A Tribal Affair

The new book is written and has been delivered to my commissioning editor. According to him: “It looks great.” My sigh of relief on hearing this was so deep I think the subsonic hum caused damage to the Westway’s concrete.

The good news keeps rolling with the discovery that the project is going to be copy-edited by Tim Dedopulos. This is a lovely bonus. Tim’s name was in the acknowledgements as one of my ‘brothers by other mothers’ long before I knew he would be working on the book.

Writing it with Matt Adams – whose name would have been in the acknowledgements of any project – then being edited by Tim makes it feel like a tribal affair. Sharing the spoils of a kill, turning one gig into work that helps keep three of us in the black. The running tribe model, the 21st century way,

The project is my first humour book in a decade. Unlike the crime against trees I put my name to help clear Anne-Marie Forker’s student debts, this one is almost readable. I am happy to admit it is a hack gig. When you need to pay for a funeral, there is no better way than to write a book about death. As Andy Warhol would say: “I’ve got to bring home the bacon, someone’s got to bring home the roast.”

However, doing this book has also meant being commissioned by someone I really rate and like, writing with one of the people I am closest to and being edited by a man who I consider a brother despite him having once stolen my name. It really does feel like the way forward. Working with my friends, dividing the score.

Now the book is over, there is only one more thing to do before I can get back to life. After I get back from the hospital I can concentrate on the important things. There are ducks to feed and brioche bread and butter puddings to make. A 99-year-old Nanna to spoil and lazing in bed with the Sunday morning papers to catch up on.

‘It takes at least a thousand pages to write the crap out of your system’

My editor for Conspiracy Files has shingles. His replacement – the blessed Lara – has asked me cut the text. This time it is not for legal reasons, but for space. If the cuts I have to make are too drastic, I will post the full originals on this blog because I am actually reasonably pleased with some of my writing when it comes to the new material. This is not always the case when I appraise my own work.

There are very few bits of advice on writing that actually hold at the coalface. One of them I have found to be true is: ‘It takes at least a thousand pages to write the crap out of your system.’ I think in my case it might be more like 3,000 pages, but the principle is accurate. It takes a while to flush out literary toxins you absorb as a reader. It takes a lot of pages to find your own voice, to be inspired by your favourite authors instead of sounding like a poor copy of them. I might not ever be to sing sentences that bring worlds to life like Sinclair or Moore, but I hope I am beginning to hit the right notes and express the tune I hear in my head at times.