“Aſter my first novel was published, I found I was still free to walk the streets unmolested”
rejected it three times (via three different editors). Rather pleasingly, the paperback rights were later picked up by Penguin following some good reviews. Aſter Counterparts was published,
I found I was still free to walk the streets unmolested, but Penguin had offered me a two-book deal, so Saxophone Dreams would come out the following year. Tis proved to be my ‘difficult second novel’, a phenomenon akin to the ‘difficult second album’ syndrome that strikes some musicians aſter a big hit first time out – except that Counterparts had not been a big hit.
MOUNTING PRESSURE For many first-time novelists, the experience of having a book published is not one they will repeat. While there are those who find that they’ve said what they wanted to say, there are others who try to say it all again a different way – or to say something else – and find that they are less successful second time
around. If your first novel bombs, you may not get another chance. If your first novel is a hit, you will get a second bite at the cherry, but if that one bombs, you can forget your mixed metaphors and your third novel. Gone are the days when publishers would remain loyal to struggling authors. Tere is enormous pressure on
a first novel to do well. It seems everyone wants to write a novel now. I teach on the novel-writing MA at Manchester Metropolitan University, where there is no let-up in the numbers applying, nor in the number of outstanding students graduating. I have taken on two of my former students as debut novelists at Salt, an independent publishing imprint where I am a commissioning editor. One of them is Stephen McGeagh,
whose first novel Habit was published in December last year. Joining them on the list was Okotie, Buddhist and author of Whatever Happened to Harold Absalon?
EYES ON THE PRIZE My one other Salt novel to date has made an impression. In August last year, on the day the Man Booker Prize longlist was released, I was on holiday in France nervously checking my Twitter feed every five minutes. When I saw that Alison Moore’s Te Lighthouse had made the longlist, the euphoria I felt was no less than if it had been my name on that list. I had taken Alison on at Salt aſter
shortlisting a story of hers in the Manchester Fiction Prize. We had worked closely on Te Lighthouse. She would write a new chapter and send it to me for editing. Alison is such a good writer she doesn’t need much editing, but all writers need a sounding board: someone to point out what they will inevitably miss themselves, to show them where they are going over the top or, perhaps, selling themselves short. When I saw Alison’s name on
the longlist I knew instantly what a difference this would make for