Falco: The Official Companion (A Marcus Didius Falco Mystery)

by Lindsey Davis

  I wrote a romantic novel to cheer myself up. I did so in secret. You should never say you are trying to write and never discuss work in progress until it is in print.

  I saw an advert for the Georgette Heyer Historical Novel Prize, for unpublished manuscripts. I submitted mine, was shortlisted, and realised I might be able to do this. Not so simple – over five years, I submitted four scripts. Three reached the shortlist: one became a serial in Woman’s Realm; one appeared ten years later as The Course of Honour; another was The Silver Pigs. I never won, not even with those two last books, now in print for decades and loved by readers around the world.

  The prize deadline was always the end of August, so I wrote a book every year, ending then. Excellent training! I am, though, always as close to a deadline as I can be – ever since school where I would run down the corridor to shunt my essay into a pigeonhole, just as the teacher came to collect. I used to take my bundles up to London myself, to gain an extra day over posting them. I still hand-deliver to my agent.

  After I had posted The Course of Honour by hand, I made my way slowly home. It was very hot. During the chillier midnight printing of my work (technology was slow back then), rather than turn the central heating back on, I had added extra clothes. I stood in Tottenham Court Road tube station, stifling in a thermal vest and a jumper. As the girl came running up the steps, I realised she was wearing far too many clothes …

  I went home and wrote the first page of The Silver Pigs. I had no idea who was speaking, in what period and background, or from which steps.

  This answers one question rather unhappily, because when people ask, Where do you get your ideas?, obviously they do not want me to say, From a thermal vest!

  And that’s where Falco came from?

  Could be. According to Richard, we were watching Mike Hammer, a TV series we liked, and he said, You should write about a Roman detective …

  For me, writing is a job. Ethereal forces don’t provide inspiration. I had read detective stories and, significantly, heard detective dramas on radio. When I finished The Course of Honour, I had just finalised a large project, emptied my imagination and was ready for something new. My brain is a hot compost of ideas; many could be forked up, have the woodlice shaken off them and be worked into novels. Some were. Some still will be, perhaps.

  For years, I kept folders with titles, disconnected paragraphs, even a page or two of dialogue between feisty heroines and covetable chaps. People who are trying to be authors are scared of letting a Big Idea escape. I had been a civil servant. My filing system is good. But none of my old folders contained anything like The Silver Pigs. The idea for a spoof gumshoe in the ancient world was new (and therefore exciting). I still have the old folders, though of course, now I’ve mentioned them, they will have to be shredded.

  I came home and wrote that opening page. So I opened a new folder.

  I still have that too: a beige Slimpick Wallet, slightly worn on the edges, with a few ink smears and one blob of what may be spilt tea. This folder, called ‘Mickey Spartacus Notes’, contains: timelines (five or six duplicates) of the First Century imperial period; lists; newspaper cuttings; a Port Guide to Civitavecchia (revised 6/84), a postcard of the Via Appia Antica; vocabularies; a Calendar of Holidays and Festivals (dated 1998); a hand-traced map of ancient Rome with coloured crayoning; and the original photo of ‘Nux’, a doggie who caught Richard’s eye on a Greek island. There is a page of mathematical calculations, involving both linear and liquid measures, in three colours of biro, which I believe to be an olive oil sum for A Dying Light in Corduba. Will I ever get to use the news-clipping: Ferret Foils Police Stake-out? …

  Did Falco come from there?

  No; I opened the folder once he turned up. I hardly ever look at it now. My filing system’s purpose, as Falco might scoff, is to lie in a cupboard looking neat.

  Author and agent typically relaxing, in a Rome hosteria

  So the answer is, I don’t know. Tough luck, wannabe writers who plan to steal the pattern for Knit Your Own Falco.

  I wrote the first book. I found an agent. She found us a publisher. Just like that? No. Several agents turned me down. Many editors said no to Heather.

  It took four years, though it seemed much longer, to see The Silver Pigs in print. There was a delay at the end because apparently the book was printed in China and failed to arrive on time; a slow sampan, clearly.

  The Writing Day: Do you have a routine?

  If I wanted to work 9 to 5, I could have stayed in a ‘real’ job.

  My deadline is fixed. My contract is non-negotiable, says Falco to Avienus, who supposedly has ‘writer’s block’. And I shall deliver on time, like a true professional. The masterpiece will be rolled up neatly and fastened with a twist of string. There will be supporting proofs, cogently explained in exquisitely constructed sentences. Informers don’t hide behind ‘blocks’. The guilty go before the judge. [OB] My system is to get the work done – 100,000 words every year. This is how:

  My radio alarm turns on Radio 3, the classical music programme, at 7.30; during the next hour I wake up. In the following hour I get up. Nowadays, instead of buying my newspaper while the kettle boils I go for a healthy walk in the park and then buy it. (Not having a paper delivered derives from when I first began working at home; it makes me leave the house at least once every day and not become peculiar …)

  I read the paper. I read the post. I look around the garden, I consider housework, mend stuff, do ironing. I walk upstairs to the study, turn on my computer, do financial tasks, read email. I make phone calls, write letters, order from catalogues. Then it is probably lunchtime. I turn off the computer and have lunch.

  I go back. Now I write. I look at yesterday’s work, polish it, move the work forward. It is concentrated. I do not mess about. When I am tired I stop.

  I have a bath and my dinner. In fact I am still working. My relaxing brain will come up with really good ideas.

  I do not write them down. I am off duty now. If I forget them, since I am a professional writer, I will just devise more tomorrow.

  That’s it.

  I wake when I like … The shutters stay closed, for in the stillness and darkness I feel myself surprisingly detached from any distractions and left to myself in freedom; my eyes do not determine the direction of my thinking but, being unable to see anything, they are guided to visualise my thoughts. If I have anything on hand I work it out in my head, choosing and correcting the wording, and the amount I achieve depends on the ease or difficulty with which my thoughts can be marshalled and kept in my head. Then I call my secretary…

  PLINY THE YOUNGER

  Do you have a synopsis?

  If I have a contract I send a few pages of notes to my UK editor, copied to my US editor if he has also bought the book. This is polite; it says what they have bought, and helps them prepare catalogues, etc. I often don’t look at the outline again for a long time. My synopses are brief, though all authors differ. I hate prior detail; once I begin writing, I want the same thrill of discovery that the reader will have.

  I begin at page 1 then power through. A typical Falco novel takes about four months of writing. Research continues simultaneously and may cause changes.

  Do you use a computer?

  I am a toolmaker’s granddaughter. I use the best tools I can get.

  The first thing I do when I buy a PC is to strip out all games and media samples. I do not allow email alerts. I don’t listen to music; I blot out noises of fireplaces being installed or bitter cold when the boiler breaks down. I am focused.

  However, if I hear screams or smell smoke nearby, I go to investigate.

  Where do you work?

  Once, it was on the dining-room table – in a room only about eight foot by eight. Every evening the work had to be tidied off, so dinner could be civilised.

  First study, being prepared for dinner

  My first Random House contract enabled me to buy a new house with its own study. By Millen
nium Year I had a house with a study and a library.

  Study One had the airing cupboard in one corner, which I highly recommend. Hypothermia can set in when writers sit too still for too long. Other risks to health are RSI, arthritis, sight problems, headaches, weight gain and piles! The sedentary life is, literally, a killer. Working from home avoids many germs, but at public events you will gather viruses. Since by definition you have started off solitary, weird, despondent by nature and probably with the gene for hay fever and asthma, I advise writers to live close to their local surgery. Going there does give useful insights into human nature.

  There are special UK tax rules for the self-employed who work at home, though these are beyond the scope of this volume. Sadly, they are beyond the scope of most writers, but I am at heart a bureaucrat. So for decent fiscal reasons, I always edit in the dining room, read in the lounge, think in the bath, do interviews on the bedroom phone (I was once on Today live, while secretly in bed), keep my sewing machine in my study and spare lightbulbs in the library. Pre-meetings with my agent and editor take place in the conservatory (the meetings tend to be outside the home).

  Are you forced to make a lot of changes by your editor?

  Not me. He tries. I say I’ll think about it.

  If a word or phrase makes Oliver pull up, I generally omit or alter that passage because if he bothered to find his pencil, something there is wrong.

  In twenty years he has taught me a lot and I can write now to what I know he will like (or naughtily write things he will want to correct).

  Author and editor at a Fishbourne Palace event with curator David Rudkin (togate)

  For Venus in Copper I had two editors, which was intriguing. Oliver had moved to Arrow, a paperback imprint; I was supposed to have a hardback editor. It was decided that Oliver and Paul Sidey at Hutchinson would both edit the manuscript. Oliver would then discuss their joint list of suggested changes with me. (Note ‘suggested’. I am sure that is how editors see it.) They had different interests so produced two completely different sets of queries; I was heartbroken by the sheer amount and ended up in tears. It made me wonder; given that usually, only one of those lists would be considered yet a perfectly acceptable book would result, could one do without both editors and still – after the author’s final draft tweaks – have a decent book?

  Of course this is heresy.

  Indeed! [Editor]

  Do you have any influence over book jackets?

  In Britain I have the ‘right of consultation’ – an ambiguous concept.

  Publishers like to ‘refresh’ a long series; I’ve been through it many times. When one re-jacketing was planned, I asked readers, via my website, what they thought. There were unexpected results, for instance that you hate the phrase ‘Her new bestseller’ and don’t trust glowing quotes because you think money has changed hands. Scenes from the story were requested, which we did have for a while (it was really hard work for me because I had to brief the designers). Now, in anniversary year, the UK series is in four different liveries and two sizes; for those of you who want a complete collection, I can only apologise.

  My US editor shows me jackets in advance, and we tweak them. On translations, sometimes I’ve never even seen the finished books; I’m almost never asked about their covers.

  Generally, I just stick by my sad hope that people will pay for what is inside, not what gets stuck on the front. We have scanned some of the jackets [overleaf] I’ve had over the years just for The Silver Pigs. Each of these was thought by the publisher to be the best way to sell the book to readers … In fact there are common themes - plus an anachronistic Colosseum, and my name spelled wrong!

  My favourite story concerned a major book chain considering the proposed jacket for Three Hands in the Fountain. We were on scenes from the books at the time, and that one showed Falco and Anacrites in the sewer. The retailers asked, could it be livened up; could there, for instance, be things floating in the water? I wasn’t at the meeting (of course), but I heard there was a sudden silence as people worked out what might be floating in a sewer …

  Jackets do lie: for instance, authors plead with their publishers to use a specially youthful photo.

  Events

  Once I was published, I had to meet the public. Juvenal had prepared me for this:

  Some peeling dump of a hall in the suburbs, its doors all barred

  And bolted like the gates of a city under siege …

  hangers-on to sit at the end of each row, distribute the applause …

  the cushioned front row chairs that have to be returned double-quick, when the performance is over …

  I enjoy meeting readers but it gets more tiring every year. You can never relax, because there will always be some question you are not expecting. It can be lonely, you sometimes don’t get to eat properly – but the good nights, with gales of laughter and lots of sales, make it worthwhile.

  Favourite memory: overhearing a lady say excitedly to her friend: She’s lovely – she’s so ordinary!

  Website

  I didn’t think I wanted a website; I didn’t even have email or Internet access. I write about olden times, but new ideas don’t frighten me; indeed if I had been timid I would not have entrusted this vital author tool to a person I had then never met. Ginny Lindzey from Texas took on that role and this is how she describes it:

  Years ago, I realized that Lindsey should have a website and told her so. Once she was finally ready to embrace technology, the fun began.

  We discussed what we (she) wanted and didn’t want. We discussed organization. We discussed voice. And then Lindsey had to leave it to me, an amateur, to do the rest on blind faith because there was no way she could supervise my design work transatlantically. She had no idea what the site looked like until the day it was posted. That was an extraordinary amount of trust placed in a person she only knew from correspondence at that time.

  The trust was well placed and our site was successfully launched in 1998. We took note of what worked and didn’t work on the site. There have been several revisions, including the addition of the infamous ‘Rants’ page, which began when an American reader complained about the Arval Brothers apparently wearing wreaths of sweetcorn; this eventually raised some fundamental issues of whether British novels should be ‘Americanized’.

  We were famously praised in the UK publishing magazine The Bookseller: ‘It’s the best author site I’ve ever visited. You get the feeling of an alert, steely intelligence and a good strong left hook to go with it.’ And the article concludes, ‘Artistically, typographically and textually, this is an outstanding site.’ This is wonderful praise for a couple of creative women who just put their heads together. Two things, I think, have made this an effective site. First, it is personally done. Lindsey doesn’t just have a site created by some professional firm who have no idea what she is about. She writes the text, updates the diary, decides what goes in The Postbag, chooses the photos. Second, I’ve kept the site simple and focused on content, not bells and whistles. This site is personal; it is designed for Lindsey to communicate with her fans, and her fans with her.

  See Last Act in Palmyra

  Rant – ‘an extravagant flight of words … to rave in high-sounding language’

  DR JOHNSON

  One thing readers communicated was their desire for a Falco Companion!

  Correspondence

  From the start I had a lot of letters from readers. Many say, I’ve never written to an author before, so either I seem approachable – or that’s just what readers politely say to authors. Email has increased the flow. Much of the correspondence brings me joy. Surprising numbers of people, both youngsters and those going back to education, have been inspired to study classical subjects – quite a responsibility! The Falco novels have helped women in labour, patients and their carers. One moving letter was from a young woman whose husband had died in Iraq, his last term of duty at least cheered by Falco. I like thinking that soldiers have Falco to pr
ovide escapism and keep them humane.

  At my request readers sometimes provide little pen portraits. A website survey also helped determine who they are – men and women, aged from teens to nineties, rather a lot of teachers and academics, lawyers (one confessed to being no good), media people (surprising they owned up at all), retired folk, and every kind of occupation from beekeeper to knitting instructor, through cathedral curator to friars and jailors.

  Just a few favourites:

  Don’t seek mass adulation.

  Be content with a small circle of readers – or are you mad enough

  To want your poems dictated in shabby schools? Not me.

  HORACE

  On going into my local bookshop and asking was there any news? I was told after the guy looked you up on the screen, ‘Both her next two novels have been cancelled. She’s either retired or died.’

  (Dave Lee Tripp)

  Suffice it to say, Falco is up there with chocolate!

  (Vanessa Terry)

  Two years ago I travelled on a cargo ship for five weeks. Dear Lindsey, you saved my sanity. I lay on my bunk and was transported through the First Century AD. When one is surrounded by water and Russian sailors, a book is of inestimable value.

  (Mrs Barbara Young)

  I hope that you will be amused rather than offended to learn of a somewhat unusual use for one of your books. My mother had the misfortune to be attacked by a neighbour’s large, aggressive dog in the garden of her holiday home. On finding her ankle clenched between sizeable canine teeth, my mother, rousing herself from her lounger, swung her holiday read (a rather hefty large-print version of See Delphi and Die) above her head and felled the dog in one fair blow. I exaggerate; it took two to knock the dog unconscious, the first merely demonstrated that she meant business.