This week’s post is more like a plea, really. And since pleas are of course vastly annoying, I’ll keep it brief… Continue reading
There was a time, not so very long ago, when tweeting was something birds did. Now, everyone’s at it. It seems that not a single event can occur, and not a single thought can pass through someone’s head, without it being tapped out (in 140 characters or less, mind you) and sent out into cyberspace, there to swim around in the cybersoup for, perhaps, all eternity.
And there was pain. But distant, like a memory. Or a threat, prowling the far reaches of the darkness.
Weightless. Suspended in the void. No up, no down. Nowhere. Continue reading
Alexander McCall-Smith was taking part. So too, according to some tweets, was God Himself. Well, if it’s good enough for McCall-Smith, not to mention the Almighty, it’s certainly good enough for me. So I put on my thinking cap, powered up my laptop, and took part in the 2014 Twitter Fiction Festival, which ran from March 12th-16th.
I’m beginning to feel that perhaps I was a tad harsh on publishers in Part 1 of this post. Publishers have to turn a profit, after all, so who can blame them for opting for the known and the safe? They aren’t psychic, and successes can be difficult to predict – who, ten years ago, would have guessed that a book about sparkling teenage vampires would be the next big thing?
This week I have the great pleasure of welcoming my special guest Paul Sutton Reeves, who’s kindly agreed to have a chat about his new book Jamboree Bag, available here. I’ve read the book in draft version and can recommend it wholeheartedly; Paul is a superb writer, though he in his modesty would probably never say so himself. In the meantime, if you want to sample some of his writing for free, head over to his blog. But anyway, on with the interview…
During a recent trip to the supermarket, I stopped to glance at the book aisle. I do, sometimes; what better or more enjoyable way to improve my Italian than with some relatively undemanding fiction? The selection, however, was not exactly inspiring. Dan Brown’s latest opus was much in evidence, as were books by Grisham, King, and Rowling. All well and good for my purposes, of course, but if I’d been an Italian reader, my options would have been limited to the glossy realm of bestsellerdom.