The Proof Of The Pudding…

 

            The proofs for the new book, As If By Magic, arrived on Friday.  Let me just say that again.  The proofs for the new book, As If By Magic, arrived on Friday!!! Now, okay, I realise that to most people, having a great hefty chunk of manuscript arrive through the door (even if it does come by courier!) doesn’t warrant a mention, let alone bold type and three exclamation marks.  (My daughter, Helen, reckons that exclamation marks are like cats:  more than three and you’re definitely mental.)

Here’s a picture of Helen with cat; exclamation marks are difficult to photograph.

 

 

 

I think I’ve earned those three exclamation marks.  !!!  Yes, those ones there. 

            You see, once you’ve tried to get published, you’ll realise all the inherent sadness and pity of Life.  After all, you’ve carved time out to live in a world that only you inhabit.  Meals, kids, husband, dogs, cats, going to Tescos and doing the ironing are taken care of – otherwise Complaints Ensue – but part of your mind is always somewhere else.  Away with the fairies, most probably.  I don’t know if you saw the excellent Terry Pratchett programmes about him and Alzheimer’s that were shown recently.  He tackled a difficult subject with bravery and humour, but what cracked me up was when he was asked if he or his family had noticed any signs of Alzheimers.  Such as?  Well, abstraction, obsession, losing your car-keys and forgetfulness.  But that, said Terry, is how writers are anyway.  Yup.

            Anyway, this wonderful world that you’ve created – it’s there, on paper.  You’ve lived with your characters and loved a good few of them; you’ve made them act in a coherent way, with coherent thoughts and what you hope are exciting (and coherent) deeds.  What’s not to like? I mean, who could possibly turn it down? Er… Quite a few, actually. 

            In fact, you are tempted to ask the Rejectors to form orderly queues, take a ticket and no shoving at the back.  It’s not, you tell yourself, that the book is Pants.  (Maybe it is, but that’s too crushing to contemplate.)  After all, take any given book, even a real classic, and show it to ten people.  Bet you at least half won’t like it, can’t see what all the fuss is about and have grave doubts about the judgement of those who think it’s wonderful.

All those stories you read about (add your favourite author’s name here) who, after being turned down like bedspreads by (add your own number here) publishing houses and then go on to write best-sellers aren’t put about to make the PR release more fun.  It happened.  Lots of times.  And do those aforesaid publishers regret losing a good ’un?  Well, human nature being what it is, it probably depends on just how successful the author it.  I mean, we can all do with a bit more of those nice pieces of artwork with the Queen’s face on stuffed under the mattress, can’t we?  But – and this is the point – those editors aren’t idiots.  They simply didn’t like the book.  So when you do find an editor who likes the book it’s like every Christmas, birthday and riotous celebration you’ve ever had rolled into one.  Fireworks go off, birds sing, the Hallelujah Chorus starts up somewhere in the background.   Corn in Egypt, you might exclaim, if you’re Biblically minded.  Whosever findeth a friendly editor findeth a Good Thing.  Let It Shine, as Take That sang.

It’s so fast, too.  Most good news comes in instalments (unlike bad, which hits like a ton of bricks).  But getting published – one moment you’re another unpublished writer who apologises for their existence and cringes in corners, the next there’s no-one on Earth you would swap places with.  No, not even that girl with the size 8 figure, Because You’re Worth It hair and a bank-balance that looks like a telephone number.

In the B.P. (Before Publication) times I hated telling people I wrote, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.  The general idea is it’s anti-social, weird, and what’s more, you’re Got Ideas. Getting a bit above yourself, aren’t you? I mean, who do you think you are? Can’t you get a proper job?   And – this is a killer – you’re obviously neglecting husband, children, home and doesn’t the cat look thin?   The only excuse is being able to give the correct answer to the killer question;

 “Are you published?”

“No.”

(Thinks)  You’re rubbish then, aren’t you?

But to be able to give the right answer – yes – means that although you’re still anti-social, weird etc, etc, at least you’re successful and anti-social, weird etc, etc.

And your book, the book, that private world which you lived in for so long – is going to be in libraries and bookshops.  Complete strangers will read it.  People you you’ll never meet will read it.  Good grief, someone who hasn’t got my hand in marriage and I don’t have to cook the dinner for will read it.  For fun, please God, but read it.

So, yup, I’ll say it again. The proofs for the new book, As If By Magic, arrived on Friday!!!

 And by the way – cheers!