News

I have news!


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More Yay

Yay, the very first person has read and given feedback on my new book.

And OK, so she's not an agent... but she's still ace. And she also brought the initials of the book to my attention, which has amused me greatly, particularly considering the subject matter (lies and bent truth).

Anyway, "she" is Zinnia and she said stuff like this:

"Enjoyed it a LOT"
"Great sex scene"
"A terrific read"
"I have had my head stuck in it all evening and refused to talk"
"I loved it"
"The bit with *****, I was on the edge of my seat all the way through that"
"I adored the ending, absolutely my very favourite kind of ending"

Oh yes, and I got another nice acknowledgement from another one of the agents. Go me.


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Flump

Well, after the mania of absolutely definitely really actually finally no-really finishing my book, the steam's gone out of me a bit. In a good way. And as luck would have it, it also happens to be half term, and Felix has gone to York, so I get to do nothing apart from go to work, come home, put my feet up, watch Deal or No Deal and Richard & Judy, and generally flump.

Apart, of course, from the fact that on Friday night I sent my book to four agents, and I have to check my email every five minutes - just, you know, in case. I mean, personally I expected them to be So Terribly Excited about the chance to read it that they would have been waiting in hushed silence by their computers in the early hours of Saturday morning, printers at the ready.

But apparently not.

Still, this morning my obsessive email-checking was rewarded by one of them getting in touch to say thankyou for the book, and that it looks interesting and she'll read it asap - aha! Somebody who understands the wonderfulness of what she holds. Or the potential wonderfulness. Or who thought she'd better be nice, just in case...

(If any of you lovely lovely agents are reading this right now, I'm not normally this bigheaded. I normally hate myself. But, you know, it really is a good book, and what could you possibly have to do with your lives that would be more interesting or important than reading my book right now and then emailing to tell me how wonderful it is? Huh?)

(Not that I'd want you to think I'm being demanding or anything. I mean, nobody reads this blog anyway, right? And I don't really mean it. In fact it's fine by me if you read it a page a night for the next 424 nights, as long as you end up loving it and selling it to A Really Nice Publisher who likes it so much they give me a salary and a contract to publish every book I ever write from now until the moment I die, aged 133)

(But it'd be even better if you were even as I type writing me an email to tell me how ACE my book is)

(Because it is)

So, anyway. I concluded from today's email that intensive inbox checking obviously WORKS, and therefore I should do it even more often.

Some people have been trying to tell me that it might be weeks (yes, that's weeks) (WEEKS!!) until I hear anything. Which is fine, as long as you don't all mind if I EXPIRE from impatience.

Apart from that, I'm really very chilled out. And now I'm going to go and put my feet up and watch more telly and eat more snacks and get even fatter than I am in this photo, wot a friend took of me at the weekend.

And no, I'm not the one with a carrot for a nose.

And it's not me that's fat anyway, it's the coat.




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Yay Yay Yay

So, I just finally - actually - really - finished writing my second novel, and sent it off to four agents.


Xxxx Xxxxxx, by Clare Sudbery

Synopsis


It's completely mental.

Or so Leo thinks, and he should know - because Leo is a mentalist.

Henrietta thinks people should stay the hell out of each other’s heads, keep their hands to themselves, and dance with people they know. Not with strangers. Not in public. And especially not psychically. That’s just ridiculous.

Psychic Dancing is a New Age sensation, but is it a trick of the mind? A harmless self-help technique? Or a breakthrough in human consciousness, which will end all pain and disease?

Leo makes money from reading minds, so he knows full well it’s a con. But Leo’s gigs are poorly attended, and Psychic Dancing’s a hit. So when his dead grandad sends an insult from the grave, Leo does something drastic.

Henrietta’s past won’t leave her alone, her son wants a father, her new neighbour's a Psychic Dancing fanatic and Henrietta’s fallen in love with Belle, who loves Leo, who loves Denzel, who will only love him back if Leo admits he’s gay.

The climax comes in the Albert Hall in the presence of thousands, when something magical happens. Something which surprises everyone.

Told with the humour of Simon Pegg, the twisted eye of Tom Robbins, the characterisation of Armistead Maupin and the magical know-how of Derren Brown, this book will appeal to fans of any or all of them. It’s an energetic and intriguing tale of love, lust and illusion. With a cast of tricksters, worshipers, lovers and bent spoons, it will have you guessing - and believing - to the end.

After all...

We easily believe what we ardently desire to be true.


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I Did It!

I wrote a book,
I wrote a book!
I did, I did,
I wrote a book!
It took some pluck
(it wasn’t luck)
And not forsook,
I wrote a book!

Hurrah.


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Over-Excited

As mentioned in my Anticipation post the other day, I have the capacity to get Very Excited about things in the future. I can spend days and weeks buzzing about on a permanent Magic Carpet of adrenalin.

Well, this is one of those weeks. I've claimed the book was nearly finished several times before, but never quite believed it - presumably because I knew it wasn't, not really.

But now, right now... it's so tantalisingly close. I can taste it. And my brain is filling up with little verbal snatches of that expectation. My brain is always talking to itself. My subconscious bubbles up in the form of phrases which repeat themselves involuntarily in my head. I don't even notice they're there half the time, apart from when I stop to listen.

And this week my head is saying the following things to itself, over and over:
"I did it!"
"I wrote a book!"
"I did, I did, I wrote a book!"

It's a sort of rehearsal. I'm projecting forwards, to Friday, to the moment I finally press Send and post it off.

It's very different to last time. In 2003, when I finished writing The Dying of Delight, I assumed it would be sealed shut in a darkened drawer, never to see light again. I'd submitted the first three chapters, ten months previously, to 20 publishers and 15 agents, and they'd all said No. All except two, but I assumed they'd just lost it down the back of a filing cabinet, or forgotten to post the rejection letter. I was only finishing it for my own benefit. Just to know that I could.

When I wrote the last word, I felt rather sad. Poor unloved little book.

And this time, I still don't have a publisher. That much is the same. But I have belief. I have an agent, eager to read it. I have a history as a published author. I have a second book which is, I am sure, very much better than the first.

It might not be published!

But I only say that to pay lip service to reality. I don't believe it, not even slightly.

I could be heading for a very big fall.

But I don't think I am. I really don't think I am.


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Anticipation

Incidentally, I know I keep going on about it, but this whole Living In The Moment thing...

I like anticipation. I'm capable of getting Very Very Excited about things which haven't happened yet. Sometimes I can sustain this state for months in advance.

And OK, yes, sometimes I even manage to enjoy things while they're actually going on, but it doesn't last long cos before you know it they're over. And, well... don't you get better value if you enjoy things before they happen? I mean, in some ways, aren't we planners better off than you annoying living-in-the-moment chappies?

I remember being about twelve years old and on my way, yet again, to the corner shop to buy Dolly Mixture. I had a bit of an addiction to Dolly Mixture in my youth. I ate it so much it made my burps eggy. But what I used to think to myself, as I cycled yet again to the corner shop, was... I'll buy them, I'll eat them, they'll be yummy, and then it'll be all over. Gone. And I'll have to wait 'til the next time.

But really, the best bit... well, it was the sitting around thinking, "Mmmm, Dolly Mixture." And the ride to the shops. And the watching, while they weighed them out ("a quarter of Dolly Mixture please").

Anticipation. It's under-rated.


.

Oooooh

Oooooooooh!

I think it worked!

And it told me all the files it updated!

And it let me have labels!

Would a huge sigh of relief be premature, do you think?


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Have to Admit, It's Getting Better

It's getting better all the time.

Because finally, I feel like I'm going somewhere again. I took seven months off work. I was supposed to write a book and then go back to being a software engineer. The two strands of my life were not supposed to cross-pollute.

Ha. I should have known better. Obviously I wasn't going to get the book finished in time. But stupidly, I believed I would. And when I didn't, I went into an extended sulk with myself from which I'm only just emerging. It hasn't helped that (and this is nobody's fault, it's just the way it happened) for the last three months the stuff I've been doing at work has been bitty and dissatisfying, has involved me sitting wround twiddling my thumbs a lot, instead of being something I could really get my teeth into.

Overall I've felt dissatisfied, unproductive, a bit of a failure. The times I've tried to crack on and get the book Done And Dusted For Fuck's Sake, I've ended up fucking about, doing fuck all and hating myself instead.

Well, those days are over. I'm finally doing Proper Work at work, and genuinely really not-just-saying-it knuckling down on Novel II as well. It will be finished by Saturday 10th Feb. It will. IT REALLY WILL.

So there.