Now is the Hour

There were a few hitches along the way and I needed to learn an awful lot in the process, but - Bingo! - 77 is up and running.  It is available through Amazon as a Print on Demand book. Now I must learn the gentle art of marketing: not, I must admit, my favourite pastime. It uses up good writing time.
Those who read my first book, The Presence, a Memoir of Miracles, which was not fiction, may be surprised that, in 77, I have written a number of explicit sex scenes, no holds barred. And while most would perhaps describe 77 as a romance, I prefer to call it a love story. 'Romance' is, for me, a word all to often associated in fiction with glitz, glamour and exotic surroundings. 77 is set mainly in the terraced streets of a Midlands city. It takes detours through Paris, London and Edinburgh. Whatever, it is a story of the  deep and abiding love between two people. It is a love story.
The two protagonists are David Andrews and Kate Harper-Jones. At the start of the story they are 17 and 35 years old respectively. He is a repressed 6th form grammar school student, she an ex-teacher and a mother of two separated from her husband. The development of their relationship, with some emphasis on the long and painful process to maturity suffered by David, is the main theme of the story.
Adolescent trauma and its long term effects, rejection, bitterness, forgiveness, humour, horror and self-sacrifice all find a place in the unfolding plot.
Let me here be brutally honest. From start to finish 77 has been written with an eye on on its appearance on screen. Film makers and TV producers please note.

Vanity or persistence?

Well! Smashwords have approved my application to go on their premium list. I'm away. Or am I? I really have serious doubts about the value of writing a book, which involves an unbelievable anount of effort, that will more than likely languish along with goodness knows how many thousands of others in some remote corner of the net. Even when I have done all I can to spread the word I have to wonder if the rewards will justify the sheer effort. I can't even say that my vanity is satisfied. It is not.

Faith, self-belief, talent and so on and so on matter. Of course they do. They are all in the melting pot called motivation, which is another important quality. But! The best writers can be the worst self-publicists, and vice versa.

I write from compulsion. I believe there is a lot I should write before the grim reaper visits ... but I can't write while I'm doing the rounds of marketing an earlier work. Frankly, I resent the time doing what I like least - publicising myself and my work - when my next work, "An Angel called Harry", which will be the most important book I ever write, is being frustrated by all the fancy bits a traditional publisher would do on my behalf.

Sure, the net enables me and a lot of others to expose our work to the risk of being bought by someone, but I would far sooner see it on the shelves of Waterstone's and Smith's. I might then even be able to see someone buy it. What a thrill!

Sorry people, I feel in a somewhat cynical mood at the moment. No doubt I shall recover. I might even manage to get "77" some acceptable publicity, which I very much hope will not just be down to the rather saucy sex scenes to be found in it.