Well that was fun.
The other day I received a mail from Ilona, aka The Job Pimp, saying "I kno u don't want to hear this but I fink yore stuff is dead gud and that and you shud maik it into a buk." Except, being a well respected, and often performed, playwright she spelled it almost correctly (I promised I would big up her part in this blog just in case any mildly influential people actually read it.)
My reaction (as always),Aw shucks! Pshaw! Piffle! Don't be daft, awa' with ye, etc. etc.
The next mail not offering me Canadian V14gr4! was from JS over at Palimpsest saying that, if I was at all interested in the ever-so ever-so ever-so slight possibility of getting some of my stuff into a book, I should drop a line to a friend of his over at Web-to-Book publishers thefridayproject.co.uk.
Aw shucks, pshaw, piffle, etc. be damned! A real publisher. A carrot! Dangling! - an ever-so slightly possibily hypothetical carrot albeit, but there it was: dangle, dangle! Fuck me!
A short email correspondence ensued:
I phoned the man this morning. Nice bloke. We had a bit of a chat (and I feel like an idiot for not even trying to blag at least one book off him when he asked if I was familiar with their publications, but proud of myself at the same time*), but I was right, the carrot suddenly became as totally very hypothetical as I knew it was all along, these ramshackle wafflings aren't bookworthy.
Basically the man liked (some of) what do and said if I want to think about getting some sort of idea together he wouldn't immediately throw it out the window unopened. (I'm paraphrasing wildly here because I can't actually remember exactly what he said, but that was the gist, and, having seen unopened, unread scripts tossed in Roger Corman's wastpaper baskets because they didn't come via an agent, I am flabbergasted at the compliment - can I stop crawling now?) I guess I have to get my finger out my arse**, get my act together, draw together all the bits of web funnies I've left scattered all over the place, and get organised (stop laughing!). I need to get some traffic. Create a demand. Make myself a bit more culty.
"Here, Liam? "
"What?"
"You're a cult, you are."
But most of you know that already.
*There is a long German word for this feeling, I'm sure.
**Removing fingers from arses is always a good idea when sitting at the computer (or sitting down in general come to that), typing one handed is a pain, and it's awkward having to use the Caps Lock key every time you want to use a proper noun.
The other day I received a mail from Ilona, aka The Job Pimp, saying "I kno u don't want to hear this but I fink yore stuff is dead gud and that and you shud maik it into a buk." Except, being a well respected, and often performed, playwright she spelled it almost correctly (I promised I would big up her part in this blog just in case any mildly influential people actually read it.)
My reaction (as always),Aw shucks! Pshaw! Piffle! Don't be daft, awa' with ye, etc. etc.
The next mail not offering me Canadian V14gr4! was from JS over at Palimpsest saying that, if I was at all interested in the ever-so ever-so ever-so slight possibility of getting some of my stuff into a book, I should drop a line to a friend of his over at Web-to-Book publishers thefridayproject.co.uk.
Aw shucks, pshaw, piffle, etc. be damned! A real publisher. A carrot! Dangling! - an ever-so slightly possibily hypothetical carrot albeit, but there it was: dangle, dangle! Fuck me!
A short email correspondence ensued:
Me: I'm interested.So, apart from rolling the phrase "my publisher" around in my head for a few hours to see how it fitted (I like it!), and composing dedications to my forthcoming book...
Him: Phone me tomorrow.
"...and auntie Ethel for all the buns, and everyone else who knows me..."...my brain went into huge Hugh Grant, uber-faff, panic mode and refused to function on any useful level. I spent a while looking through the blog, occasionally laughing at my own jokes (never good), and wondering how the hell anyone could consider these ramshackle wafflings bookworthy.
I phoned the man this morning. Nice bloke. We had a bit of a chat (and I feel like an idiot for not even trying to blag at least one book off him when he asked if I was familiar with their publications, but proud of myself at the same time*), but I was right, the carrot suddenly became as totally very hypothetical as I knew it was all along, these ramshackle wafflings aren't bookworthy.
Basically the man liked (some of) what do and said if I want to think about getting some sort of idea together he wouldn't immediately throw it out the window unopened. (I'm paraphrasing wildly here because I can't actually remember exactly what he said, but that was the gist, and, having seen unopened, unread scripts tossed in Roger Corman's wastpaper baskets because they didn't come via an agent, I am flabbergasted at the compliment - can I stop crawling now?) I guess I have to get my finger out my arse**, get my act together, draw together all the bits of web funnies I've left scattered all over the place, and get organised (stop laughing!). I need to get some traffic. Create a demand. Make myself a bit more culty.
"Here, Liam? "
"What?"
"You're a cult, you are."
But most of you know that already.
*There is a long German word for this feeling, I'm sure.
**Removing fingers from arses is always a good idea when sitting at the computer (or sitting down in general come to that), typing one handed is a pain, and it's awkward having to use the Caps Lock key every time you want to use a proper noun.
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