A Novel of my Own

‘Everyone has a book inside them …’ and just about everyone knows the quote from Christopher Hitchins. The more one ponders this comment, the more foolish it appears.

Yet, when we exclude the canon of great and less great writers, there will still be numberless individuals over the years who felt they had something to say or wished to say something – not at all the same thing. For whatever reason(s), their book never appeared; the thoughts and ideas remaining largely unknown.

However, some novels from hitherto unknown pens and computers do reach their conclusion and eventually find their way into the everyday world. For what it is worth, this is how it happened to me.

A few years into my retirement from teaching I was sitting at the piano in the front room with my back to the window facing the road. A mirror hung on the wall in front of me with a view outside. 

I was playing a simplified reduction of Beethoven’s Third Symphony (‘The Eroica’), one of my all-time favourites. Having completed the two opening chords something in the mirror caught my eye. A woman was standing outside looking towards the room but not at me. After a few seconds she moved on.

Something stopped me in my tracks. Why had they paused – had they heard me playing (the window was slightly open)?  But whatever took place in the street was a lightbulb moment for me – ‘Aha, could there be a story in that?’

In my mid-sixties at that time, I had written nothing beyond thousands of school reports (an eventual master of precis) and over a hundred classical concert reviews (an occasional elegant turn of phrase) but nothing approaching a novel. However, I had some foundations. An imposing, cricket-loving teacher at Cardiff High School taught his then 4B the basics of English Grammar for which I remain grateful. I had read a fair number of major novelists, alert to style as much as content.

I had an idea – younger woman hears a piano, investigates, meets older man and things start to happen – but what next? Something (or someone) kept whispering: ‘Wait, let the idea rest, germinate … see what happens’. I obeyed and kept reading widely but paying close attention to the early pages – how and when novels begin to take off.

After a couple of years I got the green light. On holiday with my wife, Jenny, in Lanzarote, I had felt the novel taking shape and beginning to bubble up in my mind. ‘What shall we do today?’ enquired Jenny at breakfast. ‘Well, I’d like to buy a notebook and start writing something. Are you happy to read by the pool?’ It was a good day. I wrote quickly and fluently and was surprised and pleased with how much had been taking shape in the background without my being particularly aware.

Back in Suffolk, I continued to write but without the novel taking over. I tried to set aside a couple of hours each morning which was loosely adhered to and provided just enough structure to keep pushing forward. Initially, I had little idea of where the novel was going, still less how it would end, but ideas came and went and eventually, after two years and a shade under 80,000 words, Beethoven’s Third was complete.

I had neither interest nor confidence in approaching a professional reader for comments, or attempting to have it published. A friend of mine had self-published a book on Amazon/Kindle and assured me it was not difficult. Jenny, more confident and competent with computers, was beyond praise as I nervously pressed ‘send’.  But seeing it on the webpage for the first time and a favourable review soon after was very encouraging.

It is nearly eleven years since Beethoven’s Third appeared. Modest sales and royalties were only to be expected but several favourable (and a few enthusiastic) comments from readers have been genuinely heart-warming and convinced me that the time and effort on the novel was worthwhile.

Gareth Jones

Beethoven’s Third is still available from the Kindle store at £2.11 or can be downloaded to a phone.