I am working on the basis that quantity equals quality here, at least as far as my post titles go. It is quite possible that I will be wrong. In fact, it's almost a given that I will be wrong, but I'm going with it anyway because it amuses me. I am also maintaining my "traditional" pre-post waffle, and, as it's lunchtime, a waffle would be much appreciated. A potato one, obviously, with beans. Maybe a fried egg or two. Some bacon.... A Cup of Coffee...
But, healthy eating aside a waffle is what you're getting while I try to figure out exactly why I'm in need of such comfort food.
Nothing has happened that I did not expect. At all. In fact, like all those proper writers I spend my time reading about, the weekend was - probably - perfectly normal. And also, I have to remind myself that people would kill (have killed, some of them. Actually, really) to be a published author and that I am very lucky. Very lucky. I am sure that many (well, some) people will have read my book now and thought "Yeah that's ok, I could do that." And they'd be right. Like I said. I am very lucky.
Or jammy - as my Gran would say. A Jammy Bastard to be precise. Bit like a dodger, but obviously not as tasty.
But, yeah, the weekend.
On Saturday I got a review. It wasn't a bad review, but it wasn't great. It's over there, on the right. Up a bit. Yeah - the Isolationist one.
It is a perfectly reasonable review, some good points, some not so good but well balanced and, I admit wholly fair. Now, this is the first review I've had that isn't a good one. Obviously this was bound to happen. I know I'm not a pioneering writer, nor am I a particularly literary writer. I write slightly odd stuff which I find entertaining. Or creepy. One of the two.
Ok, so, I didn't really agree with some points, I felt there was more happening in the book than it was given credit for, but - if the reader doesn't see these things then really, there is no one to blame but me. The reviewer didn't get me the way I wanted to be got, so to speak, but why should they? They see what they see, if they miss stuff then it's my fault for not presenting it better.
I was not annoyed with the review. At all. Honest. The review was perfectly reasonable, as I said. I was annoyed instead with my reaction to the review. I was annoyed that I couldn't just shrug it off.
And then the Lazy Sunday happened. Or at least Sunday happened. It was, well, a disaster? No, not really, no one was killed or maimed or robbed or starved to death in the queue at Starbucks, no child got scolded or bruised or lost.
It was just that no one. And I mean no one, was listening.
Had I possessed the sheer stubborn bravery of Sarah Shaw and actually stood up, as she did, and read to a crowded room full of people not even pretending to be interested I might have felt better.
She sat to tumultuous apathy from the surrounding tables. I waved my book in the air. Yelled out my best sales pitch:
"S'got Lesbian Nurses in..."
Nothing, not a flicker of interest.
"And a Zombie..."
The queue at the counter counted out the brownies.
"Premature ejaculation... Anyone?"
A nervous blush from the guy in the corner. Otherwise... Nothing.
I suppose this is one of those things. I've heard other writers telling these stories, of turning up and being the only one there and such like. I had been expecting it. I knew that rapt attention was unlikely.
It was, surprisingly, painful.
Luckily me and Vix had been Disco Kettling. Between the two of them I was ok. I'll be honest though, it was more Vix than DK. He was too busy dancing...
Why I wrote Disraeli Avenue for charity - The houses on Disraeli Avenue all looked the same, the same shape, the same size but behind each coloured front door there was a story, a secret, a need....
3 years ago