Lists

It's the time of year when people make lists; lists of books they read during the previous year and books they intend to read in the next 12 months; lists of resolutions and goals for 2014. 

I was excited to see A Song for Issy Bradley on a few lists: 'Hot 2014 Books' in the Express newspaper, 'Ones to Read in 2014' at The Writes of Women blog and in Chief Executive of the Bluecoat Mary Cloake's 'Ones to Watch'. Sweet Home also gets a mention from Dan Powell whose collection Looking Out of Broken Windows will be published by Salt later this year. 

In the spirit of lists (and in no particular order) here are 10 books I especially enjoyed reading in 2013. 

    

     

    

    

   

Happy Birthday to Me

It was my birthday last weekend. Anyone who has read my short story collection will understand the significance of the present in the photograph.

It's the best present I've had for ages; half-joke, half-very-useful and thoughtful gift as I'll probably be doing some travelling next year with book related things.

P.S When opened, the case was empty. Phew!

Research

I'm starting to think about the next novel (gulp - fears of never finishing the first novel have been replaced by fears of never repeating the feat). I've got a list of things to research, including bus drivers, museum archivists, stalking, trumpet playing and collectors.

Last weekend I visited a friend of a friend to see a collection of dolls and doll's houses. It was incredible. While there I met several collectors and was fascinated by their stories.

This part of writing is such fun. In the New Year I'm hoping to arrange to speak to a bus driver and a museum archivist, and I plan to have a few trumpet lessons.

But I think I'll leave the stalking to my imagination.

Down the memory hole

Last year J didn't get a home made birthday cake. He never got around to telling me what he wanted and suddenly it was the day of his birthday so we popped to the supermarket and bought a frozen cake. After we'd done the whole happy birthday to you thing and the children had gone to bed, J's dad ate the last piece of cake.

For the past 12 months I've listened to J say, 'I didn't have a cake on my 11th birthday.' When corrected he concedes the point - 'well, there was a cake and dad ate it.' With further prompting he admits that he had a huge piece of cake, but his dad ate the last slice.

This sort of stuff happens to me all the time. Perhaps it happens to every parent, I'm not sure - I've learned that on the whole it's best to keep quiet about such things, there's nothing worse than talking about the craptastic side of parenthood, ending an anecdote with 'you know?' and being met with either a blank stare of incomprehension or a tight smile that indicates both a degree of understanding and a refusal to engage. 

This year I was determined not to get caught out by the cake. I made J examine all the cake books in the house (there are several). He chose dog cupcakes and I said 'no problem' through slightly gritted teeth because I was supposed to be revising the final chapter of my novel this weekend, and preparing my PhD transfer document, and finishing a 15,000 word essay, and tidying up the awful mess of books, papers and post-it notes that has multiplied and replenished across 2 desks and the whole of the dining room table in recent weeks. 

I made the cakes. Apparently they're not as good as the ones in the book - which isn't a complaint, just an observation. I don't care. I made them and there's photographic evidence. I feel like I'm trying to rewrite the past - making the cakes was practically a Ministry of Truth project, designed to send recollections of the shop-bought, dad-scoffed cake down the memory hole. Instead, we'll remember the bit of birthday captured in the photograph - the cake stand, sitting on a tiny, cleared slice of dining room table, the piles of books, papers and post-it notes just out of shot. 

*

I know people will look for me in the pages of my novel when it is published next year, but I think I'm much more searchable in my short stories, particularly the shortest piece in my collection, a 400 word story that I've been thinking about today.


Dancing in the kitchen

She is sewing pips of reminiscence in his fertile mind, selecting scenes for the reel of his memories. She is the Director, Writer and Makeup Artist. She would like to be the Film Editor too and supervise the relegation of her inadequacies to the cutting room floor. She would like to censor any shameful language: ‘You stupid boy,’ ‘I can’t take you anywhere,’ ‘I should have thought twice about having children.’ She does this in her Director’s Cut. In this version she is always smiling. She makes delicious, nutritious meals, irons his favourite clothes in time for him to wear them, patiently explains homework and never shushes him in the car because she is listening to the radio. 

But she does not have final cut privilege. He is The Editor of this portion of her life. He selects rare, single-take footage of her shouting and crying. He creates miserable montages of her mothering misdemeanours. ‘Remember when I really wanted to go on a donkey and you wouldn’t let me?’ he asks. ‘Remember when you said I would have to sleep in the loft with the wasp’s nest if I kept getting out of bed?’ he enquires. 

She is determined to expunge her failings. She selects a location, prepares the storyboard and applies makeup. 

Take One: Dancing in the Kitchen

The radio is loud. The dance is a comedy combination of moves she used to perform in earnest several years ago. The noise will draw him to her and her exuberance will proclaim: I’m so happy to be your mother that I’m dancing in the kitchen. I love you so much; let’s dance in the kitchen, together. 

Take Two: Dancing in the Kitchen

The radio is louder. This time he will forsake the television in order to investigate. He will burst into the kitchen and join in the dance. They will laugh together in a way that allows her to begin sentences with, ‘Remember when we danced in the kitchen?’

Take Three: Dancing in the Kitchen

The radio is moderately loud so as not to irritate him. He will come into the kitchen eventually, when he wants a drink or to ask what’s for tea. He will chuckle at her dance.

Director’s Cut: In the Kitchen

The radio is on. Eventually he comes in. She sends him such a smile. Perhaps he will remember it.

Win a limited edition proof of A Song for Issy Bradley

I'm giving away a limited edition, proof copy of A Song For Issy Bradley. I'm including a Books Are My Bag tote bag and I'll sign and dedicate the book.

To be in with a chance of winning you just need to follow this link and 'like' my author page. I'll post the book and the bag anywhere in the world.

The winner will be drawn out of a hat on Saturday 7th December.

The proofs are on their way out of the Hutchinson office today in some sparkly and rather festive envelopes. I'm afraid the winner of my copy will have to make do with an ordinary envelope! 

Windmill Party

On Monday I went to London to do some book things. I was slightly nervous and somehow got to Liverpool Lime Street an hour early (perhaps the fact that I've yet to move my car clock back may have had something to do with it). While I was on the train, Windmill Books published a blog introducing me and A Song for Issy Bradley.

When I got to London I made my way to the Penguin office for some filming in the media suite with the marketing team. I'm afraid I wasn't very cool and asked if I could take a photograph of the Penguin sign. The receptionist said, 'no' but she was joking (I hope). I'd been given a list of questions so I could prepare, but sitting under the hot lights, in front of the green screen it was suddenly difficult to remember what I'd been planning to say. I think it went okay, but if I was too boring they can always add dinosaurs or zombies or a car chase, later!

Afterwards I went to Random House for 'drinks around the photocopier.' I thought there might be about six people around the metaphorical photocopier, ten at a push - I'm not sure how many of us there were, but it would have taken a massive photocopier to accommodate us. It was lovely, if somewhat overwhelming, to meet so many enthusiastic people!

Soon it was time to leave for the Hutchinson/Windmill Books party at The Arts Theatre Club. On arrival I was introduced to the Windmill of Fortune, with Helen Dunmore, Lindy Woodhead, Adele Waldman and me on its arms. The windmill was spun to decide who would read first (*cough* it was actually a fix). Nick Harkaway read too - he was added once there was a free arm! Adele and Nick gave wonderfully funny readings and I nabbed copies of their novels - The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. and Angelmaker. I've already read Helen's excellent novel The Lie and Lindy's book Midnight Mother, the story of Kate Meyrick will be published in 2014.

There were piles of books everywhere and so I helped myself (it's okay, it was allowed). There were also rather a lot of journalists, bloggers and book people, and some very nice canapés.

Here I am, next to the fabulous tombola, reading a couple of scenes from A Song for Issy Bradley. I'm reading from a print-out, something I won't need to do again because I now have a real book to read from (*hooray*). 

When the event finished I went out for supper with my editor which was lovely because although we've talked a lot on the phone and via email, it was only the second time we'd met in person. 

No trip to London would be complete without the obligatory box of doughnuts for the children. And of course, as the children hadn't actually given me a list, I didn't quite get the selection right. Still, they were glad to see me (and the doughnuts) and, after a gorgeous train ride through autumn-tinted countryside, it was good to be home.

Sweet Home and sweet treats

A copy of Sweet Home and some sweet treats will be on the way to one of the 'likers' of my new author Facebook page on Wednesday 20th November.

If you fancy the book and the treats, just 'like' the page. The draw will take place on Tuesday evening. I'm happy to post the parcel anywhere in the world.

Photographs and Proofs

Last week I went to Southport beach/marsh with Cornerstone Director of Publicity Charlotte Bush and photographer Colin McPherson for new author photos. It was a sunny day but it's always a very windy spot - I spent a lot of time trying to stop my hair making Medusa shapes in the wind!

Colin was great, at one point he lay down in a big puddle on the Sand-winning Track to get a better shot, and Charlotte did an excellent job of organising and accessorising me (that might just be the first time I've ever used the word accessorise).

Here's one of the pictures that was taken on Southport Pier. An elderly husband and wife from South Wales were sitting about a foot away and they chatted to Colin and Charlotte about Blackpool and the joys of coach trips while I leaned against the shelter, trying not to join in the laugher. Later, we went to Broadhursts bookshop where it was warm (the open fire was burning) for some more photographs. One of them features on the back of the proof (see below).

A couple of days ago a DHL driver handed me a padded envelope containing an A4 doorstep of A Song for Issy Bradley - another little thing to make it all seem more real. And then yesterday I received an email containing some photographs of the actual proofs which had just arrived at the Hutchinson office.

Aren't they gorgeous? I really want to touch the inlaid letters, and I won't have to wait too long because I'll be in London on Monday to do some filming and read at a Hutchinson and Windmill Books event.

Portraits © Colin McPherson, 2013, all rights reserved E: mail@colinmcpherson.co.uk T: +44 (0)7831 838717 www.colinmcpherson.com

Sweet Home giveaway

It's been a year since Sweet Home was published and to celebrate, I'm giving away a copy of the book and some sweet goodies to one of the people who has liked my new Facebook author page. 

If you'd like to be in with a chance of nabbing the book and the goodies, just follow the link above and 'like' the Facebook page. 

You can read some excerpts from reviews if you click on the Sweet Home tab at the top of the blog and you can watch the book trailer below:

New Novel Title

My novel has a new title, something that was always likely to happen as early readers invariably got mixed up and ended up calling it a variety of the following titles: We Are Together Here, Together We Are Here, Here We Are Together, We Are Here Together...

It's now called A SONG FOR ISSY BRADLEY. 

There's a lot of singing in the novel, some of the songs are hopeful, others are sad. Mormons believe that the words of hymns are like scripture. They also teach that singing a hymn is a good way of diverting bad thoughts.

There is a verse in a Mormon book of scripture known as the Doctrine and Covenants that goes pretty well with the new title.

For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads. (Doctrine and Covenants 25:12)

I've finished all the edits (I think). The manuscript arrived back from the copy editor this morning and there's a whole new list of changes to make, mostly grammatical edits, but there are occasional corrections too (for example, it's not dark at 7 a.m in September - doh!). I've got to hurry up and make the new changes as proofs need to be ready by the middle of next month. It's a scary and exciting feeling to know that people will be reading early copies soon.