Welcome to The Creative Switch the podcast inspiring the sensibly successful to switch on their unexpressed creativity for a more fulfilled life. This is episode six and with it we are halfway through the season. I must admit I am thoroughly immersed in podcast land at this point and feeling the need to adjust the balance just slightly. One of the pros of having multiple creative projects is never getting bored, but I have a constant battle to juggle my focus on different things. Podcasting is extremely rewarding, but it demands a lot of your time too. So it was lovely to spend a bit of time in writing world and chat with my wonderful guest, Emma Stonex, about our current projects. Our conversation has definitely got me thinking about how to fit more writing into my schedule. And if you're looking to turn your creative inspiration into action, don't forget to listen right to the end of the episode and catch up with my creative adventures. This is where I share the challenges I encounter and how acting on the nuggets of wisdom I've learnt from my guests and applying those learnings is helping me to move forward in my own creative projects. If you have been sitting on a part finished project and have got a bit stuck, I'll share some great advice about a way to unlock the situation and get moving again from coach and author of the Brighter Thinking Coach, Rachel Bamber. Before we get to that, do remember to head to my website nikkivallance.com and sign up to stay in the loop with all my latest updates, blogs and guides to help you with your creative challenges. First though, it's time for some creative news in the Edge.

Whether you're writing your first book or simply watching the publishing world, you'll have noticed that change is afoot. Like many business sectors, it is undergoing rapid transformation across traditional indie and self publishing models. For traditional publishers, the focus has followed the same push for consolidation and globalization of recent years. A Publisher's Weekly article highlights the symbiotic nature of the UK and US markets, continued uncertainty of the impact of trade tariffs, disruption in distribution channels and the ongoing concern about copyright protections voiced by many creators and organisations like the Society of Authors. Both the Society and the Publishers Association have been pushing for the UK government to legislate in favour of creators. Publishing Perspectives reported from the Association's annual Parliamentary reception quoting their president, Mandy Hill, who highlighted both the £11 billion financial contribution to the economy and the role of publishers in being 'responsible guardians of knowledge and truth'. I've talked about the use of original creative content to train AI models in previous episodes, and the use of copyrighted material to populate free online libraries without permission. I understand that it is difficult to achieve a balance between technological advancement and placing true value on human creativity as writers. Our protection in the new legislation is to opt out of giving permission, to use our words. Some authors like Emma Gannon, whose creative retreat we discuss in this episode, is voting with her feet and has just announced a move to publish her second edition of 'A Year of Nothing' with hybrid publisher White Fox in her own publication, the Hyphen. She wrote, 'thanks to a growing substack readership and new self publishing tools, I can connect with readers directly while keeping more creative control. Being an author today has its challenges, but also more opportunities than ever before.' Hybrid publishers offer professional services while allowing authors to retain rights and royalties. This move for authors to work in ways which help them retain creative control is echoed by The Literary Reporter's trends for 25 at number one, their research picked up on the need to build loyal audiences saying, 'authors who prioritise relationships over reach will continue to thrive'. And in another article by Publishers Weekly, the shift towards the self publishing model is clearly evident in both the increase in market share of these titles and the estimated revenues generated for self published authors. Amazon's continued dominance is clear, but whichever platforms today's writers are turning to, many are choosing to lean into the tech tools and established self publishing ecosystems to both retain ownership and leverage value from their creativity. Are you writing and still trying to decide which publishing route is right for you? Or maybe you believe that a traditional route is still the best option? In my eyes, the decision is nowhere near as clear cut as it used to be. Do share your thoughts or any questions via my website contact page or on Instagram nikki _vallnace. I'd love to hear from you.

And listen next for more insights into the literary world and writing life. Where we hear from the Sunday Times best selling author of one of my favourite books, the Lamplighters, with a new book for 2025, Emma Stonex. Welcome Emma to the creative switch. It's so fantastic to have you here.

Thank you Nikki for having me. It's a joy to talk to you.

Before we go into all of the juicy conversation that I know we're going to have, could you just tell everybody a bit about who you are and what you do?

Yes, my name's Emma Stonex and I'm an author. I wrote the Lamplighters a few years ago, which was a mystery suspense novel about three men who vanished from a remote lighthouse in 1972 and I've just published my second book under my real name, which is called the Sunshine Man. And this is a mystery revenge thriller about a woman who pursues her sister's killer after he's freed from jail. I have written many books before under pen names, so I've written all sorts, ranging from Jilly Cooper style bonkbusters all the way through to the darker side of a mystery. So, yeah, I can't wait to chat to you today about how it's all working.

Fantastic. Okay, so the first question I normally ask everybody, and I want to ask you this as well, because it's kind of the anchor for the podcast, is what creativity means to you, both in terms of the word and in terms of how it manifests in your life.

I think creativity means to me a way of expressing something that I feel in the hope that it will resonate with somebody else. I think creativity is ultimately a two way street. What I love the most as a reader, before I published anything or even wrote anything, was reading somebody else's words and recognizing some life experience or some part of myself in those words from a stranger who I'd never, ever met. And I think there's a real kind of magic in that. So for me as a writer now, being creative, it's about putting that out there and hoping to sort of hold hands with somebody that I've never met. I think that's really what creativity can achieve, and it's very powerful.

Yes. And you discovered that through being a reader. And they often say that writers are readers first. Do you remember how it felt to be on the other side, as the person who was putting the work out rather than receiving?

Oh, definitely. I mean, I read so much now and I'm still in awe of published authors. Even though I'm one myself. I still feel a bit like when I read a book that I really love, and I'm so glad of that because I think as an author, if you lose touch with that feeling of amazement at the written word and what it can do, then. Then you sort of lost touch with the job in a way. So, yeah, I definitely, definitely remember that feeling.

And I'd wanted to be a writer for such a long time, and it was always part of who I was since I can remember. So to actually, I have to pinch myself quite frequently that I'm now in the lucky position to have a book of my own with my name on that I can hold and stroke. It's really wonderful.

Yeah. So you mentioned now you've always been a writer, but can you identify the origin story when you first, recognised either that you were a writer and or that you had some creativity in you. Was it people telling you that, or did you actually come to that conclusion yourself?

I think it was just needing to do it. I mean, I know it sounds trite, but it goes back as far as I can remember. I was writing things down, making up stories, filling up notebooks that I should have just been drawing in with stories and words and gradually putting them together into my very young person's idea of what a finished book would look like. So I would have scraps of paper from my dad's office that I would staple together and a little barcode on the back, like early aspirations that somebody might want to buy it. And my dear dad kept all of them, and even though they were terrible. But I used to imitate styles of books I was reading at the time. And that's kind of how I explored just trying on different voices for size. And I just love the idea of entertaining people and reaching them through books. And I think because I'm quite a quiet person, and as a child I was very shy, writing was an opportunity to express myself without any pressure, so I could say what I really meant and not fumble over my words or blush or get embarrassed. And there was a real lovely refuge in that, I think. And I think a lot of authors feel that way.

Did you get to a point where other people were validating that feeling? Because you said it was kind of an urge almost. It wasn't really a decision that you made. It was just that you were always going to do it. Did you need other people to say, well, actually, you could really go and do this, or you could. This is your strength?

I don't know. I think maybe at school, yes. But actually, growing up, until I got to university, there wasn't really that much opportunity to do creative writing. You do a little bit in school, but not that much. And it was always all that I wanted to do. And I did love studying English, but I wanted to do more of that. And I think generally children should be encouraged to do that a lot more than they are. But really, I think it was university when I did a few seminars on that and did some writing, and the tutor made me believe that I could do it. And I still didn't quite believe it, because authors were still these sort of very remote, otherworldly figures who must surely be a lot cleverer and put together than I was. But then I moved into publishing and I realized everybody's just human and people turn in manuscripts that need help and need work, and this is all part of the process felt more attainable to me then.

Yeah, I think that thing about. Somebody said it to me once, you can't compare your rough first draft to the book that you're holding in your hand that somebody's published, because it's been through a big journey of revision and edit, and there's so much that goes into that to get the final product. And it's very easy to forget that, isn't it? Because every time you do read a good book, you think, oh, my goodness, I can't write as well as this.

I know. And this is it. And I think sometimes when I'm in the depths of a work in progress and it's maybe not going so well, I'll reach for a book, a published book, and read it and feel completely intimidated. And I have to remind myself of exactly what you've just said. The first draft, or indeed, you know, the third or fourth draft is sometimes a real hot mess. And it's only thanks to the teamwork, the editorial people and, you know, feedback from other readers that can help you shape it into that final form. But, yes, I think that that process is a really important thing to understand and luckily, having worked in publishing, it gave me a really nice understanding of that and the context to put it in later on.

Yeah, definitely. I mean, I'm really keen to talk about that first move. So you went to university, you already knew you liked writing, you'd done some. A little bit of creative writing, but as you say, there are very few opportunities to really use it. Normally, if you have a skill at writing, people say, oh, go be a journalist or go do marketing or something. There doesn't ever seem to be a place to go or even, I don't know about you, but with careers advice, there's definitely a sense of, well, can you make it into a proper job? This kind of phrase. And I mean, I don't even know if you believe this, but today it's very difficult to make it into a proper job because it's very difficult to make money from it because of the way the publishing industry works. But you have to keep plugging away because it's not about the first or second or third. And you've just mentioned how many books that you've written. It's not about those. It's about believing that you can do it and keeping on going until the opportunity comes. So you came to the end of university, you knew you had this love of writing you'd always had, that. You'd had your mind opened a little bit, perhaps, to what was possible through your tutors saying, yes, you can be quite good at this. So how did you decide what your next step was and getting into publishing would be the thing that you were going to do?

Well, I think it's really thinking about what you've just said. The idea still of being an author was very pie in the sky. I didn't think of it as a proper job in quotes, because it was just too lovely. I mean, a job, I imagine you gotta do something that you kind of don't really want to do, but you need to earn money. So the idea of actually writing and doing this thing that I loved, and that came, I felt very naturally, didn't feel like a proper job, but I knew that I wanted to work with books. And I'd always been fascinated by the process of publishing and didn't really know anything about it. So I just fired off as many inquiries as I could to every publisher in London asking to. To do some work for free for them. And very luckily, somebody spotted my CV at Virago Press, who are part of Little Brown Book Group, but were part of Time Warner back in 2005. And it was because this lovely girl who's still a friend of mine, had been to Sussex University and so had I. So she's been like, oh, there's somebody who's been to Sussex. And so she called me up and it was one of those really lucky, lucky moments in life to sort of set the course, I think, pretty much for everything that's happened since, in a way. And I went and did some work for Virago, and while I was there, an opening came up on the commercial fiction side as an editorial assistant, and I applied for that job and I got it. And then, since then, I spent a few years editing other people's work. And I loved that. I was never really into the acquiring sales business side of buying books, but I would love, love to work on people's manuscripts. And this was back in the day when nothing was done on screen. It was all with a pencil. And I love stationery. So it was really like, correct things with a pencil. Grammar and punctuation, I loved it. But I also really loved reading the unsolicited submissions pile, which was always seen in publishing as a bit of a rum job to go through submissions that the public had sent in, not agented, but just off their own bat. And I remember finding this real gem and the author who'd written it came in for a meeting with my editorial director and they chatted and stuff. And it was really lovely to find that diamond in the rough. It was brilliant. Seeing those aspiring writers and being one myself was a really nice part of the job for me. But I think I got to a point where several years in, I just thought I could have a go at this. I had an idea for a book and I thought I wouldn't scratch that itch until much later on, but it did creep up on me earlier than I thought and I couldn't suppress it anymore. I wrote for a while, while keeping the job in publishing, and then when I secured my agent's representation, I cut the ties and took the jump.

And was that at the time when you decided to write under your own name, or were you still writing under pen names in different genres?

That was a pen name. And there were several reasons for that. I think the main one was that I did have this idea for a book about a lighthouse I really wanted to write, which ended up being the Lamplighters, but this was going back 12, 13 years. God, that's such a long time. It's horrifying. And I knew I wanted to write that book under my real name, but I just didn't have the tools. I'd never written a full length novel before. I didn't know an off about lighthouses. It was just the smallest glimmer in my mind. But I wanted to keep my real name for that. And the idea I'd had was actually for a Bonkbuster, weirdly enough, which is what you call like Jackie Collins, Jilly Cooper, sort of sexy, trashy beach reads. And I had an idea set at the 2012 London Olympics. So it was that that I sort of worked up because I'd been trying to write literary fiction and I just couldn't do it. I mean, what even is that? And my friend said to me at the time, just write something that comes out naturally. Just have fun. And what came out was this idea at the Olympics and it was great fun and I loved it. So it was off the back of that sample that I met my agent and we sold that book and yeah, and it all just went from there, really. So that was the point at which I really believed that I could do it and left my job. Even though I had adored my job in publishing, I really did. It felt like time to go for it and try. You only live once.

And I guess when you take it seriously, I'm not saying you weren't taking it seriously before, but when you believe that it could be a job as opposed to just a dream, you need to go all in, don't you? You need to feel that you're committed to it. I don't think you have to leave your job, by the way, if anyone's wondering. But it's about what else is going on in your life and what you can fit in and whether it's actually feasible to run two things beside each other. And a lot of successful authors do still do that. They do have another job. But I think I'm like you. I had started my first novel way before I finished and cut ties with my old career and I my circumstances changed, which meant that I could commit fully to it. For me, that was about finishing it. It wasn't even about getting representation at that point. It was just about having the headspace to be able to work on it and, and finish it to the point where it was good enough to put out into the world and then go through that whole process of submissions and trying to get an agent. In itself is almost a full time job. Did you find that being in the publishing sector helped you understand that process more, do you think, than you would have done?

Yes, definitely. I mean, I met my agent. I sent my work to her under, obviously under a pen name. I was using one anyway, but it actually wasn't the one we ended up using. But I didn't want her to know it was me. Even though I was relatively junior in publishing. I didn't want her to be looking and thinking, God, this person is really, really not, not up to it. And then that would be quite embarrassing for me editorially. But luckily she loved what she read. And then we met and then I just admitted who I was and, and that was fine. But I was lucky. Because of the work I did in publishing. I was able to carry on doing a lot of that desk editing as a freelancer, which I did for a few years. And that was lovely in a way because not only was it an income, because it did take a long time to build up a sort of livable income, but it also, it was really peaceful and lovely working on other people's manuscripts while wrangling with my own. It was a lovely perspective to have and to see that other people struggled and, you know, because you might not think the two things were compatible, but they really, really were. So I think having that publishing experience has given my own writing experience a great deal of context. And I think that one of the biggest things it's given me is the wisdom to know that books fail and succeed on a random array of factors, none of which really have to do with how good the book is. You know, there's so many things at play, and timing and luck is probably the biggest one. But the important thing is to have faith in what you've done, in the material that you've produced, and to feel happy with that and hope that it reaches that one person that I dreamed about when I was a little girl thinking about talking to somebody I'd never met. And that's what it's all about, really. The business side of things is secondary.

Yes. And it's out of your control. I guess the thing that you can control is the work and the effort that you put in. So both understanding the publishing sector, how the whole agency representation thing works, how the editing process works, how it's a collaboration, and then all those factors about whether something's going to get published or not. That is actually the business side effectively, but the other side is about developing your craft. So I'm sure people will want to understand the difference between writing the books that you felt able to write because you'd been working in that space, in the commercial fiction space, versus your dream project, and what the difference was between the two.

I think the difference was with the other books. They were very much an homage to my teenage reading. I loved Jackie Collins, and I loved Riders and Rivals and all of that. And it was really a love letter to my teenage self. And then when I got to, I'd written 10 of these books, and we got to the end of a contract for them, and my agent said, Emma, I think the time is now. I think you should have a go. So I wrote the Lamplighters out of contract, effectively starting again. I mean, I had my agent, but I was going in as a debut, different name, really. The books I'd written before in this new market with publishers wouldn't have much of an effect. And that was really exciting. I loved that. I loved starting again. And it took me back to where I'd been 10 years before of trying to think about how to write this book and then actually being able to sit down and have a go at it. And while I'd been writing the other books, I'd been quietly researching lighthouses and letting that idea percolate in my mind. So it never felt like this pressured research. I must research this and I must look at that and read this, that and the other. It was just this really gentle, organic, lovely journey of learning about these keepers and their lives. And it was a proper love affair. I just fell in love with it. I thought about it all the time and. And I knew it was my heart and soul. And I think that was the main difference between this book and the books I'd written before and why I wanted to put my real name on it. So I took myself off to lighthouse keepers cottages when my youngest daughter was about a year old, which sounds terrible, doesn't it? But I loved it and I spent a few days there on my own and, yeah, all of this stuff that I've been reading about just spilled out and it was all there waiting for me and it was really lovely. Yeah, it was amazing.

Yeah. I think as a reader, I think you can tell. I've got your new book, but I haven't read it yet. I'm looking forward to it. But as a reader, the first experience of reading you was your book under your own name. I hadn't read any of your other ones, but I can tell the love that's gone in that writing. Okay, so that was partly because it was your project, it was your baby. There was no pressure in a way, because you weren't under contract for it. But the second book, I mean, I haven't read it yet, so don't give anything away. Presumably that felt different because I'm guessing that was under contract. So what was the difference in experiences between those two projects?

Well, it's been quite a journey.

I can imagine.

I'm sure I won't be alone in what I'm about to say. I'm sure many of your listeners who are writers will have experienced something similar after the Lamplighters, or indeed any sort of passion project that we do. I then had this thing of what am I going to do next? What on earth am I going to produce? Because with a contract there is a time pressure and my publisher actually incredibly wonderful understanding about that, as they've had to be because it has been quite a large gap. But it wasn't for lack of trying and I actually ended up diving into the wrong idea after Lamplighters. And I spent three years writing a book that didn't work. And it was absolutely grueling and heartbreaking and difficult. And because I'd written all these books in the past, I sort of thought I had this writing thing licked. I thought, come on, like, you know, you can do this. And my instinct when something is difficult is just to keep trying, keep working, keep going. And that's what I tell aspiring writings all the time. You've got to get those drafts down. So I just kept going. But I was just going into a dead end time and time again. And then after three years and I think over a million words across four or five drafts, I realized I had to stop because I was becoming very unhappy. And the more I worked at it, the more damage I was doing to the book and the more damage I was doing to me. And so I had to step away. And the same week that I put that idea in a drawer where it's still sitting next to me, and if I got it out now, I still wouldn't know what on earth to do with it. The idea for the Sunshine man just fell out of the sky and into my mind. And I had the first line and I had the character, and it was really weird because it felt as though I'd given that failed book back to the library in the sky. And this other one had been given back and said, all right, try this one instead. And it was just my friend from the beginning. It was on my side. And it's about a man who's come out of prison. And I found myself reading a lot about guys who've been banged up and the backgrounds they come from and society's way of dealing with those people. And it really engendered an interest and a sympathy in me. I wanted to explore that in the Sunshine Man. So while it wasn't a long term passion like the lighthouses, it was this very quick spark and love in a different way. And I guess I did feel a bit lost after Lamplighters because this had been in my mind for a decade. And then suddenly, oh, God, what the hell am I going to do next? And it was so warmly received, the Lamplighters, by readers that I did feel that pressure as well of, you know, what was it about that book? And it's quite hard to say what specifically there is about that book that I need to kind of do again, which is a terrible trap to fall into, because you don't need to do it, you don't need to do anything again. You just need to tell a good story as well as you can. And that's kind of the truth that I came back to. And the guiding light that took me through the Sunshine man was just removing myself from all those expectations.

Yes, definitely. That's such good advice. I was thinking there about this thread of. I don't know whether you've read Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert. One of the central themes of the book is that we're not creative. Creativity is out there, and it presents itself to us almost like it's putting out its hand for us to have a dance. And we either take the hand or we decide we don't really fancy it and we're not gonna have a dance with it, or that we do, but we don't feel ready or we're too shy or whatever it is. So her concept is that we're just the facilitators of that, bringing that creativity into the world. And if we're not ready, she has this belief that somebody else will be the person that takes that and writes that. And I've just been away on a creativity retreat with Emma Gannon in Tuscany. How amazing.

Oh, wow.

Something I've always wanted to do is go and do that kind of thing in Tuscany. And we didn't really do that much writing, which I think was a good thing, because as writers, we all sit on our own and we get into our heads and we worry about things. And then when you come together with other people, first of all, I just was like, this is a dream. I'm with other people who believe and think the same things as me. And so I want to actually max out on talking to them about what they do and how they do it. And, yeah, we all talked about this thing where often you'll have an idea and then you'll see that idea somewhere else, and you'll think, why did that happen? So I don't know whether it's the universe or it's serendipity or it is this creative muse that Elizabeth talks about. But whatever it is, there's definitely a moment when it's the right thing that's tugging at your sleeve. And obviously the lamplighters had tugged at your sleeve for a long time. That's fantastic to know that if you are struggling with another project, having had a successful one or having finished one, that you have to connect with the next one in the same way. It's a different project, it's a different story. But it sounded like it was the connection with the topic and the fascination for it that drove your research. And as you say, you don't want research to be this chore that's on the list of things you have to do.

No. And I think research is a tricky one, isn't it? Because you can. You don't want to read a book and just have an information dump, which can sometimes happen when an author has read things probably in quite a short space of time and just needs to get across those sort of hooks for the story to hang on. But actually, research should just be something that naturally comes out of the writing to support the story and shouldn't be obvious. But I think what you were saying is just so true about creativity being out there in the ether. Because, I mean, I really felt with struggling with this second book, this dreaded second album, that surely it was under my control. Surely I had mastery over this. And it was a real lesson and journey in humility, really, to understand that every single book is its own beast and they can't always be tamed, actually. Like, at the time, I struggled a lot with this idea of wasted time, you know, the hours I hadn't spent with my children or, you know, things I hadn't done or neglected in my life while I just tried to fix this thing. And actually, it was time spent brilliantly because I was trying and learning, you know, during that whole period. And I think it reminded me at a point where I needed reminding that writing is this magical, mysterious thing and sometimes it's your friend and sometimes it isn't. And that's exactly as it should be. I wouldn't have it any other way. And, yeah, you've gotta be ready to take the hand and do the dance, but if it's not the right partner, move on.

Yeah. And I think the key there is knowing how to tell whether they're the right partner or not. That's the thing. Because probably where your pain came from was hanging on in there, hoping it was going to turn around.

Yes.

And I guess it could have done, and it may still will in the future, if it's the right time and it calls to you. You never know. You talked about it making you unhappy. Is that the moment when you thought, no, I've got to stop this? Because it's really not?

I think so. I think so. And you raise a really interesting point because as I said before, my advice normally to people who are trying to write is just to keep going, keep writing, don't give up. That's what we all say to writers. And I would say that most of the time that is true, and that sound advice, but I think your instinct about something always has to be listened to. And I tried to suppress my instinct Because I wanted to meet this contract, and I wanted to fulfill it. And I don't like to fail or let people down. My instinct all the while was crying out. And I think it was really when I realized that I was unhappy that I had to stop. And I wrote to my agent explaining. And it was the easiest thing I'd written in years was this email just being really honest and saying. And I think that was it. It's honesty. Honesty in writing is what we're all looking for, to tell the truth about something. And I just felt that I was scrabbling around on the surface of this other book, and I never got to any sort of human truth. And I think if a book for me doesn't express that in some way, then it's. It's not a book for me, and it's certainly not a book for me to write. And I think that was the problem. So, yeah, I think there comes a point with any project, doesn't there, where you need to step back and just sort of have a look at the whole picture. And that does include your state of mind as the writer and whether or not this is bringing happiness into your life. Books don't always bring happiness into your life when you're writing. They can be enormous struggles and real pains. But generally, are you getting good things from this writing? And if the answer is no or not anymore, then I think that's the time to have another look.

Yeah. Yeah. I want to talk a little bit more broadly about creativity now. So we talked about it being an expression and a connection with yourself and the world and other people in the world. Do you have any other aspects of your life that it filters into? You mentioned stationary. That's one. That's one way. Do you find it kind of filters into everything that you do, or do you think about things in a creative way?

Yeah. Yeah, definitely. Yeah. I've always been one for similes. So whenever I see things even just out on a walk, I'll be like, what did I see the other day? Just like the shape of a tree branch. If it looks like the profile of. Well, there was a heron on the lake the other day who looked like an old man in a gray coat. So you're constantly just thinking about images like that. And I've always had that which makes life interesting. And sometimes I think, oh, that's a nice little note. I might note that down for maybe writing at a future date, but. But I do think it permeates every part of your life. I really do. And I think that creativity, if you're lucky enough to pursue a creative job, it adds value to that job, to experience it in your everyday life. And I think if you are naturally inclined to be creative, there's no way of compartmentalizing it and separating it or sitting down and thinking, right now I'm going to be creative. You just are. And I think, you know, if you are.

Yeah. And I think if you try to say, which is probably part of what was going on with the second project before you moved on to Sunshine man, if you try to do it, often that's when it shuts down and says, no, I'm not going to help you today. I've got to go away.

It's a real pain, isn't it? But it's true. And, and I think having written these last two books, or three books if you count the other one, with young children, I have had to be very focused about having. I've got two hours here, I've got two hours there, I need to get something down. And quite often I would sit for an hour and 45 minutes of that two hour slot producing nothing or just writing and deleting and writing, deleting. And then suddenly something would come down. It's like fishing. Suddenly you get a catch, write something and then, oh, my alarm's gone off, I need to go get them from school. So that's quite difficult because it isn't something you can turn on and off and yeah, it's a funny old one. It's like being in a relationship, weirdly, when you're writing a book and you hope that you know it's a good relationship and not a toxic one, one that you can give enough time to and all of this. But yeah, I think it is something that doesn't necessarily come when you need it to.

No. And going back to the Lamplighters, what I was hearing you talk about there was that once it was finished and out, there was almost a grief that you lost that relationship. Because I think we do own these things and we are very, very close to them whilst we're working on them. But then once they're out, they're not ours anymore. They belong to the people who are reading them.

That's very odd. I'll never not find that odd. I think I experienced that with Lamplighters properly for the first time because the other books I'd written that I didn't have a personal connection with. I loved them and I'm proud of them, but it wasn't my heart and soul. Whereas the Lamplighters really was. So off they went, these lighthouse keepers. And it was in a COVID lockdown as well. That book was published, so it was an odd publishing experience and I thought, nobody's going to want to read about a load of grumpy men locked up in a lighthouse when we're all locked up with grumpy men generally. But actually I think it did resonate with people in an extra way because of that. But yes, I did definitely feel. I don't know, it wasn't grief, it was, yeah, definitely a sense of loss, I think because I'd lived with it for such a long time as well. It wasn't a two or three year block of time, it was a lot longer than that. And off they went. And I did feel a bit bereft. I think that's the word, bereft. I didn't know what to do then. I didn't know my thoughts had been diverting to this story for such a long time. And I kept trying to divert them to this new idea and no, I don't want to, I don't want to go there, I don't want to think about that. And I don't think you can force your thoughts towards things. I think it has to be natural and instinctive and in that sense you are relying on some, some other agency beyond your control to step in and give you a present which is kind of counter to being under contract, I think. Struggle between managing creativity to fulfill obligation, but by the same token recognizing that it is its own animal and it might not play ball when you need it to.

Yeah, how do you do that then? Because that's the thing everyone's going to want to know. With the second book, you were under contract. That probably caused some of the issues you were having. But even with the third book, you were still under contract. So you still have that pressure to deliver something. How do you balance that responsibility towards your contract and giving the creativity air?

I think I was extremely fortunate to have a publisher and an editor who really understood and they'd seen how hard I'd worked on this other book and it wasn't for lack of producing anything or just not bothering. I had really tried and I had a conversation with my editor on the phone and she just said, look, I'm not in the business of forcing out books. I'll be here when you're ready, but I want you to fall in love with writing again. She couldn't have said anything better. And she just put me under no pressure whatsoever. That was so generous of them. They did not have to do that. And then, as I say, this idea came really quickly. And it's like when you end a relationship and you just think, I never want to meet anyone again, like that was really horrible and grueling. I'm going to be on my own for a bit. And then you do meet someone else and you're like, oh, this is nice. And it was like this new relationship with the sunshine man. And suddenly had this renewed energy and passion for it. If that idea hadn't come to me, I don't know where we'd be now. We probably wouldn't be having this conversation. I probably would be taking a longer period of time and I would feel okay about that because I think if you know, you've done your best, that's enough and that has to be enough. But I was lucky to have this idea come through. As to general advice about how you balance that, I think you've just got to be honest. You've got to be honest with yourself and you've got to be honest with the people who are relying on you or waiting for your work. Just be honest. If you're trying and it's not working and it's not coming, the wrong thing to do is to force it. And I've learned that the hard way.

Yeah.

And just be honest. If people are in it for the right reasons, they'll be more understanding than you think.

I've had quite a big gap between my first and second. My first came out before lockdowns. It came out in 2019. And yeah, all sorts of reasons why I hadn't started it. And I've done all sorts of other things as well. But I did realize that I've kind of been avoiding working on it. I don't have an agent at the moment and I'm not in contract with anybody. So I have that freedom which sometimes is a double edged sword because, you know, I don't have to do it if I don't want to.

Yes.

But what I have realized, you don't have to go away to Tuscany, by the way, to work this out.

But it is nice though.

It helped to have that kind of distance from things. But what I worked out is the reason why I'm struggling is because I like with my first book, it's not a simple, straightforward story. It's not told in a simple, straightforward way. There are lots of devices that I'm using. I'm not just doing them because I want to be difficult. They suit the story, but it's not an easy thing to do. And I don't know why I'd forgotten that. In general, I'd forgotten that. But for this particular book, there's lots of reasons why it's tricky. And so instead of trying to produce that final, polished first draft, I think it's a thing that people do with their second book. They think, oh, well, I've done one, it's brilliant. So I'm gonna have to do it again. I'll be fine. And you forgot that you didn't do that the first time around. And it was difficult. But I think in the same way as with my first book, and this would have been true of yours, I knew that I had to finish it. It had to be told. This piece of creativity was saying, don't you dare put me down. You're going to stay with me. And the second book is the same. I have that same feeling about it.

I think that's key. That is key. It's having that knowing that I had that with the Lamplighter so strongly. I knew that if nobody picked it up and it went nowhere, I had to get it out of me, otherwise I would never rest. It would hunt me down to my grave. It had to come out onto the page, even if it was just me printing out of my Canon printer and doing my stapling and string business again, as I did when I was a child. And I think that is, if you have that with a project, you are onto the right thing, no matter how difficult it is. So why have you structured yours in this complicated way? Is that just because that's how it's demanding to be told, or is it a sort of conscious decision to do it?

It's a bit of both. Okay, so it's dual timeline, it's dual perspective, but mostly one character, not the other. And it's epistolic as well.

Wow.

But that's because that's what the story is. And therefore, like I said, it didn't make it easy for myself with my first novel. It came to me a bit like yours, almost in a dream, but not quite. It came to me when I was falling asleep and I thought, oh, that's a good premise for a book. So the whole premise and the whole story arc was there. The four main characters were fully formed. Not quite. Because Obviously, I didn't know everything about them but their names and, you know, the characteristics were there. I had no idea how I was going to tell it. That's what took the time. But. And with this, it's the same thing. It's a bit like Lamplighters in the sense that it's based on a true story. So I think that's the hard bit. I'm trying to stay faithful to the story, but fictionalise it, wanting to be true to what the essence of the story is. And what I've worked out is, I've got to work out what that essence is first, because then I'll be able to build everything around it. But with my first book, that whole idea came and then, for some reason, unbeknownst to me, the muse decided to set it in a place I'd never even been to.

That's helpful.

I set it in Gloucestershire, I set it in. In Gloucester and Painswick. And at the time when I started writing, I had literally never been there, so I thought, well, I better get myself off to Gloucester. Then I became quite familiar with it, but I think part of it is because I wanted it not to be just references from where I live. I wanted to be separate from me. And. Yeah, and I guess I thought, well, it's going to be similar. Ish. In that it's not a home county, but it has a similar feel. So, yes, I think that's why. But then it made my life very difficult because I had to go find these places and stuff, but weird things happened, so I don't know whether you have this happen to you. I wrote stuff in ignorance of the facts and then I went and did some research on some of those things and things I had imagined, were there and I'd never seen them before. There's a moment, where in the story, one of the characters had come out the back of a house and was exploring the woods behind, and it was autumn and the first sight she had was of these copper beech copse. And then I went and visited the rococo gardens in just outside Painswick. And it's not a copse, but you walk around the corner and then there's this avenue of copper beach. It was just like, whoa, what's going on?

That's really weird.

Yeah.

How wonderful, though.

Yeah. So, coming right back to what you were saying, it's about the magic and the mystery of the actual act of writing. That is, it's really enticing and elusive. A bit like the little character in the red cape in Don't Look Now. It's just always around the corner. Just going around the corner again. Oh, don't stop, don't stop, stop. I'm trying to find you.

And I don't want them to stop and turn around and look at me like she does it. I would rather just. You are just following it, but you don't want that moment of you feel like that's going to be like, oh, actually, your book's terrible. I don't want to see that face. But when you saw those copper beech trees, did you feel like this tells me I'm on the right track? I know this is right. And it does. I think sometimes when that happens.

Yeah. And that was one of maybe four or five instances of things like that that were just quite odd. But yeah, so it'll happen. It's just I was struggling with it a little bit, but now I've had a bit of distance from it and I'm feeling excited to work on it.

So I think there is a difference. There's a distinction to be drawn between the natural struggle that comes with working out a draft and a book and all the things you're talking about, which are completely normal and part of the process and feeling in your gut that you haven't connected and you trying to force that connection and it's not working. And I think those are two quite different things.

Yeah, yeah. So maybe what I need to do is find a way of capturing what that difference is somehow and being able to refer back to that if I get stuck again. It's been wonderful talking to you. We've nearly run out of time. Before we finish, I just want to ask you a little bit about what's next. So second book out in the world. Can't wait to read it. What's happening after that? Are you on tour?

I'm touring. I'm actually going away tomorrow for a week down into the southwest to do some events down there. And then I've got some things happening in London. Got lots of exciting things coming up. And it's weird, isn't it, because as a writer, you spend so much time alone in your head and then if you're lucky enough to have a book published, you have to access a completely different side of yourself and be outward facing and articulate and presentable. If you spend most of your time on your own, like in a bad mood, tapping frantically at a keyboard. So I've got lots of exciting stuff coming up on the PR front. And then as for the next book, I would really love to write the next one out of contract and go back to where I was, you know, several years ago when I started Lamplighters and just write with that freedom. And so that's my hope and my goal. I've got a couple of ideas I'm playing around with, but I think I am certainly cautious of jumping into the wrong thing after what happened with the other project. So I want to just take a little bit of time, maybe write my way into one or two ideas, see how they feel and then take it from there.

Fantastic. Brilliant. Thank you so much. I will, I'm sure. Love your current book, the Sunshine Man. We didn't get to talk very much about the sea, which is one of my favourite characters in the Lamplighters. But you'll have to come back another time and we'll talk again.

I'd love to. It's been so lovely talking to you, Nikki. Thanks for having me.

No problem. Take care.

You too.

I hope you enjoyed listening as much as I did chatting to Emma. I loved our conversation and have come away with so much admiration for her, even more, if it's possible, than I felt after reading her books. Her honesty, her perseverance and her wisdom have definitely shifted my perspective on the writing process and given me renewed enthusiasm for my written work. If you want to buy her books or connect with her on social media, the links, as ever, are in the show notes. Now

now it's creative adventures time and I promised to share some advice from Rachel Bamber on how to overcome a creative block. Longtime listeners and followers of my writing will know that I've been working on my second novel for quite a while. I have made quite a bit of cumulative progress, but it has been a bit stop start, to say the least. In my conversation with Juliette Crosbie last time I talked about reaching a point where I needed to work on my relationship with the novel, I had got stuck. I had been adding to the word count, but something wasn't working. I couldn't see a way to push through and was letting myself get caught up in the business of life and my other creative projects like my website rebrand and the podcast. Being honest with myself, I knew I was avoiding something, but I couldn't pin down the problem. Was it the writing? Was it the story I was trying to tell? Was it the dreaded second book complex? I didn't have an answer. Then I remembered something Rachel had said in our conversation way back in season one. Wherever we put ourselves in new situations to see new things, hear new things, have new experiences, our brain is going to have new insights and make new connections. Recalling this moment in our conversation reminded me of a wish I had had for a long time to spend time on a writer's retreat in Tuscany. It had always felt a bit of a distant dream, a "Maybe one day". This thought sat in the background as I carried on working on the podcast. And then, whilst on holiday after the end of last season, up popped an announcement for Emma Gannon's creativity retreat and I signed up almost immediately. To cut a long story short, you can read all about it on my blog. I'll include a link for you in the show notes, but let's just say Rachel was spot on. My experience was full of newness, new places, new ideas, new people, new food, new connections. With it came a new perspective on my novel and a new way to approach the writing. A quick reminder if a podcast is a creative adventure you'd like to begin, check out the links for Alitu, my podcast recording and editing software, and captivate my podcast hosting software. I really couldn't do it without these easy to use tools. So back to the 'what's happening with the book?' Over the next few months, I'm planning to give lots of space and time to my writing. Not just to the novel, but my own substack publication, the Bold Types, which I have mentioned over the last few episodes, and I am excited for both. Have you found yourself stuck or creatively blocked? It's a very common experience and we could say it's almost part of living a creative life. I know how incredibly lucky I was to spend my time on the retreat in such a beautiful location, and not everyone has the time, freedom or money to commit to that kind of opportunity. But how else could you find ways to get a new perspective? Please share your thoughts with me at the Bold Types on Substack or on Instagram. The links are in the show notes. I'd love to hear about all the ups and downs of your creative adventures. Thanks so much for listening to this episode of the Creative Switch. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review over on podchaser.com and if you've got any questions at all, please let me know on Instagram nikki_vallance. Join me next time for the last episode of this year and my conversation with agent turned author Hannah Begbie. Until then, keep creating and remember. Why survive when you can thrive.