"Shellshock. It's not allowed to exist anymore."
"That's bollocks," Captain scowled. "You can't just forbid an illness to exist."
"I know that," Rigby shrugged, stretching out his legs and arms irritatingly. "But that's what the high-ups are doing. There's a shortage of men isn't there? We're losing enough to shells and frostbite, can't afford to lose even more to 'malingering'; at least that's the way they see it. They're sending as many back here as they can, and soon they're saying it'll be completely illegal to diagnose it at all.
Nope, no more shellshock. It's got a different name now, and one that doesn't come with any honours or Blighty leave - NYDN; Not Yet Diagnosed, Nervous. You want to know what the lads in fourth are calling it?
Not Yet Dead, Nearly."
***
In early 1917, it was decided that the diagnosis of shellshock was no longer appropriate for a force in desperate need of all the men they could get. The First World War had been raging for over 2 and a half years already and still no significant move had been made by either side, despite the severe casualties felt by both. The solution: find a way to return more men to the front. The doctors called it Not Yet Diagnosed, Nervous. The men; Not Yet Dead, Nearly.
For me, the sentiment of this phrase sums up the entirety of this war of stalemate; thousands of men just waiting to die, and mocking the fact as best they could for their own sanity. Therefore, I have chosen the phrase for the title of my book.
As many of you will know, it will soon be the centenary of Britain's involvement in the First World War; from 4 August 2014 until 11 November 2018. As such, it feels like a good time to offer my own personal tribute to the brave men who fought and died for our future almost a hundred years ago. I have always been fascinated by the courage and suffering of these recruits and their families, and last year finally sat down to write the story of my own group of recruits, caught up in the trials of war. It explores their friendships and states of mind, and ultimately how the different characters find different ways of coping with life in the trenches.
The purpose of the book is a sentimental one; firstly, my own small offering to the memories of men like those in the novel, to show that they are not forgotten, and secondly to raise money for the charities who help soldiers and their families even now. I am especially keen for my book to be published and successful as any money I receive from its sales I plan to split evenly between The Poppy Appeal and Help For Heroes.
My progress so far? A few weeks ago I triumphantly shut my laptop having completed the first draft of the novel in just over a year; 114,000 words of barbed wire, shellfire and comradeship. Problem: I have heard that publishers will accept strictly no more than 100,000 words for a first novel, no exceptions. I had always known that editing would be a large part of the writing process, but I now realise just how far I have to go.
So, I have a good many months of deleting and rewriting and growling at my laptop when the word count still doesn't match, as well as continuing to visit historical sites and museums to triple-check my facts and figures. Not to mention the dreaded advertising and PR. And that's where this blog comes in. I will be posting here regular updates on my progress, more information about the book, the characters and the war itself, as well as pictures (like the beautiful character drawings done by my sister that form the background of this blog) - all in the hope that by the time I bare my soul to publishers I will have collected a handful of followers ready to rush into Waterstones and make my work worthwhile.
Thank you for your interest. If you have any things you would like to know (about the war, the book, or anything really) then please just give me a shout; any communication is better than none!
Cheers,
Harry
