Tag Archives: new book releases

Dementia too, because obviously dementia once wasn’t shit enough

Yeh, I selected that heading from Whiny Titles R-Us but it does sum up the way I felt at the start of this week and the feeling I’m trying to describe.

The slough of despond; rain and yellow lines …

Bits of this week have been tough. I’ve had a couple of down days, mainly because I suspect I have had a mild UTI but also it’s the time of the month when I can’t remember my own name without cue cards. Worse, I’d forgotten to put the morning HRT gel on for two days running and that does make a difference. The traffic is back to normal so there has been the usual 40 minute delay along the bottom of the M25 on the way to Mum’s. This last two weeks, the journey time is back to three hours down and two and a half back, so long as I am on the road at half two sharp.

Worse, I’ve been finding it really hard engage with Real Life. To care about the little things that other people need me to care about. Silly stuff. McMini’s bedroom curtains need hemming but it’s difficult to do that while he’s in there with them attending his virtual lessons. It’s the last day today, so that’s fine, I can do it tomorrow, but it’s been a long time and both he and McOther have been eyeing them impatiently. Meanwhile, McOther has a favourite beanbag. The material is completely rotten and sewing it up is a thankless task that I have to repeat every three weeks or so, unless he does it. It’s bust again and so the choice of thankless tasks was twofold: try to get him to understand that the material is rotten, which, itself is a hiding to nothing. Or I fix it again when I know it will break in a few weeks. But fixing it is a duty of love, so perhaps it’s a bit less pointless than it seems. Quietly, without saying so, I know McOther feels unloved if I say I’ll fix it and then take ages to deliver. It’s not good to feel so meh I can’t do anything. More on that story later.

This Wednesday, then, I was not in the right place to drive 288 miles, not even in a Lotus. I felt unbelievably meh. I was teary about the state of Mum, teary about the state of myself and feeling miserable. Then the radio proceeded to play some of my favourite songs. Things which are in my record collection but which I haven’t heard for ages because most of my music equipment assumes that anything I’ve ripped from my own CDs or vinyl is a pirate copy and refuses to play it.

Hearing all these songs again, it seemed that something out there in the ether was trying to tell me to cheer up. Finally one of my very favourite songs as a teenager; Big In Japan, by Alphaville came on. Despite being in very slow moving traffic jam, the gauntlet was thrown down. I was going to sing. I rolled up the windows so, in theory, nobody would hear me, jacked up the volume and joined in. This involved full on pop star style gurning and a selection of ridiculous hand actions, I kept going, even when everything started moving. There’s nothing like giving zero fucks to cheer yourself up, and it did, at least for long enough to realise what was wrong.

You see, lockdown was quite easy, it was like a little six week holiday from the administriviative  shit. I worried about Mum but I rang her every day and I didn’t have to go anywhere or organise anything except my books! I just hung out with the McOthers and sat around in the sun writing. Woot.

Pseudo lockdown is insanely difficult. All the admin has returned with a vengeance, except because of Covid19 it’s about six times harder to do all the things you should be able to do by making a phone call. It’s the hard bits out of Real Life plus extra duties of lockdown, like the calls. All the hassle but none of the convenience. I did manage to get the scan I was due at the hospital but now I need to try and get the cat some shots. As usual, every piece of admin which should involve nothing more than a phone call involves several, and a protracted, drawn out effort, posting things, sending things. Case in point, I’ve just stuffed up my chances of opening a Barnes and Noble vendor account by transposing two numbers in my bank account number. It’s gone into ‘pending’. Probably forever. I can’t change it and I know their help desk is offline until after covid. I think they’re the only site where I have to have a W8EN still too. Everyone else you can just add your tax number and it works. I don’t know much about it but I suspect I have to get another W8EN as mine’s probably expired. Sadly, I do know that this is a great deal more complicated than it was because Americans don’t really understand what a sole trader is.

Meanwhile Mum is still shielding so she can have a few people round but not everyone. The lady who cuts her toenails has started coming again. Yes, when you’re old and arthritic you can’t do that anymore and you have to have someone come and do it for you. The lovely lady who cuts her hair came and gave her an appropriately socially distanced ‘do’ this Wednesday as well.

However, a lot of her friends are shielding, too, or can’t come to see her because she is, so she’s still bored stupid. Hopefully, as the small things that structure her life return, like the hairdresser visiting and the foot lady, she’ll gradually be more grounded again. Just as Dad did, she thrives on social interaction. My fingers and toes are, therefore, crossed. Although I have to accept that there is no guarantee of this. Because I think the main source of my malaise this week was realising that Mum is going to take the same path as Dad. Her own version, but the same horrific journey into oblivion. And I’m going to have to walk beside her; because I love her, and because, if I want to be a decent human being, that’s what I must do.

Please do not feed the animals

As we take these first steps, I guess what struck me down, temporarily, was the renewal of that familiar pain. It still hurts. Even though I’ve done it before and I am aware of the cost. I should know by now. I should be strong. But I’m not. I really wonder if I have the courage to do this a second time. I don’t want her to die, I don’t want to lose her but I pray that she will enjoy a kindly easy passing before it gets too bad. Yet, at the same time, I know she won’t because that might actually be kind to all of us and God forbid that my family should be shown a scrap of mercy over this. Instead, it seems life brings whatever will cause the maximum amount of misery and pain to all of us. Sorry Mum.

I have wondered about consulting my doctor and seeing if some medication might be in order. The trouble is, I’m pretty certain that any kind of medication for depression will merely make me even more forgetful than I already am. And since three quarters of my insane frustration is with my inability to remember a single fucking thing for more than about two and a half seconds, I suspect it would be a bad idea. And anyway. I’m not depressed. I’m sad. There’s a huge difference. When Dad died, there was grief but the sadness went away. It was a liberation.

Now that Mum is showing more acute signs of dementia, it’s back. If you wanted to present me with the perfect storm of things I am shit at dealing with, there are parts of my life over the last eight years that would be an excellent fit. I can do level-headed, clear thought in a crisis. Yeh, I can do that. But long, slow, sustained suffering. No. Not very good at it to be honest.

As I sat there, singing in the car, I realised that I’d started to withdraw completely into inner space. I lost myself in K’Barth, where my characters were suffering but where, I knew, eventually, they would be OK. I made them suffer in the faint hope their pain would somehow alleviate my own. I gave them a happy ever after in the hope that maybe if I did that, I could have one. This is an approach which works really well for me, but, unfortunately, not for those around me. That was another cause of the misery, the misery I was inflicting on my very much loved McOthers. Withdrawing helps me but it hurts everyone else. Small doses then.

As I drove, something happened. I don’t know how, but something in me fixed it. The blinkers came up again and I saw what I needed to see. I saw what was there in Mum rather than what wasn’t there. I stopped seeing drudgery and saw small acts of love. And I remembered that I have done this before. And suddenly, I slipped into the coping strategy. Short bursts of activity. An hour at the computer and then half an hour doing something else around the house. Tiny steps. 10 minutes a day. Pigeon steps, inching forward one tiny step at a time. Lists. Lots of lists. Each project broken down into manageable tiny items which are ticked off as they are done.

Don’t be a … or maybe do be one … or work smarter not harder … or something.

Lockdown was a luxury. Lockdown afforded me big chunks of time in which to write. My work came on in leaps and bounds. But lockdown is over. I need to see the me time as brief moments of something else among the admin. I need to see life as peppered with acts of love, which is what the housework side of stuff really is. Except it’s a horrible phrase … very ‘putting out love and keeping it there’ but until I can think of something better it’ll have to do. And anyway, because it sounds like fake Oprah, it’s sort of funny and that helps. As for the worry about Mum and the trying to sort things out for her. I need to call all that something different too. Same thing? Ah why not?

Duty is a crushing, heavy suffocating word, calling it an act of love makes it feel a lot lighter.

It’s amazing how, always, always, always, holding onto your sanity is about how you look at what’s happening, how you frame it to yourself. That simple switch and I’m cheerful again, and reasonably happy. I feel the weight, for sure, but it’s lessened. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, is a chuffing marvel. If you are struggling with anything heavy and millstone-like in your life, I urge you to look it up. I never cease to be amazed how I can actually do a PR/Propaganda job on myself. I know what I’m doing, I know I’m just putting a different slant on it, yet it works.

You may consign the coping strategies to the past when you don’t need them, but it’s slightly miraculous how quickly they came back when you do. I feel better, a lot better. To be honest, I still don’t really don’t know if I can do this a second time. But there’s no point in wondering. I swam through the dark waters with Dad and came out the other side. I’ll just have to take each stage as it comes, strike out into the void and give it my best shot.

_______________________

If you are feeling a bit meh, yourself, you could always pick up a good book! Indeed, if you’re feeling really lazy you don’t even have to read it. Choose one of the audiobooks and Gareth will do that for you. Indeed anyone who signs up for my audio mailing list gets two books free; Unlucky Dip and Night Swimming. That’s two hours of glorious K’Barthan lunacy for zero pence. Yep! Night Swimming comes later on, although I may switch it so it’s the story people get first. It’s just that suddenly I have very little time so for now it’s Unlucky Dip first, then a week or two and Night Swimming.

Anyway, Gareth played a blinder on both but the really lovely thing about it is that Unlucky was the first one he did and Night Swimming is his most recent. You get to see what he’s learned in the interim. So there you are, if do want a listen, just go here, sign up and they should both arrive in your inbox over the course of about three weeks: https://www.hamgee.co.uk/audio1fb.html

Unlucky Dip Audio Book


If you do join in, and it’s not obligatory or anything, but if you do, or if you have and there’s any stuff you want me to ask Gareth about how he did the recordings, let me know and I’ll ask him.

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Down, down, down in a burning ring of fire … a ring of fire …

Yep. That’s where I’m going this week. Flame throwers at the ready. You see, for a while I’ve been wanting to say something about Black Lives Matter but I haven’t really known how. This week … well … it’s hot and I’m fed up. The Kessel Run to Sussex took a fuck of a lot more than twelve Parsecs yesterday and some plonker got all aggressive and shitty with me because as a 52 year old bag I have the temerity to drive a sports car and worse, I overtook him. O.M.G. The horror! You’d have thought I’d peppered him with machine gun fire. If I drove a real snurd, I confess it would have been tempting.

Yeh, and to be frank, I probably listened to Never Mind the Bollocks too many times and that’s ANGRY political stuff. And you know me, never one to avoid getting flamed if I can. But yeh, Black Lives Matter (AS WELL) … Here is my incredibly simplistic take on it.

[Rant Mode]

It seems that a lot of us have huge difficulty with being open minded these days. When I meet people for the first time, I confess I find it as tough as anyone to avoid making snap judgements based on their choice of clothes, hair colour, voice and any amount of other irrelevant crap. I suspect we all do. I am beginning to wonder if there is some kind of instinctive tribal thing that makes us all judge by appearances and that humans can’t stop themselves from doing so in the first instance. Perhaps it’s a thing from way back, a pack thing. Maybe. The point is, the part where we become thinking, rational beings is where we set ourselves above that, where we ignore our instincts and broach the difficult task of talking to people we aren’t sure about or are uncomfortable with.

Perhaps it helps if we are not in a bubble. Where I live, people go abroad a lot, people visit from abroad and we walk from a to b to go to the shops, church, the library, etc etc. We are lucky enough to be exposed to many other cultures. If you walk everywhere, you meet people on the street, in shops and around town who are different from you. And when you get the opportunity to talk to them you realise that other people are not black, white, old, young, foreign, scary etc they are actually just … people … well except teenagers, they really are scary (joke sorry teenagers). In this country we are beginning to drive more and walk less and we are beginning to fragment a little into like minded groups.

That’s not bad in one sense, but in others it reinforces stereotypes.

One of the difficulties of all this is that for political parties, there is a great benefit to reinforcing our little bubbles and stereotypes. They want to engender a sense of belonging among their followers; a feeling that all members of party X or Y are PLU (people like us) and that we’re all in this together, working towards a common aim. The unfortunate side effect is the implication that other people following other parties are not like us and don’t belong. It also doesn’t help that some of them gloss over disagreements within their own ranks by pointing the finger at other groups or people who hold a different point of view and blaming everything on them.

This is probably alright in a situation where people are not taking politics too seriously and are still seeing it for what it is, ie, the machinery by which a nation governs itself, as best as it can. But increasingly here in Britain, we seem to be losing that detachment and cynicism for which we are famous.

Even I’m losing it. And I’ve been trying to work out why. After a lot of thinking, here’s my Anne Elk theory.

These days, there are far fewer people of faith. That’s not a problem in itself. However, humans seem to have an inherent need to believe fervently in … something. Without a religion to put our efforts into, it seems a lot of us pour that spiritual fervour into the most ridiculous things, which hair colour brand we use, whether we like tattoos or not, reality TV and, of course, our political affiliations. When you add that need to believe into the mix, suddenly the results of the PLU marketing start to become a bit grim.

Going out on a serious limb here – yeh I can feel the cross hairs lining up as I write – I am beginning to think that the difficulty with some aspects of modern politics is not that people’s political choices are driven by their religion but that their political affiliations ARE their religion. My religion affects everything I do, political choices as well. But my politics are NOT my religion. I think that if you are a Christian and you start believing that a single political party is … you know … God’s party, you are in trouble.

OK so perhaps it also depends where you are. In Britain, where I live, it’s absolutely OK to question authority, rules, politicians, the status quo and everything else, indeed to not do so is considered a bit naive. As a Christian that’s also OK because Jesus did it the whole chuffing time. In some countries it’s rather frowned upon to make fun of politicians, here in Britain, frankly, we think that’s what they’re for.

For me personally what that means is I vote for the party whose policies most closely align with my religious beliefs. My religious beliefs are about doing what I believe is the Right Thing – other people’s interpretation of Right may vary – mine are as follows:

  • Love your neighbour as yourself.
  • That which you do to the least of my bretheren, you do to me.
  • What would Jesus do? (Turning over tables, trashing the place and making a whip from cords and setting about people cannot be ruled out here).
  • No hatred – ‘if I say I love God and hate my neighbour I am a liar, for if I cannot love my neighbour, who I have seen, how can I love God who I have not seen?’
  • My job is not judgement, ‘Do not judge others lest you be judged’ and ‘leave judgement to God.’

This means I have chosen who to vote for based on how closely the follow my version of Christian philosophy. As a result I am the original floating voter. I’ve voted Liberal (which means a different thing in the UK to America, think Conservative with a small c). I have also voted, Labour (socialist – relax, my American friends, this is not the socialism in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, that’s communism. Socialism, proper is a different thing based, originally, on Christian love-thy-neighbour kinds of principles, help the poor, welfare state, that kind of stuff, funded by asking the rich to pay a little more tax to help it along). I think I may have voted Conservative once, and I’ve voted for the Green Party. It just depends which one is suggesting policies that most closely resemble ‘the right thing’ (as outlined in my points above) at the time.

This also means that I do not believe in ‘them’ and ‘us’ but ‘we’. This appears to get me in the shit with pretty much everyone, which is unfortunate, but there we go. What do I mean by that. I mean completely disregarding how people look and honing in on who they are.

I think the greatest example of that I’ve encountered recently is a lady called Irene.

Every weekday morning at roughly 9.15, on the radio show I listen to, they have this thing called, Pause for Thought. They have someone of faith on who gives a little pep talk. They are from all faiths, Jewish, Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Humanist etc and are usually brilliant. Last week, they had this lovely guy on from ooop north somewhere who is a vicar in the Church of England – that’s basically episcopalian for everyone everywhere else in the world. I can’t remember his name but he was talking about modern answers to the question, ‘who is my neighbour’. JC’s answer was the parable of the Good Samaritan, obviously. This guy told us about Irene.

Irene is a stalwart of his church. A lovely lady who is always on hand to help, listen, make cakes – and tea – and generally muck in. I think she may even have been a lay reader or church warden but I can’t remember. One Sunday, she said goodbye to everyone as they were all drinking coffee after the service and went off home. A few minutes later she was found lying on the pavement just outside in a state of disarray, her sticks beside her. Someone had hauled her out of her car onto the street and driven off in it.

The young gentleman concerned was apprehended by the police, convicted and went to gaol.

Irene would spell it neighbour but beggars can’t be choosers. 🙂

Irene knew his name from the trial so she did some research and when she discovered which prison he was in, she made enquiries as to whether she could contact him. When he said it was OK, she started writing to him. After a while, she started visiting him, too.

Long and the short, a few years later, the priest who was giving this talk turned up to a church event and there was Irene, behind the tea stall as ever, and there beside her, wielding a teapot, was a smiling young man who had originally thrown her onto the pavement and nicked her car. With her help and support he had completely turned his life around. He had a job, he was settled and he felt he also had a purpose. When she had every reason to be angry and vengeful, she, his victim, had the grace and compassion to see him simply as another human, to seek reconciliation with him and to help him become a good man.

So … We Christians can make judgements about whether or not George Floyd was a ‘good’ person and ‘deserved’ his fate. Yeh. We can do that if we like but that isn’t our job is it? CF Jesus Christ’s pretty fucking clear instructions ‘do not judge others lest you be judged’.

It’s also not the point.

Black Lives Matter (too) isn’t really about who George Floyd was, and whether he was a good person. It’s about a situation where someone has so lost sight of the humanity of another human being, because of their skin colour, that he can kneel on their neck for one and a half hours, while they repeatedly tell him they can’t breathe, and think that’s OK, possibly even deserved. And it’s the fact that this event can be played out daily, again and again along with other smaller pettier dehumanising things across the length and breadth of the world and nobody questions it. It’s the fact that even today, people are still a commodity. There are still slaves.

It’s about people, all over the world, who are victimised because of completely petty bollocks like their colour, what they wear, their gender or who they want to have a relationship with (who cares if it’s someone of the same gender they’re not asking you to shag someone you don’t want to are they so why do you have to force them to. Nothing spreads misery faster than unhappy people).

It’s about trying to persuade people to cast aside the petty stupid tribal trivia of the packaging; like colour, sexuality, ethnicity, religion, height, hair and eye colour and all that other totally irrelevant crap – and see only the person inside.

It’s not about whether George Soros funded demonstrations, or who has donated to Black Lives Matter (too) (because clearly, if he funds a political campaign and he’s left wing, that’s immoral but if someone right wing funds a political campaign – in the flack I’m getting – that’s fine. Newsflash, neither matters.). It’s probably greatly about the frustrations of lockdown, about people in poorer housing, smaller flats, poorer areas, with less garden, less space who have been climbing up the walls as they try to work out what a fronted adverbial is and explain it to their children while they work from home, or don’t work and watch their savings dwindling or their debts mount up.

How did it start all over the world at once? Could it be because everyone all over the world is going through the same thing right now; lock down, pandemic etc. Oh and world news services. The entire world saw it on the news.

Black lives matter is not saying black lives matter more than white lives. It’s saying black lives matter too. At the moment, it sounds as if black lives matter less than white lives. So yeh, all lives matter and at the moment those of our black friends are being counted cheaply so I’m happy to support them and help them redress the balance.

Are the riots bad? Of course they fucking are. Rioting is always bad but it tends to happen when people are angry and no-one is listening to them. They’ve been asking nicely for two hundred fucking years. When you tell someone, my life matters, you’re hurting. If someone dismisses that hurt with a trite, all lives matter, it’s unkind. As someone on reddit said, imagine you’re sitting at the dinner table. Your mum serves everyone except you. You say, ‘I want some too?’ and your Mum says, ‘we all want some,’ and doesn’t give you any. That’s what you’re doing when you say all lives matter. And that’s where Black Lives Matter really needs the Too on the end, I reckon.

Is defacing statues bad, yes but … look at it this way. If you were in Germany and there were a load of statues of Hitler and there were streets named after him and nobody minded, what would you think? I’m guessing you’d take a dim view. Yet all over the UK there are statues celebrating people who treated other human beings as possessions and assets, bought and sold them as if they were things. Thought of them as things, which, to quote the great Sir Terry, is where the trouble starts. Put them in a museum, explain what happened, explain that we are NOT like that anymore. We need to face up to our past and learn from it rather than destroy everything and try to pretend it never happened.

Is it so hard to imagine how another person from a different background or in a different situation might see our world? Is it so hard to to try and look through someone else’s eyes for a moment and ask how we could make it better, kinder for folks like them? Is it so wrong to wish the world was as pleasant for everyone as it is for us? Well as a woman, and a woman who often went to places with a person who had a severe mental disability, I know that yes, sadly yes, this small act of imagination is extremely hard for some people, but interestingly, far less so at a point of encounter. People who were lovely to my Dad would then make sweeping, generalist statements about the mentally ill and just totally fail to see the hypocrisy of that. Indeed, I see this again and again, people conflating all black people with criminals because they knew someone black who committed a crime or even because they read about it in the paper.

Even some of my friends conflate all economic migrants with freeloaders, but laud British people who emigrate elsewhere for the same fucking reason for having so much get up and go.

Some people are dicks. It’s not because they are Muslim, Foreign, Black or Women, it’s because they are dicks. They might use their faith to justify their dickishness but at the base of it all they’re just twats. I’m a Christian but I know some of my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ can be monumental tossers. Jesus doesn’t need your money. He doesn’t even need your obedience. Jesus needs your love and your compassion. Jesus needs the difficult stuff. Jesus needs you to love your enemy. If you tell people they should turn the other cheek, Jesus sure as hell wants you to check that you aren’t the person hitting them first.

Christians are supposed to be Christlike. End of. Jesus didn’t tell people not to mix with the tax collectors, nope, it was the Pharisees who did that, when Jesus met a tax collector, he blagged dinner off him.

Do I think black lives matter?

You fucking bet I do.

And you know why?

Because when I grow up I want to be Irene.

[/Rant mode]

_________________________

And on a different note …

… if you need something to take your mind of my horrific left wingishness and your grinding teeth after reading this week’s blog post, maybe a nice relaxing audiobook would help.

Few Are Chosen is not just available on audio! It’s reduced until 30th June! If you do Kobo, Chirp or iBooks it’s a mere $5.99 (or £5.99 on Kobo and whatever $5.99 is in other currencies on Chirp and iBooks).

So if you want to find out why I think Gareth is brilliant, you can pick it up for a song, or at least … a snip.

If you think that might be your bag, click on the picture on on this link …

https://www.hamgee.co.uk/audiofac.html

 

Smashing K’Barthan Mug Competition

Perhaps you can ameliorate the impact of my utterly satanic left wing nature by making me give you a cup. You can do this by winning my competition. Then, when you win, you can do what you like … I dunno, voodoo, spit in it, smash it because I’m so awful. Or if you’re feeling outrageous, you could use it to hold your hot beverage of choice. Or cuppa soup if that’s your thing.

Because yes. That’s right! I’m giving away another mug like this one in the picture. Once again you have until the end of this month, 30th June 2020 to enter. Hint, you have an extremely good chance of winning. Put it like this, I’m giving one cup away and so far, all the entrants have won.

All you have to do is read Close Enough answer the easy question and fill in your email you can find out more here: https://forms.gle/6dDGpnQU23bdMpwT7.

Next week, I promise, I will try and go back to being funny.

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Well there’s a thing …

Grumpy bastards R us

This week has been a bit of an interesting mix. Is it just me or is everyone a bit grumpy coming out of lockdown? I live on one of the main drags into town so there’s a fair bit of traffic noise. The one thing I’ve noticed is how much more often people are hooting at other motorists at the moment.

It seems that what most people have decided, during lock down, is that they’re ‘not going to take any shit from anybody’ and what that appears to mean, in practise, is more firmly entrenched views, an even deeper aversion to keeping an open mind and an even more frequent recourse to knee jerk anger about insubstantial crap, like whether or not they should wear a mask (seriously? WTF people find a REAL issue to get upset about) rather than … you know actually not taking any shit. I suppose nothing makes people intolerant more quickly than when the economy goes down the shitter. And all the pundits are telling us it has – although how on God’s green earth they think they know is a mystery to me – but presumably folks are believing them.

Oh my Gaaaaaaaad! We’re going into a recession! The economy has gone tits up and it’s all (insert name of political party of choice or group of ‘them’ you don’t really like)’s fault. Britain’s economy has shrunk by 20%.

Okaayyy.

Yes it’s a chandelier, to illustrate my point.

Hang on though, we’re only coming out of lock down and for the major part of lock down the economy has been switched off. No-one expects their car to carry on running after they’ve turned off the ignition do they? … Well, OK some old cars chug on a bit before they stop but that’s about fuel mixture and not generally a THING so let’s rule it out at this point shall we?

Seriously though, things are still not back to normal and surely any figures obtained while the economy is switched off are pretty much moot.

Here’s an analogy. Say you have a chandelier. Like a healthy economy, it has many bulbs (different types of businesses) and they are all burning brightly. If you cut off the power to the chandelier, obviously, you’re going to end up in the dark. This is not a surprise is it? Likewise, the economic statistics for March and April can do nothing more than illustrate that the economy was switched off and the country was, as it were, in economic darkness. Because no-one was allowed out and three quarters of businesses were closed.

Here’s another chandelier …

My point is. We’re not going to have a fucking clue what’s happened to the economy until we turn the bastard thing back on are we? And we haven’t. So when the papers and news channels gloomily tell us that the economy shrunk 20% in March, and tell us this is bigger than any shrinkage in the entire history of fucking time, it means absolutely bugger all.

Sure it’s true but is it the truth about our economy? Yes it is, but only in so far as it indicates that the economy was switched off at that time, just the same way that things get pretty dark when you turn out the lights and the figures might show that there is NO power going through to the bulbs at this time.

I really should stop taking pictures of people’s chandeliers.

Taking the chandelier analogy further. Say you live in a house with an annoying safety feature on the ring main like ours has, which cuts the power when just about anything happens. You want to go into your darkened room, so you stop in the doorway to flick the light switch and, ‘POP!’ a bulb has gone and in doing so, it’s tripped the on off switch on your fuse box. You’re in the dark and you know that switching on the chandelier did it. You know that, most likely one of the bulbs on the chandelier has blown, possibly more. Obviously, you don’t know the exact number of bulbs that have blown until you go to the fuse box to reset the trip, go back to your darkened room and turn the chandelier back on. Then, and ONLY then, when it’s actually switched on, can you assess the damage and see how many bulbs you’ve lost, or if it was more than a bulb, that you’ve lost the entire chandelier. My point is, you’re not going to fucking know until you turn the bastard thing back on. Are you?

While the chandelier is off, we have a number of choices. We could start on all that doom and gloom about how we’re screwed and condemned to sit in darkness for evermore because it’s broken now. Or we could say, ‘hmm, let’s go reset the trip (thus restoring the electricity supply to the chandelier) switch it on, and see if any of the fucking bulbs light up before we panic, shall we?’

Money is all arbitrary and illusory. The economy is about ‘confidence’ and to be frank, the last time we had a recession, I felt that we were almost talked into it by people who were trying to give the Conservative government a hard ride … or was it a Labour government then I’ve no idea. How many small business owners are going to give up after hearing that 20% statistic? How many small businesses are going to go into administration because their customers have read that and are saving every penny and not buying that thrombdimulator or whatever it is our lovely small local business sells?

But if the economy is about confidence then we need confidence right now. And that need should come before the need for sensationalism to gain a news service more adherents. We believe and we achieve, or at least, do a sod of a lot better than we will with all this doom and gloom shit. No wonder everyone out there is fucking miserable and standing on their hooters so long that those unfortunate enough to live nearby are beginning to think the ruddy things are stuck on.

In the Jewish faith, every 50 years they have a Jubilee, yes that’s where we get the word. And at that time, all debts are written off. So you’re never going to get a situation where someone is so far in debt that even their grandchildren haven’t a hope in hell of sorting it out. Coz … jubilee.

Why don’t we do that? Seriously though, why can’t we just reset the entire god forsaken thing and start again. Just write off everything. Let’s face it, France and Britain are practically bankrupt, they’re billions and billions in debt and the only reason they aren’t bankrupt is because they’re France and Britain rather than say, Liberia or the Cameroon … or Greece.

If we can stop the fucking world, surely a post lock-down jubilee is a piece of cake. No of course it isn’t because the people least affected couldn’t possibly forego the chance of supplementing to their billions.

It’s just mental.

And of course, by pedalling this 20% bell endery – rather than just admitting that they don’t know what’s going to happen so we’ll have to sit tight – the credible news sources erode people’s belief in them, and that’s how your bog-standard person in the street starts believing the ludicrous shite pedalled by the far right and left who, big news here, are NO different from one another, each as fucking awful. Worse this reduction of everything to generalist sound bites, with lots of NLP trigger words like disastrous, terrible, wicked etc means that people actually believe this shit. It’s how normal, kindly every day souls start to actually believe the kind of cartoon, absolutist bollocks pedalled as ‘news’ in papers like The Sun and the Daily Mail.

I remember when, as a kid, the BBC news would be different to all others. They would report a disaster as dispassionately and un-emotively as possible. I remember watching the BBC newscasters describing ‘substantial damage’ and a ‘major incident’ while their counterparts on ITV were referring to ‘absolute carnage’ and an ‘unprecidented disaster’. ITV was all NLP trigger words, BBC was, on the whole, an effort to establish the facts. Now the BBC have joined the race to the bottom and sealed their own doom.

There is so much good stuff we will lose.

Speaking of which, has anyone seen the programme with Professor Brian Cox about the planets. It’s really interesting. Stuffed to the gunwales with fabulous effects, photography and facts. Loads and loads of facts. Not ten minutes about how you’re going to learn some facts, another fact strung out for five minutes, an ad break followed by another five minutes to recap the fact you’ve discovered in the first half and explain what you’ll learn in the second half, followed by a second fact and another five minutes to sum up what you’ve learned before the credits roll.

Anyway, if you get a chance, have a look because it’s wonderful and incredibly interesting. Plus the way that all the diverse planetary bodies in the solar system are actually linked is kind of magical, and the stuff of another science fiction novel I think.

Talking of which …

Knock me down with a feather but Audible finally got their fingers out of their arses and published Few Are Chosen. So now the whole K’Barthan Series, is live. That’s sixty three hours, eight minutes and fifty seven seconds of meaty K’Barthan goodness … narrated by Gareth – the voice of K’Barth – Davies. And with Unlucky dip on top that’s sixty three hours, forty one minutes and seven seconds of meaty K’Barthan goodness.

It took me three hours to upload the box set to Audible and the. Entire. Battery. Life. Of my lap top. Please God let there not be any errors.

If you’re interested, you can find information about my audiobooks here: https://www.hamgee.co.uk/audio.html.

Spikes … Robert Smith and that bloke out of the Alarm eat your heart out! Mwwahahahahrgh

Another joy this week, in a bid to try and help McMini come to terms with his chances of sustaining anything approaching a proper Mohican with his curly hair I treated him to a demonstration of how I used to make my hair stick up. A lot. Yep, no gel, straighteners or anything else required, not even back combing, you just rub it with a towel in a gentle circular motion.

The ideal length for hair, if you are doing this, is anywhere from four to six inches. Mine currently stands at about a foot. I only did the front because I didn’t have all day but I reckon this isn’t too shabby. Note to self, do not play with spiking hair, try to take selfie in bathroom mirror, fail and take a second photo in the bathroom while wearing a sun top. It does look startlingly as if I’m in the all together there doesn’t it? Oops.

And there we are that’s it from sunny Bury St Edmunds this week. More crap next week including, why I can’t understand how people get all het up about gayness and how I intend to mend my broken kindle … A bientot.

___________________________

If you feel like something to escape into …

There’s always my new book. A big thank you to everyone who ordered Close Enough. Apologies the paperback isn’t out yet. That’s a whole other story.

If these books aren’t your thing but you want to help any other way, feel free to share the information page in my website with your friends: link below.

https://www.hamgee.co.uk/infoce.html

Here’s the blurb again, just in case you need it …

As recently appointed delivery man for Big Merv, one of Ning Dang Po’s most powerful crime bosses, The Pan of Hamgee is ordered to deliver a gift to Big Merv’s current girlfriend. With a pair of bespoke-made, sapphire and diamond earrings on board, and a trip across the city in the offing, what could possibly go wrong? Everything.

While you’re at it, this and all my other books in paperback, audio and ebook format should be available from your public library. Just check your library app or ask your librarian.

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This week I have been mostly been …

Finding out about how the bunny got on …

Bunny!

It’s coming down to the wire I have about 50 minutes to break the back of this before we all knock off for the evening, with a quick ten minutes of lighting candles and stuffing our faces with cake yes it’s the McBirthdays: McMini’s and McMine.

First of all the bunny!

Remember him? He turned out to be a young one, perfectly healthy and able to see so he was clearly just incredibly tame.

After a week at the vet’s, his owners couldn’t be traced so they decided they would re-home him. Apparently his new owners absolutely adore him so he is very happy and being well looked after. In other words he is …

… a happy bunny. Oh ho ho. So that’s a grand.

Eating cake …

But not baking one. Yes, this week it was mine and McMini’s birthdays which usually means it’s time to make one of my bizarre cakes that look so horrendous that they end up being almost cool. Amazingly, I didn’t make a cake this time. I was requested not to.

This is mostly because each the men in my life has an incredibly sweet tooth and prefers a bought one. McOther bought a white one for me to decorate but McMini even eschewed any attempts to add further decorations because he dislikes the lemon icing I make. Mwahahahrgh.

Never mind. Saved me a job. Instead the cake was artfully decorated with candles and ting until it looked like some kind of hedgehog with hair loss and, after we removed the candles it bore an uncanny resemblance to a stilton. Hmm.

Tasted good though.

Pulling my hair out

The next K’Barthan Shorts book, Close Enough, is out next Thursday. I spent a lot of the week checking that all the right files were uploaded everywhere. Making sure it was listed on the sites where I wanted it listed. Trying to make it go live on Apple. Jeepers, I don’t think like an Mac-er so that took a bit of doing. I did, finally discover that as well as uploading the book, setting the price and adding all the information, I needed to actually click an on sale button.

Doh.

Yeh. Won’t be getting many pre-orders off apple then but it is on sale there now. Phew.

Fighting gremlins

Yes it wasn’t just Apple – although to give them their due, that was finger trouble my side of the house rather than any actual ghost in their machine. This was different.

In what clearly was a gremlin-driven escapade at Ingram Spark there was an unusual wobble with the paperback, too. Having heard a lot of other authors complaining about bugs in the new Ingram dashboard I left it as late as I dared to set up the record there ready to upload my book. But starting the set up process appears to have locked my prices in as round numbers before I had even reached the page with options to edit them. When I tried to change them, nothing happened. It was only when I contacted the help desk that I managed to alter them, Arnold, The Prophet in all his munificence bless the chap who came to my aid.

When I explained the prices hadn’t changed he assured me that they would but it would take a while.

The next joyous discovery came the following day when I discovered exactly how long ‘taking a while’ was. Having automatically set up some random prices on the book, the system would not incorporate my corrected prices until the following Friday because they only batch price changes once a week. This, I know, but their doing it before you have even uploaded a manuscript for your book or made the record live was a new one on me. Strange though it was, it didn’t look like a particularly significant problem, until I uploaded my cover with the correct price of £5.99 on the back at which point, it was refused. They take three days to send a proof sometimes, so I was rather keen to persuade them to process it and let me proof the results. After all, it wasn’t as if the book was on sale yet or would be for another week.

A second query to the help desk and I discovered that yes, this was their new normal (I do dislike that phrase) and I would not be able to upload the cover before the prices went live on Friday (today as I type this bit). That seemed like a special kind of madness. I guess it saves mistakes being made in the field as it were but for a book that’s not even going to be published when the prices come into effect it seemed a novel way to proceed.

This morning, I waited on nervous tenterhooks to see if my book’s prices actually did change to the correct ones. They did but from now on I will have to factor in that week from the point of set up, to the subsequent Friday lunch time, that it will take to change the prices that are automatically added in when I start. What makes it more confusing was that you were able to change prices under the old system several times and it would change your most recent entry. It wouldn’t change on the public sales side of stuff until the following Friday but your dashboard would show the new prices, yellowed out, so you could see the were pending.

Hopefully, I’ll get the proofs back in time to sign this one off before Thursday. Should do, but they will probably come in on Wednesday when I’m in Sussex so I’ll have to remember to take the right electronic gizmo with me to be able to read it and sign it off while I’m there.

A few dicey moments there then, but I think we’re more or less set. The only other thing I’ll need to do is upload the files to my payhip store late on Wednesday, although Bookfunnel will send the files on to the folks who have pre-ordered it from there.

Still it all appears to be drifting vaguely in the right direction so definite spud points all round this month.

Frankly, apart from on this here blog, I haven’t really made much of a thing about my forthcoming launch. Perhaps I should but I think you need to have an engaged community of about 20,000 followers before it makes much difference.

Exploring options

Other exciting developments this week, Findaway voices rolled out Authors Direct, their direct selling platform, to authors in the UK. Sadly it involves a monthly sub of $20 which is too expensive for my nascent sales to stand. There’s also a set up fee, although because I was on the waiting list they reduced that from a rather hefty $90 to $25. The cancellation is only a month each way so I think if I was a bit further down the line I might have jumped in and given it a go but right now that $20 a month is more needed to spend on the mailing service I use and Bookfunnel.

Attempting to persuade ACX to publish Few Are Chosen to Audible

And failing.

Yep. First one still not published.

However, I have ‘claimed’ the kindle version on ACX. I suspect this is what I needed to do in the first place as I went for the kindle version with all the others and not only did they go live much quicker but they have linked with the paperback. In the case of Few, I ‘claimed’ the paperback – because it has the proper title instead of the stupid shit Amazon insists on because they won’t change the word ‘trilogy’ to series – but it hasn’t linked with the Kindle version the same way.

You have no idea how sorely, sorely tempted I am to upload the book again, using my second ‘claim’ and see if that speeds things up.

There will also be a new audiobook releasing in September some time, which will be the K’Barthan Series Box Set. I don’t know why I didn’t get that done last time. But I tend to batch my art work requirements around the time of any new releases. This time, I have have had audiobook covers done for all my other works, including a K’Barthan Box Set cover. I’ve also got them to add Gareth’s name on the covers, because I hadn’t, which is a bit embarrassing.

So I will upload the box set onto Findaway Voices and ACX next week. I suspect that will go live before Few Are Chosen ever does. If it does, I’ll give you the heads up when it lands. If you use one of the other sites, or your library, you can read Few Are Chosen anyway. Also, I might have some tokens for free copies of my audiobooks from Findaway which will allow me to give you a copy of Few Are Chosen from certain sites. I’ll have to look into that and find out more.

Treating myself … and you lot

Also, as a birthday present to myself, I paid for Gareth to do and audio version of Night Swimming. One of the lovely things about working with someone who is learning as they go is that you get to see the curve. I think we were starting from a pretty high level anyway with Gareth. Even so, his narration still gets better and better with each book. He just sounds more relaxed and at ease. Perhaps narration is a bit like writing in that it takes a little while to find your ‘voice’ or at least, your mode of expression? Dunno. Anyway, it’s just lovely.

Hopefully I should sign that off tomorrow or Sunday and he’ll be done next week. I just want to listen to the last two chapters one more time. Then I can change the audio sign up list so people get Night Swimming. Gareth is doing this and the K’Barthan Shorts series as and when he’s a bit bored or has some time, so I’ve sent him all three of the completed K’Barthan shorts so he can work on them any time the mood takes him.

Cocking up another series name

The fourth K’Barthan short is not short at all. It’s 54,000 words and counting which is a novel in anyone’s book. Never mind. I guess you can’t win ’em all.

______________________

If you’re a bit bored …

Why not pre-order my new book, Close Enough. It is out next Thursday, 18th June. I have to confess, I am quite pleased with this one.

Despite having been writing for a living in some form or another for over 20 years, I reckon I still have a lot to learn and I still feel as if each book I write is better than the last. I’m not sure the shorts are everyone’s cup of tea, they are more snapshots than anything but I enjoyed writing this one and it feels a tiny bit more complex. Not like the novels but more complex. If these books aren’t your thing but you want to help any other way, feel free to share the information page in my website with your friends: link below.

https://www.hamgee.co.uk/infoce.html

Here’s the blurb again, just in case you need it …

As recently appointed delivery man for Big Merv, one of Ning Dang Po’s most powerful crime bosses, The Pan of Hamgee is ordered to deliver a gift to Big Merv’s current girlfriend. With a pair of bespoke-made, sapphire and diamond earrings on board, and a trip across the city in the offing, what could possibly go wrong? Everything.

That’s all for this week. Until next, have a good one.

 

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Yay! Guest blog from Tallis Steelyard

This week another treat as we are once again visited by the inestimable Tallis Steelyard who will tell us a story. Oh yes. Enjoy.

Only the Truth

I hold up Bassat Larn as an example of the sort of problems that can befall an honest man. Now Bassat wasn’t merely honourable, he simply couldn’t lie. In any situation he would merely tell the truth as he saw it. There was nothing vindictive in this, it was just the way he was. Now in his ‘day job’ it didn’t matter. When you normally serve as a man-at-arms on horseback and are about to say something that might be better left unsaid, one of your colleagues will merely tap your helmet so that the visor closes, muffling your words. Not only that, but soldiers tend to be a robust group of individuals, unlikely to be hurt by your candid comments about the colour of their tunic or their current haircut.

The problem arose because Bassat was not merely a handsome young man, he had a beautiful singing voice and could play the guitar well. He was popular with his companions because he was always happy to entertain them around the camp fire if asked, and would regularly extemporise comic verse to describe their antics during the day.  But one winter, as he returned to Port Naain, the campaigning season over, his mother pointed out that he ought to give up his military career and concentrate on his singing. She had already inveigled me into getting him work at various houses. Now he wasn’t entirely sold on this, but in all candour he was willing to give it a try. He promised that if things went well during the winter, he would stay in Port Naain for the rest of the year as well, just to give it a fair trial.

Because his mother had been so insistent I did my best for Bassat. I started him out carefully at events where I would be there and where I felt he would be safe. There are houses where I would hesitate to introduce a handsome and perhaps impressionable young man. But he seemed to flourish, he was obviously easy to like, and he could sing well. But he managed all this without airs and graces, he could walk past a mirror without stopping to check his hair, and he interspersed his more select work with short but amusing, self-deprecating little ditties. So eventually I got him work at events where I wouldn’t be present to keep an eye on things. Still he seemed to survive. Unfortunately he was then approached by Madam Galwin. Madam Galwin is at least seventy but admits to fifty. Her daughter, Madam Wuldecker is at least fifty, but admits to ‘early thirties.’ Her daughter, Mistress Zalia lays claim to being ‘twenty something’ but in all candour is unlikely to be a day over seventeen. As you can see, this is a family that needs tactful handling. Or ideally no handling whatsoever, I make a point of behaving with absolute propriety in their presence.

Still Bassat turned up to perform and Madam Galwin sang a duet with him. Shortly after this, the buffet was served and Bassat went to get something to eat. He was waylaid by Madam Bulfront. This was his second major misfortune. Madam Bulfront commiserated with him, having to sing with their hostess.

Bassat, honest to the core, replied, “Oh no, it was a pleasure. For a lady of her age, she still has an excellent voice.”

Scenting scandal, Madam Bulfront asked, “Why, is she more than fifty?”

“Well she came out with my grandmother so that will make her seventy-two.”

Now a true friend would have gagged Bassat at this point. After all, about a dozen ladies were standing round, notionally in conversation, but actually the room was utterly silent as they listened to the innocent get himself ever deeper into trouble. Perhaps Bassat realised he may have been too outspoken but he was rescued when there was an announcement that there would be dancing. Bassat was approached by Madam Wuldecker, the daughter of his hostess, and danced the first two dances with her. To be fair he dances well enough. But when some other partner had claimed Madam Wuldecker, Bassat sat out for a while. Who should appear but Madam Bulfront. “Why Bassat, you managed to make your partner shine.”

“Oh no, Madam Wuldecker is a very accomplished dancer, she covered up any number of my mistakes.”

“I would have thought a lady in her thirties might have adopted a more dashing style?”

“Ah there you are mistaken, Madam Wuldecker is a fit and active fifty-year old.”

At this point Bassat noticed the silent ladies, apparently engaged in deep conversation, standing around him and realised he might be best placed to change the subject. Claiming the need for a little air he slipped out into the garden. There he was approached by the young Mistress Zalia. Now Bassat was not yet thirty, but some of those years had included some hard campaigning. Hence Bassat probably felt older than he looked. Zalia dressed to be twenty-five and had rather set her cap at him. Bassat, ever honourable, chose safety and dropped into ‘older brother’ mode. This was most definitely not what Zalia had wanted and she felt distinctly insulted.

Now let us be fair to these three ladies.  Madam Galwin is someone I do have some respect for. She has raised several children, is a tower of strength to her friends, nursed her dying husband herself, and is indeed remarkably fit and well for her age. If she admitted to her true age people would indeed be impressed by how well she carries herself. But in all candour claiming to be
fifty is beyond her. It’s the same with Madam Wuldecker. She has indeed made a conscious effort ‘not to let herself go.’ Whilst she no longer has the figure she had when she married, for a woman who has given borne two children she has remained remarkably trim. But in all candour, too many of her contemporaries are living among us. We all know how old she is.

Again for fifty she looks remarkably well and is to be commended. But she is not thirty. Finally we have Zalia. She is a pretty girl and when she forgets herself she is actually delightful company. Given her mother and grandmother I am sure she will be beautiful into middle age and handsome afterwards. Indeed had she had an older brother (who would have teased her into exasperated acceptance of reality) rather than a younger one, I believe Bassat would have never have experienced the problems that he did. Zalia, insulted, instructed her brother Zanvian, to chastise Bassat. Zanvian, with all the seriousness of a fifteen year old boy who discovers he is apparently the man of the house, called upon Bassat next morning and
challenged him to a duel to the death.

Bassat, on discovering the reason, reluctantly agreed and after parrying Zanvian’s flurry of attacks, disarmed him with casual ease. He commended him for his courage and sense of filial duty, made some cogent comments about the young man’s technique with the sword, suggested that he told his sister that if she wished to be treated as if she were in her twenties, she ought to stop acting like a spoiled twelve-year old, and sent him off home. Zalia, now furious at this second humiliation complained about this to her mother. This lady received her daughter’s news just after numerous of her acquaintances had told her what Bassat had said about her. Furious, she hired a group of thugs to give her tormentor the beating he obviously
needed.

Now Broken-Nose Dawkin was a perfectly competent thug for hire and his assorted ruffians decent enough specimens of their kind. So when they ambushed Bassat by leaping out of an alley as he walked past, they were confident they could administer the appropriate thrashing. Unfortunately Bassat’s reflexes were trained in Uttermost Partann. Even as the ambushers
closed on him, he had drawn his knife and was attacking into the ambush. Realising the sort of people he was dealing with, he didn’t actually kill anybody. Indeed he borrowed a bludgeon of one thug who realised he no longer needed it and laid about him with that. Now at this point there was no harm done. (Save perhaps to sundry louts) But Bassat would insist on knowing who had set them on him. Obviously Broken-Nose Dawkin felt no obligation to protect the person who had dumped him and his innocent followers into the situation. So Bassat helped the various bullies bandage what needed bandaging and escorted them to Madam Wuldecker’s house. There at the front door (with all the neighbours watching from behind the curtains) he rang the bell. When the maid answered, he ushered the injured men into the house and gave the maid the message, “Tell your mistress, ears fit best where they are grown.” With that he left.

When she heard the news from her daughter and granddaughter, Madam Galwin felt that this Bassat fellow was obviously waging war on the family good name. She did not hesitate. She hired an assassin. This individual stabbed Bassat in the back as he walked down the street. Unluckily for the assassin, Bassat had taken to wearing his riding mail under his jacket. The dagger didn’t penetrate. Even more unlucky for the assassin Bassat had also taken to wearing his sword. He drew this and cut the assassin down even as the man tried to stab him a second time.

Now exasperated, Bassat decided that he had had enough. He left the assassin’s head impaled on the ornamental railings that grace the front of Madam Galwin’s residence.

Bassat then pondered his future. He decided that, in all candour, he was not suited to the life of an entertainer in polite society. Indeed it did occur to him that whilst the slaying of assassins as they attempt to kill you is regarded as reasonable, displaying their severed heads publically could be regarded as a step to far. After all, with no sense of irony whatsoever the shadowy collective which oversees assassins within the city is prone to react badly to those who, ‘bring the profession into disrepute.’

Our hero made arrangements with friends, kissed his tearful mother farewell, and went down to Nightbell Point where he was collected from the beach and joined a ship sailing south to Prae Ducis. I got one note from him, apologising for any trouble he might have caused me. Apparently from Prae Ducis he’d drifted east and one night had stumbled upon an Urlan hunting party sitting eating round their campfire. He announced himself as a bard, they made room for him and asked him to play.

Apparently he sang them a comic song of his own antics which amused them greatly. One of them challenged him to a duel to the first blood. He acquitted himself well and they suggested to him that, if he had nothing better to do, he might want to ride with them. He agreed and they loaned him a horse. As far as I know he rode over the Aphices Mountains and disappeared
with his friends into the seething barbarian lands of the East.

___________________

And now a brief note from Jim Webster. It’s really just to inform you that I’ve just published two more collections of stories.

The first, available on kindle, is:

‘Tallis Steelyard, preparing the ground, and other stories.’ https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0872GGLF9

More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Meet a vengeful Lady Bountiful, an artist who smokes only the finest hallucinogenic lichens, and wonder at the audacity of the rogue who attempts to drown a poet! Indeed after reading this book you may never look at young boys and their dogs, onions, lumberjacks or usurers in quite the same way again. A book that plumbs the depths of degradation, from murder to folk dancing, from the theft of pastry cooks to the playing of a bladder pipe in public.

The second, available on Kindle or as a paperback, is:

‘Maljie. Just one thing after another.’
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Maljie-Just-thing-after-another/dp/B0875JSJVM/

Once more Tallis Steelyard chronicles the life of Maljie, a lady of his acquaintance. Discover the wonders of the Hermeneutic Catherine Wheel, marvel at the use of eye-watering quantities of hot spices. We have bell ringers, pop-up book shops, exploding sedan chairs, jobbing builders, literary criticism, horse theft and a revolutionary mob. We also discover what happens when a maiden, riding a white palfrey led by a dwarf, appears on the scene.

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Interesting times …

This week I have been mostly …

Doing loads of stuff.

OK so there’s a lot I haven’t done but I’m feeling productive. I’ve managed to do some housework, some book marketing (more on that story later) and some writing. I’ve done some work on the model I’m building – a Lancaster Bomber which my son abandoned. I’ve also managed to take 12 used deodourant sticks, take the quarter of an inch of deodourant that ends up below the rim of the plastic casing and meld them into another one and a half deodourant sticks. Don’t ask me why I do this, or how because it makes me look even more weird and OCD than I already am.

The writing was fun, indeed the reason this is late is because these over verbose bloatings take me about three hours to write and instead of doing it yesterday, when I was supposed to, I did a real, professional day’s writing; at least an hour on three separate projects. I’ve also managed to do some weights and keep my walking up, although only half hour a day for most of this week as I’ve been a bit busy. The weights are good though. After 8 years going to the gym, I have a fair few exercises designed for arms and stomachs which I can do on a Swiss Ball. It’s early days, but my triceps are feeling stiff so with any luck it’s doing something.

Any weight lost? Nah, but I haven’t gained any either so I’ll take that as a win. Woot.

Making a tit of myself.

A few weeks ago, I was chatting to an author friend and she tipped me the nod about a virtual book fair that was being put on by the lovely folks at Our Own Write. This seemed like a great idea so I signed up, only to discover that in order to do the virtual book fair, I had to do a half hour virtual spot on … twitter!

Gads. But I never use twitter! I try but it’s an impenetrable wall of noise, I find it impossible to find anything. Even if I put hashtags in I just get a wall of posts from people I don’t know. Finding my actual friends there, and talking to them, is really hard. At least I can read my facebook feed and see stuff that’s been posted by people I’m following. Twitter? Nah. It’s all influencers and Americans I’ve never heard of. People it thinks I’d like to hear from, rather than the ones I actually would, ie the folks I’m actually following. It’s like trying to find a comment from a friend on the most obscure article in existence on the BBC news site. I must be doing it wrong but so far, I’ve failed to figure it out over all but I seem to be able to take little bites here and there. That said, these posts all go to twitter once a week and people can tweet me if they want to, at which point, twitter does usually tell me.

Anyway, having dumped myself comprehensively in the soup, on a platform where I have no following with tech about which I was clueless there was only one thing for it. I was going to have to try and attain bluffer’s level Twitter, learnhow to make a live broadcast and then, you know, do it. Luckily another author friend was taking part in the book fair too and she had the slot before me so in the days running up to it we exchanged notes and lessons learned which was handy.

Because these times feel a bit apocalyptic, the obvious choice was something that poked a bit of light hearted fun at apocalyptic/disaster movies. So I chose Escape From B-Movie Hell … partly because of that and partly because escaping from the b-movie hell we are in quite now probably holds a fair amount of appeal to many folks right now.

The learning curve was all quite daunting but surprisingly fun!

The first thing I discovered is that to live broadcast on Twitter you must connect it to another app, specifically for broadcasting, called Periscope. Having downloaded and joined up Periscope, that was relatively straightforward. You have to use a phone or a tablet, but at the same time, not my iPad Pro, it seems. That just hung. Never mind, the phone it was. So far so good.

Once I’d done that it was time to experiment. What I planned to do was write a hello and welcome to my spot tweet with all the hash tags people would need to link it to the virtual book fair. Then I had to click on the photo icon as if I was going to add a photo to my tweet. The first icon in my gallery is a picture of a camera, click that, click go live and it’ll connect and Bob’s your uncle. I’m live. Except on the day, I guess I was in a bit of a panic because … aaaaaaargh! It didn’t happen. I could not get Twitter and Periscope to talk to each other.

When you try and do this back the other way, Periscope does send your stuff to Twitter, but you can’t put in the hashtags so nobody who is searching for the VirtualBookFair hashtag was going to find my broadcast. However, my slot had started and therefore, by hook or by crook, I had to. So there was only one thing to do, I was going to have to broadcast my slot on Periscope. Periscope which I had only just joined three days before, where I had one follower.

Luckily that ONE follower was my lovely author friend Rachel Churcher and to my eternal gratitude, she shared my live broadcast with all the right hash tags on her feed … and then the lovely folks at Our Own Write shared it on theirs, I think, so after a few minutes stalling, while I waited for someone, anyone to be listening, finally people started to arrive.

Anyway, if you like that sort of thing, you can witness this car-crash of an episode by clicking this link – oooh Twitter has given me a special preview box. Well anyway, if you’re game for a laugh you can have a listen there … apologies to Diana who has already sought it out and listened after last week, definitely an A plus there Diana, and no homework this week, because you’ve done it in advance! Mwahahahahrgh! Sorry I was going t post the link wasn’t I? Yeh, so if you want to watch it’s here:

Lessons learned? Well, despite the rank fear, it was great fun. The people who showed up to my broadcast were lovely and asked me some really interesting questions. I also have those tiny initial rumblings of a thought that suggest I might end up writing another book about Andi Turbot and the Threeps. I’m definitely feeling light hearted enough to give it a go at the moment.

On top of that, I really enjoyed learning a new skill. A skill I think I may be able to use. For a while now, I’ve been thinking I need a podcast, and what better thing than just reading these posts aloud? They are all about fifteen to twenty minutes read aloud and after doing my live broadcast I am a lot more confident that I could do that. The idea of using a proper piece of software is extremely daunting … it’s all levels and audio gain and a microphone and … maths. Even so, I may use a proper piece of software, record them and then put them out as a podcast, or I may just do them as twitter broadcasts and attach my Periscope account to Facebook and YouTube as well. I do need to do something to reach the audio people though.

What else did I learn? That most people use Periscope for evangelism. That some people just stare at the screen, I swear there were a couple of broadcasts I happened upon where, to all intents and purposes, the person appeared not to know they were broadcasting. There are some which are clearly groups of mates having a chat. And there are ladies … yes it seems to be a hotbed of home strippers. Or possibly they are just videoing themselves having a J Arthur. It’s difficult to tell because I’m not bloody hanging round long enough to find out.

Other joy … I have some book promos on

Relax with a good book … or relax with one of mine, the choice is yours.

This week our lovely friends at Kobo are running a 40% off Box Set sale. Naturally the K’Barthan Series is in it so if you do Kobo, it’s worth nipping over for a look. It’s not just my book, it’s a whole load of Box Sets and you can buy as many as you like so if that’s a thing that interests you click this lovely link here. None of them will look as if they’re reduced but if you enter this code at check out APRILSAVE it should take off 40%.

Also to go with the VirtualBookFair, Escape From B-Movie Hell is reduced to the nearest equivalent to $2.99 in all currencies. So if anyone’s interested in reading that, this might be the time to pick up a copy cheap.

That said … ALL my books are available in the major public library apps. While unfortunately, you can’t ask a librarian to get a paperback version in because all the libraries are closed, their apps are alive and well and … seeing a 35% uplift in new users apparently. So where your library lets you, you can borrow all my books for nothing, but I still get a payment. Win-win.

Audiobook revenue has happened

OK don’t get too excited – but anything is a surprise because they’re not all up for sale so I’m not marketing them yet.

Three of the four audiobooks – and Unlucky Dip – are live on Findaway Voices and Unlucky Dip is live on ACX. Obviously it will be three months or more before the others get approved on ACX, which is one of the reasons they are on Findaway as well. That and because it’s Findaway that supplies them to public libraries.

Anyway, ACX has reported that I have royalties due on Unlucky Dip but I cannot for the life of me discover what I do to find out how much. To my delight, Findaway also reported a library borrow of Unlucky Dip, which means Gareth and I have earned the princely sum of 16 pence each.

Woot!

Upon hearing this news Gareth’s reaction was, ‘finally that private island is in sight.’ Mwahahaargh! While McOther said, ‘I guess I’d better hold off from ordering that Aston Martin for another couple of weeks, then.’ But hey, as I said, I’ve done zero marketing so far, and these are not books that sell themselves. I’m not going to be uploading a book to Amazon, going away and discovering, two weeks later, that 50,000 people have downloaded it. That has happened to some authors, but my stuff … nah, I have to work for every sale I make. So if someone buys one without any input from me that’s a pretty good start.

In another happy chance, Playster says it sometimes gives audiobooks a rating before customers do in cases where their editors like them. I see that all the ones I have on there so far have been given four stars, which is nice. It may just come from the book ratings as my books are on there, too. Whatever it is, I’m chuffed.

 

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It’s a mad/happy/mad/happy world!

Is your book a lemon? Hopefully not.

Lots of things this week. It’s been a bit of a roller coaster! Up and down, for deffo!

Started off feeling a little low about Mum but she was in such good form on Wednesday that I came home reassured. We talked about how hard it was to stay close to Dad, how it hurt not to step away. ‘Oh darling, I do hope I don’t put you through that again,’ she said. I told her she wouldn’t. To be honest, even if she does, I wouldn’t have it any other way. You do what you have to do. I have to live with myself afterwards. Bless her heart. It won’t be like Dad because she’s different, I’m not sure how it will be, there’s no point wondering. That was kind of good and kind of sad, bittersweet, I suppose.

On the other hand, by some miracle, I managed to remember that it was World Book Day earlier than three minutes prior to McMini’s departure for school on the Day in question. God bless HRT! I haven’t had a memory that good in about fifteen years! Woot!

McMini wanted to go as Dennis the Menace. OK so, by the time I remembered I was at Mum’s the day before and could do nothing about it, but at least I was able to text McOther and ask if he could nip up to town and get some black crepe paper. I had decided to pin it to McMini’s red PE shirt to make stripes. To my delight, McOther had discovered an old red jumper of mine which bit the dust when the washing machine’s thermostat broke during the ‘delicates’ wash. It boiled a drum full of expensive jumpers with vigorous enthusiasm, so vigorous that the jumper in question was a perfect fit on our 11 year old. McOther suggested using black electrical tape rather than crepe paper. I went with his suggestion, which transpired to be genius!

Home on Wednesday night, I was still alert enough to be able to add the stripes to the jumper (God bless HRT a second time). OK so I’d forgotten to suggest to McOther popped into the costume shop and bought a cheapo black curly wig but hey, you can’t win ’em all! And they realised who he was!

Then there’s the Audiobook project! Squee! Now we’re onto marketing, though. Hmm … I’ve been trying to do a series of ‘hello and welcome’ emails for people signing up to my audiobook list. There are going to be two types, those who are coming into the whole thing cold and those who already know and love K’Barth and just want it read to them. I’m thinking that’s going to take two different sets of hello protocol. However, I can see that that the one thing both sets will want to know is the process of making the books, and they might have questions for Gareth, I would if it was me. From my casual forays into the audiobook marketing of other authors it seems they approach it as a team thing, too, and also give the narrator plenty of air time.

As a result I’ve started with the stuff about the audio side, because both series of emails will need it, and to that end I’ve sent Gareth some dubiously inane questions. Mmm, I bet he’s delighted. Mwahahaahrgh! But unfortunately for him, he’s amusing and folks will enjoy reading his answers. He has agreed to do an interview, too, in an unguarded moment, so I am compiling a list of questions to ask him – hopefully not all inane.

And this is where you come in. The questions. There are some about the whole process of audio, how it’s done, planning and all that, there are the inane who’s your favourite character type questions (which I hope will be made a tiny bit easier by the fact he likes the books) and there are the personal ones, when did you know you wanted to be an actor? But I’d like to try and make sure I ask him things people would want to know. It may be that you trust me implicitly to ask interesting things or … throwing this open to the floor for a moment … you may not. You’ve heard the Unlucky Dip demo, you know he’s a bit good at this acting thing and that he’s an utter lunatic (well, of course he is, he likes my books) what would you like me to ask him, lovely readers?

Back down the rollercoaster to the bottom again, and a blurgh moment about the whole pushing the rock up hill that is trying to persuade people to read my word barf. Or, marketing, as it’s called.

This is, of course, my hormones messing with my arse again. Yes ladies, gentlemen and everyone outside, beyond and in between, it’s constipation and brain fog week. But there seems to be extra, super-duper, improved weird on top at the moment. I’ve been enjoying, if that’s the right word, a lot of dreams about poo recently. Yes, we might be entering the realm of Too Much Information but since when have I ever cared about that? Buckle up folks, we’re going in [cue rubbery slapping sound of arm length rubber gloves being pulled on]. I am dreaming about going to the bog, in the bathroom, on the loo, having an extremely satisfying dump and then discovering that I’ve made a mistake and that far from using the loo, I’ve gone on the sofa, or in someone else’s bed, or in the middle of the hearth rug in error … then I have to try and clear it up before anyone comes and finds it and is upset, or sometimes they just come in and tell me I’m disgusting. Mmm. Nice.

As you might imagine, my first thought on waking up most mornings at the moment is, ‘What the fuck was that about?’

Eeee are you saying I look like poo I’m fluff I’ll have you know?

According to Monsieur Google, this kind of poo dream – or at least the doing poo in the wrong place by mistake – is a sign of insecurity; fear that you’re about to stuff something up. Hmm … from me? Say it isn’t so! There’s a surprise. Mwahahahargh! Yes, my subconscious, tell me something I don’t know.

Back up to the crest of the hill, a local author group I go to met this week. One has just finished a new book and it was so lovely to see her enthusiasm, and how utterly in love with her story and characters she was! And it made me feel a lot more normal, because I feel the same when I’ve completed a new book. She writes hers in one binge because she can’t bear the suspense otherwise. Sounds like a really good way of doing it. Ahhh if only I could! I can’t bear the suspense either but it takes me years. We also had a brilliant discussion about how you write spin off novellas to a series without spoilers. A knotty conundrum which is, currently, doing my head in! So, so fucking difficult. Why have I done this to myself?

What is especially lovely about hanging out with other authors, or just other creative people to be honest, is that the more of them I meet, the more I realise that all my creative foibles are actually completely standard. We are all as nuts as each other. Not just authors, musicians, artists, eyebombers … yep. All nuts.

Which is reassuring.

Also this week, I wrote something. Always nice. Not much but I’ve been slightly slacking on that front – more than slightly cf earlier bit back there about the knotty conundrum of spoilers – it’s good to have got going again.

Simpery nonce mode on … I probably should have brushed my hair and just rocked the Louis XIV curly wig look without shame.

On the down side, I tried to do some author pictures – the one with the marrow is now pushing 20 years old, but no fucker seems to be able to take a decent photo of me, and it seems I can’t either.

Eyessssss

Hmm … a partial success. I think the one of my scarily glowy eyes from mum and dad in-law’s bathroom looks better … sigh. Maybe I should just use that one and pretend I’m out of Dune. I’ve been riding the worm with Sting! Snortle. That didn’t quite come out the way I meant but I’ve left it anyway. Oh and by the way, there are occasions where I am not wearing that maroon jumper … it just seems to be the thing I have on, by happenstance, in nearly every photo. I do take it off, in the bath and in bed and the like and … I mean, you can see I did for the other pic. But sorry, I digress …

The strangest thing about the poo-filled You-Are-Insecure-Oh-Yes-You-Are dreams is that, right now, I’m feeling about as confident in the quality of my stuff as I’ve ever been. There’s nothing like listening to someone else read your books aloud, and do it really well, to feel that it’s not a bad story really … well … once you’ve got past the horror of realising you can write a lot better now than you did then! Handing over the alts for Book Two was almost physically painful, but I feel much more level headed about Three and Four – mainly because they’re rather better written.

The whole artistic insecurity thing annoys me when it hits because it feels a bit faux. Because when all is said and done, the creative thing is just something you do (you general you). And your sensible, pragmatic head knows it’s good enough and that’s all you need. But your flaky art head will never be quite certain and wants other people to like it. And you tell it to shut up and get on with life. That’s just … being creative. So on one level, yes, I’m totally confident that the writing I do is … the best I can do at that time … on the other I’m kind of … will people like it? But with maximum melodrama. You know the kind of thing, sobbing tearful voice … They have to like it! Sob! They have to! I will kill myself with this plastic fork if they don’t!

Ho hum …

Moving on …

This week the first book in my series, Few Are Chosen, was free on Kobo, it still is, and yesterday, US Amazon price matched and quite a few people downloaded my book. It even got one of those orange best seller tags, in the free book charts to be sure but I’ll take that. It got a couple of number two rankings (no not number two … maybe that’s what the dreams were about) a number four and a number 197 over all (not to mention a 15 with prawn crackers and 3 with lychees … sorry). I usually ignore my rankings, except when they do that! Mwahahahrgh! Screen shots were taken. I’m such a sad sack. I think it’s gone back to paid now, but that was jolly while it lasted and who knows, some of them may even read it, and if they do, a fair few will go on to read the others.

Talking of which … who wants to hear a sample from Few Are Chosen? If you do, there are two for your delectation:

Sample 1

Chapter 1: well, that seems like a sensible place to start, you know just go give you a feel, click here or where it says ‘sample 1’.

Sample 2

Chapter 37: where our heroine is walking home late at night and discoveres she is being followed. This is one Gareth enjoyed doing and I think that comes over. It’s the point where, as a listener, I went from thinking, blimey, this is good to, shut the smecking door! This is fucking marvellous! AND, I can share it without spoiling anything else much, because it’s kind of a little story in itself. To listen to that one, click here or where it says ‘sample 2’.

Also I’ve set up a page about the audiobooks here, I’ll add stuff … you know … as and when they become available. Hopefully it will be useful.

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Nothing To See Here …

Except there is …

More on that story later. First, a quick update on the audiobooks.

It’s been a quiet week. My local writers collective met yesterday, which was lovely, and on Tuesday, I finally managed to send the blips I’d spotted in the audio version of The Wrong Stuff back to Gareth. It’s his birthday today. And looking at the quality of the recordings he’s done so far, I’m feeling a little giddy! As if it’s my birthday and all! I am a little in awe of his talent and I will owe him for this, pretty much in perpetuity.

Clearly I feel a bit nervous about the audio in some respects. This is partly because I can’t quite believe it’s happening but also because, as royalty share, I’d really like it to do well so Gareth actually earns something for his trouble. I suspect it’ll be work from other authors who hear it rather than royalties, but he is aware of that and seems totally undaunted, even if I’m actually beginning to feel a bit guilty.

The other, far more straightforward reason to harbour doubts is because it’s my stuff he’s narrating. And doubting your stuff is all part of being creative. And jeez there’s nothing like listening to someone read your magnum opus, and read it really well, to fully appreciate any deficiencies in the writing. Imposter syndrome anyone? Yeeees a bit. It’s definitely A Thing we creatives get; to shit bricks about what we’ve done I mean, even when we know it’s alright really. But there’s more than a slight feeling here of, ‘Oh god, this bloke is absolutely bloody brilliant and the material I’ve given him is … er hem … not actually quite as brilliant as he is.’ I was aware that my talent lies more in the telling of the story than any linguistic poncing toddling involved so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise, and yet … yeh … there we are.

Maybe one of the biggest, most important things anyone learns, while doing creative anything, is the difference between doubts that are, basically, just your mojo messing with your arse, and real doubts. Learning when to listen to those doubts and when to just grit your teeth, ignore the cringing inside and push on through is a big part of learning how to create. When I’m working on a novel, I usually start to get severe misgivings about a third of the way in. Then I get stuck. Either because I’ve gone off in the wrong direction, or because I just need a bit of time for my subconscious to work out what’s going to happen next. That’s why I had to stop writing the big stuff when Dad got bad, because there was never enough time to get back into the complicated projects, catch up and start working again, before the next crisis hit from the Real World.

Discussing the doubts side of it with Gareth, briefly, it turns out that he gets them too. Like I said, standard creative procedure I suspect, but it’s still comforting, and a little affirming, to have confirmation from someone else, too. Especially someone with less reason to doubt than many of us. Yeh, so while I do doubt the quality of my stuff, I guess I also know, sort of, that it’s probably a load of bollocks in this case.

Anyway, we are hoping to have the first draft done before he heads off on tour at the end of next week. It’s likely that I won’t have enough time to listen and get the alts back, but he will probably be able to do those during the spring holidays, in April, when he gets back.

Talking about doubts … I have a new book out today. Short is not my best metier and I have a few genuine misgivings about this one which, I suspect are well founded. Except the description of Mrs Dingleton’s, I like that. Never mind, here are the details anyway! In a new departure from my standard, somewhat laissez faire release strategy, I’m also running an exciting competition in which someone can win some smashing K’Barthan Blingery. Phnark. Feel free to enter if you like.

Nothing To See Here

Yes! It has landed. The next novella in the series of shorts about The Pan of Hamgee’s time as a delivery man for Big Merv is now out. Woot.

Here’s the blurb …

It’s midwinter and preparations for the biggest religious festival in the K’Barthan year are in full swing. Yes, even though, officially, religious activity has been banned, no-one’s going to ignore Arnold, The Prophet’s Birthday, especially not Big Merv. He orders The Pan of Hamgee to deliver the traditional Prophet’s Birthday gift to his accountants and lawyers. As usual, The Pan has managed to elicit the unwanted attention of the security forces. Can he make the delivery and get back to the Parrot and Screwdriver pub in time for an unofficial Prophet’s Birthday celebration with his friends?

If you’re interested you can find out more by clicking on the picture or clicking here:

The competition

Yes, bling your morning cuppa or amaze your colleagues with this fabulous K’Barthan Mug.

If you do end up reading and enjoying Nothing To See Here, you can use your incredible knowledge of the plot in a game of skill and chance to— er hem. You can enter a prize draw to win this smashing K’Barthan mug worth many Brtitish pounds!

Well … OK at least a tenner, £15, in fact. Oh dear, this is beginning to read like one of those spoof ads in Viz.

Hint, you’ll probably be in with a good chance because I doubt many folks will enter.

All you need to do to is answer a question about the story and you will be entered into the draw … unless it’s illegal to enter raffles in your country, in which case, please don’t.

The draw will be open until the end of February. Panic not if you’ve blown your book budget already this month, Noting To See Here should be available in many libraries across the UK, US and Oceana. You might have to ask your librarian for it though. Once you’ve read the book and can answer the question, you can enter the draw here!

The competition closes on 29th Feb.

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Chip off the old block …

This week has been busy. Much going on anyway and then The Wrong Stuff arrived for audio proofing. Woot. More on that and the audio project generally in a week or two.

What I should be writing about, this week, is my new release, Nothing To See Here, which is out a week today on 8th Feb. But 8th Feb is also Dad’s birthday, I’m sort of releasing it then, in his honour, so I’ve kind of been thinking about that this week, too.

This last Sunday, I went to church and because McOther had Stuff To Do, elsewhere, I took McMini. McMini is pretty good on his own for a few minutes while I whizz up to the post box or nip to Tesco’s but I don’t like to leave him on his own for long periods of time – one and a half hours while I do church and then stuff my face with biscuits and bend everyone’s ear at coffee afterwards – for example.

As you know, McMini is a bit of a live wire and also has the same sense of the ridiculous as I do. When they do all the high church stuff with the cope and the incense round the altar on high days and holidays, and the acolytes follow and hold the arm of the cope out of the way as the celebrant does their thing, I immediately think of James Brown. James Brown used to do many encores and he’d pretend to be overcome with exhaustion and his acolytes would help him onto the stage, where he’d perform again … all part of the theatre. And he wore a cloak sometimes, which sort of helps make it feel similar. This is probably Blasphemy but then again, since Christ was not above sarcasm, in spades, and clearly had a sense of humour, I am hoping that, when I head pearly gates-wards he’ll intervene on my behalf about this one if things are looking a bit dicey for me. Not that it’ll do me much good, there’s an awful lot of other stuff – But I’m wandering off topic again.

Taking McMini to church I am aware that it’s a long service, and he doesn’t always enjoy the hymns (I like a good shouty hymn but I’m a half trained classical musician). McMini is beginning to enjoy classical music, and he will, because as a musician, he will end up listening to everything because if you are musical, that’s what you do. But I feel it’s important not to force it. The trick is for him to know it’s there and he’ll learn to enjoy it in time. He’s beginning to rather like opera … just as I reach the point in my life where it’s pretty certain I’ll never go to Glyndebourne again. Sigh.

Anyway, there we are in church. And for the first bit he was a little bored, then, in the prayers, he took it quite seriously doing all the responses etc.

The jumper tribble … octopus? starfish?

Then as we got to the sermon his attention began to wander again. It was actually rather a good one but I’d seen this coming and my theory is that, it’s better to behave a bit badly in church, for us to have a laugh together and for him to enjoy the experience, than to make him be ‘good’ and put him off going for the rest of his life. Because even if he’s a bit bored, if he spends most of the time giggling, it’s going to be a memory of happy bored when he looks back on it later. So it was that I picked the larger fluff tribbles off my jumper and made them into a little creature. This was the jumping off point for a lot of mirth.

McMini kept on waiting until I wasn’t looking and then knocking it onto the floor. Then the longer I took to notice the more giggly he got, especially if I trod on it a couple of times. This is definitely one of those events where you had to be there so you’re just going to have to believe me when I tell you it was funny. McMini is a naturally gifted clown, keenly vigilant for any opportunity to get a laugh and not one to let a single one slip by. Hence the wee joke at Dad’s funeral. Eventually the blue furry critter lost both its eyes and looked very sorry for itself. Obviously, there was also banter. I can’t remember much of it but … it was there, and there was a lot of giggling about that, too. Or at least a lot of shaking, going red and crying while we tried not to make any noise. It wasn’t stealth giggling, but we gave laughing in silence our best shot. It was only after the service that I appreciated that it wasn’t just us who’d been giggling. There’s a lovely lady who usually sits behind me with her Mum and they had also been enjoying the … er hem … show.

The mum flashed us a beaming, twinkly smile said, ‘It is rather a long service for a young boy isn’t it?’

And I smiled back and said, ‘Um… yes,’ and left it at that.

Then the daughter said she wished she could have heard what we were saying so she could be in on the joke but we were too far away. Well … at least we weren’t making too much noise, then.

What was rather lovely about it all, apart from the fact that the other parishoners, were clearly far more happy to see that I’d brought McMini than they were worried about any behavioural deficiencies, was that it reminded me so much of Church with my parents. Dad giggling about the awful Victorian poetry again, or pointing out the dirty bits. I had no idea what detumescence was until my father pointed out a line that reminded him of it in a hymn. Although once again, St John’s excelled itself with rather good poetry, and a couple of tunes taken from the Scottish Psalter and an Orlando Gibbons thrown in … all the kind of elegant, symmetrical, mathematical music that I love.

This morning, McMini had arranged to meet some friends in town. I wasn’t sure when but I felt that, possibly, meet up time was pending when there was a sudden sense of urgent activity and then I could hear McMini saying on the phone, ‘I’m running a bit late … I’ll be with you soon … It won’t take that long to walk up there will it? Where would I meet you then? OK.’

It occurred to me that if he was going to the other end of town, he might appreciate a lift. So I popped my head round the door and asked if all was well. He admitted that he’d agreed to meet his friends at ten fifteen but that he’d suddenly realised at about ten thirteen that he was still in his pyjamas.

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘So … did you make this arrangement at about half past nine think you’d just do a couple of things first and lose track of time?’ I asked him.

He no longer throws me an ‘are you telepathic?’ look when I do this sort of thing because he is old enough to understand about inherited traits and that he’s just a chip off the old block. Instead he gave me a sort of small, knowing smile and said, ‘Yes.’

Immediately I remembered the number of times my father had forgotten he was supposed to be somewhere, or that he’d invited someone to lunch. Mum became a consummate expert at Not Looking Surprised, when people turned up to lunch unannounced and stretching meals for larger numbers of people than anticipated.  I suspect there was also a reason we seldom ate before one or quarter past. Plenty of time to make extra arrangements if surprise guests suddenly turned up.

One particular time, I remember my uncle ringing and asking where Dad was. I asked where he was supposed to be. At the Rotary Club lunch, my uncle explained. Ah. Dad was, at this point, in Worthing, and when they set off, he and Mum had said they might stay and have lunch there. Obviously I didn’t tell my uncle this, instead I said,

‘Oh yes, he did say he was going to lunch, where was it again?’

My uncle named a hotel in Haywards Heath. I explained that Mum and Dad had popped into worthing.

‘He’s probably lost track of time, but I’m sure he’ll be with you shortly,’ I said, praying that this was true.

I managed to pump my uncle reasonably subtly for information as to where Dad had to go, whether Mum was invited too (no) and if he needed change for parking. I say I was subtle. I probably wasn’t but my uncle was good enough to play along with the pretence.

Luckily, Dad and Mum returned a few seconds after I’d finished talking to my uncle. I tipped Dad off but I’d forgotten the dress code. None of us were very up on the Rotary so we hummed and haad about what he should wear and decided that jacket and tie would probably be OK. So he quickly put a tie on, grabbed a decent jacket, leapt into the car and sped off to join his long suffering brother. I think he arrived half an hour late, in the end, which wasn’t too bad. Unfortunately, everyone else was wearing suits.

On the up side apparently the feedback was very good and one fellow Rotarian told my uncle,

‘Your brother is a very cool customer. Not only did he give a wonderful speech, but I was sitting near him, and I saw him write it during the pudding course.’

So there was McMini, late already because, like his mother and grandfather before him he had, ‘lost track of time’. Naturally, I offered him a lift.

We grabbed his phone and keys and I gave him a fiver. Then I went to open the garage and left him putting on his shoes and getting his bag.

‘Don’t forget to shut the door,’ I said. Obviously, it’s one of those ones that, if you shut it, locks itself.

We got into the car and I managed to get him to his meeting point by twenty past, so he was only five minutes late. When I arrived home, I discovered he’d left the back door wide open. Blimey he’s a chip off the old block.

As I watch my son following in his grandfather’s footsteps, and mine, I think a small penny dropped somewhere. I am brain fogged, for sure, but it’s a lot better since I started the HRT and while I may feel like I’m demented, perhaps it’s more of a case of being like my dad. Maybe it’s not that the numbers of instances when I’ve ‘lost track of time’ or just forgotten something that are increasing. Maybe I just feel like they are because, as an adult, doing this kind of stuff correctly is more important.

Maybe.

Which reminds me. I’ve a new book out next week and it’s available for pre-order. If you’re interested here’s the info click on the title or the picture to visit the links page:

_______________________________

Nothing To See Here, K’Barthan Shorts, Hamgeean Misfit: No 2

It’s midwinter and preparations for the biggest religious festival in the K’Barthan year are in full swing. Yes, even though, officially, religious activity has been banned, no-one’s going to ignore Arnold, The Prophet’s Birthday, especially not Big Merv. He orders The Pan of Hamgee to deliver the traditional Prophet’s Birthday gift to his accountants and lawyers. As usual, The Pan has managed to elicit the unwanted attention of the security forces. Can he make the delivery and get back to the Parrot and Screwdriver pub in time for an unofficial Prophet’s Birthday celebration with his friends?

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And now … this!

It’s a bit of an amazing thing that having spent the last four years or so writing posts on my blog that were, basically, excuses not to write, I’m now having to write posts apologising for not talking about the stuff I normally talk about because I’ve too much writing news to impart. Yeh, here I go again, because this week this happened.

Unlucky Dip Audio Book

Yes people, that is an audiobook cover and Unlucky Dip is now live and available for pre order on Kobo. Swoon!

It’s ready to publish on Findaway Voices too but I haven’t dared press the button yet, just in case. Naturally ACX, an Amazon company, is a whole different kettle of fish.

Gareth and I are both on a bit of a learning curve with this audio gig so when I uploaded the book to Findaway Voices, first, I discovered that there was a problem. An error message popped up informing me that the file was qqwe[ru09025jbm’ ytopqq09t574qyhgwa – or at least whatever it was it said, it made as much sense to me as that does. So I carefully cut and pasted it and sent it to Gareth, who knew exactly what it meant and fixed it.

Kobo, well, clearly everything went without a hitch there because we’d fixed the qqwe[ru09025jbm’ ytopqq09t574qyhgwa problem we discovered at Findaway. So with a little trepidation, I decided I’d submit to ACX which is an Amazon company. I’d forgotten why I deal with Amazon as little as possible. This reminded me. I uploaded all the files and when I tried to click the submit button which is labelled funkily, ‘I’m done’ I discovered it was greyed out and when I hovered over it this illuminating message popped up.

‘cannot submit production because there are issues with the uploaded audio.’

Marvellous.

I had a look at the submission guidelines to see if it was anything I’d done. It might be that the name is different. On all outlets the book is called Unlucky Dip but Amazon may want the series title given. This is where the problem will arise, because, if it does, it will not be looking for K’Barthan Series, instead it’ll be looking for K’Barthan Trilogy, because Amazon refuses to change the series name – unlike like every single other site on earth. Thanks for the blistering two star review that invoked, too, Amazon.

I tried to find help but ACX help was about as useful as a chocolate tea pot, thousands and thousands of help pages that tell you nothing and basically tell it to check it your fucking self! Mwahahahrgh! I clicked on their help pages and then on contact to ask their help desk. The link took me to Audible. I tried to contact the Audible help desk and explain. Chat didn’t work just tried to load again and again and asked for my log in details occasionally. Email did nothing either so I clicked on the button that would get them to phone me. A very kind fellow gave me the email address to write to but warned me that ACX help is only open from 12.00 to 9.00pm on Monday through to Thursday. It was Friday.

I emailed them, anyway, and got the standard canned Amazon response that they didn’t like my mail forwarding. So I emailed them again from the ‘right’ address. They replied. Had I published to ACX from Findaway? No. I replied but I had published to Apple, or at least I was going to but I hadn’t actually clicked publish on Findaway yet, in case something went wrong with ACX. Prescient of me eh? That’s as far as we got before 8.00pm.

Despite being officially closed, or maybe that’s the phone line, ACX support have emailed me today as well. Go them. I notice their version of the qqwe[ru09025jbm’ ytopqq09t574qyhgwa problem that we had at Findaway is slightly different. Possibly. So I’ve passed that on to Gareth, who must be doing his nut with all this. Especially as it’s the same as Findaway on the ACX guidelines you download. It’s only different on the help pages you see when you are trying to work out what to do if you have some unspecified error and the boilerplate bit of the support email that says, have you checked this? It’s like querying publishers or agents, they all want the same thing only each one is just that tiny, tiny bit different, and mistakes bar entry!

The little bit I’ve learned about Audiobook publishing so far

What I know about audio could be written on the back of a teaspoon. All I knew was that I wanted to go wide because I want to get my books into libraries if I can, hoping to start that process soon so I’ll let you know how I get on. Here’s what I’ve gathered so far.

You’ll need an ISBN and that means you have to add the record to Nielsen book data here in the UK. I found I needed to do the long form so that I can stipulate that the book is in audio format. (I was only allowed to choose an ebook imprint or a paper imprint so I have emailed them about that but in the meantime, I’ve logged the isbn as an ebook and then chose audio format later on in the form.) Yeh. I know. Counter intuitive or what? Or maybe it’s just me being really dim.

Kobo allows you to upload finished books, direct, but you may have to contact their support and ask them to add the audiobooks tab to your dashboard. I did and they added it swiftly without fuss. Kobo will pay you a 35% royalty for audio books under a certain price and a 45% royalty above it. They distribute to Walmart, Indigo in Canada and something called BOL in the Netherlands.

Findaway pay from 30-50% depending on the model you are using and distribute to over 40 outlets and libraries, including Apple, Audible and Amazon.

ACX accept publications from wide authors, with ready made books, and will pay 25% royalties. They publish to ‘a minimum of’ Audible, Amazon and Apple.

My cunning plan …

Publish to Kobo direct for 40% royalties. Go to ACX for Audible, Amazon and Apple for 25% royalties. Go through Findaway Voices for 40-45% of everything else, including Apple, again, but also libraries.

Knowing that ACX is run by Amazon, I decided that I would only claim the short story on ACX to start with and would see how it went before I committed to using them for everything. If ACX transpires to be as batshit crazy as Amazon, the reduced demands on my time and sanity, from not going direct, may be worth more than the reduced royalty rate in the long run.

  1. ACX does not allow you to opt out of Apple at the ACX end, more on that later.
  2. As I understand it, if you go to ACX through an aggregator you will not be eligible for their bonus system – so if you get someone go sign up to audible to buy your book, you won’t receive a ‘bounty’ unless you’re direct. Likewise, I think it precludes you from tokens to give away free books. This is why a lot of people go to both.
  3. The authors who I ‘spoke’ to have mixed results with the bounty system, some have done really well, some haven’t had a blip.
  4. At the moment, you can publish to Apple through Findaway and ACX at the same time, then you contact Findaway and they will contact Apple who will prioritise your Findaway, higher-royalty-paying listing. However, the support email I received said,‘Findaway distributes to Audible and Amazon through ACX, so if you already distributed you book with them you cannot submit the book through ACX yourself.Duplicate products are prohibited as per our legal contracts and agreements.’Which looks a bit worrying, although it doesn’t mention Apple specifically. I’ll have to double check the contract. I have demurred from pressing the go button at Findaway, anyway so I can deselect Apple if I have to.

So there we are … baby steps but yeh, audio is going to be a thing …

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