Mofo Paragraph of Joy...

At this precise moment in time - May 2021 - life feels weirdly positive. I'm perkily upbeat and full of the joys. I know. It's a shock to me too. It's impossible to attribute the source of my good humour to one event. There's no specific inciting incident to make me feel carefree and chilled out. It's simply a big old mishmash of stuff beyond my control. But in order to create a well of positivity to access during future slumps, I'll give you a whistle-stop tour of all the things that've given me the feels over the last couple of weeks. Just so you're in the loop.

Eurovision rehearsals began in Rotterdam. I followed online content for days, read the blogs and articles, and watched the vids of people I know virtually, who share the love with me. That cheered me up no end. Then, I watched the film, Before Sunrise. It's my automatic answer to the question, 'Hey Nicky, what's your favourite film?' and when I first saw it at nineteen, I fell in love with every single second. In recent years, I've given it space. I've kept away for over a decade in case it hasn't aged well. I'd rather remember it as it was, not what it's become. But my gamble paid off. It was joyous to reconnect and made me realise I'm still the person I was twenty years ago. (Sort of, better, more cynical, but still able to identify with the people on screen.) It was lovely to revisit myself through the medium of my favourite film - the one that kick-started all sorts of creative endeavours of my own. But then it was right back to the present. I went to the cinema. Yes, the cinema! How weirdly moving to sit with strangers in the dark and watch a film. So commonplace in the before times but now empowering and triumphant. Better still, was the film. When Nomadland - a cinematic stunner of landscapes, open spaces, and the world beyond lockdown - finished, I sat until the end of the credits. Not only out of respect for the names on the screen but because I didn't want to leave the world I'd just been part of. Another woman on my row did the same, and we walked out together in mutually smiling silence. Then, as night follows day, the Eurovision Final follows the weeks of build-up. My favourite day of the year had arrived. A night of banging music, camaraderie, and for the first time ever, my favourite song won. This rarely, if ever, happens, but the song I'd had on daily repeat in the weeks leading up to the big day, took the trophy. And another fab thing has come from that. I've got a new band to devour. Discovering music is always a thrill and ESC winners, Måneskin, have two albums that I've hoovered up since. Who knew I was into Italian rock? Not me for a tiny second. But let's move on. Last week, the build-up to a repeatedly-postponed weekend in a caravan arrived. Planning for it was strangely exotic. What did I need for three nights in Wales? I hadn't an igloo so packed everything I own. The weekend arrived as did the road trip to the seaside to meet with three generations of family. So what if we had to be outside in order to socialise as a group? Even the most bracing sea air was a welcome change from the stagnation of lockdown. Then I discovered a Nick Hornby book I'd never read. A cup of tea and a morning of losing myself in other people's worlds was truly restorative. So what else has happened? My own book is finished. There's nothing to do except wait for its emergence online, and it's fab to have to stop thinking about it for five minutes. I've eaten out a couple of times and started to think about booking a holiday for next year. Just looking at locations with a realistic expectation of visiting feels a million years away from recent times. Even if I don't actually make firm plans yet, I know it's likely I can. What a change?!

It'd be rude not to include a Before
Sunrise gif when it's held up so well.

Like I said, it's a whistle stop tour of my recent experiences and perhaps the longest paragraph I've ever blogged - essential to break it up with colour, I'm sure you'll agree. A lot of stuff's been squeezed into the past fortnight and it's made me realise something. The pandemic and writing a novel have similarities. For so long, it's really dull. The days go slowly - whether you're locked down for public health reasons, or writing something that's only in your head until you get it on the page. When people ask, 'How's the book going?' - which is lovely of them to even bother - you find yourself replying with 'Fine', 'It's going well', or 'Yeah, good thanks,' even when it's been doing your head in for weeks. I bet it was the same when someone asked you how you were over lockdown. 'Oh you know, as good as I can be', or 'Keeping on keeping on, like we all are.' There's no room in polite chitchat to throw in edgy honesty. No one needs more negativity, right? But now the need for daily perseverance in the face of all this, is less intense. For me, the book is done, and for the UK, pandemic restrictions are less stringent. We can taste freedom even if we don't utilise it. We might still fill the hours watching films, reading books, or enjoying global song contests from our sofas. We might still be uber-tentative when it comes to meeting up with others, or pressing BOOK NOW on a 2022 holiday, but it feels better. At least it does to me. 

If things don't feel better for you, then fair play. As usual I'm only speaking for myself. I suppose if nothing else, I've passed on some recommendations for books, music, and films that might keep you going while you persevere a little longer. But that mofo paragraph above has sorted me out good and proper. May you find a rambling paragraph of your own. Or at least the content to fill one, over the coming weeks.

Have a lovely week, folks.

The Publishing Snag List...

The comedown is real, folks.

Let's face it, we're all knee-deep in Post-Eurovision Depression. The adrenaline-fuelled highs from Saturday night have an energy-sapping binary opposite. And that's today. It's Monday morning, the week after Eurovision season climaxed in pyrotechnic marvellousness. Time to get back to work. So from one rollercoaster ride to another - the old book publishing journey. It's less fun, I'm the driver AND the passenger, and I'm working through the next steps wearing jeans and a jumper rather than spangles and glitter. Now where was I?

This week it's all about getting Assembling the Wingpeople ready for pre-ordering. It's time to pull back the wizard's curtain once again and explain what goes on behind the scenes. The next steps are getting the book to be purchasable via all the usual places. By using a Print on Demand publishing site (Ingram Spark) with a wide distribution model, it takes one click of a button for my book to be automatically available on pretty much all the websites that sell books. The ones you've heard of anyway. So, even if there are no physical copies in Waterstones shops, you can buy a physical copy from Waterstones online. Most exciting is a new website that's popped up in the UK since I last published anything. Bookshop is a site that sells books from an independent shop near your location. How marvellous to know Assembling the Wingpeople will be available there too.

OK. Let's talk progress. The wizard's curtain and all that. So far it feels as is I'm taking three steps forward and one step back. That's not bad to be honest. Boxes are getting crossed off and the goal is in sight. But there's still that pesky backward step that pops up now and then, just to keep me in my place. But first, the three forward steps. Here's what's happened since the last time I brought you up to speed.

1. The front cover is done. It's been submitted and accepted by both the paperback and e-book site, meaning it's going to print perfectly and look great. There have been no technical issues detected that will cause problems. As I've explained before, none of that's my doing so I can enjoy the ease of this part of the process with my feet up.

2. Keywords have been chosen. This always makes me laugh. When setting up a new title on Kindle Direct Publishing (e-book) and Ingram Spark (paperback) both sites want a selection of keys words that might help a reader find the book. KDP provides seven boxes. You might assume that means they want seven keywords and once upon a time, that's what I'd have done. But no. It's clear you should never settle for the bare minimum. Instead I've filled the boxes with as many words and phrases that I can squeeze in. Less is absolutely not more in this sitch. Optimise those boxes!

3. Uploading the interior document. AKA as the book, the interior document is the biggest faff of all. Obviously there's the story itself but alongside that there's the copyright page, chapter list, dedication page, acknowledgements, and author bio. Lots of areas to cock up. Happily, the paperback website went smoothly. The document was uploaded, and after a few moments, I got confirmation it was accepted. Whooohoooo. Again, this means there are no technical issues that will cause a problem. I'm now waiting for the first copy to arrive at my door, so I can check it in the flesh. I can't tell you what a satisfying feeling that is.

So there are my three steps forward. Now for the step back. Duh duh duhhhhhh...

Unlike the paperback site, the e-reader setup doesn't want a PDF. It wants a Word doc. Uploading it seemed to go well. I got the green tick of joy to say it had been successfully accepted with no issues. Then I got the chance to see the e-book as it would appear when purchased. I clicked the previewer button and scrolled through. Here's the thing. E-readers come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. On my previewer, I could switch between a Kindle-view, a tablet-view, or a smartphone-view. I could change the font size on the previewer in the same way a reader could on their Kindle. So that's when I realised the limitations of the Word Doc I'd uploaded. Basically, every time a text or email message appears between characters in the book, the spacing is all over the place. Unless you're reading on a Kindle with a size 3 font (quite small in reality) you'd be getting random spaces, missed lines, and all sorts of nonsense. Not cool. 

The paperback version. All good here.

The e-book version. A tiny example of something
 that's littered through the document.

It's a laborious problem to fix although relatively simple. I need to rejig all the bits of text affected, so they flow seamlessly instead of having gaps. (No excessive use of the space bar to put a time stamp at the end of a line, for instance.) In the scroll through, I counted twenty-nine text messages, emails, or Whatsapps that are affected. It means the e-book version will have differently set-out messages between the characters than the paperback. But as they've both got different ISBNs, I don't think it's a problem. Look, I don't mind if you don't. It's just another job for the snag list.

Apart from that little hiccup, that little backward step, we're still cooking on gas. We're all systems go for an October release date. I'll crack on and work through my list of jobs. And as I do that, and find myself getting frustrated by it all, I'll repeatedly play Zitti e Buoni by ESC winners, Måneskin. It'll channel my aggression and sort out the Post Eurovision Depression too. Just a tip, if you're feeling similarly.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Eurovision, We Missed You!...

Cast your mind back to March 2020. Look, I know it's been ages. It was such a little thing and it probably escaped your attention, but there was a global pandemic and a nationwide lockdown. Remember? Anything? No? Fair enough.

I pictured my entire lockdown like this.

I bring this up now, because back then I had a plan. Starting on March 23rd, I was going to watch one Eurovision Song Contest a day, until I reached 2019. It made sense at the time. I knew I'd be spending all my waking hours alone; it was clear my brain wasn't able to deal with current events as well as write, and I knew I'd need to exercise if my usual woman about town routine was stopped. Therefore, I came to the obvious conclusion. I'd watch daily Eurovisions and dance around the lounge working up a sweat, whilst reliving happier memories of years gone by. As a plan, it was almost foolproof. 

Eleven contests later
 and this was me but
without the tray.

When it came to it, jigging about for two hours every day took its toll. After a week or so of ESC content, I gave up. When I look back at my notes - of course I made notes - I watched 1992-2002. It seems eleven contests were what it took for my brain to accept my locked-down situation. My notes, I must admit, are worthy of the great documentarians of our time. If it weren't for my extensive research I wouldn't be able to tell you that t-shirts under strappy dresses dominated the costuming in the late nineties, that body glitter was everywhere around the millennium, or that 2001 was the first time an arena was used to stage the thing. Honestly, you're welcome.

It won't take a genius to spot why I'm bringing this up now. You'll be fully aware that Saturday night sees the final of the 2021 Eurovision Song Contest. YAAAAAY. With 2020's competition consigned to the dustbin of what might have been, this year it's definitely taking place. Whether an act has to use a taped performance, or they've made it to Rotterdam itself, this time there WILL be a contest. Hurrah!

So as is tradition, here's my take on what might play well on the night. All the usual caveats remain. I know nothing for real, I just like what I like. And obvs, by tomorrow, a semi-final will have happened and some of the acts will go home. Same again on Thursday. There's every likelihood that my faves below don't get through. But isn't life itself a gamble? Let's crack on.

Lithuania - Discoteque by The Roop
It's catchy, it's quirky, and it's fully costumed in yellow. Discoteque is a jerky number, slightly reminiscent of the Icelandic entry from last year - you remember? Think About Things? The one that would have won if there'd been a show - and so it feels as if it's piggy-backing onto the global appeal of that. But fair play, why not? It also reminds me of 80s legends, Blancmange. But perhaps that's just me. The Roop - an established band for ten years - are full of synchronised choreography, a repetitive beat, and will be sure to stand out amidst the blander of numbers.

Norway - Fallen Angel by TIX
The video of Fallen Angel tells the somewhat harrowing tale of TIX's childhood experiences of bullying and the way he used his Tourette's to give him his stage name. The staging of the song might not manage to convey that quite so literally as the video did, but if people get the message, it could do well. His massive angel wings will stay in the mind at the very least. The song itself reminds me of the Hoobastank hit from a few years back. Might just be me?

Russia - Russian Woman by Manizha
In recent years, Russia's had muted reactions during their ESC performances for the actions of their government. But this song has received its own backlash from 'traditionalists' at home for the artist and her song. I reckon the audience will be fully supportive with that in mind. Regardless, this is a memorable, empowering, and energetic performance. It's not a million miles away from Netta's Toy that won for Israel in 2018. Definitely stands out from the crowd.

Sweden - Voices by Tusse 
This feels like a classic Eurovision entry. Sweden always know what they're doing, and it's a solid effort from Tusse. Managing to mix anthemic with dancey, there's something for everyone. Sway or bop - the choice is yours. The backstory of Tusse arriving in Sweden at thirteen as a child-refugee might give the entry an extra layer of interest, not that it necessarily needs it. It's a great performance and will likely score well.

Bulgaria - Growing Up is Getting Old by Victoria
Another returning artist from last year, Victoria starts off with quiet understatement, then builds to a soaring climax, with - and why not - a choir kicking in towards the end. She performs it well, with the orchestration conveying childlike wonder as the chorus builds. I'm a fan. Watch it get booted out at the semis now.

Denmark - Øve Os På Hinanden by Fyr Øg Flamme

Now look. It's not my fault. Blame my mid-eighties childhood. When I loved everyone on TOTPs and wished I was in Bananrama. These two fellas would fit right in with that. Part Miami Vice, part Wham from Club Tropicana, they're right up my street. Beyond that, the song's also giving me vibes of contests past. It's not quite as Diggiloo Diggilay as Diggiloo Diggilay was, but they're very much on the cusp. Be still my beating heart. They don't have a chance, like. They'll score really low, for sure. But I'll be bopping away during their semi on Thursday, no danger.

Last year's entry from
Iceland, but 2021's
looks similar.

Iceland - 10 Years by Da∂i & Gagnamagni∂
It'll be interesting to see how this plays out. 2020 was Da∂i's year. His song went viral, breaking through from the ESC fandom, and seeping into all sorts of popular culture. Remember this on Strictly? We can't take that for granted. That an Icelandic entry for a cancelled Eurovision soundtracked a dance on Saturday night BBC1 prime time, is huge. It says all you need to know about how things would've gone down last year. This time, Da∂i is back with a song that's not a million miles away from his last effort but slightly less catchy. But will that matter? Will the audience hand him the win he's owed? I think there's every chance they might, and fair enough. It really was Iceland's year last time. They're due something nice.

Poland - The Ride by RAFAŁ
This is another throwback to an 80s vibe for me but a slightly slicker one with less cheese. But it's still a throwback. Up my street and not so much anyone else's. I love the synths, I love the chord progression in the chorus, I love the way I find my head moving without realising, and I love that it's possibly the only entry in the contest that would get me off my bar stool to dance in a club. (If I even went to a club. Because that idea is frankly ridiculous.) So now I've given The Ride the kiss of death, it won't make it past Thursday night. Soz Poland.

Italy - Zitti e buoni by Måneskin
Look, I'm an absolute sucker for guyliner, so maybe my head's been turned because of that. But I really, really, really like this song. I've played it on repeat since my first listen and it refuses to get old. They're - and brace yourself for me sounding every one of my dull, white, forty-three years on this planet - a sort of gothic, sort of metal, kinda punk, almost soft rock type of band?* Maybe. Look, I've no idea. You knew that right? But between the striking image of Måneskin themselves and the song that drags you in with it's tongue-twistingly fast lyrics and pounding beat, I am IN. Room for a nanna?

So those are my faves. Or at least the ones that stood out to me when I listened to the whole lot first time around. By the time Saturday comes I'm sure I'll have a bunch of others I'm cheering for. But before we part ways, a word about the UK entry. Fair play to James Newman. He wrote a song for last year's gig, then had to do it all over again for this one. And you know what? It's not a bad little number. Lots of brass, an earworm hook of a chorus, and something upbeat and perky to give us a lift after the year we've had. It could place respectably, somewhere around the middle? But who am I kidding? We've no European mates and if we keep sending songs that are not bad instead of amazing, we'll struggle to make the leap to the left hand side of the board. But hey, let's wait and see how the weekend plays out. Anything is possible! Good luck to James, and all entries over the forthcoming week. It's Eurovision Baby! BRING IT ON.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Wikipedia has come to my rescue. Under Måneskin's genres it lists alternative rock, funk rock, rap rock, stoner rock, and glam rock. So you know, I was almost right.

Judge My Book By Its Cover, Part 2...

So where were we? Last week, I unburdened myself. I explained how I'd had the shock realisation that I'm not the graphic design genius I thought I was, after seeing a real graphic design genius create a cover for the next book. So let's get right down to it. Strike up the drums and get ready to scroll. 

Assembling the Wingpeople's front cover will look like this...

There! Isn't it a beauty! I haven't stopped looking at it for weeks! It grabbed my attention and I knew that if I were to see it displayed on a Waterstones table, I'd pick it up immediately.

I'll go on. A few other things stand out to me. Obviously the assembly kit is in reference to the assembling of the title. The title that refers to deliberately having to create a new support group when life has taken you away from the friends you used to know. The literal, visual impact of that is arresting. I think so at least. And then there's the fact this is a sequel. 

Carry the Beautiful's cover had a beigey-brown wallpaper effect to reflect Tilda's domestic life prior to this point. There wasn't much happening for her outside the four walls of her dull routine. This time, the cover is a deep pink. It shows that these days, life is being lived. Tilda, and the other characters are out and about, breaking away from the four walls of a routine existence. The pink indicates passion and excitement, adventure and risk. But the wallpaper effect is still there. Domesticity and safety prevail. The characters are not completely free just yet. Something's holding them back. The book explains what that is, and what measures they must take to break away from it.

Right now, I'm not planning a third in the series. But if I did, I'd make sure the story would break free of the wallpaper effect. It would have to show healing and completion. It's the logical next step. But like I say, it's not on my To Do list. There's nowhere near enough drama in healing and completion. Where's the fun in that?

Assembling the Wingpeople will be available in October 2021*, and I can't wait to share it with the world.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*As soon as it is ready to pre-order, you'll be the first to know. 

Judge My Book By Its Cover, Part 1...

Thanks, Shiv!

Once again, overwhelming evidence has been presented that indicates I'm not as clever as I think I am. Remember when I riffed about my delusion over the fluency of my German? Remember when I equated that to the depressing realisation I'm far less computer literate than I thought? Well buckle up, folks. I'm taking you on another wild ride. Let me talk you through the latest lesson in humility that's been handed down to me. This one's a cracker.

The lounge wall of dreams!

Back in December, I got to the point in Book Three (AKA Assembling the Wingpeople) where I needed to sort the front cover. The first part was easy. I got in touch with Gary. Gary is a friend of a friend who  - fortuitously for me - creates excellent covers for the books I write. When I contacted him in 2016 for Carry the Beautiful, I hadn't a clue what he'd come up with. Happily, it transpired, he's a genius so it all worked out. He designed three different choices, all of which were marvellous, and I eventually picked the one I liked best. When Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say was brewing, we repeated the shebang and he came up with the goods once more. The front cover is the one part of the publishing process I lose zero sleep over. (That's little comfort when there are approximately 4563 other areas to keep me awake, but don't mind me. Just having a mini-rant for a sec. Let's crack on.)

So where were we? December came, I emailed Gary, and checked he was up for the latest challenge. He was. Whoop! I then had the task of sending him the brief. Now this makes me sound like I know what I'm talking about. 'Sending him the brief.' Get me. What that really meant was waffling away in lengthy bullet-pointed lists about the themes, motifs, characters and plot of the book. So much so that it would have been quicker and simpler for him to read the whole thing. Honestly, it really forces you to focus on what your story's about when you have to describe it to someone who will be creating a visual representation to hook in readers. Did I mention Gary was a genius? Yeah, he wasn't fazed. He took it in his stride. He accepted my brief without emailing back 'WTAF Nicky?' A legend.

I've just checked back over what I sent at that time, and it's pretty bad. Here's an extract. See?

Just to be clear, I emailed him photos of sunsets, in case he wasn't familiar with the concept. I know. I'm horrific. I also used the phrase 'heads on the cover' far too many times for comfort. I honestly thought I had a clear idea in my mind of how it should look. Sunsets, orangey colours, a seaside vibe, and of course, the classic 'heads on covers' trope that is sweeping literature as we speak. (It's not.) Reading this back makes me blush at how pointless my nonsense was. But hey ho, that's how I rolled. To be fair, I did send some more basic information. This is the bit that might have been useful. Who knows? I added...

•  This book is about dealing with the unplanned events and challenges that life throws up. Bereavement, divorce, ageing, and trying to carve out a meaningful life against the odds. But it’s also funny!

• The book also features (and builds up to) a reunion of old friends, so there’s plenty of 90s references along with the ‘getting older’ stuff. 

• The title – Assembling the Wingpeople – refers to finding a support group of new friends, when you’re starting over. When all your old friends and family have been lost along the way (divorce, moving away, etc) assembling the wingpeople means creating a new set of mates to have your back.

Do YOU need help
with the concept of
a sunset? Look
no further!

So there we have it. That was the brief. I thought I had a good idea of what would come back, based on the 'excellent ideas' I'd shared. You know? The orange sky, the seafront, the three heads with knots inside (?) I felt like I was on top of this. I felt like my clear grasp of aesthetic ideas would be more than helpful in guiding the design process.

When Gary sent through his initial ideas, he'd surpassed himself. Firstly, there were six concepts to choose between. I was quite literally spoilt. Secondly, he had listened to my 'guidance' and mocked up suggestions based on my thoughts. Two of the six were orange in tone. Four of the six had a seaside colour scheme or background, and four of the six had three heads on the cover. I know, he really did humour me. Gary treated me and my 'helpful' ideas with respect. I couldn't have asked for more kindness. 

There was just one issue. As well as all the orange three-headedness, there was one cover that didn't contain ANY of my ideas. It didn't feature a beach scene, there was nothing that could be interpreted as a sunset, and there wasn't a peek of a knot-filled head or three. Gary, who let's remember is an actual designer with skills, talent, and an artistic eye, had come up with something unrelated to my 'ideas.' And here's the thing. It was perfect. 

Yep, the cover that blew me away was the one that had nothing to do with any thought or idea I'd shared. And that's when it really dawned on me. Oh shit! I'm not a designer. I'm not an artist. I have no clue about book covers and should never have begun to think I did. It was an eye opening experience. It's clear my C-grade GCSE in Art and Design really was a general standard of education, and didn't provide the insights into the graphic design profession like I'd assumed. Thank God for Gary, being brilliant and taking charge.

Soz folks. A bit of patience required.

And now I've given you the context, I know what you want. You want to see the book cover that put me in my place and reminded me to wind my wannabe-designer neck in. Well fair play to you. I'm ready to share. See you back here this time next week, and it's all yours. 

Have a lovely week, folks.