Why are we picking on Richard Osman?

 

Why are we picking on Richard Osman?

 

(How we got it all wrong about writers and publishing.)

 

Not a month goes by without one of my many author friends, or some stranger online, having a pop at Richard Osman. And yes, I have felt the occasional twinge of gluckschmerz myself. But I think I’m cured – more on that later.

 

The criticisms of Mr Osman usually fall into a few categories:

 

1.     He went to the right university so doors are open to him that remain closed to mere mortals.

2.     He was already fantastically successful so he is really just another celebrity ‘having a go at writing books’.

3.     His high profile garners free publicity on TV and beyond that other jobbing writers will never see.

4.     His celebrity-endorsed novels are taking oxygen away from other novelists.

5.     His novels aren’t very good.

 

I’ve done a modicum of research (i.e. trawling the web before posting this) and here are my thoughts…

 

1.     Yes, he went to Cambridge. And if he hadn’t, that doesn’t mean they would have been knocking on your door to fill an empty desk (they have desks there, right?).

2.     I’m not sure four novels and a fifth in development constitutes ‘having a go’. Should there be a limit on creative endeavours?

3.     True and true. There’s a hierarchy of success in every branch of the arts. And everywhere else, actually. Would you have turned down a TV plug for one of your novels?

4.     Yes and no. Let’s think about the world of publishing for a moment. Publishers exist to sell books. Promoting RO’s books generates sure-fire sales, which in turn leads to profits.

5.     I mean, who decides when it comes to popular fiction? Speaking as an author who received a one-word review that read ‘awful’, who am I to judge? And if we’re talking about ‘good’ what are the criteria? I received another review that one of my books was ‘a good airport read’ and I was pleased. One thing is certain: Richard’s books sell well.

 

So what cured me of gluckschmerz? I’m not really sure but I can tell you exactly when I noticed it.

 

My fellow author, Emma Bennet, posted online that she had just received word of a four-book audio deal. My immediate reaction was delight – for her. End of story (pardon the pun…). I know how much effort it takes to write a novel – even if it’s an airport read – and I know how engaged she is with her audience. If I’m happy for someone I know, why wouldn’t I be happy for someone I don’t know?

 

And let’s not forget, before I welcome a barrage of comments about privilege, and what about my recent post on class, Richard Osman has had his challenges. His father abandoned the family when he was young and he (Richard) has longstanding health issues.

 

You see, dear reader, I’ve come to the conclusion that life is like a game of bridge. I mean, it isn’t, but it will do as an analogy. I started learning bridge (but poorly) just before the pandemic took hold.

 

When I started out I thought that the object was to make the highest number of points. I now see it differently. The skill lies in assessing the strength of your and your partner’s hands in order to bid an achievable contract. Sometimes the distribution of cards mean you exceed your bid; other times it works against you. To me it’s a study of possibility and probability.

 

In cards as in life, and back to books. The song says it’s not where you start it’s where you finish, but, statistically speaking, that’s really down to the strength of your hand.

Transgressive writing

It’s been said at many a writing workshop that we should be willing to write the unconscionable. Giving the subconscious free rein upon the page, whether its violence, sex, cruelty or depravity. The thinking being that no one else has to see what was written or, should we feel so inclined, we can publish and risk being damned.

 

That’s all well and good when it comes to exorcising our creative demons but what about when we’re writing to order? I recently applied for a writing opportunity that I knew would challenge my view of the sort of writer I am. Sometimes it’s good to take a step into the unknown. Sometimes…

 

The project wanted humour material about the crisis in the Middle East. You know the one I’m talking about. The clients want to use humour to promote peace at a ground level, rather than relying on leaders to do the right thing.

 

I get it. Humour is, after all, a great way to unite people and to approach difficult subjects diagonally. Bringing in different perspectives to highlight similarities, differences and incongruities.

 

Against that backdrop I approached this assignment as I would any other. I met the clients online and did my research in order to prepare an original pitch. We chatted, I threw in some ideas…they threw them back or stared blankly at me.

 

It became clear one of the clients wanted hard-hitting humour slanted in one direction only, at least initially, which did not sit well with me. After further discussion and receiving some suggestions I put pen to paper.

 

I decided to write exactly what I wanted, rather than working to any brief. A sort of litmus test to see if we were on the same page (you’re welcome). They could use the piece and pay for it or decline it as they saw fit. Turns out they didn’t get the joke.

 

Here’s the sample piece. Read on at your own discretion.

 

 

What The Frick Is The Problem In Gaza?

(Political History for Dummies)

 

Let's start at the beginning. G*d** said...

 

Okay then, not at the very, very beginning.

 

Who's to blame for the cultural beef in Israel / Palestine? The British, obviously. Every Disney animated movie should have prepared us for that.

 

A little history lesson

After the collapse of the Ottoman Empire (who knew furniture could be so dangerous?) the Council of the League of Nations - so good they named it once - took Palestine and asked the Brits out on a mandate, 'it being clearly understood that nothing should be done which might prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country'.

 

Simpler times, right? There was also the Emirate of Transjordan, which was not necessarily as progressive as the name now implies.

 

It's fair to say that the British were not universally appreciated as landlords of a land that was nothing to do with them (but when did that ever stop them?). They sought to limit the number of Jewish people settling in Israel and Zionist paramilitary groups formed to enter into political discourse with them, via the medium of assassinations and bombings. 

 

Of course, as the British thriller writer Gerald Seymour pointed out: "one person's terrorist is another person's freedom fighter". The Brits eventually gave up and some of those Israeli freedomists were absorbed into the IDF or took office in government.

 

The rest, as they say, is history. But if you ever wondered whether G*d has a sense of humor, consider this: 

Lehi, one of the paramilitary organisations during those turbulent times, had a weekly publication called Hamaas. If nothing else, it reminds us of the importance of spelling.

 

 

** Other G*ds are available. There's like a whole bunch of them.

Story time

I love writing – all communication really. But sometimes it can feel more like a profession than a vocation. So, in the last few months, I joined a local writers’ group who create poetry, short stories, novels-in-progress, developing scripts and memoir

 

Some are published, some not, and some have no interest in publication. However, what the members have in common is a passion for the written word and an unwavering belief in the creative process. And flowing between those two poles like a living current: joy. Returning to a writing group is a little like returning to a well of inspiration. I can’t say it has improved the quality of my output but it has definitely has a positive effect on my well-being.

 

Through our various forms of writing we explore and share common themes: what it is to be human, making sense of the world and our place in it, and the gift of imagination given free rein. It feels like play for grown-ups and if it leads to a published story or a book…that’s just a bonus.

 

A recent house move saw us packing and unpacking dozens of boxes of books. By the time we’re done I’ll have returned 50 crate boxes to the local supermarket. Many of pour books are now considered vintage because we are; one or two are valuable in their own right, and some books may never be read again but remain on their shelves like honoured guests.

 

Within the collection are individual volumes, whose covers that instantly draw me back to a formative time in my life, like a touchstone. Richard Bach’s A Gift of Wings – often read on the ferry to Manhattan as I travelled to my slightly less than legal job in the Big Apple. Irwin Shaw’s God Was Here But He Left Early – a gift that coincided with a pivotal decision in London about which direction my life would take. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – bought in Coventry when I sneaked off to meet a friend, while working on a data project in the Midlands.

 

Those three examples are all anthologies of a sort, as are we. A collection of the stories we tell others (perhaps with a little editing and the occasional flourish), and the ones we don’t tell because they reveal too much about others or ourselves.

 

When it boils down to it, we are all a collection of stories.

 

I’ve been sifting through my own short stories – the ones for public consumption, I mean. Some feature in anthologies and some are still waiting for the right opportunity. I’ve been thinking about my own anthology for a long time and I already have the cover ready. Who knows, I might finally get around to it in the next few months. We’ve all got a list like that in our heads – the someday list.

 

There’s no call to action here. Not a sales call, anyway. Instead, I want to remind you to find the joy in whatever you’re doing, if at all possible. Or find some joy in something else.

 

And think hard about what you’re carrying through the years – those favourite stories you bring out for friends or strangers, and the ones you tell yourself that shape who you think you are. Remember, all stories are partly fiction. Even the true ones.

 

Lastly, consider this a public information announcement to get on with it. Whatever it is. Because not only is there no time like the present, individual time is a finite commodity. To quote Pete Wylie from Talking Blues [Story of the Blues Part 2]: “…well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to that.”

 

 

 

Coming soon?