After The Event

Yeah, the book’s out. I’ve gone through the motions, but at the moment I feel I don’t really care what happens to the thing. I feel flat. Is this normal? I can’t remember if I’ve felt this way after publishing previous books. Perhaps it’s because it took so long this time around. I love the process of writing but the marketing sucks. I hate the feeling I’m pressurising people into buying something. Partly, I think, it’s a typically English sort of thing – I feel really embarrassed about self-promotion, about blowing my own trumpet. It’s ‘not what we do’.

Except, of course, we do. That’s just a caricature, really, although inevitably some of us do fit into that description. Some of this feeling I think is wanting to get on with a new project. A need to move on and explore something different. I’ve lived with the damned thing for so long, thought about it, talked about it, agonised over it, I just want to get stuck into something different! With no distractions.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m proud of the book. I’m pleased with how it turned out. The characters, the story arc…but I do hate the promotion. I suppose it’s a particularly personal thing; I was asked if I would do a book launch, to which I replied no, I wouldn’t. I don’t like reading in public, I wouldn’t really want to do a question and answer interview. That’s the introvert in me. But if a few people get to read it, and if they get something from it, then I guess I’ll be pleased. I know that doesn’t seem like much of a return for ten years’ work, but there you go.

But I find I’m writing notes frantically, and I’ve begun a small project, a poem, or perhaps short poem cycle, that I’ve had in mind for a while. And the notes will either end up as ‘zine articles, or even another novel.

Maybe both. Who can say?

Happy…Birthday?

I know I’ve already checked back in since Christmas, but, well, just to say it was slightly quiet and fairly peaceful. Hope you all had a nice Christmas and New Year. We didn’t do much, but that suited us just fine.

We didn’t do much at all.

059a

Anyway, back to business. It was my cousin’s birthday, recently. So I sent her a card.

But most shops seem to think you only want Christmas cards, that close to Christmas, and make it really difficult for you find a birthday card.

‘You’ve got thousands of Christmas cards on display, what about birthday cards?’

‘Birthday cards? There’s a couple in the cellar at the back of the shop, I think, on the top shelf in the toilet, underneath the anvils. Old Harry will have the key, but I’ve no idea where Old Harry is. On holiday, probably. Beware the steps are broken, too. And slippery. And there’s no light. And there was an oil-spill there recently. You’d better watch out for the hyenas as well. In fact, why don’t you just go away? Unless you’d like some Christmas tat, that is…’

‘A couple?’

Well, there’s no call for them at this time of year.’

‘No call for them? What about all those people with birthdays in December?’

Birthdays? They shouldn’t be doing that!’

‘Well what about those that do?’

‘That’s their lookout, I’m afraid. Should be ashamed of themselves, coming round here in December and having birthdays. Shouldn’t be allowed. What sort of month is December for birthdays, eh? It’s not right.’

So I sent one of my own greetings cards. I send quite a few, actually. It’s not just to save some money, or to avoid hand to hand combat in shops near Christmas. I’m quite pleased with my hand-made cards, usually with small paintings on them. What? Oh, certainly. Yes, I do. No, not very expensive, thank you for asking. Thank you so much.

But then I had to post it, and the cost of that is ridiculous, now. God knows how we can afford to send the Christmas cards.

Ah…we didn’t. I was forgetting, for a moment.

But, I was talking to my wife about that and said ‘I think if we really want to save some money, it’s not cards I should be turning my artistic endeavours to.’

‘No? What then?’

‘Postage stamps. There, that would save us a few quid.’

‘It’s an idea I suppose. Hmm…or, you could just cut out the middleman altogether.’

‘Ah, twenty pound notes, you mean? That’s an idea.’

‘Yes, we don’t want to be greedy. And everyone forges fifty pound notes, anyway.’

‘No, that’s right. I suppose about ten or twelve a day would do us. That’s not greedy, is it?’

‘It would be a good use of your time, I suppose.’

Anyway, I’ve been busy the last few days. Just don’t ask any awkward questions.