Asboville Workshops

It looks like we've got the go ahead for twenty 1/2 day workshops to take out into schools in the new year. The details are still sketchy but I'll be aiming to link Creative Writing, Drama and Anti-Social Behaviour so should be fun. Have some great ideas...

Book Launch Thoughts

Susan Hill says that she never does these. I was quite looking forward to mine, but now I'm really not so sure. My local Waterstones (formerly Ottakars) seem happy to host one in October but they've also requested that I provide them with a mailing list of potential audience participants. I'm happy to do this of course, but I've started wondering about the point of it all. I really don't see the point in launching the book to a small gathering of family and friends. That would just be embarrassing and in truth there's hardly going to be a deluge of people wandering in off the street so the whole thing seems a little silly.

Then again, I wonder what I might miss out on if I decide not to go for it?

I've accepted an invite to have an author table at the Folkestone Lit Festival in November and I'll happily do a talk there should they wish me to. This seems much less painful and contrived.

Thoughts appreciated on this...

William Maxwell 1908 - 2000

Continuing with the theme of influences...

'One winter morning shortly before daybreak three men loading gravel heard what sounded like a pistol shot...'

So begins William Maxwell's novel 'So Long, See You Tomorrow'. I was hooked on his writing from that moment onwards, particularly his way of ending paragraphs and chapters with the perfect sentence, often loaded with wisdom.

Take this section from Time Will Darken It.

'The search is never hopeless. There is no haystack so large that the needle in it cannot be found. But it takes time, it takes humility and a serious reason for searching."

I'd be happy to end a whole novel like this, not simply a chapter.

One more for luck.

'Death, about which so much mystery is made, is perhaps no mystery at all. But the history of one's parents has to be pieced together from fragments, their motives and character guessed at, and the truth about them remains deeply buried, like a boulder that projects one small surface above the level of a smooth lawn, and when you come to dig around it, proves to be too large ever to move, though each year's frost forces it up a little higher.'

There's a whole novel there.

His work also has a tremendous, gentle rhythm to it.

I've not read everything he wrote. It isn't easy to get hold of, but I recommend all of the following:

So Long, See You Tomorrow
Time Will Darken It
The Chateau
The Folded Leaf

and his short story collection

All the Days and Nights

He edited Salinger and Cheever.

He was married for 55 years and when his wife died, in July 2000, he followed soon after. He used to tell her stories before switching out the light and he called her 'his one and only'.

Reviews and comments

This is new territory for me so it's been fascinating so far.

There's an interesting response on Scott Pack's blog in which somebody mentions the recurring theme of 'outsider' boys painting to a deadline. There might even be a suggestion of 'borrowing' but perhaps that's just author paranoia. The contributor mentions Tom Sawyer, Paul Auster, Mr Vertigo amongst others...

So what were the influences? Well, I read Tom Sawyer a long, long time ago and can safely say that any influence there was purely based in the subconscious. I've never read Mr. Vertigo, though somebody gave it to me to read once upon a time. Did Paul Auster write it?

In truth, the beach hut idea was perhaps most influenced (and this was almost a conscious decision but not wholly) by Phillipe Djian's '37.2 le Matin' (later made into the movie 'Betty Blue', which I loved from the moment I discovered it (and not just for the extended love-making scene at the begninning...honest!) I read the book several years later and would argue that the authorial voice in that novel is up there with the best ever (as good as William Maxwell even, who remains one of my absolute favourite writers. I'll do a piece on him at a later date.)

And then there is the fact that I was living in Whitstable when the ideas for 'Asboville' first started to materialise. Haycliffe (the imaginary town in the novel) is effectively Whitstable, though if the novel works it ought to be representative of many seaside communities throughout the British Isles. There are plenty of beach huts in Whitstable.

I'm going to comment on Dove Grey Reader's response on her blog site too. It concerns the idea that the novel may in some way provide an 'ideal world' view of JB's rehabilitation. Now this was entirely enthralling for me and has something to do with bleakness and hope, novels and endings, publishers and writers, but I'm going to leave it there for a few weeks to see what transpires...I promise to come back to it in the future!

Book Launch

I've been trying to get one of these organised. It currently looks as though we're going to be doing something with Ottakars in Canterbury during October but nothing concrete has been put in place just yet. The manager and I have missed each other on several occasions. I'm now hoping Maia are going to be able to sort the final details with him. Ottakars are of course becoming Waterstones and undergoing some refurbishment. All I can say is watch this space and Ottakars front window for further news!

The question then is 'what to do?' I've been to a few launches and I'm not too keen on the whole 'author reads a passage' thing. I think I'll try to make the whole evening more relaxed. A question/answer session on the book, on writing and getting published seems more appropriate.

Ideas/positive and negative experiences welcome.

Early responses to 'Asboville'

Well, the book is due to be released in less than a month. It's gone out to dozens of potential reviewers, literary magazines, reading clubs and such like. Now we're back to the waiting game again. So far, those that have commented have been positive in their responses, which is nice but a large percentage of these readers know me personally so there is the whole 'pinch of salt' thing. More promising is the response from various young adult readers who have responded enthusiastically, one or two reading the whole thing in just a couple of days. I know for a fact that of those two, one hardly ever picks up a book which must be a good sign, though I think she may have been looking to see if she was represented in the story...

I picked up boxes of postcards and bookmarks from Maia Press at the weekend. I'm going to start farming them out and placing them in buildings and establishments of strategic importance. If anybody wants to help me with this (after reading the book of course) then drop me an e-mail via the contact page on my website and I'll get some out to you. It can be our little conspiracy...

Other wise it's business as usual. The new novel is coming along but it'll take a while. I don't envisage completing it until the summer.

Some people have commented that the blog makes a good read, so I'll endeavour to keep at it and see if it grows. I didn't mean to offend anybody who blogs with my reference to 'self gratification' by the way. Most of the blogs I read are great. One day in the future I'll point you in the direction of them but I expect most people who read this (at least before the book is released) are reading the same blogs I read anyway.

When the book comes out, what I'd really like to see is questions, about the book, the story, the characters, writing, getting published (or trying to get published), you name it!

Back from Fishing

Things seem to be picking up. People are commenting so they must be reading right? Uh-Oh, now I really have to start saying something. I'm going to try and come at it always from a writing angle but that said, sometimes things just happen that are fun to share...like the other Thursday.

Recently, Susan Hill posted a great 'day in the life' story on her site. I was thinking of doing the same but thought I ought to wait for a day of interest to occur. That day was the other Thursday.

Music is important to me. It's a focal point of my life and a major crutch to my writing. I never would have written 'Asboville' in the way it's written if I'd not heard Tom McRae's 'Just Like Blood' album. For the last few years, on perhaps a 'one a month' regularity I've been going to London to watch live music. My brother lives in the city so it's a chance for us to get together, grab a bite to eat and a beer and watch a favourite band/musician. Until about two years ago I was working in Maidstone so it was pretty easy to jump into the car and drive up, but now I work the other way on the east coast of Kent so there's another hour on the journey. Not only that but I work until a later time. Still, driving is the best option. If you're trying to be 'green'/environmentally conscious and wondering why, perhaps this story will explain.

I live in Canterbury. I love it but despite its proximity to London, getting there by train is no fun, especially of an evening. Knowing that the gig was in Brick Lane, so pretty central, and fearing there would be nowhere to park I started looking into getting up to the city (and back) by train. Now I do like trains and travelling by train but to travel from Canterbury to London and back means leaving London just after 11pm in order to get home and that can mean missing the end of gigs, something I hate to do (and let's face it, shouldn't have to). To get around this, I drove to Ashford, where I could get back to if I left London at 11.30pm.

Still with me?

I left work, drove home, changed, grabbed my ticket and headed for Ashford. It was 5pm and the train was at 5.43pm. I got to Ashford station at 5.38pm to discover I had no change for the parking machine. Still, there was time. I dashed to the shop, bought chewing gum with a £5 note, raced back, bought my parking ticket, stuck it on the iside of the windscreen, sprinted to the train and made it with 20 seconds to spare. The helpful guard told me I could buy my ticket on the train. I sat down, sweating, took a breath and reached into my pocket for my gig ticket. It wasn't there. It wasn't in my bag either, or on the floor. In fact it had vanished into thin air. Staying cool I called See Tickets. I explained that I'd lost my ticket, that I was on a train, heading to the gig. Then I got cut off. Growing more frustrated I called again, miraculously getting the same female employee, who told me it wasn't a problem. She would call the venue (93 Feet East) and I could pick a replacement ticket up on the door. I thanked her profusely.

Later, after meeting my brother and devouring a McDonalds (I know, I know but needs must...) we headed through the balmy (and barmy) streets of the London Bangladeshi community, dodging curry vendors apologetically (while wishing we'd waited to eat...), arriving at 93 Feet East to discover a 'Sold Out' sign and a queue of frustrated hopefuls.

"I'm collecting my ticket," got me to the door and through it where I met two bemused staff who listened to my sorry tale (let's face it, it was a tall story...lost my ticket while running for the train...yeah right!) before explaining that there were no tickets to be collected from See Tickets. I was on the verge of doing something nasty when the manager appeared. After listening to my story again, he finally agreed to let me in.

Story over? Not quite. David Kitt played until almost 11pm (see, I would have missed the end if I'd caught the train from Canterbury). As it was I caught the 11.37 from London Bridge to Ashford, shared a packed carriage with a bunch of drunken 'Thursday is the new Friday' commuters and fell asleep somewhere around Tonbridge. When I awoke the carriage was quiet, just me and my thoughts, until I detected a low rumbling sound coming from somewhere ahead of me. I peeked out over the seats, wondering where it was coming from, but there was nobody in the carriage. It wasn't until I got up from my seat just one station before Ashford and made my way to the door that I discovered a slumped gentlemen in a forward seat, his IPOD glued to his ears, snoring away contendedly. He was a little surprised when he woke to find himself fast approaching Ashford. In fact he was so surprised that he jumped up and raced to the door in a half-sleep state, where he started pressing the 'open' button frantically. I had to calm him down and explain that Pluckley was no place to be getting off a train after midnight (least of all because it holds a place in the Guinness Book of Records for being the most haunted village in England). He bemusedly agreed and the last I saw of him he was climbing into a Taxi, presumably heading off to Sevenoaks or somewhere (on double rate no less). I, meanwhile, arrived home at 1.30am, vowing never, ever to go to an evening gig by train again...

The point of all this? Well there isn't one really, except to say 'welcome back' to my blog and 'thankyou' to the manager of 93 Feet East for letting me see the wonderful David Kitt and equally wonderful Jape. Less 'thanks' go to See Tickets who could try harder when genuine people make genuine mistakes (however foolish) and Network South East who could provide a service to London of an evening that reflects the needs of the 21st Century homo-sapien...