Using and schmoozing...

I was introduced to a writer recently at a social event. The person making the introduction said something like "Harvey meet Sara, she's a writer too." At which I squirmed a little, feeling much further down the rung than this man who has a published collection of short stories. I hadn't heard of Harvey before I met him, and we don't stock his book at my bookshop, but I knew he had been published because he had a copy of his own book tucked under his arm.

Anyway, his eyes bounced off me rapidly and he walked away without a word.

A while later he returned beaming.
"Susan says you work at Waterstones?"
"Yes, I do."
"Ah, lovely...waffle, waffle, waffle."
I smiled politely, did the chit chat thing for a short time, and then made my excuses. It's something I am getting rather used to. Writers have to do a ton of publicity and self promotion these days, nobody can blame them for seizing on a possible opportunity, but it does leave a slightly unpleasant taste when they have been so clearly dismissive of me before learning I'm a Saturday Bookseller! Yup, a Saturday bookseller. As in one day a week. And if I get schmoozed for working one day a week in a big bookshop what on earth must it be like for the powers that be?

When I next went to work one of the managers had a chat with me. He'd been put in an awkward position because Harvey had rung the shop, asked to speak to the manager and then said that he'd spoken to me and I had asked him to do a signing at our branch.

!!!

Cheeky fucking bastard.

Harvey will not be appearing at our store, neither will we be stocking his book. It's not one that we would stock anyway, although if a customer wants a copy we'd happily order one.

What makes me curious is what Harvey thought would happen if we did organise an event for him. He is an unknown author with no press or publicity that I could find. No good reviews of his book, no reason for people to come and hear him read unless they are the sort of person who sees a sign in a bookshop saying "Harvey Doodah will be reading from his collection at xyz" and think, ooh, lovely, I'll pop along. (Very unlikely.)

It seems fundamental to me that writers having words printed in a book does not automatically lead to sales. One needs reviews, publicity, goodwill, promotion and so on. And people skills probably help too.

Kitchen Sink (no) Drama

I have a new story up at a new lit journal. The journal is "Kill Author" and I know very little about it! "Kill Author" started following me on Twitter and put a call out for submissions. I liked their manifesto, especially this: "Individuality - There are too many writers aping the style of other writers, especially online. And far too many authors still want to be Charles Bukowski. We love Bukowski, but his work’s been done. He did it, and it doesn't need to be repeated. We want writing where the author dares to explore the outer reaches of their own voice, and see where it takes them."

I too love Bukowski (his poetry more than his prose) but fuck yeah, real tedious reading all the Buk lites, the wannabe's but never wills.

And this: "If you knew that you were going to die - shortly, soon, imminently - you would want to get every last word out of your head and onto the page. Not for the sake of crafting perfect prose or poetry that would live on after your final death rattle, but just because it would be necessary. Vital. Urgent. You’d want to communicate while you still had time. You wouldn’t be concerned with fine tuning every last adjective of your literary style. You wouldn’t care about competing with, or even consciously echoing, what the latest cool lit kid was writing. That last rush of words would come out bruised and raw. All heart and liver, guts and spleen."

Sounds good to me.

I am pleased they have published my oh so jolly story "Kitchen Sink (no) Drama"


(I am lying about my story being jolly!)

Pandemonium

Well, as my own writing shrivels and dies (it's ok, I'm just being dramatic) it's nice to know that someone else's is alive 'n kicking. I spoke to Dylan's English teacher this week, and she told me that Dylan is the sort of boy that makes her life easier as he responds so intelligently to poetry and stories. She scribed for him in his SAT's and said she thought he did really well. Anyway, I know that my Dilly really enjoys English class and making up stories but it's been a while since I've read anything of his. He spends his time at home talking about wrestling, playing wrestling games on his wii, watching wrestling on tv, and the only reading he does is reading wrestling magazines (fairly typical for a year 6 eleven year old boy I think.) Tonight he brought his schoolbook home, and I read this piece which he says is his best work yet. He told me that he spent 5 days writing it, and used a thesaurus to get some cool words. I may be biased, but wow. His prompts were to describe an island surrounded by sea with some animals and people on.


Pandemonium by Dylan Crowley

There was a dark storm with a crackle of lightning and a loud bang of thunder. The fire from the volcano was dripping down making a huge pandemonium. The young look out was experienced but had never seen anything like this before.

The wild pigs were searching for food, fighting for survival. The sea was getting rougher, it was like two colossal buildings smashing together. This dramatic scene was made worse as two eyes like yellow headlights were watching the whole time. Unnoticed by the people of the island the eyes disappeared behind the volcano.

The look out was exhausted, he had been working the whole day. He felt that he needed to stay awake. Superstitious that something, he was not sure what, was tracking him and the villagers.

Slowly even slower the beast emerged from the depths of the volcano. It seemed the whole of hell had unleashed its spirits.

The volcano erupted!!!

Person comes into the bookshop and says...

1) Person comes into the bookshop and says "I have written a book. Who do I get to publish it please?"


2) Person comes into the bookshop and says "I am an author and I am prepared to do an event here."


3) Person comes into bookshop and says "I was in here a few weeks ago and saw a book on that table over there. It was browny red I think. What was it?"


4) Person comes into the bookshop and says "Three for two? Oh that's typical, it's the cheapest one that's free. Tut."

Grey Sparrow Journal - hurray!

Grey Sparrow Press is a publisher of art and literature online and in print. Grey Sparrow Journal has just published its first issue. I'm delighted that they feature not one but two of my tiny fictions: "The Visit" and "View".

I'm in very good company there. Randall Brown, Stefanie Freele, Beth Thomas, Richard Osgood, David Erlewine and Elizabeth Creith are just some of the other contributors. Good words.

Not writing, just being.

I haven't written for a few weeks. I should never stop, stopping fucks me up.

It was my twins 11th birthdays so I spent time shopping, wrapping, baking a disastrous cake, and my parents stayed for a few days, then it it was half term. School started back this week but my husband has been off sick with a virus. There have been lots of family gubbins, stresses, worries, grr's. I had this idea that if I worked my way through my list of Things To Do I would clear space for writing and get back to it. My list is never ending. I cross one thing off and add two or three. I forgot that there is no space. I have to ignore all the jobs and write, dammit. So, today I sit down to do just that, words on a screen, no big deal. Only my health issues are flaring and my head is full of fucked up fuzz and not much else.

I shouldn't have stopped.

But. Whispering somewhere in me is the idea that maybe I just shouldn't have started.

There's a gazillion writers out there, I'm not special, I'm not any whoop whoop talent. I'm out of energy. What if I stopped trying to write The Novel and just relaxed, played with words, enjoyed the creative process a bit more. But, then I'd hate myself for not finishing. God, I hate myself anyway, and I particularly hate that I sound so fucking whiny.

Best get on.

You have one week to enter this competition, so go, do it!

Blake Butler's writing competition.