Tag Archives: Charles Dickens

Serialized Fiction

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Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick ClubWilliam Hall, of the British publishing company Chapman and Hall, wished to publish a monthly series of cartoons by the illustrator Robert Seymour, about the “Nimrod Club,” the comic misadventures of a group of Cockney sportsmen. The cartoons would be the main thing, (think of Hogarth’s The Good Apprentice, etc.) but there would be some subsidiary text, which would supplied by a young writer, who had recently achieved some success. The writer was Charles Dickens. In 1836, shortly after the first installment was published, having been retitled The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, Seymour committed suicide. In an effort to salvage the project, Dickens, with his publishers, undertook to enlarge the amount of text for the installments, even while a new illustrator was found. The project—the first time a new novel was being serialized–was an extraordinary success. How successful? Some four hundred copies of the first installment were published. As for the last installment, some forty thousand copies were published. Not only had a new writer—Charles Dickens—achieved fame, a new form of publication was also established—serialization. Why am I writing about this? Because one of my books is currently being serialized.

To be continued . . . .

The chatter about “voice”

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There’s a lot of chatter about “voice” in fiction, which I take to mean the presentation of the narrative, its mixture of tone, character, syntax, and vocabulary. Complex and important, writers can and do spend years perfecting voice though some come to it quickly and naturally. It can be very distinctive, as per Hemingway and Dickens. Perhaps the most influential voice in the English language was the sixteenth century King James translation of the Bible. And we sometimes forget that Shakespeare was a great inventor of words, such as gloomy, critic, bump—and many more. I wonder how Elizabethan audiences responded to such an inventive vocabulary.

Books with distinct voice

I’ve never developed a specific voice for my work. I want the voice of my fiction to be part of the story. The voice of Crispin: The Cross of Lead is utterly different than the voice of City of Orphans or Poppy. In Sophia’s War I worked hard to create an eighteenth century voice, using lots of words used then, but no longer.

When I tell a story, I want the reader to hear, each time, a different voice. And not mine.

The anatomy of mediocrity

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Great ExpectationsOn a recent trip I took along two books. One was Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations, the second a nameless contemporary mystery by another British writer. Airplane reading.   I had read Great Expectations a few times. It is one of my very favorite novels, and is, in my opinion, one of the greatest novels ever written. As I read it this time I marveled again and again at its brilliance. Many a time, while reading, I said to myself, “How can you call yourself a writer when you read such wonderful stuff?”

In any case I finished the book, deeply impressed, and in considerable awe.

My flight home was very much delayed so I was glad I had that second book. I did read it and found it was very poor stuff indeed. Again and again I said to myself, “I can do better than this!” Or, “I write better than this!”

It may seem odd to say, but sometimes, when reading great writing, such as Dickens at his best, it’s impossible to learn anything. It is simply too good. But read something very much down the scale and you can learn a lot, because one can learn more from the anatomy of mediocrity than from the flawless body of genius. 

Rejected!

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rejectedI have published a lot of books. I have lots of readers. I have won a lot of awards. But I have never sent in a new book—as I have just done—to an editor without feeling nervous, and worried that it might be rejected. And I have been rejected.

Once upon a time I submitted a book. The editor called and said the book was no good. “Is there anything that might be salvaged?” I asked. The editor thought for a moment and said, “You could keep the title.” 

Then there was the time the book was accepted. Or so I thought. A day later the editor called and said “I changed my mind. I don’t want it. You bullied me into taking it.” 

Then there was a book that was rejected because, “It’s too scary.  It will do your reputation no good.” 

I suppose it’s also a rejection when the editor says, “I need to think about it,” and never calls again. Another line. “What’s the matter with it?” I asked. “Not enough salt,” said the editor.

It has been reported that Charles Dickens, in his role as an editor, rejected a novel titled, Pearls on a String. His rejection letter (in its entirety) said, “Too much string. Not enough pearls.” That wasn’t my book, I’m glad to say.

Anyway, here I am waiting to learn my new book’s fate. Stay tuned.

Quiet

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Charles DickensThere is a story about which I have always marveled. It concerns Charles Dickens, the great 19th century novelist. If I remember correctly, it happened when he first became famous with The Pickwick Papers and he was writing David Copperfield. A large, boisterous party was being held in his honor at his home. At some point, he excused himself, explaining he had a deadline to meet, and retreated to his study to write. The partygoers, refusing to accept this excuse, carried his desk down to the party. Midst the loud revelry, he wrote on. How he could do so I cannot imagine! I like, need, quiet to work. Deep quiet. Silence. Nothing, not even music. Since I live in a busy household, I even have rifle-shooting earmuffs to block out sound. I only want to listen to the words I write. The more I listen, the more I hear. The more I hear, the more the reader will hear.