By Steven Hall /
rawsharktexts.com
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Editor's Note:
This is the story of a book that sold in 21 countries before being released anywhere. A book that had US film studios in a heated bidding war for rights, and Nicole Kidman calling the author asking for the lead role. This is the story of 'The Raw Shark Texts', by Steven Hall,
published by Canongate in March 2007.
With a manuscript in front of one of the UK's top literary agents and some funding from the Arts Council, things are looking pretty good for Steven Hall. But deadlines and credit limits loom, and it's soon clear that a choice between going back to the day job or suffering some sort of baked bean-related dietary ailment needs to be made ...
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How all of this actually happened (part 2)
The first time I sat in Simon Trewin's office and he had the ten pages of book I'd written and the two pages of synopsis, he said - "In all my years of being an agent, this is the most exciting thing I've ever read." I dont think I'd ever been so happy, or maybe happy is the wrong word, maybe I mean that I'd never felt so worthwhile as a person, that - amazingly - I'd found something that I could actually do, that I wasnt really complete bum with no sense of purpose or direction after all. Seriously, after the first 28 years of my life that was quite a surprise.
Some of the other things I remember Simon saying included - "It's good that you're normal, reading this I wasnt sure whether or not you'd show up and be completely insane," and, "This bit in the synopsis, how the hell are you going to pull this part off? I don't think you're going to be able to pull this off..." But there was no bursting my bubble that day.
I think I always knew that actually writing a book, that book being any good, finding and agent and then finding a publisher was unlikely in the grand scheme of things. But then there's always been something else, just as strong, a sort of 'if you build it, they will come' part of my brain that maybe all wannabe-writers need - a ridiculous sense of self-belief that "Of course I can write a good book, of course it will sell." I think maybe to try to make it as a writer you need some sort of deluded kamikaze gene.
Anyway. I guess being a writer is months and months (or years and years) of slogging on through completely barren uncertainty punctuated by occasional crisis points where everything comes together or everything falls apart (that's not to say things can't fall apart slowly too, but we'll get to that another time!).
This time, for the first time, everything came together for me and my writing. In the space of a week I signed with Simon, was notified that I'd been awarded the Arts Council Grant I'd applied for (enough cash to keep me writing full time for half a year), got a letter telling me that my short piece Stories for a Phone Book was going to be included in the British Council's New Writing 13 and - maybe most surprising of all - I'd somehow convinced my employers that it would be in their best interests to give me a half-year sabbatical. This being the same employer who thought going home to sleep between shifts was a perk, remember.
Yes, everything was coming up roses.
I had nothing at all to worry about.
Nothing.
Of course I'd be able to deliver this fantastic novel to Simon Trewin within the next six months, just like I'd promised him in his office that day. Of course, I'd have enough money to see the project through. Of course nothing unexpected was going to happen that would upset the entire apple cart and send my already wonky schedule completely into free fall and me tumbling towards utter financial ruin.
I mean, you know, why would it? What would be the chances of that...?
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Next: "Everything goes terribly wrong for two years and I almost starve to death."
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Okay, so I didn't nearly starve to death. It's actually quite hard to starve to death in this day and age isn't it? But I did get to the point where I was living on £50 a month, after bills but before food and that meant eating mainly bread, cheap beans and anything which had been reduced sufficiently at the supermarket. By Christmas 05 I figured I could live maybe one more month on my credit card before maxing it, and then I might have enough time to find a job, or I might not. It wasn't quite Moon Palace, but it was getting there. And to think it all started out so well...
As I said, back in spring 04 I'd managed to get an Arts Council grant to write full time. It wasn't a huge grant, not a year's wages or anything, but combined with doing a couple of days a week working for Maggie Hannan on the fantastic Humber Mouth, it was enough to live comfortably for maybe six months, and six months was the exact length of my sabbatical, so there should have been no problems - I'd either get the book written in that time, send it to Simon and get a book deal, or I wouldn't and I could go back to my old job without the risk of bankruptcy, plague, pestilence insanity and a gradual descent into oblivion (actually, this is a bit like Moon Palace isn't it?).
Anyway, the plan was absolutely watertight. Or I should say the original plan was absolutely watertight. Only, about half way through, I changed it.
Six months passed. I started to realise that my 'the-whole-thing-is-written-in-my-head-I-just-need-to-type-it-up' speech I'd given to Simon Trewin six months before wasn't just slightly over-optimistic posturing fuelled by the first whiff of success - it was complete and total bollocks. By the time I was due to return to my desk job, the first draft of the book that would eventually become Raw Shark was only half done (actually, it was about a quarter done in the grand scheme of things, but back then I was under the foolish impression that my book was a lot shorter. You live and learn).
"So," I thought to myself as my return to work date got closer and closer, "what do I do? There's still some money in the bank account. Not loads, but some. You know, I bet if I had until Christmas I could really nail this book. I could go back to my safe job or I could tell them I'm not coming back and push forward to the surely-not-very-far-away finish line. If it doesn't work out, I'll still have enough cash left to cover me while I look for another job. It's not really death or glory is it? More like slight discomfort or glory. Yeah, I can live with that."
So I quit my job, and my slightly amended watertight plan began to let in water.
I did get a chunk of proto-shark book to Simon by Christmas 04, but it was a maze of a thing, very different to The Raw Shark Texts manuscript which is currently being turned into a shiny proof by Canongate's printers. This chunk of book was the Raw Shark's prehistoric ancestor and like all prehistoric fish it was all primitive, out of proportion and a bit wrong-looking.
Not only would I have to write the second half of the book, I'd have to fix the first half.
"Well," I thought to myself in the New Year, "What do I do now? There's still some money in the bank account. Not loads, well, hardly any actually. But there's a little bit. It's not really death or glory is it? More like mild pain or glory. Yeah, I can live with that."
What was left of my plan was now leaking like a colander'¦
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Part 3 of 'How all of this actually happened' will be released here on the 6th March 2007.
In the mean time, why not check out Steven Hall's MySpace page for more news and reviews:
myspace.com/stevenhallbooks
