Thursday, 13 July 2023

Greg Mosse on Inspiration & Routine

In the room where I write, I’m surrounded by books –yet I’m writing another one myself, looking forward to publication of my first Maisie Cooper Mystery, Murder at Church Lodge, then three more in the series over the following twelve months. This isn't some kind of masterplan. It's just how things have worked out. And I don't expect any of my books to be better than those on my neighbouring bookshelves, those by my wife Kate Mosse, Lee Child, Ngaio Marsh, Anthony Horowitz or Vaseem Kahn. But I know that each one of them will be, for better or worse, a unique story crafted by a unique awareness – my own.

That’s the thing about writing. Whatever you’ve got inside you, ‘for better or worse’ that’s the thing you must express. And that means, for me, getting up at six-thirty in the morning on six days out of seven and writing until 10 am – maybe a little later when I’m in the final throes of a first draft, trying to craft a powerful climax, a single crescendo of dramatic events.

My typing is terrible. About a third of each draft page is underlined in wavy red by the helpful software. Plus, at the beginning of the process, the story is skimpy, incomplete. I’m in a hurry so I abbreviate moments of drama, consigning only the gist to the blank but infinitely scrollable digital page. I forget to say how the characters feel as they do things, or what they are doing while they say things. But that’s okay. I can flesh it out later. I once wrote a surprising eight thousand words in ten hours, then spent the next three days making sense of it, ending up with a no-more-than respectable average of two thousand words a day.

Quite often, though, sitting in my bentwood chair with my computer on a lap tray on my knees, I simply press on regardless, until the computer complains that its memory can no longer keep track of all the live mistakes! This wouldn't matter if I wrote in chapters, but I use one big document. So, I’ve had to set a limit. Every fifty pages or so, I review from the start: the timeline, the weather, the character descriptions; which imagined window the sun shines in at dawn, at noon and at dusk. Then, with the energy of all that co-ordinated attention, I write on.

When I say ‘every fifty pages or so’, I mean after fifty, then 100, then 150, then 200. I don't write on until I am sure that everything adds up – especially at 250, when there’s nothing left but the ending and how it is all about to play out, providing a plausible and satisfying denouement – a climax the reader can believe in. The action, finally, explains itself.

I don’t know precisely where I’m going when I start. I know about a situation and a character, a thing someone wants that they do not have. And someone else whose objectives are mutually exclusive – they cannot both be satisfied. Uncertain precisely what questions the last thirty pages will answer, I know from page one what the end will feel like as the (imaginary) credits roll. If it was a film, I know what music would be playing.

Once I’ve got a complete typescript, I edit it for myself. Then I show it to the genius I married, Kate Mosse, so that I can improve it with her advice. Next, the brilliant agent Luigi Bonomi shows me how to make it better still. Finally, the exceptional editor Beth Wickington gives me broad notes. I take advantage of her insight to improve it again, before she gives me detailed notes that pick up on things we’ve all missed. That gets us to draft five or six and we are finally done – just copy-editing and proofreading to go.

I’ve written books set in the future and in the past. The Maisie Cooper Mysteries begin in southwest Sussex in a cold February 1972 – power cuts, class consciousness and terrible English food. I remember it well. I was eleven and I was there. My memories are so vivid that they seem tactile, that I can smell and taste them. I hope they enrich every page, just as I hope that I have depicted, with respect and understanding, the flawed humans that make up my cast of characters in Murder at Church Lodge ...

... and that Maisie Cooper will work out ‘whodunnit’ before you do 😊In the room where I write, I’m surrounded by books –yet I’m writing another one myself, looking forward to publication of my first Maisie Cooper Mystery, Murder at Church Lodge, then three more in the series over the following twelve months. This isn't some kind of masterplan. It's just how things have worked out. And I don't expect any of my books to be better than those on my neighbouring bookshelves, those by my wife Kate Mosse, Lee Child, Ngaio Marsh, Anthony Horowitz or Vaseem Kahn. But I know that each one of them will be, for better or worse, a unique story crafted by a unique awareness – my own.

That’s the thing about writing. Whatever you’ve got inside you, ‘for better or worse’ that’s the thing you must express. And that means, for me, getting up at six-thirty in the morning on six days out of seven and writing until 10 am – maybe a little later when I’m in the final throes of a first draft, trying to craft a powerful climax, a single crescendo of dramatic events.

My typing is terrible. About a third of each draft page is underlined in wavy red by the helpful software. Plus, at the beginning of the process, the story is skimpy, incomplete. I’m in a hurry so I abbreviate moments of drama, consigning only the gist to the blank but infinitely scrollable digital page. I forget to say how the characters feel as they do things, or what they are doing while they say things. But that’s okay. I can flesh it out later. I once wrote a surprising eight thousand words in ten hours, then spent the next three days making sense of it, ending up with a no-more-than respectable average of two thousand words a day.

Quite often, though, sitting in my bentwood chair with my computer on a lap tray on my knees, I simply press on regardless, until the computer complains that its memory can no longer keep track of all the live mistakes! This wouldn't matter if I wrote in chapters, but I use one big document. So, I’ve had to set a limit. Every fifty pages or so, I review from the start: the timeline, the weather, the character descriptions; which imagined window the sun shines in at dawn, at noon and at dusk. Then, with the energy of all that co-ordinated attention, I write on.

When I say ‘every fifty pages or so’, I mean after fifty, then 100, then 150, then 200. I don't write on until I am sure that everything adds up – especially at 250, when there’s nothing left but the ending and how it is all about to play out, providing a plausible and satisfying denouement – a climax the reader can believe in. The action, finally, explains itself.

I don’t know precisely where I’m going when I start. I know about a situation and a character, a thing someone wants that they do not have. And someone else whose objectives are mutually exclusive – they cannot both be satisfied. Uncertain precisely what questions the last thirty pages will answer, I know from page one what the end will feel like as the (imaginary) credits roll. If it was a film, I know what music would be playing.

Once I’ve got a complete typescript, I edit it for myself. Then I show it to the genius I married, Kate Mosse, so that I can improve it with her advice. Next, the brilliant agent Luigi Bonomi shows me how to make it better still. Finally, the exceptional editor Beth Wickington gives me broad notes. I take advantage of her insight to improve it again, before she gives me detailed notes that pick up on things we’ve all missed. That gets us to draft five or six and we are finally done – just copy-editing and proofreading to go.

I’ve written books set in the future and in the past. The Maisie Cooper Mysteries begin in southwest Sussex in a cold February 1972 – power cuts, class consciousness and terrible English food. I remember it well. I was eleven and I was there. My memories are so vivid that they seem tactile, that I can smell and taste them. I hope they enrich every page, just as I hope that I have depicted, with respect and understanding, the flawed humans that make up my cast of characters in Murder at Church Lodge ...

... and that Maisie Cooper will work out ‘whodunnit’ before you do 😊

© Mosse Futures Ltd 2023

Murder at Church Lodge by Greg Mosse (Hodder & Stoughton) Out Now.

Maise Cooper is no detective, thank you very much, Buch she might just solve a murder. Maisie left the picture-perfect village of Framlington years ago. But when her brother asks for her help out of the blue she soon finds herself back among the windy lanes and open green fields. But it's not the family reunion she hoped for - upon arrival she learns that she's too late. Stephen is dead. And not just dead – murdered. Frustrated by the slow police investigation headed up by handsome Sergeant Wingard, Maisie determines to start asking questions herself. In a village where everyone knows everyone, surely someonehas some information about Stephen. But the longer Maisie stays, and the deeper she digs, the more she begins to sense something sinister at the heart of the village. What secrets are the residents so desperate to keep hidden? And what exactly was her brother going to tell her before his mysterious demise? And when another death rocks the community, Maisie fears that she needs to catch the killer before they catch her..

More information can be found on his website. He can also be found on Twitter @GregMosse and on Facebook.



For all rights enquiries contact Luigi Bonomi – Luigi@lbabooks.com

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