There’s a firm knock at your door and a postman in a tight uniform (well, we can hope!) hands you a box. You rip open the carton like an over-wrought five-year-old on Christmas morning, pull out a copy of your book, lift it to your nose and smell the pages. It’s intoxicating, better than recreational drugs. You’ve done it. For the very first time, you feel like a proper author. Savour the moment. It may not last. More... After months of burning the midnight oil, neglecting the sprogs and denying your long-suffering partner their conjugal rights, your memoir masterpiece is finally done and dusted. Whether you’re pleased with the result of your hard graft or just relieved, pop a cork. It’s quite an achievement. So what’s next? Well, obviously you want to launch your labour of love onto an unprepared world—but how? More...
Is it easier to turn expat stories or travel adventures into a memoir or a novel, and how does one decide? My advice to the budding expat writer: find your own angle; don’t waste your time reinventing the wheel. In my case, I wrote about the (sometimes grubby) reality of expat life from the unique perspective of a gay man in a Muslim land. It’s something no one had done before, and why would they? There weren’t many of us there. More... Read Jack Scott's new monthly column about writing in Displaced Nation.
…makes Jack a dull boy. What kind of mad masochist tries to write a book in 40 plus heat? What kind of fool loses a glorious summer to the written word unless it’s Driving Over Lemons around a cool pool with a G&T, ice and a slice? That fool is me. My work is done. Well, at least the latest re-draft is. You may be surprised how different it is from the blog. It’s our full story, warts and all. Now, it’s over to my in-house editor Liam to use his big red pen to correct my flabby grammar, revise my pitiful punctuation and enrich my penniless plot. Tearing my minor masterpiece to shreads may be done with the best of intentions but I fear a few creative skirmishes along the way. |
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