One. Don't Put Song Lyrics in Your Books.
The first draft of my first book Bloody January was awash with them. The Rolling Stones singing 'Paint It Black' on McCoy's car radio. A glimpse of Marc Bolan shimmying his way through 'Metal Guru' on someone's black and white TV in the corner of their living room. A young guy putting a five pence into a pub jukebox and dancing back to his pals as the opening bars of 'Alright Now' by Free blasted out. All good stuff I thought. A quick and easy way to give a sense of atmosphere and the particular time the book was set in.
But. That was until I found out you had to pay to put them in. And it costs a lot. Having worked in the music industry for twenty years, this may have crossed my mind, you may think. It didn't. Shows how much attention I was paying in those long marketing meetings.
Consequently, Bloody January has 'House of The Rising Sun' in it now. And that's it….
Two. Swearing Drives Some People F*cking Nuts.
Again, call me naive but I thought someone who chose to read a book set in the grimy and violent world of early seventies Glasgow might not be too concerned with a bit of ribald language. How wrong I was.
One of the fun things you get to do as an author is meet book groups who have been reading your book. I always enjoy this, it's nice to hear what people think, and let's be honest it gets you out the house for a change. When it breaks up people often stay behind to have a personal word. Tell you their Gran lived in the same street as McCoy, that they love Wattie. Again, very nice.
But. There is always someone who asks you with a pained look on their face. 'Do you really have to put so much swearing in the books?" Two things immediately cross your mind. One, you should have seen the first draft before the editor took half of it out. And two. Yes, I do.
It always amazes me that no one ever objects to a scene of someone getting their fingers broken one by one, or being tied to a chair and repeatedly stabbed in the face but the minute the psychopath doing so and doing so with relish, utters the word f*ck, all hell breaks loose…
Three. Research Will Fail You.
I pride myself on being pretty diligent about trying to get things in the books as accurate as possible. I check old Yellow Pages to make sure a certain off-licence was open at the time the book was set. I interview people about boxing matches in the Govan Town Hall in 1973. I get my friend Stevie who is a criminal lawyer to check I've not used any non-Scots Law legal terms.
But. There are always ones that slip through the net no matter how hard you try. Murray and McCoy have a conversation next to a motorway works. Motorway works that weren't started until the next year. A murder victim gets on a number 47 bus. Which wouldn't transport her to her grisly demise.
I remain calm in these situations, smile nicely at the person who is 'kindly' pointing it out to me, and repeat in my head. 'It's the story that really matters not these kind of details…’
The April by Alan Parks (Cannongate) Out Now.
In a grimy flat in Glasgow, a homemade bomb explodes, leaving few remains to identify its maker. Detective Harry McCoy knows in his gut that there’ll be more to follow. The hunt for a missing sailor from the local US naval base leads him to the secretive group behind the bomb, and their disturbing, dominating leader. On top of that, McCoy thinks he’s doing an old friend a favour when he passes on a warning, but instead he’s pulled into a vicious gang feud. And in the meantime, there’s word another bigger explosion is coming Glasgow’s way – so if the city is to survive, it’ll take everything McCoy’s got . . .
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