Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes...

Folks. Come closer, and pull up a chair. Let me share with you something wondrous. Ready? Of course you are, you're gagging to hear the news. Well, here we go. Last Friday, this teeny-tiny blog written by little old me, had it's first birthday. I KNOW. In the bastardised words of a politician I didn't much care for, WE ARE A ONE YEAR OLD. 

Honestly, I've never committed so hard to anything in my life. Weekly ramblings uploaded every Monday and shared around the world. (Yeah, yeah, I had three weeks off at Christmas, it won't happen again.)

It genuinely thrills me to look at the stats on this thing. Mostly, I get a couple of hundred people (well, a couple of hundred clicks) reading this over the course of the week. The bulk of those are on the day it comes out - Monday. Some posts are more popular, but that seems to be an average figure. But now and then, there are anomalies. I went on an all-dayer a few weeks ago (Deanesfest17) and when I got in, despite the week's post having been online for five days, I saw it had been clicked 142 times while I'd been out. And... wait for it...in South Korea. WTAF?

I know it was probably a bot. But still, the fact that happens makes me smile. The other week, Canada seemed to like something I wrote about gender. It had more views there than anywhere else. The randomness of the Internet is boss. 

I realise I am ridiculously behind the times. Blogs were cutting edge in the last millennium when only clever people knew how to do them. Once something IT-based and technical has been dumbed down so much that even I can get on board, you just know the cool kids are elsewhere. In vlogs? On Snapchat? Orbiting space? Even so, I'm proud of myself and my corner of the Internet. And I've learnt shit loads. (That's a technical term.) The musical RENT asks us, 'How do you measure, measure a year?' and I answer, 'In all the bloggy things I have learnt that are listed below.' RENT replies, 'So not in daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee, in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife?' And I say, 'No. In the list below. Keep up.'

Whadda I Know? 

• Blogging is free! Blogger is anyway, and that's the one I use.
• Typing a blog online is not like typing a word document. Code decides where things go on the page, not text boxes. (Sorry to all who know and accept this readily but it still blows my tiny mind.)
• Pictures and GIFs make everything feel better.

  

  See?

• The most popular posts have been the ones where I rant about something I think strongly about. This is usually gender stereotypes, sexism and Eurovision. (I'm a broad church.)
• Putting ads on your blog can earn you money every time someone clicks on one from your page. It can earn you whole PENNIES!
• If you get your family and friends to click the ads repeatedly to up your cash, Google catch on and close your account.
• Adding additional pages can give the blog more of a website feel.



I've got tabs and everything!              

• The longer I've done this, the easier it has been to think of something to write each week. At the start I'd be planning that week's post for days. Now I roll out of bed on the day I write it, and it usually comes.
• The most popular browser used to read it is Chrome.
• The most popular operating system used to read it is iPhone.
• The top three countries that read it are UK, USA and Ireland.
• I've made a conscious decision not to say anything negative about anyone online. Very hard at times! Mainly to avoid being sued but also to make it a friendly place to be. (That's the aim, anyway.)
• I often spend more time looking for the right GIF than I do writing the text of the post.

  

  I feel ya, Tom.

• Whenever I want to add a link to a post to enlarge on a point, I know for sure that The Guardian or The Pool will have something suitable. 
• I find it really hard to categorise what this blog is about to people who haven't read it.
• I usually say, 'It's like I have a weekly column in a liberal broadsheet and I'm famous enough to be able to write about anything I fancy without being mithered.' (I think that would be my dream job actually.)
• Writing a post on a Friday to upload first thing on a Monday is fine until it is a Bank Holiday weekend and you go away until Monday afternoon without your laptop and have to borrow someone else's and then reset your password to get into Blogger because you don't have it saved and then you have to publish a day early because you forgot this wasn't a normal Monday. (This has happened twice now.)
• My stats go much higher when I use a twitter hashtag with a big audience. So far, these have included #eurovision, #strictly and #womensEURO2017.
• Writing a novel takes forever so having a weekly outlet for short bursts of word-play feels essential.
• Every picture I upload on the blog gets added to a Pinterest page with the same name, to drive more readers this way.
• Getting messages and comments from people who have agreed with me about something important (to me) is the best feeling.
• Seeing people like and share something I've written online is also cockle-warming.
• I'm well up for another year of this. And with a bit of forward planning and a couple of pre-written posts, I'll even keep it up over Christmas. 

Happy birthday to all readers everywhere, whether they are in South Korea, Canada, or wherever. Let's eat cake, drink wine and party like it's 1999 - a time I would have been a pioneering early-adopter of the blogging field.

Have a lovely week, folks. 

The Stress of a Book Signing...

Preach it, Blanche.

There are many brilliant things about not marking books and planning lessons anymore. Knowing you have four sets of thirty books to mark before the following day as you take your tea-plates to the sink, is the worst feeling. But what to do with all the extra time? Without a job that seeps into all your gaps, there's time for some Interesting and Exciting activities. This could be anything from taking up paragliding to watching five-year old Netflix releases that everyone else has stopped talking about. It could be anything. For me, something that falls squarely into both the Interesting and Exciting category is a book signing and this is exactly where I went last Wednesday. 

Marian Keyes was at Waterstones in Manchester. She chatted away about all sorts for things and then signed copes of her new book, The Break. It was great but more of that in a minute. First, let me explain the stresses that fill my head when I think of a book signing.

I have no experience of book signings as an author. The nearest I've got was a Weight Watchers' meeting in April. At their request, I sold copies of Carry the Beautiful to six of my friends. They all insisted I sign them, and with a mixture of mortification and extreme pride, I did. I suppose it made a change from talking about how much I love mashed potato. But sitting at a desk, signing your name repeatedly and chatting to thousands of fans over the course of a promotional period, has got to be knackering. It must be amazing to see so many people buy and intend to read your book, but I'm guessing hugely overwhelming and scary as hell too. I felt all those emotions with my six fellow WW women so God knows how bigger the extrapolated feelings get.

Enough of the authors' experiences though. Spare a thought for the queuing fan. Marian Keyes' signing was the fourth such event I've been to since I had time for a life. Before last week I've met Caitlin Moran (twice) and Armistead Maupin and the problem is always the same. When face to face with a person whose writing has given me comfort, whose characters have inspired, taught and entertained me, whose words have settled into the most private places in my brain, nothing that comes out of my mouth sounds any good. I'll be clearer. Anything I have ever said to an author at a signing makes me sound like a tit.

Think about it. This is the big moment. The moment I've queued for up to an hour to experience. I've had all that time to work something out. Something pithy and intelligent. Something witty. And then the moment comes and I blow it. The first thing that pops into my head spews out of my mouth and it is gibberish. Utter shite. It's then that I know the dream is over and I won't be going for post-signing drinks with my new best mate that day. I won't have wowed my author-hero standing in front of my with the power of my sparkling personality. Let's examine the evidence for the prosecution...

8th October 2011
Cheltenham Literary Festival - Caitlin Moran

What I Wanted to Say: You write like you have reached into my head and found all my deepest thoughts. Your books are hugely reassuring and make me feel like I'm not the only person who thinks like I do. Thank you.

What Actually Happened...
Caitlin: Hi

Me: I REALLY LIKED YOU ON NEWSNIGHT WHEN YOU TALKED ABOUT PUBIC HAIR.

*Hangs head in shame as Caitlin gamely talks about her recent Newsnight appearance*

12th February 2014
Liverpool Museum - Armistead Maupin

What I Wanted to Say: Long before I visited, I felt like I'd been to San Francisco because of the vivid and colourful way you describe your town. The reason I chose to spend my 30th birthday there was because of the beauty of the characters you created and the depth of their stories, hooking me in since I was a teenager.

What Actually Happened...
Armistead: Hello

Me: OH GOOD. YOU'RE LEFT HANDED.

*Goes bright red as Armistead signs his name and smiles despite my randomness*

14th July 2014
Nottingham Playhouse - Caitlin Moran

What I Wanted to Say: Last time I met you I ballsed it up. I wanted to tell you that your opinions and the confidence with which you share them, show me how to be stronger and braver and to share my own opinions in the face of adversity. 

What Actually Happened...
Caitlin: Hello.

Me: I'M THE ELDEST OF SEVEN CHILDREN.

(This sort of makes sense because she is the eldest of eight. She high-fived me immediately, making me unsure as to whether I had made a total tit of myself this time, or not. Let's just say not.)

And so to Marian. She was utterly, utterly lovely. Exactly the same as she comes across on her weekly Short Fillums and her newsletter. Warm, engaging, sincere and funny. Her new book was the focus of the interview - it's about a couple that have a six months break in their marriage along with the inevitable fall out it causes - but wider topics covered included feminism and activism, reproductive rights in Ireland, the horror of the current global political environment, and social media. There was a Q and A session at the end, and then the signing took place.

This time I was determined. I really wanted to use my two minutes at the front of the queue to convey to Marian Keyes how much I love her writing, how accessible it is whilst simultaneously tackling huge issues accurately, how much I am drawn to her unabashed feminism twinned with embracing all of femininity, how funny I find her tweets, how her way with words is poetic and lyrical, how I admire her positivity and cheeriness whilst dealing with all that life throws... I could go on and on but I had to be succinct. The moment was approaching. So...

13th September 2017 
Waterstones Manchester Deansgate - Marian Keyes

What I Wanted to Say: All of the above and more.

What Actually Happened...
Marian: Hello there.

Me: THIS YEAR WILL BE MY FIRST STRICTLY.

Marian: NOOOO. YOU WILL LOVE IT. YOU WILL LOVE IT! IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE, I PROMISE YOU. I PROMISE YOU. IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE.

OK, so it might have just been my imagination, but I am pretty sure Marian Keyes spoke to me in capital letters. Proper mofo massive ones. Usually it is only me that does that, but I really think she did it back. And even though I didn't say a word of what I was planning, it didn't matter. It felt good. She didn't smile politely and busy herself with the signing. She replied in capital letters! Maybe I've broken the 'Curse of the Book Signing' once and for all. Maybe I was witty and eloquent. Or maybe I was just lucky to be talking to someone that was kind enough to be enthusiastic about the nonsense I gushed.

However it went down, I walked away feeling happy and inspired, and made up that I got to meet an author whose novels I have loved for years. And the best bit is, now I get to read her book.

 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Tales of a Feminist Aunt and Godmother...

A few months ago, you may remember I went on a mini-pilgrimage to Gay's the Word bookshop in London for the day, in search of the recently-erected Mark Ashton blue plaque. How's that for a long-winded opening sentence! You want to refresh your memory? Click here. Anyway, I spent a lovely half hour or so browsing away, feeling the urge to spend far more than I had planned.

It's weighty and stunning!

The first book that I picked up was a cracker. In the kids' section, Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls jumped out at me. It was a month or so before my niece's 4th birthday and it was the perfect gift. It was one of those gorgeous hard-backed story books - the kind that have the word 'compendium', 'treasury' or 'anthology' attached. It was solid and tactile, and filled to the brim with beautiful illustrations. It also had decent feminist chops. Every page contained a mini-biography of a remarkable woman from history. The stories outlined their triumph over adversity and beating the odds no matter what. It was a concerted effort to redress the gender bias that much formal history perpetuates but in a child-friendly and accessible way. Many of the featured women I'd never heard of, but some I had - Simone Biles, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Malala Yousafzai - from the present day to hundreds of years before. It felt the ideal present to give to my niece, who combines a deeply inquisitive, factual nature with worshiping at the altar of the Disney princess. I did my Feminist Aunt thing and bought it for her and according to later feedback from my sister, she loved it. All good so far.

Coco
Chanel

Balkissa
Chaibou

Michelle
Obama

But despite it's marvellousness, one thing bugged me. A tiny thing really, and not one that stopped me from purchasing it. I just wish they hadn't used the word 'girls' in the title. Even though it was qualified with 'rebel', implying it was reaching out to girls that didn't conform, it still niggled. Even though it was providing those same girls with top notch female role models, I wished it hadn't felt the need to be labelled so definitively. It hit a nerve.

I have a real issue with labelling things for 'girls' and 'boys'. Whether it's books, clothes, toys or anything. It's illogical. The time it gets logical is when, if we use clothes as an example, puberty strikes and trousers and tops need to be different shapes for female hips and male shoulders. That's when gendered clothing becomes a necessity. Until then, it's just what society has deemed is appropriate, regardless of how the individual child feels. It's stereotyping, it limits choice and it's encourages the harmful myth that boys behave one way and girls behave another. A myth that has been explored in Robert Webb's recent book, How Not To Be a Boy.

This gal would have
been unimpressed
with modern day
clothes labelling.

This is an issue that is close to my heart. I was a girl that liked and wore 'boyish' clothes pre-puberty. (And post too, as far as I could.) Except they weren't boyish, they were just clothes that I liked. The majority of my wardrobe was made up of hand-me-downs from the neighbours, so I don't know if I'd have been able to find 1980s shop-bought-clothes with ease. I suspect back then, I would. I think it was easier thirty years ago. These days, when I look around kids' clothes shops, I have no idea what the eight year old me would have chosen to wear. I suspect, it wouldn't have been from the 'girls' section. Last week John Lewis incurred the wrath of the Twitter trolls when they announced they would be ditching girls and boys labels on their clothes. It seemed a very sensible decision to me - a top becomes a 'girl's top' when a girl wears it, not when it has been displayed in the girl's section - but some people took great offence. Apparently it is MOST important that clothes are labelled correctly so boys and only boys wear tops with diggers, pirates and dinosaurs on them. Otherwise the worst might happen and a girl might accidentally wear one and then where would we be. Uh-oh. Cue the end of days. Yeah, Twitter got a bit silly last week. 

So back to books and that pesky 'girls' label. I am lucky enough to have been a reader of adult fiction before the invention of the phrase 'chick-lit'. (It's such a horribly dismissive term. Chick-lit - bleugh. I'm not fussed on the label 'women's fiction' either but at least it's vaguely respectful.) Before the late '90s it seemed it wasn't a thing and books were books. I spent my teenage years in the early '90s reading novels by Rosamunde Pilcher, Virginia Andrews, Sue Townsend and Mary Stewart. Not once did I choose them because we were all girls together. I chose them because they were on my parents' bookshelf and the blurb on the back looked good. (By the same criteria, I read the entire Dick Francis back catalogue, too.) But then in 1996 Bridget Jones' Diary came out and along with it, the marketing idea that there were now books just for women and that they were somehow less than. (The term 'chick' manages to convey that perfectly IMHO - excuse me while I vom.) I was doing an English Literature degree at the time so all this passed me by at first. I was full of the joys (and I'm loaded with sark here) of Webster, Marlowe and Milton and didn't pick up a book of my own choice for three years. When I finally read for pleasure again, the book shelves had changed. Suddenly there was a section for the laydeez. Women's Fiction was there in big letters. There was no Men's Fiction section, obviously. Men's books were all books. It was only the fluffy lady stories for us delicate creatures that had been segregated. It made me cross. It's not that I disliked every book that booksellers labelled for my sex or gender (some of them were cracking reads) but I did balk at the categorisation of them. It was unnecessary. 

The trend of categorising female authors' work as chick-lit has calmed down in recent years - by booksellers and publishers anyway. Not so much in real life though. Repeatedly, when someone asks me what Carry the Beautiful is about, I begin my spiel. 

'It's a woman looking back over her life and wondering why she isn't as happy as she thought she'd be, so we flash back to her University days and see how the past has impacted the future.' 

Most people (a mix of men and women) say 'Oh, it's a women's book then.' And I smile through gritted teeth and explain that books are for everybody and no, it's just a good story that both men and women would like if they happen to like novels like mine. I reference Nick Hornby, David Nicholls, Marian Keyes and Lisa Jewell as being vaguely similar to my style and inside I scream at them for being duped by a society that tells us we are supposed to like something based on the contents of our pants. That everyone with a vagina is instantly predisposed to like pink fluffy clothes and pretty things whilst everyone with a penis is supposed to automatically wear blue and take part in rough and tumble shenanigans with all the other penis owners. And then I fake-smile again and deep breathe for a bit until I'm less angry at the ridiculousness of it all and the damage that stereotyped ideas of gender can bring.

So, yeah. Where was I? Goodnight Stories for Rebel Girls? Oh yeah, that. It really is the most beautiful book. Filled with positive role models and life-affirming stories. I've just bought a second copy - one for my football-loving, boundlessly energetic Goddaughter. I imagine it won't be the last. I just have to make sure I write 'Books Are For Everyone' on the inside cover each time I give it to someone and then I can sleep soundly.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Cancel My Ten O'Clock and Get New York on Line Two...

I will, Michelle, I will!

Well after all the gadding about and shenanigans last week, it's back to work. And the thing is, I couldn't be happier. The start of September means the official end (in my head, at least) of all that sweaty weather, as well as providing a motivational surge that the back-to-school feeling brings. I'll be honest, I'm a lot happier about the back-to-school feeling than I was when I was a real life staff member of a real life school. September brought more mixed emotions then. Mainly panic, stress and the dread of knowing in just a couple of months I'd be screaming multiple verses of Christmas carols at children in an attempt to force-teach an excessive number of songs within a week whilst trying to complete Very Important end of term assessments at the same time. *Sighs, looks into distance, starts smoking, pours a stiff drink, ponders narcotics* Sorry about that, where was I? Yeah, regardless of how the routine takes shape, the fact remains - once September hits, the days are renewed with vigour and purpose once more. Woohoo and hurrah for that.

I make calls like this on a daily basis.

In readiness for the new writing year, I've been sorting out technical things. Things like 'admin' and 'accounts'. Things that have been on my To Do list for months. Honest to God, it's like I've turned into Ken Masters, running Leisure Cruise in a pastel jumper. (Follow him on Twitter!) I'm proper business these days. Tell Toyko I'm in a meeting. I'll have that cappuccino to go! In all seriousness, the 'admin' is minimal but it still has to be done. I was in the advantageous position prior to writing, in already having an accountant that did my self-assessment stuff each year. I didn't do anything other than sign a few forms when I was told to. But now? Now I have invoices! Now I have receipts! Now I am responsible for paperwork! Frigging hell! It's all so silly too. I'm not JK Rowling. No, I know, it's easy for me to forget that too. But I'm not raking in the cash. I never assumed I would. I am, however, seeing a trickle of pennies come through each month that can pay for a nice meal out now and then. But even though it is buttons I still have to be rigorous with my accounts. I have to be on it.

Me and my filing.
BUY BUY SELL SELL!

So, for anyone who reads these posts in order to glean insight into their own self-publishing journey, first of all, jeez,you really shouldn't, and secondly, I'll add a bit of detail about the financial side of it all.

• Amazon make you complete an online tax questionnaire so that you don't pay tax on US sales twice. It is less complicated than it looks so don't be put off.
• It is not necessary to set up as a Limited Company when you self-publish. Sole Trader status will be fine unless you end up selling a gazillion copies. 
• Likewise, a business bank account is not necessary when it's a small publishing enterprise.
• Creating paperbacks is an expensive shebang. For a £7.99 book*, the writer/publisher gets 86p.
• Ebook royalties are better. Around 50% of the price goes to the writer/publisher. Plus there are less costs in setting them up too. 
• Whilst income may be low, expenses are tax deductible - from printer ink to ISBN costs.
• Both Ingram Spark (paperback providers) and KPD (ebook providers) pay royalties around 90 days after sales. 
• There are a shed load of ways you can spend money on a book in order to improve sales. Marketing companies, books on how to sell books, competition entry fees - some are worth it, some are not. Choose wisely.
• All of the above is based on my own UK experience. I imagine other countries are a whole other kettle of fish.

So there we are. Now I've printed and filed all my paperwork since April, I am feeling unencumbered and ready to crack on. I'm still on track for draft one of book two to be completed by Christmas, as well as being ready to begin writing Tilda#2 this time next year. Now all I need to do is concentrate on gin-soaked business lunches, adding shoulder pads to my tops and leading hostile takeovers of the board. Now hold my calls, damn it. I'm flying to Geneva at noon.

Have a lovely week, folks. 

*There are lots of variables that affect cost such as cover size and page count. The price quoted is for a 8" x 5" novel with 324 black and white pages with Ingram Spark's 2017 prices.