Where do you work?
I’ve only just made myself a wee office in the spare room of my bungalow, and I’m in love with it. I used to see other writers post these beautiful writing spaces on Twitter and Instagram, full of books and globes, skulls and ravens, quills and art and fresh flowers or whatever. I’d feel envious, but a bit detached. I felt like I didn’t deserve a devoted space for writing, that I was kidding myself on.
Now I’ve got a desk full of colourful, well-loved books in a bright blue and orange room, and the windows are high, so folk walking past on the street can’t look in at me working. The dog is happy because she can nap on one of the beds while I write, so she’s almost at eye-level. Bunny’s a cockapoo with attachment issues, so she insists on my constant surveillance. She naps with one eye open in case I evaporate into thin air at my desk. Her being asleep is key to my productivity and, a lot of the time, my sanity.
The beautiful clutter of my desk was all gifted or made by very important people in my life. They inspire the relationships, characters and events in my writing and the thought of sharing any success I have with them is what keeps me going. I’ve started framing film posters for the wall – I have two of my favourite Almodovars and there’s one for Midsommar and Suspiria in the post. I’m a big horror fan and that seeps into my work a lot.
Separately, I’m looking to create a small Billie Piper/Lucy Prebble desk shrine I can worship at, just cos I love them. Their show I Hate Suzie is a great source of inspiration for my novel, it has lots of the same themes and friendship dynamics.
What is your writing routine?
The most important thing you should know about the routine is that it doesn’t exist. I’ve always worked in fits and starts, writing between a desktop and my phone while lying on the couch or in bed. The only vague rule is to tire the dog out before beginning, then try to convince my Mum to take her out a second time and tire her again. Bunny and I go a long walk or run in the country in the morning and I listen to music. I don’t listen to sad or pensive songs. I need purest grade, shameless upbeat pop bangers to start the day before plunging into work.
Do you have any writer “habits” – bad or otherwise?
My desk is a Diet Coke graveyard, and I’m quite bad at remembering to eat when I’m working. I have a very temperamental coffee machine and sometimes it will reach 2 or 3pm and I realise I’m surviving on four ropey mochas alone. I’m also very good at starting stories but not very good at finishing them. I love the first two quarters of a short story, and the final quarter, but sometimes find the third a slog. That’s the ‘does this even make sense, is it shit?’ phase where I want to bin every word I’ve written, throw books around, set fire to the curtains, etc. I don’t do most of those things as it’d wake the dog.
I edit as I go, but if I can’t find the word at the time or I’m not happy with how I’m describing something I write XXX in the space until it comes to me. There are little pockets of xxxs all over my novel at the moment, so I’ll go back and fill in the gaps later. I’m also Queen of Tangents, I often write full scenes of dialogue and character development that I’m really proud of and then bin them for being irrelevant to the plot. I console myself by saying it helps me get to know my characters better, but that needs to translate to the reader – otherwise it’s just hanging out with imaginary friends, isn’t it?
If you could develop one amazing writer superpower, what would it be?
I would just wake up and write like Daisy Johnson, Evie Wyld or Gabriel Tennent while telekinetically cleaning my house.
What happens when you stop writing? Away from the page, what do you do to relax?
I tend to do all my work at home in the country, and then unwind in Glasgow. During the week I’m a hermit and only see my family, so I focus solely on my writing (and the newspaper I edit) in a wee world of my own, then go to Glasgow at the weekend and spend all my time with my partner and pals. It’s the perfect split of work/play, country/city, reclusive/sociable and it allows me to switch off from writing at the right times. I go to London as often as I can. Most of my best friends live down South, raising babies and climbing career ladders in warmer climes.
What happens if you have writers’ block? Do you have any tricks to escape it?
I don’t really get Writers’ Block but I do get Writers’ Crippling Self Doubt which is just as debilitating. Also my battery power is dangerously low across all devices at all times — phone, keyboard, Mac, mouse — which provides a million frequent obstacles.
And how do you reward yourself or celebrate after the completion of a story or manuscript, or on publication day?
There have only been two real celebrations so far – firstly, the longlist announcement, which was a perfect day in Leyton having lunch with my favourite friends and walking in the woods. The second celebration was in Glasgow for the shortlist, we had a fancy dinner at a new bar called Brett. Announcement morning was much less glam — my partner and I opened the Sunday Times Culture section sitting on a wall next to a busy road in Tradeston, sharing a coffee and a roll and sausage.
Any words of advice to other writers, who might like to be in your shoes – shortlisted for the award – next year?
I’d say write what’s in you already, and not just what you think the judges will rate. The Bridport Prize entered Call, but I would never, ever have entered it myself. I’d have thought it too short, too stripped back, too Scottish. I’d have entered something less raw, and I wouldn’t have placed! I’d have been skimmed over because I was trying to force something I wasn’t, something I thought important, distant literary people I’ve never met might prefer. You can’t predict these things, so it’s better to make honest work and back yourself. Even then, it’s still a lottery of strangers’ tastes and personal histories at the judging table, and all your stories are still worth telling even if you don’t place in competitions.
Read Rachael Fulton's shortlisted story, Call, here