Tuesday, 11 October 2011
Based on the author's vast experience and wild imagination
I've taken the strap line from my cover and am seeing a whooping woman on a tabletop in high heels. Is that really me? This lady sounds dangerous. And yet this woman/author is shepherding young adults through life, seriously playing Scarlatti and hoping for some early snow and pearly high altitude dawns.
Yes the season is changing. Leaves are skating down and tractors are peeling open the earth and I am moving from being a writer on a word-high to an author working on her game plan to sell her book. I am slightly scared. Okay, I am shit-scared, sleepless at night. I wish that memory of swimming out to those Corsican buoys was a little more convincing. Think sand, think sultriness. Turning over under my umbrella, a dip in green water...
But as the autumn advances there is no escape. I have to see this thing through. Hone my lapsed marketing skills and learn how to package my book. This morning I read that hundreds of new novels hit the shelves in the UK each month. Hundreds?! I read that I need a famous person to attract a crowd. Who?! I think of texting Mr. Clooney or dragging in leggy Elle MacPherson, now there's a divorcée, given there is a sassy Australian girl with a great -bleep- collection in the book.
At least I have my book launch dress. Or two depending on the weather and the riskiness of the occasion. On Friday myself and the Facebook teen daughter journeyed up north to a designer friend's outlet and gorged ourselves on clothes, bags and shoes. How sinful, how delicious.
But truly I feel like running off to Paris, rushing down a street in the chill wind, walking through a great and engulfing art museum of gilded frames and grappling beauties. Sitting on a bench in a vault of light.
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p.s. Thank you to Mike French - I've just joined the literary review The View From Here as a contributor and look forward to taking part!