Ten Lame Titles for my Book

To hopefully get it out of my system, I’m going to brainstorm ten very silly names for my book. It has already had about seven working titles, worthy of varying degrees of cringing. I can’t seem to stop satirising myself. It means I have injected an amusing degree of cynicism into the book (and into that sappy tart Lizzy), but it makes finding a title a minefield.

The reason I’m looking at titles is rather exciting, though. I am going to make some attempts again to get it out there. Still some editing to go, but in a few months I will have a submission (and in a few months after that, I will have a flurry of rejections).

Looking back at my list, I’ve managed to sabotage myself again by including some that might actually be semi-decent. I strongly dislike the self-conscious nature of sharing work. Some of the titles are satisfyingly stupid, though (gonna get that dirt [read: cliches] off my shoulder).

Mentally Spaced

After 10 days of cycling and camping in Europe (lord I’m so British these days - I mean on the Continent), I’ve managed to come back to daily life with more spark than usual. ‘Just pedalling’ cleared all the mush out of my brain. Our longest day was 126km (although the 90km of hills was more exhausting), achieving a comfortable rhythm and my first new ideas for months.

Rather unexpectedly, I’ve returned to my first love - the book of many titles aka the story of my now five-year-old heroine Lizzy (with a Y). Somehow I just can’t let this book die, despite some of my newer work being of higher quality. The hero is so devastating I just can’t give him up. I’m still so very conscious that the setting will put a lot of publishers off, but I know the potential for readers is there. And so I’m editing again, but my ideas are comfortably slotting into place and I’m taking a few risks (not my forte).

My most recent experimentation has involved the very difficult to tap resource Twitter. It’s an amazing source of information and inspiration. I now follow a very odd list of people and organisations. @EnglishHeritage and @NationalTheatre of course make perfect sense, but they now share space with @rioferdy5 (a prolific tweeter) and a few other names from *that* world. I couldn’t bring myself to follow @Cristiano, though. The pic was too cringe-worthy.

A bigger step up on the risk scale is that I am experimenting with incorporating tweets into the novel itself. I hear the creak of rolling eyes. A gimmick it may yet turn out to be, but it’s also surprisingly funny and easy to incorporate. Facebook is such a visual medium it requires more creativity to incorporate it into traditional fiction, but Twitter fits naturally, an externalisation of a character’s inner monologue. Twitter grammar also lends itself to being recorded on paper (specifically the @ and the #). Twitter is also a widespread social outlet. It seems odd that it’s not included in more fiction.

Taking a bit of a plunge, I’m going to spoil a scene here. It was previously not only dull, but revealed how very sappy Lizzy was. Add Twitter, and it’s worth reading.

Nineteenth-Century Emo

I have had such a marvellous week of treats at the National Theatre. Not only was there an excellent excuse to put my slowly settling ideas about Frankenstein back into the blog (there is still so much to say!), but I enjoyed a quiet evening with Polly, my netbook, in the foyer cafe before the Q&A last night, pausing only to people watch during the interval of Hamlet, playing at the Lyttleton. But last Friday was the greatest treat: Keats, Shelley and Byron.

That's theatre, man

Just back from the late night Frankenstein Q&A session in aid of Dramatic Need. It was just as superficial as expected, but amusing. For the people interested in the production, there were some interesting points made, but it rather frustratingly proved my point about the unquestioning lack of thought put into the discussion of science, which is at the heart of the book. Only the most trite aspects of science versus religion were discussed in any depth, once again completely neglecting the horror of the novel.

Flare Path by Terence Rattigan

Currently playing at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, the Rattigan revival Flare Path is an enjoyable piece of mainstream theatre. This was my first Rattigan play and, given my previously stated affinity for Tennessee Williams, I was curious to see the work of his British counterpart (in age at least). The differences were striking, although of course not solely attributable to geography.

Lumps of labour

Economists are good for some things. One is coming up with concise explanations (and catchy names) for concepts that kind of make logical sense, but it would take a course of in-depth research to prove why they do. Such is the case with me and the ‘lump of labour’ fallacy. I discovered this fallacy this morning after experiencing it dancing just beyond my comprehension for about a week, unable to properly explain why I thought something was wrong, but knowing nonetheless that it was.

Lisbon - The Walkmen

No, not another city break, just the album of the first three months of this year for me. It’s not new. The album was released last year, but it’s been my companion a lot and feels especially apt for the beginning of spring. From the first upbeat riff on the slightly bluesy signature electric guitar in the first track Juveniles, the sun comes out from behind its winter cloud.