On being a little sneak
How about I just hide in my shed?
When I was little I used to tiptoe around the house trying to avoid being heard. This was partly because my mother always assumed I was up to no good (and I didn’t want to have to always justify my movements all the time), and partly because I was up to no good.
Often, I was going through the small drawers in my mother’s stag chest of drawers. They held such treasures! Watches that needed new batteries; a collection of mismatched and tarnished clip-on earrings; a broken silver chain; an ancient but also unused handkerchief folded into a small square; a tiny yellow pot of moisturiser with flowers on the lid; and the remnants of long-dead vintage perfume bottles.
Truly, this was my Netflix.
Even now, as a grown-up, I tend to sneak about the place, usually hoping to avoid having to interact with anyone in my family (and, as a consequence, often discover my youngest nearly always up to no good1). If Alex, my husband, asks me what I am doing, I can get irritated – as though he expects me to confess what no good I have been up to. I want to be able to float from place to place without being noticed.
For a compulsive over-sharer, I can be incredibly secretive.
When I co-founded my web publishing business back in ye olden days, I could have quite happily just hidden on the internet, farting out silly posts about Japanese tech, never revealing my identity, enjoying the traffic that was (back then) so easy to find. But one of my business partners was far more media literate and made sure our names were OUT THERE. His drive to get us noticed was the key to getting us funding, and I’m glad he did it.
Except, I also wish he hadn’t because, of course, the whole thing backfires when the business fails and you have to read about yourself in the papers and gossip blogs2 and you’re six months pregnant and trying to move house.
Anyway, what’s my point? My point is, I would really like to continue just sneaking around finding treasure in drawers. Oh, no wait, it’s not that. It’s this: if I want people to one day abuse me on the internet, I have to get the word out about these books3 I’m working on.
No, that’s not right either.
I’ve got it! It’s something about how, if I want to succeed, I have to be willing to fail. Unfortunately, that sounds like something I’d write for a client to post on LinkedIn, so how about we all just return to the one about sneaking around finding treasures in drawers?
Book update!
Where am I at? Ok, so I’m editing the first book I wrote (which may be Book one or Book two, we really haven’t decided yet) and I have some notes back from my editor on the second book I wrote (which may be Book one or Book two, we really haven’t decided yet). I am also writing a third book which has nothing at all to do with the other two and is just a whole lot of silly fun. It’s like a nice sorbet after two courses of crime fiction.
At some point I will be on the look out for Beta readers. This involves reading the manuscript and offering opinions. If you’re interested, let me know.
Linkages
Dracula daily is back. Subscribe to get an email any time Jonathan writes an entry in his diary. It started 3rd May so there are only a few to catch up on.
Wrexham FC manager Phil Parkinson explains the theory behind his swearing. I absolutely HATE Phil’s swearing in Welcome To Wrexham. I know I can be a bit of an old prude (I stopped buying Who Gives a Crap loo paper because I found it too sweary), and I know I’m a hypocrite, because I personally swear like a navvy, but it’s more than that. I just think Phil Parkinson is absolutely RUBBISH at swearing. Swearing should enhance the cadence of the sentence, not destroy it. He sticks f***s where they don’t belong takes all the rhythm out of the sentence… Anyway, I could go on… If someone wants 4000 words on why Phil Parkinson needs to swear better, apparently I’m your prude.
Courtney Love’s Women is brilliant radio. My god, that woman has been everywhere, done everything. Want stories about the Summer of Love? She was there. California? Yep. Liverpool in the 80s? She’s got you. Seattle in the 90s? Goes without saying. What a woman. Listen!
I really hope she isn’t going through my drawers…
Some of which I was going to link to, but it made me all sweaty seeing them again.
I deleted the ‘bloody’ since it’s probably too early to be fed up with the bloody books.
You had me at shed ;)
You're definitely speaking to me...I also want to float around the house making little adjustments and generally messing without having to constantly explain myself to my other half...