... we're back from glorious Cornwall! Have had a fabulous week staying at the Old Coastguard Hotel, which was a great place even though it turned out to be one of those hotels who only change the menu weekly. Sigh. Why are more and more hotels doing this? I appreciate the need to manage the budget, but it really discriminates against those guests who stay more than a couple of nights. Mind you, I had a serious nirvana moment when sampling the Jerusalem artichoke veloute (sorry, no accent) starter - which was an amazing mix of creamy soup, parmesan, truffle and quail eggs. Sounds disgusting, I know, but tastes like the best thing ever. I even came near to tears and was hell-bent on marrying the chef (Barnaby, if you're asking) and having his children. But for some reason Lord H wasn't too keen on that idea. Though he did like the soup ...

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My lovely god-daughter, Lilia, and her mother have been staying with me for a couple of days and yesterday we spent a few hours at the London Wetland Centre. The weather was as perfect as possible for the time of year – crisp, blue-skied and sunny – and the Centre itself was starkly beautiful. I am always amazed that a place like this, 43 hectares of wetlands – wide open stretches of water and grassy walkways, teeming with wildlife – can exist in a corner of one of the busiest cities in the world. I love taking visitors along there to see the surprise in their faces when they enter the observatory, a glass-walled room, two storeys high, that looks out across the main lake. On a day like yesterday, so bright and clear, the view really is breathtaking and each new visitor’s astonishment at the sight mirrors my own. If any non-Londoners out there are planning a trip to the capital soon, then I recommend that you pencil a visit to the Wetland Centre into your itinerary. And if there are any Londoners reading who haven’t yet paid it a call, then what are you waiting for?


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In November I reviewed Paul Torday's debut book, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen.

The hardback edition was No 1 in the spring of 2007, and the paperback was one of that year's Richard and Judy Summer reads. It has since sold in 19 countries and won the Bollinger Everyman Wodehouse prize for Comic Fiction.

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I’m not actually online at home at the moment (drag) so I apologise for long lack of posts. My internet provider is clearly in league with Satan. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, just it has its drawbacks when it affects me! Moving house at the end of Feb and will return with gusto then.

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Right now, my brain is a junk yard. I have the definite impression that there are hidden treasures lurking here, if I could only just clear the lumber and the faux antiquities, the slag-heap of yellowing papers out of the way. Something priceless might be hidden, a lost Vermeer or another of Nabokov's forgotten masterpieces. Until I start digging, I can dream.


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So, a post that's not about me for a change.

It's an interview with top author, and top bloke, Roger (sometimes N) Morris, whose latest book, A Vengeful Longing (Faber and Faber) was released earlier in the month.

So, over to Roger...

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Following up on my previous post, the first thing is that I discovered that another writer had a similar experience with this publication, so it does seem to be their policy to "copy edit" without sending a writer any proofs or galleys before publication.

I received a private message in response to my blog post from an experienced writer and editor who told me that in fact I am in the wrong, that the journal once I have agreed to publication and despite the fact that I signed no contract, can do what it wants to my story. She suggested I take down my blog post, and apologize to the editors in question.

I decided that I had to look into this further. Can this be the case? And, if so, how many writers know this? If this is the case, why do so many decent and reputable literary magazines send writers proofs to approve if they don't have to? Purely out of respect, not of duty? ....


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I ask this repeatedly as Mavis and Pauline enter the conference room, more to hide my terror than anything.

They look at each other wearily, and sit down opposite me. Pauline holds her hand up, cutting me off. “Christopher, it is a possibility at this stage, but you really must stop obsessing about it. It’s not healthy.”

I watch them carefully. They don’t make any sudden moves. Mavis looks almost upset. “You’ve been saying some unkind and untruthful things about us. And while we can take a little ribbing, we are also busy people and we have other people to see today. So perhaps you could stop the fooling around and be sensible for a few minutes.”

Perhaps she is being genuine. I study them and have to admit they aren’t the demons I remember. Ugly, certainly, but not demonic. I sit up. “Something strange definitely happened last time.”

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The following is a cautionary tale for all writers, a true story that I hope, without naming names, will serve as a warning to all of us who trust editors with our words and expect them to handle our writing with the same care and attention that we do.

A new print magazine accepted two of my (250 word) flash stories for its second issue, due out in late Feb. There was no contract that I signed, only an invoice for payment. The only correspondence from them said:

I am pleased to inform you that your story xxx, has been short listed for the second issue of @&*T. Could you please send us your story with final edits in our house style (details attached) as soon as possible but no later than Friday 21st December. We also need a biography of no longer than 100 words.

What should a (perhaps naive) writer assume in all good faith? That when they have put in the paragraph breaks that the house style demands (which, in my mind, already alters the piece slightly), that this is EXACTLY how the story will appear - given the words "final edits".
.....

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My story for adults (I do write those every now and again you know), The Barge Man, is now up over at Un-Made-Up. It is a true story crossed with something similar to The Thought-Fox. Well, that's what I aimed for anyway.

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