David Goodman is a novelist and short story writer based in East Lothian, Scotland. His debut novel, A Reluctant Spy, will be released by Headline Books on September 12. I recently heard David speak about his work and was blown away by his surefooted approach to writing and his generosity in sharing craft insights. Huge thanks to David for taking the time to answer these questions!
—Myna Chang
***
Myna Chang: Tell us about your new thriller, A Reluctant Spy!
David Goodman: A Reluctant Spy tells the story of Jamie Tulloch, a high-flying sales executive with a secret. When he was 23, he was offered a deal by MI6. He agreed to loan his identity to a covert agent at an unspecified point in the future. In return, he’d get access to job opportunities, contacts, and influence. The deal was tempting because Jamie was a scholarship student at Cambridge, without any kind of familial safety net or support. When he’s finally activated, he’s relieved because he thinks he’ll get the chance to live a different, less constricted life where he succeeds or fails on his own terms. But before that can happen, his handover goes wrong, he finds his main contact dead, and he ends up on the mission instead of the agent who was meant to be replacing him. From there, many, many complications ensue.
Cover Design by Andrew Davis
MC: What was your inspiration for the story?
David: I’ve been reading spy fiction for decades (my dissertation at university was on paranoia in the work of John Le Carré and Graham Greene) as well as enjoying espionage stories in film, TV and non-fiction. In particular, I loved the Bourne films and books, as well as the deadpan humour of Mick Herron’s Slough House series. I’ve also had a line in my idea file for about seven or eight years, just one line that said, ‘people who lend their real lives as cover to spies?’ and the more I thought about that idea, the more I thought about all the many, many ways it could go horribly wrong, which is obviously a fantastic way to generate interesting new spy stories.
MC: Did you have any surprises while writing the novel?
David: Yes – there’s a character in the book called Sally Lime, who is the technical specialist who helps track down a traitor in the ranks in London. And she didn’t exist in the outline or in any of my plans for the book at all – she just appeared mid-draft. But she very quickly became a huge part of the plot and a really memorable character to both write and read. And it seems like she’s destined to become a reader favourite – all my beta readers and several early reviews mention her. If I get to write a sequel to this book, she’ll definitely be featured as a POV character.
MC: What was the publishing process like for you?
David: I tried to get things published when I was much younger, in my early twenties, but then I didn’t submit my short fiction or query my work at all for many years, just piled up drafts of various novels and short stories in bursts of writing, followed by months of avoiding it entirely. Then, in late 2019, I decided it was time to get off the fence and start treating my writing seriously again, armed with a lot more knowledge and hopefully a little more writing skill. I wrote a big SF novel in 2019, then realised it was a huge mess (186,000 words) that I didn’t have the editing skills to fix. I needed to learn to edit, so I used a book called The Burning Line to figure that out since it seemed the most commercial draft I had and the easiest to edit. I queried that in late 2021, right as I also started submitting short fiction again. I had a hell of a month in November of 2021 when I sold my first short story to Clarkesworld and got an agent within the same week.
The Burning Line went out on submission in February 2022, but unfortunately, I didn’t find a home, so I wrote another novel (a straight spy novel this time) that went out in late 2022. That also didn’t land with any publishers, but I did catch the attention of Toby Jones at Headline Fiction, who asked if I had any other completed novels or pitches I might want to discuss with him. We had a call in March of 2023 (while I was on a writing retreat in Wales, which was very good timing) and I wrote a 15k sample of the book that became A Reluctant Spy. We went back and forth a bit, and I supplied an outline and a longer sample, then I got my first book deal in June and wrote the rest of the book over the summer of last year.
So, in some ways, it’s been pretty standard (cold querying and getting an agent, books dying on sub) and, in others, quite unusual (selling my first book on an outline and sample, selling my first short story since 2005 to Clarkesworld on the first attempt).
And we’re hopefully about to take that giant SF novel from 2019 (since heavily edited and re-edited) and send it out to SF publishers. It’s my ambition to have a dual career in both mainstream thriller fiction and SFF.
MC: Do you move easily between the short length and novel-length stories? Do you find similarities in style and/or subject matter from your spy stories to your scifi?
David: I will usually know whether an idea is a short, novelette, novella or novel-length idea when I first write it down. Some ideas just feel ‘bigger’ in a hard to define way. That said, sometimes, one of my shorter pieces feels like a part of something with a bigger scope. I have plans for novels in the worlds of some of my short stories like Such Is My Idea Of Happiness, Carapace and Vegvísir, even though those stories are self-contained.
There’s definitely a lot of tonal overlap in my work, too. I like my stories, short and long, to revolve around a character or characters who are trying desperately to get somewhere, figure something out, or stop something from happening. That forward motion is something I look for in both short stories and novels because it’s what brings a reader into a piece of fiction and keeps them moving through it, and it’s also what allows you to have little moments of respite and quiet that deepen the work overall. And I’ve been told that my action scenes, whether they involve giant battle robots or spies jumping out of helicopters, are one of the strongest parts of my writing, which I’m glad about because I enjoy writing them a lot.
MC: You recently spoke to my discussion group about your writing process. Specifically, we asked about your apparent “overnight success” with four short stories published in Clarkesworld in only two years. Your answer took us into a fantastic exploration of craft and the evolution of SFFH publishing. Can you share here your writing process and approach?
David: I alluded to this earlier, but it was that fairly common kind of ‘overnight success’, which is actually just sitting in a room typing for twenty years or so. The difference was that I didn’t do my learning in public per se by submitting and getting hundreds of rejections. That was, bluntly, down to a lack of confidence on my part. When I last tried submitting short stories, Clarkesworld didn’t even exist, and nearly all magazines only accepted paper submissions. As a new graduate in London working horrible hours, I managed four or five submissions of (frankly terrible) short stories before the ritual of paying to have rejection slips mailed back to me from the United States lost its appeal.
I did most of my learning by writing novels though, rather than short stories. But I think something about telling a lot of long stories in various genres and consistently producing work meant that I was also figuring out what might make shorter stories more compelling and interesting to read. At least two of the stories I’ve had published (“Such Is My Idea Of Happiness” in Clarkesworld and “Best Practices for Safe Asteroid Handling” in Analog) were ground-up rewrites of stories I first wrote ten or fifteen years ago, starting from scratch without re-reading the original stories. I rewrote those (and started writing new work) because I felt that I’d learned enough outlining, drafting, and editing skills to produce good work that might have a chance at being published. Frankly, the enormous morale boost of selling my first story submitted to Clarkesworld gave me enough confidence to write a lot more.
The big difference, though, was the personal reckoning I also talked about in one of my earlier responses. I came to three different but linked conclusions. The first was that I wanted to make my writing process less irregular and stressful (because I found writing hard, but I found the long gaps of not-writing even harder). And the second was that I wanted to actually try – have a clear goal of publication and work towards it steadily. The third realisation was a bit bigger – that I had to try and make sure that I took some joy and satisfaction from the writing process itself, because the creative work is the only part I’d have real control over and the only part that’s intrinsic. Everything else – publication, money, nice, reviews, dare I say awards – comes from the outside world and I can’t control what happens.
So, in 2019 and 2020, I sat down and figured out a writing process that I still broadly use today. I work five days a week, writing from around 0615 in the morning until about 0745, when I go out for a long walk before starting my day job. I used to work on weekends and tried to write in the evenings as well, but this regular 90 minutes of writing every weekday morning is how I get nearly everything writing-related done these days. It’s an ingrained habit now, but getting up at 0530 is still a little painful, especially in the dark Scottish winters. But it’s also a wonderful quiet time of the morning, with no other demands or interruptions. I just need to get a bit better about going to bed on time than I am now.
I also think there’s something about the very early morning that helps to mitigate the confidence issues that kept me from submitting for so many years. At that time in the morning, even after a shower and a giant mug of tea, I’m still a little fuzzy and half-awake. And it feels, relatively speaking, far easier to just start typing than at any other time of day. That said, should I ever be lucky enough to do this full-time, I will absolutely be getting up at least an hour later. Possibly two.
MC: I’m a huge fan of your precise prose and detailed world-building. Do you do a lot of research for these stories? How do you fit all that information into the narrative so seamlessly?
David: The unsatisfying answer is that I’m not entirely sure. Some stories start from a kernel of an idea that comes from research, like Vegvísir, which came from a tweet about a startup pursuing technology for rapidly creating landing pads for lunar landers by injecting alum into their landing booster plumes. That gave me the physical setting hook that I hung the whole story on, while the miasma of other stuff (Icelandic folklore, solar exploration, oxygen deprivation, strange landscapes) was just sort of floating around in my head and coalesced quite quickly around that one physical location.
I outline my work, but I’ve learned to keep those outlines loose and be prepared to adapt as I go because I’ll uncover things in the drafting and editing process that are better than whatever I came up with at the bullet point list stage. But I do start each story with a pretty clear idea of the overall shape of what I want to write. I do a lot of searching and confirming and double-checking as I write, so I don’t think my writing is broken into distinct research/draft/edit phases. The research and figuring stuff out is integral and happens as I write and edit. Sometimes that means a writing session doesn’t actually produce many words (because I’m trying to work out the g-force imparted by a fifteen-kilometre-long generation ship with a radius of six kilometres and I’m not terribly good at maths) but more often than not, it means the finished first draft has most of the research done, so there are not a lot of [FIGURE THIS OUT LATER] notes.
However, I think the largest factor has been learning how to edit, as well as finding an incredible critique group. I did a lot of reading (Self Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Brown and Dave King is superb) and a lot of trial and error to figure out my editing process, and the critique group was pure good fortune – I happened to be in a Discord server with another writer who described this intensive weekly critique group he was in, and I basically wheedled my way in because it sounded like exactly what I needed. It’s been a life-changing group to be part of, and it’s one of my absolute favourite things about being a writer.
MC: Do you have specific themes in mind when you begin a new story?
David: Not really? It’s more like, I have a feeling I want to leave my reader with. For Vegvísir, for example, I wanted people to leave the story thinking that strange, remarkable things can still be possible even in a dusty, gritty future. And in Such Is My Idea Of Happiness, I wanted readers to feel that stopping, breathing and sleeping were just as important as fighting and striving, sometimes more so.
I quite often have a final image or emotion in mind when I start drafting, although it will sometimes change as I work on the piece. And my bullet point outline tells me roughly where I’m intending to go. But the broader themes aren’t consciously there until after I finish, when they can often take me a little bit by surprise. I had no idea, for example, that A Reluctant Spy would have a lot to say about imposter syndrome, or belonging, or the sacrifices that those in public service make and whether what they’re defending is worth that sacrifice. But when other people started to read it, they felt those themes and asked me about them. Of course, I nodded sagely and said, ‘Hmm, yes, I’m glad you noticed that’.
MC: Are there any authors or stories that have had a significant impact on your writing?
David: Oh wow, too many. Like many, many writers my age in Scotland, I hugely admired Iain (M) Banks, and I’ve consciously modeled my writing and career goals on him. I may even do the middle initial thing if I’m lucky enough to get a parallel SFF novel career off the ground. I also got a lot of my sense of justice and love of characterisation from inhaling Terry Pratchett at a key age, and picked up a lot of stylistic and thematic cues from William Gibson, Ursula K Le Guin, Bruce Sterling, and Patrick O’Brien.
More recently, the work of Stark Holborn is what got me out of my long, long writing slump and back into writing regularly, and Arkady Martine’s stunning prose in the Teixcalaan duology felt like it gave me permission to try and write some really beautiful stories (along with reading the work of one of my amazing critique partners, the novelist Michelle Ruiz Keil).
On the spy side, there’s Le Carré, of course, but there’s also Graham Greene, Charles Cumming, I.S. Berry, and the superb David McCloskey. And my own novel probably wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t read and hugely enjoyed Mick Herron’s books.
MC: What sorts of changes are you seeing in publishing? Are there any trends that you especially like (or dislike)?
David: I’m obviously a huge fan of the recent surge in interest in spy fiction! I’m also seeing mini-booms in both horror and SF, which I think is at least partly down to the success publishers have seen with book subscription boxes and the romantasy trend. I sometimes worry that agents and editors get bored of things sooner than actual readers do, though – I’d love it if publishing wasn’t quite so quick to pivot away from things they’ve decided are out of fashion. But I suppose nobody wants to be the one publishing the last book in a dying trend.
MC: You’re active with several writing and genre groups. What are the benefits of participating with such groups? Does the sense of community motivate you? How can new writers find this sort of support?
David: I think a lot of new writers come to writing groups with quite a transactional, quid quo pro mindset – I’ll read yours if you read mine. And when you base a writing relationship on an accounted-for exchange like that, I think everyone involved becomes quite fixated on the fairness of the exchange and the value they’re extracting from it. Unfortunately, especially early in your career, the quality of your critiques (and your ability to take critique) is highly variable, so I think a lot of critique swaps and writing groups actually do more harm than good.
My biggest advice is to find your community first – meet people, learn about them, and make friends. Then, think very carefully about introducing a critique element. Be clear about what you need and what you can offer. And look for people who match with you – writing at a similar level, able to read about as much as you can, and able to provide a critique that will be useful to you. And, crucially, don’t stick around if it’s not working for you. A mismatched critique partner can wreck your confidence and motivation, even if they’re not malicious.
MC: Do you have other advice for aspiring authors?
David: The thing that has made the most difference to me personally is focusing on sustainability and repeatability. The best writing routine is one you can do for the long term, and you can easily restart it when life inevitably gets in the way. It really, really isn’t about max word counts or writing every day or even the number of hours you write for. For me, it’s about aggregate time and making sure that I can get back on the horse when I fall off. In fact, learning to get back on the horse is probably the most important thing. I used to lose weeks to just sitting there, feeling a bit guilty about not writing. Weeks!
I write for a long time each morning compared to some people, but that came after a lot of experimentation and life changes that allowed me to carve out that specific time. It’s possible to get a long, long way by writing 250 words a day, a few days a week. Even one day a week. And stacking up days of writing (any writing!) will always get you further and feel better than not writing and feeling bad about it. Life’s hard enough; don’t beat yourself up!
MC: What do you do when you’re not writing or working?
David: I walk a lot, both around where I live and in the Scottish Highlands, although I’m still re-establishing the latter habit after Covid. I read a lot (obviously), and I game a lot, too. But it’s the near-daily walking on the beach and in the nearby woods that keeps me on an even keel. I have a digital recorder that I take with me that I mutter story ideas into (along with a fair bit of anxious mumbling about publishing stuff I don’t want to inflict on anyone else), and that’s been a fantastic tool for me in many ways. But it’s the walking and being in the woods that I’m really there for.
I’m also an occasional outdoor instructor, a very occasional paddleboarder, and a somewhat hapless gardener.
MC: What’s next for you?
David: I’ve just submitted what will hopefully be my first published science fiction novel, currently titled Chronocosm, to my agent. By the time this interview comes out, it may well be on submission to editors. Over the next couple of months, I should hopefully be writing a couple of outlines, getting two or three short stories done, and, if the stars align, starting on the next book, which will likely be another spy novel, though I don’t know what it’ll be about yet.
I’ll also be heading to Harrogate Crime Writing Festival in July in Yorkshire, then Worldcon in Glasgow in August, and Bloody Scotland in September, properly kicking off my alternating thriller/science fiction writing careers. In the future, I’m not sure I’ll go to all three, but I figure if there’s a year to do it, it’s my debut year.
***
DAVID GOODMAN is a novelist and short story writer based in East Lothian, Scotland. His debut novel, A Reluctant Spy, is out from Headline Books on September 12th, 2024. He has been previously published in Clarkesworld and Analog Magazines, but he also writes in a range of other genres, from spy novels to space operas. He is represented by Harry Illingworth of DHH Literary.
Order A Reluctant Spy here.
***
MYNA CHANG is the host of Electric Sheep SF and the author of the award-winning micro collection, The Potential of Radio and Rain. Her work has been selected for the Locus Recommended Reading List, W.W. Norton’s Flash Fiction America, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfiction. She has won the Lascaux Prize in Creative Nonfiction and the New Millennium Award in Flash Fiction. See more at MynaChang.com or find her on Bluesky or Twitter at @MynaChang.