The more I do this – job? thing? – the more I realize I had no idea what I was doing when I first sat down to write “Death of the Elver Man” in 2010. I had just completed my MA at Teesside University and was inspired and excited by the experience. Above all I wanted to write. Anything – stories, novels, an opera, screenplays… Not poetry though. No, definitely not that. To be quite honest you would probably have to taser me to get me to write poetry. And only an audience tasered into unconsciousness could possibly bear to listen to it.
Everything else had me smiling over my keyboard and I started off along the path, writing, searching for a publisher, entering competitions – and so began the slippery slope.
I did not know then what I am beginning to understand now. There is writing, the glorious moments of inspiration (rare), the happy sigh at another page in place (more common) and the astonishment at a whole, completed book (three so far and counting). And then there is being a writer. The latter is necessary as soon as a book is published, especially if you want to garner more readers than your immediate family. There are readings from the book to arrange, signings at local bookshops and perhaps the occasional interview with a local paper. A Twitter account needs constant (or at least regular) feeding along with a web page, especially if it has a blog. Yes, dear reader, this is me being a writer. Even if I am actually, physically writing.
Sometimes you might get lucky and a radio station offers you an interview or even a regular programme. (Thank you Southside Broadcasting and BBC Tees). This is great fun as well as good publicity but it all takes time – time away from writing. And all this without even considering things like arranging publicity material such as bookmarks, responding to queries and emails and preparing accounts for the end of year tax return. Sometimes I’m amazed I ever manage to write anything at all.
Well, over the last six weeks I’ve done two radio broadcasts, three book signings and a talk to a local group. I’m preparing material for a literary festival in Montserrat, am reading submissions for this year’s Impress Prize and have another radio broadcast on Friday. It is all rather interesting and wonderful but when it dies down a bit I’ll be so happy to sit down at my desk, get out my notebooks and start on the next novel. Because what I always wanted to do was write and I am very, very lucky I can do just that.