Man and typewriterSeptember 3, 2017

This is the first blog post in, umm, months (if not years), prompted by someone who said, ‘Why don’t you blog? You’re a writer, aren’t you?’

Well, I write books for a living, but I’m not always comfortable with the ‘W’ word even though I suppose it’s the most fitting description for the thing I do. This discomfort isn’t false modesty; just a way of protecting myself against my own bullshit.

As a ‘writer’ the idea of regular blogging fills me with a little bit of horror. I don’t particularly want to talk about what I do – I’m more interested in just doing it. Other people, however, seem interested in what I do, how I do it, and with whom. Fair enough. I’m often told I ‘must live an interesting life’. And generally it is interesting, even when you catch yourself staring into the fridge at a half-empty tub of cottage cheese and wonder what twists and turns of fortune brought you to this position, 30 years after you set out on this uncertain road.

So…..this year. The last 12 months have been interesting, for a variety of reasons (some not always welcome, I hasten to add). First, the good parts. I’ve been privileged to work, talk to or otherwise engage with some great people this year. And as ever, a complete mixture. Trevor from Somerset. Doug from Chesham. Robert from Wolverhampton. Roland from south London. Paul from Woking. Don from Detroit. Some extremely famous, most not, but all united under a common banner: they have things worth saying, things that you and I might like to read.

This work has taken me all over the place from sunny Surbiton to wet and windy Perth, Western Australia. I’ve played the part of a tart art critic on the radio. I’ve hung on for a dear life to a horse’s mane as it bolted through the Outback. I’ve learned to understand how a diagnosis of illness can turn a life upside down in under a minute. I’ve looked out of the window of my house, down a dark, silent street, and wondered what it must feel like to play music for an audience of 60,000 people.

What else? Well, I’ve finally left my garret (pleasant though it was) and now write in a rural-based office. ‘How do you concentrate?’ I’m asked. Easy. Whatever noise swirls around me is not my noise. If it doesn’t require my attention it doesn’t bother me. I’ve always been puzzled by writers who need absolute silence in which to work. The sort that also need an Apple Mac Book Pro, a Montblanc Pen and a leather-bound Aspinal journal before they can possibly put down a word. James Joyce needed ‘silence, exile and cunning’ to begin writing, but I’m quite happy amid the sights, sounds and smells of a chicken farm.

Not-so-good news….just about 12 months ago I had the unexpected displeasure of a client reneging on a promise to employ me for three years ahead, then refusing to pay what I am owed for writing his second book. The latter is a substantial sum (for me, not for him) and, given that UK writers earn an average of £11,000 a year, has caused me and my family real financial hardship and emotional stress like we’ve rarely experienced.

For the moment I’m not saying any more about this dispute as it is the subject of legal action. I decided to bring a claim against my former client because a) I can’t afford to write off such a substantial sum and b) because it is incumbent on all writers, however poorly-paid, to challenge those who would seek to exploit them financially. As I’m discovering, the justice system in the UK isn’t easy to negotiate (and certainly isn’t perfect) but there are ways for the individual to seek redress without having to involve money-swallowing lawyers. It’s not fun, and it’s far from ‘interesting’ but it is a necessity. The hearing is later this year, so watch this space…..

Finally, I’m planning to expand what I do into the teaching of creative writing. This is likely to be a low-key thing until I find my feet, and hopefully it will help me find my way back into the ‘creative’ part of my own writing, which tends to get neglected amidst the demands. Because that’s the other thing people tend to say: “When are you writing your own book?” OK, OK – I hear you!!