Fairly Fed up December

Well, folks - this is - theoretically - out! Murder Repeated. There have been many issues - books not arriving at distributors, bookshops, amazon and other outlets, let alone customers who were expecting them on Thursday 5th. According to amazon, delivery is still taking longer than average, and currently there are only 2 copies in stock. I have had virtually no promotion, and have resorted this morning (Sunday) to rushing round trying to drum up a little blog tour; a fairly hopeless task, I feel, this close to Christmas.

I also discovered that Headline have raised the Kindle price to £5.99. This is unacceptable to me. I desperately need an agent, but all of those to whom I've applied have failed, so far, to reply. I wish now I'd stuck to my guns and refused to go to Headline at the time of the takeover. There is another publisher to whom I would far rather have gone, but I don't know the legal position, and the various stratagems employed in wrangles of this kind. I have repeatedly complained to my editor at Headline, who has, again, repeatedly assured me that all issues have been addressed.

I'm telling you, dear readers, all this because I'm seriously considering giving up the whole thing. I'm not fishing for compliments here - I know full well that Libby Sarjeant fans will not want Libby to disappear, but right at the moment I genuinely don't feel like writing another word.

***EDITED*** Well, the copies have arrived at Amazon - just hope everyone receives theirs! I shall carry on with the agent-hunt, and the promo-slog - and, of course, Libby is safe. She lives to fight another day.

Anyway, I wish you all the merriest Christmas you can possible have, and thank you all for your support - I shall wear it always 😊.

Betjeman's Banana Blush

This is a self indulgent post. While I am holiday in Turkey every year, I listen to my iTunes collection in my room, due to lack of internet. Among quite a large selection of old comedy - I'm Sorry I'll read That Again, I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue, Alan Davies, Stilgoe and Skellern - I have two albums by John Betjeman, with music by Jim Parker.

My husband and I were introduced to the first album, Betjeman's Banana Blush, by a schoolfriend of the old man's, Colin Eades, who, appropriately, lived in the heart of Metroland, as we did ourselves. I loved it so much I bought it, and later, the follow up, Betjeman's Britain. I didn't know much about Betjeman or his poetry at the time, but he soon became my favourite poet. One I particularly loved was Business Girls, which describes with the utmost poignancy the solitary residences of these ladies in Camden Town, backing on to the railway cuttings: At the back precarious bathrooms Jutting out from upper floors; and ends with: Rest you there, poor unbelov'd ones, Lap your loneliness in heat. All too soon the tiny breakfast, Trolley-bus and windy street.

Then there's the famous Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel, an event which, in my youthful ignorance, I knew nothing at the time. I was fascinated. And Lenten Thoughts of a High Anglican: Isn't she lovely, the Mistress? With her wide-apart grey-green eyes? I could go on; each poem brilliantly nostalgic, often humorous and always with the underlying sadness. Even Hunter Trials, from a young girl's point of view, competing at a local event, and ending with: Oh, wasn’t it naughty of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I’m sick with disgust. She threw me in front of the Judges, And my silly old collarbone’s bust. That resonated - the same thing happened to me on a pony called Charade at the Clapham Common Gymkhana. Not quite the same as a posh "county" event, but never mind.

All of these enhanced by the wonderful music of Jim Parker, of whom I had also never heard. You might not have done, either, but I bet you know the atmospheric theremin theme for Midsomer Murders.

Told you it was a self indulgent post. Ever since Colin introduced me to the album I have loved both Betjeman and Parker, so to him, wherever he may be, thank you. I don't suppose this will set any of you off on the same path, but if it does, good. And when I get home I'm going to watch Metroland again. I shall also re-read Laurie Lee, suggested by Peter, a friend out here in Turkey, which will no doubt set me off on another trail of nostalgic discovery.

Happy listening!

"I have confidence in me!"

See that title? If you know the song - young people please Google - you will realise it's about someone bolstering her own courage. Well, that's me at the moment.

I refer you to my previous post Worries of a mid-list Author. You will see how a writer friend and I were worrying together. This is now explained by the fact that Accent Press have been sold to Headline, part of the great Hachette Group, one of the Big Five Publishing Groups in the world. Now my friend Chrissie and I are used to being published by a smaller, independent press. Although Chrissie was one of the big names, along with our other friends, Katie Fforde and Jill Mansell, she has had publisher problems before, as explained in the aforementioned previous post. And I have never aspired to be at the forefront of popular genre publishing, so how were we going to fit in with this go-getting young publisher? Would we be shoved into a corner and forgotten? Would they understand us - and our public?

Well, some of the worries have been addressed, but there are still people who tell me I just like worrying and "it's all going to be all right". Mainly my children. And no - it isn't. There are typographical errors in the ebook that came out last week (where did my corrected proofs go?), there has been no promotion, orders have been cancelled. I now know the paperback will come out on December 5th - almost two months late - and no idea about the next book for which I'm contracted.

However, tomorrow I'm going to have a chat with the publishing director and hope we can clarify the situation. After all, it's quite a Big Thing to be published by one of the largest and most successful of all the genre publishers, but it's going to take some getting used to!

Along with the chaotic disaster that has taken over our country at the moment, about which I also constantly worry and get angry, it hasn't been the happiest of summers. On Monday I go off on my annual pilgrimage to rural Turkey to metaphorically hide under the duvet.  See you when I get back!

Worries of a Mid-List author, or Where did July go?

The first weeks of July were entirely taken up with trying to finish the book which should have been delivered by the end of June. However, youngest son Leo's wedding, together with attendant overseas visitors rather got in the way, and I had to lie down in a darkened room with a wet cloth on my head. Just as the new bride was about to leave to go back to America, a parcel arrived for the new groom, containing, to our surprise, proof copies of his book, due out next April.

Then it was grandson Gus's birthday, then eldest daughter Louise's birthday. And then younger daughter Phillipa arrived yesterday. Within minutes, I was in the middle of a political, philosophical and social discussion between her and her brother, upon which I stopped trying to comment after a bit and just went and got dinner. After which, she set off on her bike training for the triathlon she's attempting next month. When she came back, we ended up having a long conversation about childhood, visiting places around the world and mortgages. More darkened rooms call, I feel. Oh, and by the way, we had HOME MADE ice cream after dinner. Yup - I made ice cream. Not in an ice cream maker, with a bowl and a whisk. Quite a lot of it went over the kitchen work top and me, and Godiva the Elder Cat enjoyed what went on the floor. But it was pronounced lovely, and didn't taste home made.

After all this domesticity I now have to get down to planning the next book, while awaiting the edits on the one I finally delivered in the middle of July. I'm also awaiting the contract for the next book, so there's a sort of shall I/shan't I feeling about it. I asked the publisher, who more-or-less said "Get on with it!" But without a contract I feel a little nervous. This is something that never leaves you as a writer - in fact it's true of most creatives, especially those who are self employed. This means all my family. We're dead worried all the time that the next book/gig/tour won't happen. We all reassure each other, of course, but we still worry. Especially me.

I am still a - rather remote - member of the Romantic Novelists' Association, despite not writing romance, and most of my best writing mates are members, too. So, thanks to soshul meeja I get to see lots of posts/requests for advice/moans from aspiring writers. And most of them appear to think that when they land that elusive first contract, their worries are over. Oh, no. Not on your nelly. Sometimes, a debut novelist is so good, picked up by a major publisher, that she/he has an immediate second book contract and fulfils everybody's hopes. Like my friend Joanna Cannon, whom I met when she was still doing her rotation as a young junior doctor, and writing little bits which I was lucky enough to read. Eventually, she went on to be published by The Borough Press, part of Harper Collins (one of the Big Boys of the industry) with a world wide best seller, The Trouble with Goats and Sheep. Her second book, Three Things About Elsie, did just as well. So, yes, first contract - worries over.

Now let's look at another friend of mine, whom I've known for a good many more years than I've known Jo. An absolute top seller, every book was rich in comedy, atmosphere and often unlikely romance. Her characters were a delight. And then her publisher sold to another publisher and it all fell apart. Luckily, she was picked up again by a further publisher, but it was only after two years in the wilderness with a lot of wrangling over contractural obligations. She and I are still very good friends and spend a lot of time worrying together about this sort of thing. Of course there are people who tell us both that we've got nothing to worry about: "With your track record?" they say. "You'll always be published." No, we won't. See aforementioned reasons.

So there are always worries. And heaven help you if you rely on an income from your books. The powers that be in the publishing industry, who look after our interests, commissioned a survey last year of authors' earnings, in which I took part. The dispiriting results informed us that authors' incomes have fallen by 40% over the last few years. The average author earns less than the designated living wage. I used to get very annoyed with what I called the "dilettante lady writer", someone who relied on her husband's income to support her while she dallied with writing, or had possibly retired on a large pension. I knew several. Writing wasn't essential, although they said it was; "Oh, I have to write," they'd say, waving a limp hand and dabbing their temples with cologne. (No, not really. But you get the idea.)

Anyway, the upshot is that I'm still worrying about my career. Despite having one non-fiction book, two romances, three Alexandrians, twenty full lenth Libbys and three short Libbys, plus occasional short stories in collections and magazines, I am still worried. You see, publishing these days is no longer about nice old men in tweed suits with pipes, shaking hands over a walnut desk. If it ever was. This is what it's like these days. Pretty, aren't they? See why I'm worrying? They aren't exactly my reader demographic...Ah, well. See you all again soon.