Author Interview: Francis O’Dowd
I’m privileged to have had the opportunity to talk with Francis O’Dowd—known to some as Jam Jar Lurker—author of the absolutely fantastic Wishhobbler.
Tell me a bit about yourself. Who are you and what do you write?
Hi Alan, I’m an indie writer and illustrator from Scotland. I live not far from Glasgow with my wonderful wife, daughter, two wee boys, two dogs, two hamsters, eight Guinea pigs and some fish. And a full sized TARDIS in the back garden.
I write and illustrate dark urban fairy tales. One reviewer said my work was like Monty Python colliding with Alan Moore, which pleased me no end. The Pythons could make the most surreal or absurd characters and situations feel absolutely real by delivering them with a straight-faced integrity and a commitment to the internal logic. They did it for laughs, but if you combine that approach with a gritty, dangerous environment and supporting cast, the humour can collide with real drama.
My books can be read on their own, but they are loosely connected and set in and around the city of Porkskreach at different points in an alternate timeline.
What’s your favourite genre? Is it the same as the one you write in?
Fantasy and sci-fi, but any kind of escapism or adventure really. Oddly I’ve not been tempted to write sci-fi yet despite being a lifelong Doctor Who fan.
What do you do for inspiration?
I think you can draw inspiration from everything and anything you experience. For me it usually starts with an image, either something I physically see, or imagine from reading or from listening to music. There will be a feeling or atmosphere which grabs me and I go off on some tangent, absent-mindedly letting a scene play out. And it grows from there. It doesn’t really take off until it collides with some other idea, often something that doesn’t initially feel like an obvious fit. But there will be sparks and it starts to gel.
How do you approach building your worlds?
I’ve written two books and am about to start on the third. There was never a plan, but so far they’re all based on historical Scottish locations. Heavily stylised, exaggerated and repurposed. Which intrigues me because I’ve never really been into history. Or reality. When I was younger I just assumed anything I wrote would be set somewhere like Middle-Earth or Gallifrey. Wishhobbler started when I became obsessed with a book of photographs of the industrial tenement slums of 1870s Glasgow. The living conditions were horrific. But there was something about this enclosed, dark miniature world of narrow alleys crammed full of more homes than seemed possible, tenement buildings spawning almost organically from each other… it wouldn’t let me go. I didn’t want to exaggerate it to Tim Burton levels, but I did want it to be an alternate, fairy tale 1870s, one where I could bend the rules a little. An 1870s where a young girl could live in the tenements with her adoptive siblings, her centuries old forgotten knight of a father, and their ferocious wishhobbler mother.
The more I thought about the folk who lived there, and how their lives would be dominated by work and exhaustion, the more I wondered what the light in their lives would be. And so I came up with the Victorian working class sport of Television Racing, popular long, long before TVs were used to pick up transmissions.
What comes first? Characters or plot?
Usually plot or at least a concept that lends itself to a plot. Wishhobbler was the exception in that it started with the setting and the title. It took a while to come together. The basic premise of my next book all came together in one twenty-minute walk. I could immediately see where it would go. The fleshing out took a lot longer of course! The book I’m about to start has been percolating for over twenty years.
What was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to write?
The ending for Wishhobbler. It was the first time I’d gotten that far with a manuscript. I knew the thematic and mood things I wanted it to do, but not how to get it on paper. And the plot mechanics were tricky. I don’t want to give any spoilers away, but because of the nature of the beast and the situation, I had nothing to refer to. Believe it or not, Bugs Bunny came to the rescue. There’s a particular cartoon where we see an aged Bugs and Elmer Fudd, their rivalry still strong in their twilight. And without giving anything away, there is something in there that sparked my imagination.
What’s your favourite/least favourite thing about the writing process?
I hate proofreading. I’m too familiar with the text at that point. Trying to focus purely on finding mistakes feels like a chore. I love writing first drafts, the exhilaration of seeing something taking shape. Redrafting is a very different process but equally pleasurable (and less in the lap of the gods).
Are you able to share any short snippets from the cutting room floor?
Sadly no. I’ve got a bad habit of saving only the current draft. But here’s a sly reference from Wishhobbler which will prove hugely significant to the third book:
Her flat was much the same as ours, though her things were in one piece. There was a piano over by a wall and Da shivered as he saw it, the ghost of a past misadventure flashing behind his eyes. On the wall were a few framed pictures of saints. The lady was still in her nightdress and her hair a mess. She’d obviously just woken up. I checked her clock; a quarter past seven. We’d slept dangerously late.
What is your absolute favourite piece of your own writing? Could be a short scene, a bit of dialogue, a character or even the tiniest piece of worldbuilding.
‘Why are they so angry?’ asked Sias. ‘Why do they love their stupid Race so much?’
‘It’s their light in the darkness,’ replied Da gently. ‘They rise like ghosts, exhausted from work the day before. They sleepwalk into the next day’s toil. Endless hour after endless hour in the noise of the machine houses, their lives draining away second by second. But a little bit of metal on the factory floor, or a scrap of wood in the yard, can set their imaginations on fire. It could be used to repair their televisions. Or strengthen the carriage. A discarded paint tin with just a dribble left, or a forsaken piece of sackcloth, could be used to spruce up their carriage; give it a bit of character. Hands at the machines but minds reliving last week’s race. Every last detail. And how will it go next week? Who’s going to surprise them? How can they get faster? How can they win? And talk. Talk all lunchtime. Who’s the greatest? The fastest? The cleverest? And saving their pennies for Wearypenn. The greatest day of the year. The day where they live. Put a penny by when they can. Enough for an extra bag of chips and picked snouts. An extra couple of beers. Toffee for the kids. Walking to Wearypenn with the family. And the neighbours. The folk they like and the folk they don’t. Everyone singing and dancing and helping push the sets. And maybe, just maybe, someone wins for the Songs. A victory etched in history for them all. Spend the year remembering and dreaming of the next year. And we took it from them. They’ve been waiting all year. And Ma’s crushed it underfoot.’
What are you promoting at the moment?
Wishhobbler is a finalist in the 2023 Indie Ink Awards, so I have my fingers crossed for that.
In April my second book is launched, Hopesgrave Easily:
In an alternate World War Two, deranged hero Retired Air Marshal Hazzlethrop seizes the village of Fernlaith Hill ‘for the greater good.’ With all able adults fighting abroad, she places the rest under a punishing workload and turns the school into a military academy.
A nameless orphan (known as Balloons to his friends) is tasked with leading a squadron of rowdy headbangers. Threatened with drowning should he fail to control them, Balloons panics. To appear tough, he sends his brother Easily on a deadly mission. But the mission is a disaster and Easily is viciously attacked by Hazzlethrop’s arsenal of living weapons – with horrific repercussions.
Changed beyond recognition and now a danger to everyone, the villagers want him locked far, far away. Hazzlethrop would rather him slaughtered on the battlefield. Balloons realises their only hope is to escape Fernlaith Hill forever. But the weapons have also escaped, taking with them something precious to Easily. If he is to have any future, the boys must retrieve it.
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