Got a letter yesterday. Personal, important looking. But not a bill. Could it be… a book response? Too small to contain a returned manuscript. Good news? Bad news? Palpitations…
Rip it open.
It’s, it’s… It’s an invitation to the Rhythm Festival. Yes, yes, very good, thanks a lot. Yes, great line-up Geno Washington, Jackie Leven (and the many meanings of “aye”), Billy Bragg, The Men They Couldn’t Hang (who I’ve mentioned before), The Wailers, yadda yadda. But not – not – what I was hoping for.
(Still, if you fancy going to a music festival in England this summer, I recommend it. I’ve been twice. Mellow atmosphere, good beer, pristine toilets, small enough not to have to worry about losing your children. And it’s on an old well-preserved World War Two USAF airbase – the place Glenn Miller set off from on his final flight.)
(And yes, that is the Geno that Dexy’s Midnight Runners were singing about. He’s still going strong and getting freaky.)
But back to the book. C’mon people. I want to get published before books become extinct.
Amazon announced that e-book sales out-stripped hardbacks the other week for the first time.
And to get ahead in the e-book race, I’ll have to ratchet up the smut meter significantly. Apparently the most popular e-books in Apple’s iBookstore are the likes of Blonde and Wet by the prolific “hygienic and mucky” Carl East. There’s a good piece by David Sexton about it all. It’s the most porn to come out of Hull since Philip Larkin it seems.
What I need is a fierce player in my corner. Someone like Andrew “The Jackal” Wylie. But, oh dear, it’s all getting so cross and complicated with the lines between literary agent and publisher becoming blurred.
I think I’ll watch a film about Iron Baby to calm my nerves.
PS – Sorry about the Blonde and Wet link earlier. I couldn’t help it.