Wednesday, 19 May 2010

I haven't forgotten, But Someone Has

A major triumph. I have remembered the London launch of Caroline Smaile's Like Bees to Honey. The location and the time. And this time I will make it to the reading. (Promise, Caroline.)

I am burnishing my nails as I write, no mean feat when I usually employ two hands to type.

However, someone has dropped a brick somewhere, contaminating atmosphere and blackening the sun.

I have been invited to take part in the book tour, publishing one of the chapters of the book here. A great honour. Today I received an email from someone who will remain nameless to save unnnecessay global warming, but who works at Caroline's publishers, The Friday Project, Harper Collins, asking me if I have had had difficulty downloading/embedding the chapter.

This is the first communication I have had since accepting the invitation back in March. And the tour, I am informed, starts tomorrow.

Thursday, 20th May

Someone really has forgotten. This unique experiement in online publishing has started without me *sob*. But I don't want my tears spoil the party. I shall just go and blow my nose in the corner. You can either go direct to Caroline Smailes for the full spec. 

Or read Like Bees to Honey here, here, here and, oh, here here and here, not missing there:

Chapter 1: Chasing Sheep Chapter 2: Helen Redfern Chapter 3: My New Notebook Chapter 4: Jon Mayhew Chapter 5: L-Plate Author Chapter 6: Jamieson Wolf Chapter 7: Rowan Coleman Chapter 8: Live. Love. Learn. Write. Chapter 9: Dave Roberts Books Chapter 10: Nik's Blog Chapter 11: Fiction Is Stranger Than Fact Chapter 12: Kelly Railton Chapter 13: Megan Taylor Chapter 14: BubbleCow Chapter 15: Fluttering Butterflies Chapter 16: debs-daydreams in the shed Chapter 17: Matt Hill Chapter 18: Writing about writing Chapter 19: Not Only In Thailand Chapter 20: Password Incorrect Chapter 21: The trouser Press Chapter 22: Angie's Write Chapter 23: Just Keep Writing and Other Thoughts Chapter 24: Tea Stains Chapter 25: Chez Aspie Chapter 26: Planting Words Chapter 27: Being Lucy Diamond Chapter 28: Reallygood Thinking Chapter 29: Gemma Burgess Chapter 30: Sarah's Writing Journal Chapter 1 (and yes, it's a different one): Wordy Blog

Postscript Numero Duo

The person who must not be named has sent me effusive apologies. (Isn't it interesting that effusive and effluent share the same etymology? No? Perhaps it's me.) Apart from the apologies, he has also offered to send me a copy of Like Bees to Honey. How sweet! And how lucky am I!

Thursday, 13 May 2010

Less is More or Less

"Dear brethren, I am reminded of the story of the child who never spoke. It is an apocryphal story no doubt, but nonetheless contains a moral, especially for those among us who feel moved to blog.

This child of which I speak was in every other respect perfectly healthily. There was no apparent physiological reason for its failure to communicate. Naturally, its loving parents were driven to distraction by it silence. And what parent among us would not be? Of course, some might imagine such an offspring to be a blessing and wish all children to be so afflicted, but these are wicked thoughts.

As I say, these good people were at their wits' end. They had exhausted every possibility; tried every potion and remedy; visited every expert and every quack to deliver up their child to the ministrations of shamen and witchdoctors, necromancers and wizards, consultants and mime artists, all without result.

Finally, word reached them of an eminent Harley Street child psychologist who, if the rumours were to be believed, could work miracles with the young. He was their last hope. So, emptying their bank balance, they booked an appointment.

On the day, they and their child were ushered into the presence of the illustrious man who was bent over his desk in study. Without looking up he beckoned them in. They stood nervously in a family group before him until he, raising his head, demanded the parents leave. With all their savings at stake, and more, the parents were disgruntled to say the least, but leave they did.

The psychologist indicated to the mute child, now aged seven, to be seated. The child sat. The eminent psychologist returned to his work and for some minutes they remained thus in silence until the psychologist asked, 'Tell me, why have you never spoken before?'

'Because I never thought I had anything worth saying," replied the child.'