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There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.
W. Somerset Maugham
English dramatist & novelist (1874 - 1965)
Following exhaustive research seeking guidance on how get my work published, I’ve found this is the greatest truism. If there are rules, it’s impossible to discover what they are. Success is always someone else’s opinion, therefore this site is designed to assist in finding that someone.
Biog
Pam Henry is a multi-faceted creature, not only a writer but, wife, mum, grandma, secretary, cook, cleaner, confidante, counsellor, painter, decorator, draughtswoman, interior designer, gardener, and formerly a shopkeeper, inventor, Sunday school teacher, guider, scout leader and youth leader. Having received a good, grammar education in the days when teachers were allowed to teach, going on to study for LCCI Private and Executive Secretary’s Diploma at college; she is currently undertaking a children’s writer’s training course.
Current Work
One of the projects on the 2-year Youth Leadership training course was to go out into the town at night to find kids hanging around the streets, and ask if they would be willing to help in the research. The main questions were to ascertain what their worries were and what frightened them. A common response was that they were afraid of the end of the world, and how current levels of pollution might affect them in the future; hence the seed of an idea for this first book.
Cold Call is the first in a series of four books. It tells how the earth has found its own voice; it’s reacting against pollution and is sending instructions for the damage to be repaired.
The main character, 12-years-old Ross Edwards, has a series of strange experiences and soon realises that someone is trying to tell him something.
Extract
“As he watched, the whole white world gently paused, instead of falling the snow was just hovering there like a shimmering shower curtain. He blinked a few times and taking his hand out of his glove he reached out to touch what seemed to him to be something solid, in fact his hand just passed through, as it would if the snow had been falling in the normal way.”
A tornado acts as a natural video camera.
“…… and as you can see, not only do we have these Arctic conditions focused in specific areas around the south, but now there is a tornado forming above us. This is phenomenal, in fact it should be impossible in this country in the middle of winter, but there it is, there is no mistaking the funnel forming.” As she spoke the funnel stretched out towards her, just to establish the fact that it was real and it was coming straight at her; the pictures started to bump around as the TV presenter and the cameraman backed away from the threatening wind.”
A face forms in the snow and reaches out to the family dogs.
“It looked a bit like the stone face on the wall fountain in the garden, it was the broad, round face of a man. Billowing around the edges, its long hair and beard were being blown forward by the wind. It was a serious face, but not harsh or frightening, so the dogs didn’t run away; it just hovered above them at first, then filled its cheeks and blew out a sugar fine sprinkling of snow, the dogs lifted their noses as it fell over them. This frosting had a mesmerising effect, calming the dogs so that they weren’t afraid, then came the voice.”
The weather takes on a mind of its own and forms a cone of calm within a blizzard.
“Hey look at that.” It was Izzie this time, no-one had thought to look up and now they did, they could see the stars in a clear night sky, the storm was being held outside by a funnel of electrical charge, creating this haven in its centre. Now all they needed to do was find out why.”
The climax of the story comes on New Year’s Eve, when the hole in the ozone layer is repaired
“Rising from every living creature on the hill came a shining, twisting thread fashioned from the mix of light and energy. It was fine as sewing yarn at first, widening and growing as it rose and twisted together. Higher and higher, expanding from fine twine to fishing line, then from ribbon to rope, until there were hundreds of cable size tendrils spiralling up into the clear night sky. As the glistening lines reached up they became entwined, transforming into a gigantic spear-like vortex, gaining speed as quickly as it gained height.”
The Book Guild has offered me a contract, but I lack the funds for the required contribution.
You must keep sending work out; you must never let a manuscript do nothing but eat its head off in a drawer. You send that work out again and again, while you're working on another one. If you have talent, you will receive some measure of success - but only if you persist.
Isaac Asimov
US science fiction novelist & scholar (1920 - 1992)
So that is what I do.