Those Damned Photos

The Moose has had to send a photo of himself to Hannah Davies at The Bookseller for inclusion in a piece on Independent Publishing and Bluemoose for the May 8th issue. This proved difficult. Being a computer luddite, my immediate thoughts were directed at finding the photo album but you can't fire that down the cyber tubes to London. So, I called for help in the guise of my 14 year old son. He found a picture on the computer and emailed it to Hannah. I can relax. Then I have a vanity pang. Mirrors I can handle, because there's only one person looking at you. But having your physog in a national magazine is different because lots of people will see it. And whilst you thought you were some George Cluny look alike indy publisher, the reality is, you're not. You thought you carried gravitas, but all you carry is extra weight. The greying and excess hair in places that hair shouldn't grow, points to one thing and one thing only, you're getting on a bit. No you're getting on a lot. And everyone will see that time hasn't been kind and gravity has been even tougher. Bah to pills and potions, I'll have a bigger cup of coffee, do a press up tomorrow and hope my DNA takes me to at least the end of the year.

Happy Boithday.

Greetings again. The man in the White House shares a special day with The Moose. Yes, we are both celebrtating our 100 days in office. He's ruling the world and I'm not. However, this is my 100th blog, so I'be blown the candles out and made a wish. I can't tell you what I've wished for, needless to say there is a Literary Editor with pins sticking out of him. Things are rolling on a pace re: foreign rights for Steve's book and hopefully there will be news soon. Our Foreign Rights Agent is in receipt of 8 copies, which she will be firing off to all points East. She has also shown an interest our next publication, Falling Through Clouds.
Bluemoose has come a long way in 100 blogs, Bookfairs, Library talks, interviews, Radio , TV all mediums designed to get as many people as possible aware of what we're trying to do. I will tell you once again. It's all about getting great stories, beautifully written into the hands of readers who are not afraid of trying out bold and original fiction. There, that wasn't too hard, was it?
Now, back to the Ceck.

Quick Blog

I have now returned from my trip to Scotland and although I was in Glasgow, I don't think I've contracted Swine Flu, and that isn't the reason there was no blog yesterday. Due to circumstances beyond my control I couldn't access a computer. I will list Scotland's favourite books, or what Waterstones in Edinburgh and Glasgow list as their favourite books later on today. Have to dash off now. Will return later on today. Adios.

Driller Killer

Yesterday my neighbour started using his new Uber Drill. He was very excited and although not a great exponent of the DIY art myself, I can see that there may be some satisfaction in the realignment of a down pipe on your day off. The thing is, he started his DIY at 6.00am in the morning. Now I'm no party pooper but even the Dalai Llama would be a tad upset at the commencement of such activities at this hour. It took all the restraint in the world to stop me from picking up the family Crossbow and delivering my displeasure courtesy of bolt to his neck. Today I will have a considered word in his shell like and hopefully peace will return to Moose Shires.
Off to Caledonia with books to sell. Will update you on what they're buying in Scotland over the next few days.

Review disorder

I'm off selling books North of the border tomorrow in Scotland and have asked my youngest son, Cal, to prepare me a CD for the trip. Road trip music. The excitement is already building. Hip Hop Dad. How sad is that?
I know somebody who loves the curry from the Westmoreland Farm Shop motorway service station at Tebay, and goes there every Sunday for their lunch. A round trip of 160 miles for a Jalfrezi. Now that's what I call a foodie. Her Carbon Curry footprint is somewhat large, but when you've found somewhere special, the Polar Bears are on their own. Off to buy the Sunday Papers to see what the book reviews will be like. I always get excited before the event and then angry when I read that they've all just reviewed the same books that appeared in The Independent on Friday and Gaurdian yesterday. I do suffer from PSRCSD. Post Sunday Review Coverage Stress Disorder. Well, here goes.

P.G's Tips

I've treated myself this week to a 'Week-End Wodehouse.' A collection of short stories from the master himself. There is an introduction from Hilaire Belloc, which sums up PG Wodehouse's writing beautifully. He says.
'His object is comedy in the most modern sense of that word: that is, his object is to present the laughable, and he does this with such mastery and skill that he nearly always approaches, and often reaches, perfection. To write prose so that your search for effect appears on the surface is to write bad prose. To write prose so that you get your effects by unusual words, deliberatley chosen for their oddity, is to write bad prose. To write prose so that the reader thinks more of the construction than of the image conveyed is to write bad prose.'
There are a lot of very famous writers who fall into the latter category, who win prizes and are lauded. The post modern, modern post modern style of literature has surely had its day and we can go back to storytelling, from gifted writers who write beautifully. Simples.

The Death Of Celebriture.

I found an interesting article yesterday in The New Statesman. Mind you, any article that concurs with your own ideas, always is. It was written by Nicolas Clee, ex editor of The Bookseller, whose premise is, Celebrities saved, then killed the book trade.
www.newstatesman.com/books/2009/04/book-judy-richard-publishing It was initiated at the Galaxy book awards when TV stars/Comedians came to the podium to present or receive an award and announced that they were writing or had been signed to write a biography for the 2009 Christmas market. Apparently a dull ache could be heard groaning its way around the auditorium. It's not merely the ludicrous advances payed to the likes of Ant and Dec, it's the time, energy , momentum and space that these book take up which leads to the stagnation of the book trade. In times of trouble I don't want to hear about the trials and tribulations of whether to choose between 'Crystal,' or Dom Perignon,' I want to be transported elsewhere by a book that has a great story and is beautifully told. Hackneyed Slebs yawning on about life death and the Green room, is not my idea of fun. Let's hope the public reaises that the future of books lies in the hands of new writers and not old comedians. Publishing for far too long has been forced through the star spangled stockings of Celebrity. Celebriture is hopefully on its way out, and I for one will raise a glass of Corporation pop to that.

The Bard, Blair and Bono.

A day after the budget and it is now official. We are all going to Hell in a handcart. But there was some help for the publishing world. Hidden in the minutiae of 'The Red Book,' Alistair Darling announced that there will be a 17.5% Tax rebate for those celebrities who write their own biographies/novel and don't rely on ghost writers. Now, given this financial incentive will slebs turn to the Thesaurus or their Accountant? Only time will tell. I'm listening to the radio and Tony Blair is pontificating on religion, which is laughable. Now Pope Tony is joined by Bono, who has just been given the job of religious Op Ed journalist on The New York Times. Why do those people in power think that anybody will listen to these men, whose actions of late have made them morally bankrupt. Blair lies to the UK about the build up to the war in Iraq and Bono tells us to give more to Africa whilst slithering off the U2 accounts to Holland so as not to pay their alloted taxes. The Hypocrisy and Hubris of the serially deluded. Small minded men who just won't let go. Happy birthday Shakespeare.

The Moose plays Abba.

The Moose had a very productive day at The London Bookfair yesterday. Through a superior circular breathing technique I managed to rant on for an hour and a half without interruption. Although I didn't drivel and foam at the mouth, there were times when I did veer off and point several small but perfectly formed fingers at the Big Publishing houses for buying space in the high street bookchains. Hannah Davies was very polite and smiled in all the right places and I thank her for her patience and understanding, although I was unnerved at the bald headed/goatee quotient of many of the male attendees.
My next appointment was with Jill Hughes who specialises in foreign rights and has decided to take on our latest publication, The art of being dead by Stephen Clayton. She told me they have already had some interest from Sweden. Which is great news.I love those Scandinavians.
Bluemoose is proud to announce it will be publishing Dan Brown's next novel as a pop up, paper engineered, part work, priced at £2.99 a chapter. Orders are now being taken for publication in October.
I also bumped into many friends and foes. I talked to the friends and scowled at the foes.
After a hectic 8 hours at the bookfair I was looking forward to a quiet trip back home on the train. It didn't happen. Why? I was interrupted by a chap behind me talking to his girlfriend/wife about the toilet habits of their cat. The conversation lasted five minutes and I was not spared a single detail of it's malfunctioning sphincter. Now, I'm not a callous person, but its a cat. Open the door and at night, throw it out. It has fur. Nature has provided it with protection. It will be all right. He got off at Peterborough and from thence forth my return to Hebden Bridge was blissful. Today I await news from our postie, Gary. If he's singing along to any Abba tunes I will know that the Scandinavian publishing gods are doing their Thor like thing.

The London Book Fair

Down to the London Bookfair today. I feel like Jack going to market with some beans and hoping that one of them will be magic. I'm seeing Hannah Davies at 2pm, she is a journalist at The Bookseller magazine, the organ of the booktrade as they like to say. I will be ranting about this and that, mostly that. The Moose will be going on about ,'CELIBRITURE,' you know, all the Celeb Lit that's out there at the moment. I've made the word up, trying to be profound like Martin Amis. Trying to create a new buzzword that will stick and then I can make a few quid out of it. Then its on to meet an author to have a chat about his book and at 4.45 I have an appointment with Jill Hughes who's a leading light on foreign rights. We'll be talking about selling the rights to The art of being dead by Stephen Clayton. Hopefully there is some enlightened European publishers out there who will be able to see what a brilliant book it is. I know there is a French film producer out there somewhere who wants to make a name for himself. And just before I get on the train home I'm catching up with Laura Brudenell, PR to the stars who will be doing all the PR for Bluemoose's next book, Falling through clouds by Anna Chilvers. I will sleep well on the train knowing that a magic bean has been bought and all will be well in Bluemoose Land. By Christmas The Bluemoose Antlers will be lit up in lights.