P Day

Well, P Day came and went without fanfare. (P, in case you haven’t guessed, stands for publication. And if you don’t know of what you simply haven’t been following.) I had a heartening text from Jutta, who was just out to search for a copy in London – I hope she found one. I dropped into my mother’s local Waterstone’s and didn’t find a copy, nor even a copy on order, which gave me a chance to launch into my new self-promotional mode, a mixture of aggression and cheesiness that, worryingly, no longer makes my innards cringe. I pointed out that I was a local author, which is partly true (i.e. one weekend a month and whole years of my childhood). I reminded her of the Lichfield Prize and the fact that I was short-listed a few years ago. I mentioned that I was about to be recommended by Good Housekeeping, which impressed her. She promised me she’d look into it. So if you live in or near Wolverhampton, or indeed within reasonable distance of any branch of Waterstone’s in the Midlands – or anywhere else – you know what to do. Regard it as creative harassment. Pester for art. For the word. For me.

I then popped into the offices of the Express and Star, where I said much the same as I had in Waterstone’s, to greater immediate effect. I’m now waiting for a press photographer to capture me with a copy of the book in hand. He’s due in half an hour. I’m also going to be interviewed. The last time anyone in the family made the pages of the E&S was when my father celebrated his 100th birthday, when the article contained three factual errors, so I’d better be careful what I say…