There's a school of thought that says there's no such thing as writer's block. It's an excuse put about by lazy wasters who spend more time dreaming of glitzy literary parties than doing any actual work. But whether or not you subscribe to this view, there's no denying the fact that writing has its bad patches. Sometimes it's extremely difficult indeed. Sometimes it's hard to write anything at all; sometimes it's impossible to believe that what you've written is any good...


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Being British, I ought to remember if the summer of 1987 was a good one weather-wise. But I don’t and it might have rained every single day for all I cared. Because I was 18, I’d just left school, the ink was still wet on my pink paper driving licence, I had the keys to my mother’s rusty old brown Renault 12, a pocket full of cash from working in a bar and the coolest cool black suede jacket this side of James Dean.

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It is with great, great pleasure that I can say that the launch on Sunday for the photo book I helped out with for The Alzheimer's Society went brilliantly. Katherine Elizabeth Lewis whose idea the whole thing was, and who'd been seriously under the weather for the whole of the week before, was able to come which made me very happy. And the turnout was splendid - the venue was full and a huge thanks to Julie and to Freya who provided first class service and cake.

The readings and readers were fab, and went down a treat (with one minor exception - here's a Nik tip: If you're thinking of getting very, very drunk and attending a book launch with the intent of making a scene you're likely to make yourself look very, very silly).

Hearing the readers' work aloud was, for me, the best bit - it was a powerful reminder of the quality of the work, both the stories, poems and haiku that are in the book and things people read that weren't were all brilliant and varied. We even got to hear former Cheshire poet Laureate, Joy Winkler sing as part of a piece from the show she's doing with other contributors Jo Bell and John Lindley.

And books were sold. Money was raised. And a good time was had by all.

And I got to go for a drink afterwards, and meet and chat, with some lovely people, including Janette Jones Caroline Smailes, Mr Bubble Cow and many many more.

Brilliant. Brilliant night all round, really.

Here are some pics of some of the readers. There'll be more to come.

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You do realise that I didn’t go to the dentist, don’t you? I stuffed my face with Paracetamol and the pain eventually disappeared but there is an echo every now and then. Oh I’m feeling old.



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I'm reading, on and off, an anthology of American Detective Stories. It has some authors I've heard of, including Raymond Chandler, Ed McBain, Sue Grafton and William Faulkner (yes, that William Faulkner!) and many I hadn't. Clinton H. Stagg is of the latter group. His story, The Keyboard of Silence (1923), features - wait for it - a blind detective.

Reading the story has convinced me of a long-standing thesis of mine: detective fiction is actually a branch of surrealism.

To quote one joyously surreal passage: ‘“One often wonders,” continued Colton [the blind detective] ... “why a stout woman, like that one two tables to our left, for instance, will suffer the tortures of her hereafter for the sake of drinking high balls in a tight, purple gown.”’
His assistant is understandably amazed. But as the blind detective explains, ‘”All stout women who breathe asthmatically wear purple. It is the only unfailing rule of femininity. And to one who has practised the art of locating sounds that come to doubly sharp ears the breathing part was easy.”’ And so on.



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When my daughter was fourteen I tried to kill her with an umbrella but my sisters-in-law stopped me. I had a good excuse - murder was definitely called for…if I’d had a blog then I wouldn’t have given her the name Amazon: I hated her for the best part of ten months!

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YouTube poetry - brilliant stuff.

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If you were at the launch last night you'd have heard (as well as some wonderful readings) me mentioning the contributors to the 20 Photos 20 Stories book were both local writers and professional authors; you'd also have heard me mention said authors' books by name. But you'd have also been very excited by the quality of the readings and might, in the excitement, not have remembered the titles of those books.

So, here, in no particular order, they are:

Words From a Glass Bubble, by Vanessa Gebbie.
A Kind of Intimacy, by Jenn Ashworth.
The White Road and Other Stories, by Tania Hershman.
Black Boxes, by Caroline Smailes.
In Search of Adam, by Caroline Smailes.
Loads and loads of Anne Brooke's!!
On The Edge and Morag's Garden, by Joy Winkler.
House of Wonders, by John Lindley.
Navigation, by Jo Bell.
And a little book about Romans and Celts and a boy who doesn't like sleeping. By me.

I do hope I've not left any out.

***

There'll be more on the launch soon, with some pics. And vids and audio, hopefully. But, for those of you who just can't wait, click here for a teaser courtesy of Jo Bellfield, or here courtesy of Bubble Cow. Or here, if you'd rather see someone who wasn't me.

***

On a personal and mental note, I'm shattered. I have a lot to catch up on and a lot to write. And I can't wait to get back into it. I have loved working on the photo book but that, and all the other stuff that's happened over this past few months, has been tiring and a bit of a strain. So if things go a little quite over here for a wee while, you'll know why - I'll just be getting back to being me again. And getting organised.

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At one level, The Philosopher and The Wolf is a highly amusing and deeply moving memoir of the life and times of one man and his wolf. As both grow and mature and change - jobs, homes, continents, girlfriends - they provide, for each other, the only constants in each other’s lives. We watch Brenin as he grows from fluffy cub into 150lb adult; we observe his training and his interactions with dogs and other people; we prowl with the wolf as he hunts rabbits and chases birds as much as we see his human companion hunt jobs and chase girls.


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Never let it be said that the quality of this blog is going downhill…

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