So then. This blog.
Some time in the opening months of 2013 I intend to publish my second novel. It's a (supposedly) comic piece set during a single Saturday and charting the final act of a young blues band and their unusual guest as the toughest gig of their lives bears down upon them like some renegade musical lawnmower. It's taken me nearly two years to write (thanks to the combined efforts of my baby twins), stands at just over 100,000 words long, and is, if I do say so myself, a pretty good effort. I'm pleased with it anyway, though of course the proof is always in the lexical pudding.
This blog is therefore set up with pretty much the sole aim of providing a jogging partner for my novel when, sweatband in place and trainers tightened, it finally hits the street - a literary companion to hold the stopwatch, pass the bottled water, scream at it to movemovemove where necessary, that kind of thing. Should my novel take flight then I expect this blog to be panting hot on its tails all the way, though should the book find itself kneeling on the pavement vomiting loudly into a drain after the first few hundred feet - well, this blog will be right there beside it, crouched and consoling.
"Exactly where in this extended jogging metaphor should we locate your first novel?" I hear no-one asking (except you - I just heard you ask it, and thanks for that, old chum). A good question, to which the answer is this - my first novel is sat where I left it, running shorts still on, unscuffed trainers shiny white, sweat band set high upon his fair-sized forehead playing solo campaign GoldenEye on the SEGA Megadrive. He's been there since 2004, in fact (though has yet to make any significant improvements as Bond). The Spurs of Jack Langtry was my first concerted literary effort, and one that I spent a fair sum of money on, not bothering to send the manuscript anywhere other than directly to a local publishing firm to run off several hundred paperback copies, the majority of which are currently composting in a warehouse out in St John (if they haven't made landfill already).
I'm happy to leave them there. Whilst writing, editing and setting Langtry loose was an enjoyable and educational experience, as a literary enterprise it was never going to achieve much more than bringing a smile to the faces of a few dozen friends, which I am assured it did. As for the unknown number of generous philanthropists who purchased the novel from the few local bookshops where it went on sale...well, I hope that it made them smile too. And for those two or three 'friends' of mine who confessed that there was nothing in the novel that made them want to read further than the first few pages, for these 'friends' I reserve the biggest smile of all - such golden honest criticism is rare, and always appreciated, and it is from comments like that that I think I learnt the most. (You can go back and erase those inverted commas now.)
So yes, publishing The Spurs of Jack Langtry was a great experience, as were the final hours of my twenty-sixth birthday party, the photographic proof of which I have right here - photos that I am as loathe to hang on my lounge wall or have printed on a t-shirt or uploaded around the internet as I am loathe to revisit Langtry or encourage anyone to actually read it. I remember encountering a quote by an author (Brett Easton Ellis, I think) stating that every author has about 200,000 words of self-obsessive shit to splurge before they can start writing properly - I like to think that my first novel made significant headway in that regard. A quirky little work, yes, quite personal, quite daft, yet one that I think we'll leave right there. The Spurs of what, you say? I have no idea what you're talking about.
I have higher hopes for this novel. It's better - stylistically, structurally, st...um...st... - it's just better, okay? I'm sending it to agents, doing the do, covering letter, first three chapters, synopsis (gah the sheer fucking horror) all that jazz. I've also got one eye (well okay, two) on self-publishing it as a Kindle e-book though, and (barring a multi-million pound deal being offered in the next few weeks) will probably go down this route in order to at least get the novel out there. I'm not sure if I have the tolerance required to just watch it slouch on the sofa in its running gear watching Bargain Hunt for the next year as the rejection letters slowly pile up in the hall. It's bristling, it's just had Lucozade for Christ's sake - it's ready to go.
No, Kindle it is. Just need to sort me a killer cover design. I know exactly what I'm after, and just need to get hold of some professionals to do it properly. Being the good Jersey lad that I am I've taken heed of the 'think twice buy local' mantra and have sent emails (and made a phone call) to two local branding and graphic design companies, though one week later I have yet to receive any kind of response from either. Perhaps it's time to 'think thrice and go UK.'
So there we go. Update over. Blog commenced. Let's see how we go...
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