Well, I'm out of hospital, phew - and I do have to say how absolutely lovely everyone at Mount Alvernia was, and that includes all the wonderful ward staff, the consultant and anaesthetist too, hurrah. And also a HUGE thank you to everyone who sent good wishes - I really appreciated it, as I was pretty scared. In case you hadn't realised ... Thank you. Mind you, I really do love having a bed where I can move the pillow end up and down electronically to the height desired, plus a little orange button that brings a nurse immediately to sort me out - ah bliss ... And the TV and ensuite bathroom were lovely too. I'm wondering about installing a little orange button that brings Lord H instantly to my side, but I suspect he will not be too keen ...


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In Listening to Copernicus I mentioned the kind of would-be writer who maintains their self-belief in their writing is good in the teeth of evidence to the contrary. I'm not talking about Beginner Writer who has yet to learn to be bad because they have yet to learn how to read their writing against good writing, understand the difference, and do something about it. Nor am I talking about Aspiring Writer who feels they get nowhere in competitions and slushpiles, because that just means they haven't got there yet. I'm talking about Apparently Deaf Writer (with apologies to all writers who are hearing impaired). Apparently Deaf Writer goes ploughing on in the same furrow and can't or won't change what they do, despite vast amounts of direct feedback from teachers and peers, and what you might call indirect feedback from reading good writing and prize-winning writing and everything else which (however arguably) plenty of knowledgeable people agree to be good.

In 'Listening to Copernicus' I suggested that Apparently Deaf Writer may be suffering from cognitive dissonance, with so much of their self-worth invested in their work being good that the suggestion that it isn't is too painful to be born. The teacher's ignorant, the industry's only interested in rubbish, the rest of the world hasn't caught up, the class/forum/slush-pile-readers are jealous or frightened, the day job is sapping their soul. (Which isn't to say that all these don't happen sometimes. But we all know people who can't entertain the idea that any bad event is their own mistake, or even fault, just as we all know people capable of feeling guilty for someone else treading painfully on a drawing-pin in Siberia.)

But for each Apparently Deaf Writer who has their fingers firmly stuck in their ears, I think there are probably dozens or even hundreds whose problem is rather that they have yet to learn to listen.

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Went to see new paintings by David Newton yesterday. His exhibition, Revolver includes a number of portraits, some of which were recently exhibited at the Admiral Lord Rodney pub in Colne. The pub website states that his work is ‘concerned primarily with the associative nature of image and context’ and that Davids main motto for his work and his life is ‘watch where you’re walking’

[... more + image]

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Well, tomorrow is the Second Big Day - my official book launch party, almost 5 weeks after Publication Day. It does spread out the excitement, and I am definitely looking forward to it, but, having invited 200 or so people, it feels to me a little like the wedding I never had (or really wanted). Everyone will be looking at me, which is not something I am used to. I will have to talk about myself, and about the book.... what will I say? I am going to give two short readings, probably flash stories from the book, that's ok, will have the words in front of me. But I am really not sure how many people will come, will there be enough food, should I have a glass of wine before or will I (as has been known to happen!) get too drunk too fast to read?!.......

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I hear a screech of tyres outside my house and look out of the bedroom window to see Sid, my agent, pulling up in his Beetle like something out of Grand Theft Auto. He hits the kerb with a front wheel and bounces up onto the pavement before jerking to a stop.

I get in the passenger side. “Just because you couldn’t afford a Porsche it’s not going to stop you driving like you could?”

“Perhaps the brakes could do with a tune up,” he muses, grinding the gears and scraping the underside of the chassis as we rejoin the road.

“You are sober, I hope? Best to check.”

“Sober and excited,” he says. “People have heard about you, Christopher. Word has spread. If Harper want to keep dragging their heels then we’ll show them we’ve got other options.”

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What I Did at School Today

(And I'm hoping that this post'll make up for not having the time to write about school visits as I promised Lexi I would too long ago.)



As I mentioned in the last post, a big chunk of yesterday was spent printing and stapling resources for the children - I use a booklet I designed, which the children fill in as part of the story writing workshop. I printed and stapled 80 copies of it.

So, today. After arriving, meeting teachers and the head I was shown to my first session - two infant classes.


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In the aftermath of the Fish cull (see previous post), I've been thinking about the value of entering writing contests. Is a writer a gullible fool to fork out entry fees and should we eschew contests who charge them? Or is the very process of entering (and losing) contests a necessary part of our craft?

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This was going to be a PS on the bottom of Too quiet on the lit fic front, but that got too long, so here's a separate little mention:

I've finally got round to getting my on-stage interview at the Brisbane Writers' Festival up on my website. When I got the Festival programme, I remember, I was incredibly daunted. A panel discussing something about history, or fiction, or historical fiction, I could handle, but an hour-long live one-to-one interview? With audience? Recorded for national radio? But in the event it was great. My publishers Headline Review (who in that hemisphere fly under the Hachette Livre banner) very kindly took Kate Evans and me out to dinner the night before to get an idea of what we'd want to talk about, and at one point we agreed we'd have to stop talking about the book or we'd have said it all before the session! Obviously for radio it was edited, but the majority of the discussion got in, plus me reading a short extract from The Mathematics of Love. If it would amuse you to listen, click here to go to that page of my website.

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To listen to some of the literary gloom-mongers huffing and puffing you'd think that Faber, Cape, Canongate and their ilk hadn't issued a book between them for years, whereas if you'd peered into the bag which I toted home from Foyles last week (15% discount to members of the Society of Authors) you'd have seen that's not true. It simply isn't true that no one's writing and publishing good literary fiction any more. But it is true that "Publishers, however, are consistently and in vast quantity turning down well-written literary fiction that is ‘too quiet.’" That quote comes from the always-interesting Two Ravens Press blog, where Sharon Blackie has been talking about why some literary fiction does get published but so much fundamentally good writing never makes it over the bar into publication. And from my much more limited experience with novels I read for editorial reports, not to mention what I see on the bookshop tables, I know exactly what she means.

Now, before anyone else huffs and puffs, when she says 'too quiet', Sharon's not talking about a shortage of bomb-blasts and orgasmic shrieks, nor a metaphorical bang-bang-bang of non-stop action.

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Managed to grab a decent amount of sleep yesterday, thank goodness, but have still taken the day off today as I did feel rather shaky this morning. I also want to be as well as possible for tomorrow, which I think is probably a sensible move.

Anyway, today there's good news and mixed news ('twas ever thus ...). I was delighted to receive both my eBook contracts from Bristlecone Pine Press, one for Thorn in the Flesh and the other for Pink Champagne and Apple Juice. So I've read through and signed those and will get them back to Leslie next week.

And the great Scott Pack has nobly flicked through Maloney's Law (an act surely well beyond the Call of Duty ...) and considers it to have a certain charm, though it's not as slick or professional as other crime novels. So a rather mixed response, sigh. Ah well - as I said in the comments which you can find here (see full post for all links), we Essex Gals don't really understand the concept of slick professionalism. Unless it comes with white stilettos of course ... But I'm certainly grateful for the mention, as Lord knows I need all the help I can get - so thank you for that, Scott!...


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