I’ve reached that point in my novel. You know the one. 30 thousand words and still no title.
Titles have been waking me up in the night when I’m otherwise engaged with Gary Barlow.
How about ‘Introducing Mrs Callery’? No, wait, Miss Callery.
‘Losing Miss Callery’. (Too negative).
‘Finding Miss Callery’! (Too Nemo?)
Hang on, Miss Callery used to hang out with Picasso, right? She was an artist, RIGHT?! How about a Picasso-esque, artistic designation? Wait for it:
‘Study of Woman, Standing’.
But would you choose that book when you have titles like ‘The 100 year-old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared’ winking at you from the shelf in a bid to be your next read? Me neither.
The title of my last book ‘Me After You’ became the most wrestled-over element of the entire publication process. My editor and I were like Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks over the email, hoisting up our spandex fight suits and pummelling titles back and forth until they just got silly. (‘Big Boozy Bender’ was one notable suggestion. It was at that point I conceded that the battle was over. And in the event, my editor – as always – was right. I now love ‘Me After You’ and tell everyone it was my idea.)
So I’m hoping for divine inspiration for this next title. Not least so that I can get back to Gary in peace.