I’m placing my fingers on these keys and punching out a few thoughts before I return to the real work of writing fiction.
Since my debut novel was published in late 2006…I harboured a dream to write books ranging from children’s to science-fiction, yet struggled against the tide of life’s minutiae to produce them. I confess that the notion of winning a literary competition snared me and I lost many months chasing the dreams of others, because I thought it would be impossible to win a glance from a Grand Publisher (as I call them) as they are seeking that humongous blockbuster, the next “big thing”.
I believe that emerging from a British minority community and seeking to be published in an environment which is white, middle-classed and conservative means few writers of diversity find traction. Books fail to reflect the origin of those who read them. I hope the appointment of Malorie Blackman as Children’s Laureate will change matters. Yet, I suspect that most of us will remain Noughts.
The Grand Publishers will, of course, get what they want, but they will be astonished by its origin just as they were with Harry Potter.
To date, I have written six novels and a screenplay and enjoyed listening to the professional, if somewhat unusual advice, from two London-based literary agencies. My work remains unpublished, because the market isn’t ready for what I write. Apparently.
So, I’ve decided. I will join the new tribe of publisher-authors, who are striking out alone on the wild path. Even as I go forward into the darkened forest, I am returning to an old way of crafting fiction, albeit carried in an eBook format and wielding the sword of social media. Soon, I hope to begin publishing books. YA. Thrillers. Poetry. Wherever the muse takes me. You see, I finally realised that all I wanted was to share what I enjoy most; writing stories.