on her feet to avoid hypothermia: 1

Number of times the phrase ‘Show, don’t tell!’ has been proclaimed:  1,349

Number of friends, old and new, in the industry and book community who have helped and supported Sarah as she found her feet in the USA:  A number.  You know who you are.  x

Number of would-be writers who have brightened Sarah’s day, charmed her with their kindness, raised her spirits, made her smile, come back with such grace after being rejected - and generally made her feel this is a great business to be in:  Too many to count.

Number of Saturday nights spent writing blog posts:  Many.  And this is one!

On which note I wish you a happy weekend, one and all, wherever you may be.

As I write this, the Greenhouse is about to float away on the monsoon known as Tropical Storm Hanna. There are floods on the roads, waterfalls in the yards, and a Hound that smells so bad from his brief outing in the rain that he will thenceforth be known as Stinker (a name he richly deserves at the best of times). So it’s a good afternoon to stay inside and catch up with the welter of things that just don’t get done during the crazy, hectic week:  booking flights, downloading Skype (watch this space, I’m going to be doing a monthly podcast from October for my agent mate Peter Cox’s Litopia After Dark series, which discusses industry issues.  I’ll let you know when I’m on and you can listen to me via the internet!), creating and printing notes on my authors/books for this week’s trip to New York, and finalizing some appointments. Then of course there are the ever-present submissions to unpack from their envelopes and stack in an orderly pile on the floor (the only space left), waiting for the next patch of time when I can concentrate on them.

Yes, I’m off to New York early Monday morning until Wednesday night.  It should be great - I’m meeting three Greenhouse authors there and will be joining two on their first visits to their publishers.  Now, I think you can imagine what an exciting moment that is for any debut author, and I feel like a proud parent on the first day of school (do you have your lunchbox?  Does your uniform fit?). But it’s also a scary moment too for a new author - for the first time they’re out in the real, commercial world of the book industry, under a contract, and feeling a pressure they’ve not felt before.  So it’s great to know that we’re working with some lovely editors who manage to be not only very professional, but also very understanding and supportive.  There’s no doubt about it, this is a great business to be in - people work incredibly hard, but there’s so much fun involved too. And most people are just plain nice!

I’ll also be meeting with lots of editors on my own, seeing a few for the first time, but also getting better acquainted with others.  This process is so important.  A book can stand or fall on the personal passion of one editor who leaps in and champions a novel within their publishing house.  And everyone has different taste.  What I want to know, and keep up to date with, is what individual editors are seeking right now - what they already have and don’t need more of, and what they’d love to find.  So these appointments are often less about me presenting manuscripts than just listening and making notes as editors talk about their lists.  When I submit a novel I usually pick about twelve editors (occasionally more than one within the same house, but different imprints) to send to, so each one represents a very careful decision on my part. 

So that gives you a feel for my week ahead.  But the week just past has been an exciting one.  The biggest thing has been that - hurrah! - I have sold US/Canadian rights in Teresa Harris’s debut middle-grade novel, TREASURE IN THE PAST TENSE, to Dinah Stevenson at Clarion, part of the Houghton Mifflin Harcourt group. I first met Teresa in July when I was a panellist at the alumni conference of the MFA program at Vermont College.  We bumped into each other very early on and seemed to keep being in the same place at the same time - not least down in the local coffee shop where we had a rather good chat about a book we both loved - Donna Tartt’s SECRET HISTORY.  At the cocktail party hosted by Greenhouse, a couple of students also came up and surreptitiously whispered in my ear, ‘Teresa is amazing - you should see her writing!’ So when I got back to my desk and Teresa wrote to me about TREASURE IN THE PAST TENSE, my interest was well and truly piqued. It’s already posted on the ‘Our Authors’ section of the site, but here’s the story in a nutshell:

Treasure Daniels hasn’t had a real home for four years, since her dad left. Ever since then, her mom has been on the run - from herself, and from all the people to whom she owes money.  But tough as life is for Treasure and her little sister, they really don’t want to obey Grandma Celeste and go stay with evil old Great-aunt Grace in Black Lake, Virginia.  Sure enough, Grace is even worse than Treasure had feared, with her endless cigarettes, her depressing house, and her four-hour church services on Sundays. And Black Lake is a town where segregation still lingers.  It doesn’t take long for Treasure to have had enough and to want out.  But then something unexpected happens and Treasure witnesses Grace standing up for her in a way she can hardly believe.  Suddenly Black Lake starts looking a little different, and Treasure realizes that after running for so many years, she’s finally found a home - and a real family - where she’d least expected.

TREASURE IN THE PAST TENSE is really special - insightful, charming, and memorable.  It will be great to see how the novel grows over the next few months as Teresa develops the story still further with such a high-calibre and challenging publisher as Dinah Stevenson.

Oh my goodness, I do believe it has stopped raining.  Perhaps I won’t have to float off to New York in an Ark with Stinker after all.  Enjoy the weekend, wherever you are, and take care if you’ve some bad weather around.  Cheers!

Hi there - and happy Labor Day to anyone reading this in the USA.  Sympathies to you Brits, who are back at work right now - no doubt not having the kind of weather we’re enjoying today in Virginia. 

To any of you affected by Gustav - just to say I’m thinking of you a lot.  Take care.  I’ve only experienced one hurricane - the legendary British one of 1987, which did so much long-term damage to ancient woodland, and which meant that a certain weather forecaster named Mr Fish (yes, really) would never, ever recover from the embarrassment of having got the forecast so fantastically, appallingly wrong!

It’s been a great Labor Day weekend so far for me. I’m still proud of my kayaking achievements - eight miles down the Shenandoah River in faster-moving water than I’ve experienced before, including several Class 2 rapids and a little drop called The Ledge.  I could also show you the egg-shaped lump on my head from a close encounter with a fallen tree, thanks to certain ‘navigational issues’ pertaining to the Greenhouse Husband.  But let’s not go there.  The journey downriver was fabulous - the lofty, silent mountains above, hawks wheeling overhead, great grey herons flapping out in front of me, and hundreds of snapping turtles slipping off their rocks and branches as we paddled past.  What an amazing country this is - I am incredibly lucky to be here and experiencing such things. 

There have been changes out in the yard, with the final erection of the Purple Martin House.  For those of you who, like me, don’t know much about these birds, I’m told they eat the mozzies, which sounds excellent since I seem to be a favourite mozzie target. But the accommodation we are offering the PMs is quite superlative:  a pagoda-like home about 18-feet from the ground, offering stylish modern living for up to twelve birdie families, complete with mini-railing lest they topple off while sunbathing.  If any of you has experience of PMs and their habits, do please post a comment.

HOWEVER.  I am a busy literary agent and you are busy writers, so having softened you up with my Labor Day fun, I shall now move on to more serious issues.  Yes, this is a good-cop, bad-cop blog!

Greetings to any of you who have found this site having seen the Greenhouse listed in Writers Digest recently. That listing appeared the day I left for ‘vacation’ (note quote marks), and I didn’t know it was coming. As a result, several hundred submissions have poured in during the past two or three weeks.  Thanks for these - I’m trying to deal with them as efficiently as possibly, though apologies are due to some of you whose full manuscripts I promised to read a while ago but just haven’t been able to get to yet.  Sometimes the volume is a bit overwhelming, but I know how hard it is to wait when you’ve work out on submission to an agent.

Most of you send me great emails or letters - well constructed, clear, interesting, and often very charming.  However, there are some repeated issues that I want to point out if you are thinking of submitting to me.  In due course I’m going to be making some changes to the submission info on the site, but here are ten tips for now:

1. I don’t represent picturebook texts, which would include very young rhyming stories, counting books - or anything else pre-school. I also don’t seek overtly religious work, writing for adults, or illustrators.  I’m also not looking for short stories. Yes, I am in theory interested in young chapter books, but the truth is it would have to be fantastic and probably a character-based series (the market is so crowded and overpublished). 

2. I am therefore most interested in middle grade or teenage fiction.

3. I know you want to be sure your submission has arrived safely, but PLEASE don’t send a package by a means that requires collection or signature on delivery, or that can only be returned via the Post Office. I may be away, or out, and I won’t drive miles to collect or return your package. Sorry, can’t be done.  And I don’t prioritise work that is sent special delivery - I invariably take submissions in date order (exceptions being if I’ve met someone and already have some relationship with them, or if a submission really leaps out at me).

4. Yes, you can send either by email or snail mail, but I’d actually prefer email because I’m set up to deal with it swiftly.  I am probably the only agent in the nation who currently accepts email attachments.  I am reviewing that, but will let you know if it changes. 

5.  Many of you only send ‘queries’ - ie, an email or letter with no sample writing, despite me offering to look at your material.  If your query is emailed then fine, I can get straight back to you if I like the sound of it.  It it is snail-mailed I’ll almost certainly reject it - I can’t spare the time for back-and-forth hard-copy correspondence.

6. PLEASE BE CAREFUL when you email.  I receive emails that get my name wrong, that are cc’d to other agents, that are clearly bulk-sent, that don’t even make it clear what you are asking me to do.  Can you imagine how badly this comes across? I try to spend time carefully reading your communication.  Why should I if you aren’t careful in addressing me or if I’m very obviously just one of hundreds?  Don’t submit your work before you’ve revised and revised, and then strategise your choices of agent very carefully.  I can tell an enormous amount about you and your attitude to your work from your initial enquiry.

7. PLEASE BE CAREFUL when you snail-mail.  I’ve had packages that contain no letter, or no SASE (and no email as an alternative means of response). In these cases I don’t reply.

8.  Please do not send me multiple submissions (eg, two manuscripts in two packages at the same time).  And please don’t whiz me another story the instant I’ve rejected your first.  I have to presume you’re sending me your very best work first time around.  If I’ve sent you a really encouraging reply than fair enough, send me something else a few months later, but don’t immediately respond ‘Actually the thing I sent you first was rubbish, so now I’m sending you what is REALLY my best writing.’ I try to be fair to everyone and take submissions chronologically, and it isn’t fair to everyone else if one person inundates me.

9. Don’t try to be clever-clever in how you introduce yourself.  I don’t respond any better to sassy, provocative statements (in fact, that really puts me off), so just set out your wares clearly and concisely. I’m reading fast and trying to get rapidly to the kernel of what you have to tell me.

10.  Phew, I’m just about at the end. So here’s my final tip:  Be careful and considered in all the ways you approach your writing. Yes, I know there are examples of people submitting to 250 agents and then being taken on by #251, but those must be incredibly rare.  If you are being rejected constantly then take time out and review your writing - perhaps going back to your critique group or sharing the manuscript with trusted writer friends.  Be prepared to make radical changes or even start again.  Professional writers, and writers who get that fabulous first deal, nearly always have to do extensive revision, so start getting used to that now. Read a lot, write a lot - and only submit a long way down the tracks. 

Have a great Labor Day, Americans.  And happy Monday, Brits.  And to all of you with children, good luck as you get them back to school for the new year.  I know first hand how vital for work those hours can be once you’re back on the school schedule.  New school year, new beginnings - good luck with the writing! 

It was there waiting for me when I got back.  A vast, sprawling, filthy tip of mess, piled in heaps around the pristine spare bedroom of my English home. Exploding trash bags of notes from my schooldays; dust-laden boxes of yellowed books; mouldering suitcases stuffed with ancient cards and letters. The abandoned detritus of the family loft, of my life, dumped with me for sorting and disposal.

I stood there, exhausted and weirdly emotional after the all-night flight from Washington DC.  It’s easy to get overwhelmed in those first surreal moments of readjustment, and dirt and mess always get me down.

A short sleep, a search for elbow-length rubber gloves and grubby apron, and I was back. The task: to sort the heap into three piles - one for the trash, one for the charity shop, one for keeping.  One task, but a thousand surprises, a thousand decisions, and some heart-stabbing reunions.  As I sifted and sorted I found myself making a journey back in time, to the roots of who I am and how I came to be here. These are some of the things that made it into the ‘keeping’ box.

My granny’s vintage black evening gloves that button up to the elbow.  My granny was born in 1889 and through her I saw some of the big events of history.  The sinking of the Titanic, the death of her fiance at Ypres, the Blitz as she took cover on the back steps and down in the air-raid shelter.  Her life in India with my grandfather who grew tobacco and shot big game in an age when it was fine to slay beautiful wild animals; the near-death of both my grandparents in local uprisings. And then - her solo voyage to America where she worked as a governess at a time when women didn’t really do that sort of thing. She was bold and charismatic, she was fanatically parsimonious (hanging her teabags on a little washing line so they could dry out and be reused) - but she was always immaculately dressed and never, ever scrimped on her expensive face cream, even when she was 95 and far beyond the help of L’Oreal.

The books I wrote. Yes, I was an author at the age of six!  I frequently announced that I was off to write another work.  And here they are - THE GRRL, THE MOUS AND THE HORSE. And the highly illustrated SALLY’S RIDING SCHOOL. Piles of notebooks filled with my huge writing and crayoned drawings.

A teddy bear named Benjamin Bernard Saunders. Benjamin belonged to my big sister.  His cousin, George James Robinson, was mine, and a polar bear by ethnicity.  George resides in Virginia where he still sports his natty, knitted school uniform.  Under Big Sister’s instructions we lined up the bears (and their friends) in ‘classrooms’ made from wooden bricks and gave them endless tests.  Poor George James usually had ‘could do better’ against his feeble efforts (Big Sister didn’t mess around). Oh, and here are their tiny school bags and minute work-books which we made.  And in which I see Big Sister wrote the names of all the boys she liked.  (I’ve decided she must have been an early developer.)

The vocational guidance test I was made to take when I was fourteen, when I had already understood, through frequent repetition, that I’d very likely never amount to anything.  In pages of detail I glean that I was deemed to be extrovert, should work in a team, and preferably in the field of literature.  Hah!

Aged copies of BLACK BEAUTY (horses! suffering! triumph!), HEIDI (oh those golden curls! Drinking milk out of a bowl!), TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD and CATCHER IN THE RYE.  All awesome! MOCKINGBIRD turning me from a child reader into an adolescent one.

My degree certificate from ‘Universitas Cambrensis’. The University of Wales.  Perched a few feet from the wild Irish Sea, my hall of residence experienced the highest wind speeds ever recorded in Britain.  We would wake to find seaweed stuck to our fourth-floor window, and I would labour up the seaside promenade hefting book bags packed with Beowulf (in the original Anglo Saxon), Chaucer, Melville, Faulkner, Dickens and (my favourite) E.M. Forster.

A Teach-Yourself Welsh book. Unsurprisingly.  My husband calls it ‘the language without vowels’ (or is it more that the vowels are in quite the wrong place?).  Impenetrable and crazily Celtic, it reminds me not only of my friends for whom Welsh is their first language, but also of some of my favourite places in the world: the little towns of Dolgellau and Beddgelert; the wild craggy mountains of Cader Idris and Snowdon. They say that if you spend the night alone on Cader you’ll wake insane in the morning, and I’m not surprised.

A smelly, yellowed copy of James Joyce’s ULYSSES.  I held the English Department’s record for having read this punctuation-less book FOUR times.  If you can beat that madness, I promise to buy you a pint of Guinness, should we ever meet.

And then the motherlode.  Or perhaps I should say fatherlode.  A cassette tape recorded by my father in 1981, outlining his feelings for me.  I haven’t heard his voice for nearly twelve years (he died in 1997) and still dare not play the tape.  A difficult man, a difficult relationship, but as a child I would sit on the floor surrounded by his books which I pulled from the old mahogany bookcase.  A man who created a business from nothing and ended up advising, and taking tea, with the Royal Family. Who died with more than 4000 books crammed into his stone cottage in the far west of England.  Books in the kitchen cupboards (no food), the airing cupboard, under the bath, in the bedroom closets.  Who in the final years of his life wrote Cold-War thrillers, was taken on by a top London literary agent - and yet never got a book deal. Who delighted in the delicious irony that his daughter was a publisher, though he could never understand why on earth I wasted my time on children’s books (’So when are you going to get a job doing PROPER books?’). And I sit and wonder - what would he say if he knew I was to become a literary agent, that I would move to America, that I would start a business.  And I find myself laughing because I know he would have been thrilled and amazed, no doubt boring his friends half to death about it.

So I close the box and prepare to push it under the bed, there to gather dust along with someone’s old sleeping bag, a sun lounger, my guitar amp (which is a story for another day).  But I think about my journey and how I got here - the stories of my family and their journeys that they bequeathed to me. The hard work, the struggles, the surprises, the dreams - the odd heroic failure - that have got me this far and to this place.  And I wonder - what would be in the box of your life?  What has been your journey and the story you have to tell?

I start thinking about packing to go home to the States on Tuesday.  Two homes, two countries, but a box under the bed that marks the milestones. 

Wishing you peace on your journey.