Friday, August 07, 2009

THE END IS NIGH

This is not how my desk is supposed to be.




This is how my desk is supposed to be.



And I hope that in a few weeks it will be. In my roundabout way, I am trying to explain (maybe even "show not tell") why this blog has become so much more occasional than it was meant to be. (Unlike my other blog, to which I devote more time than I should.)

See, I'm supposed to be a writer, sitting there with a lovely notebook and pen, accompanied by a glass of vino, and indulging my senses with the scent of sweet peas. Instead of which, for the last three years I've been chairing the Society of Authors in Scotland, which I have foolishly allowed too often to take the place of writing. (I do have an email folder called "nice emails" to show for it, however, and I should point out that it is not too late to contribute to this ...)

I'm in the final run - 11 days to go, not that I'm counting, of course. The AGM and Summer Party are on Aug 18th, during and in the Edinburgh International Book Festival.

In fact, the other day I saw them start to put the tents up for the EIBF and, good God, it WASN'T RAINING. And it's still not. This is a disaster. How will they put the pegs in the ground when it's not all glistening mud? How will they know what to do? I am very concerned. We have wet weather plans but no dry weather contingencies. This is something I must organise. Not to self: add to one of the lists.

Now, those of us involved in the book festival tend to become somewhat all-consumed by it. There's all that Yurty atmosphere and we can sense the raw, heady smell of it at a thousand paces. For those of you who don't know, the Yurt is an extraordinary structure that cannot truly be called a tent - it is more like a cross between a canvas palace and a canvas cave, with a lot of canvas in between, along with many rugs to trip over, many sofas of incredible uncomfortableness, and much free wine, food, coffee and Highland Park. Also a strange combination of huge friendliness and the constant sound of egos being battered and massaged in equal measure. It's not a place to enter without several deep breaths and any other form of calming device that you have at hand.

For me, the EIBF is the excuse for my current desk-state. I am, I have to say, overwhelmed by tasks and lists and events unprepared. (Which begs the question as to why I am writing this blog post today ...)

I am doing six different events and chairing two. Chairing can be more stressful than doing your own event: when the speaker or audience dries up, it's down to the chairperson to carry the event through to the occasionally bitter end. I am sure the wonderful people I'm chairing will give me no trouble at all - but the audience might. Please don't. Please just ask an incredibly witty and positive question. There are many other things that audiences can do or not do, but I'll keep it simple and trust you to behave. And smile. And laugh in all the right places.

My six events are all half prepared. But half is not enough. I looked at some of my notes yesterday and couldn't understand what I was on about.

I am also organising the Soc of Authors in Scotland AGM and Summer Party. (I think I may have said that already.) This is a feat of extreme difficulty, most of which no one will ever know about unless I drink a bit too much HP in the Yurt. I have 100ish members coming, each of whom has to be herded, catlike. They are all published authors but many of them can't read. I have emailed them all asking for various bits of information and many of them have not replied; many others have sent the wrong information to the wrong place; and many others have given me far too much information. Bless them. I asked for volunteers to help at the party and so many of them were wonderfully forthcoming. HOWEVER, this now means that I am boggled by a spreadsheet telling me how many people can help early but not late and have bad backs, or can help late but not early and can't stand for long, and how many have no bad back at all but have to take their mother-in-law to the station so can only arrive at 10.55, and how many really want to help by handing round food but would accept being asked to fill goody bags but only early and not late, and how many ... Yes, you're getting my drift.

I will bore you if I tell you the logistical difficulties posed by organising a party in a venue with no refridgeration or washing-up facilities; not helped by many people not having replied to the invitation. The fact that we have a fabulous line-up of about 80 guests along with our 100 members is at the same time wonderful, and yet daunting. I'm not going to name them, because that would be tacky and I'm not tacky, but I will say that if you had told me during my years of dismal failure to get published, that one day I would chair an AGM at which Margaret Drabble would be a guest, I would have said you were delusional. I am sure that the last thing she really wants to do on a sunny day in the book festival is listen to me witter on, but she is. And I'm very grateful to her.

On the subject of other events - please, someone, come to any of mine. Any. Anyone. Please don't let me be there on the stage whistling into thin air. I'll be grateful for ever. I won't list them here but you'll find them on the book festival website, and the two I'm chairing are Writing in a Recession and Monkeys + Type-writers. If for no other reason, come to see what shoes I'm wearing. This is always good for a laugh. In fact, one of my abiding festival memories is of chairing Marion Keyes, with TV cameras, and of her asking the audience to give a round of applause to my shoes. Heaven without chocolate or sparkly wine - I never thought it possible.


Meanwhile, I will leave you with one final image - my sitting-room at the moment, thanks to the generosity of many companies who have donated gifts for our goody bags. Shown here are 200 gifts from Borders, Waverley Books, the Writer's Handbook and the Society of Authors. And this picture doesn't even show the Starbucks, Highland Park, Orkney Fudge and Times / Sunday Times and Strident Publishing contributions. Thank you all, lovely people.


With all respect to my lovely colleagues in the Society of Authors in Scotland, I'm really looking forward to getting my life and my sitting-room back.

Friday, July 17, 2009

RANT: WHY I WON'T SIGN YOUR FOOLISH FORM

I once thought of writing a book called "Oh for goodness' sake!" It was going to be about all the ridiculous things that humans do. Like the guy who tried to sue his doctor because he'd gone to her about a lump and had caught a cold from her. He tried to sue her for £247.18. Gah!

And now the UK Govt is doing something that would have gone in that book: making authors (along with anyone else who might have contact with people under 18) pay for a document that is supposed to prove that they're not going to abuse them. Like a document can say this?

Now, I'd so love it if it was this simple to protect children. But the thing is, this protection is already in place. Two ways: a) authors on school visits are never left alone with a child. Why would we be? b) our public liability insurance says that we can't be, or it's invalidated.

But now, in the UK Govt's "wisdom" (yeah, yeah) we all have to pay for a doc to show we won't do bad things to kids. So, that's all right then: everyone can breathe a sigh of relief. They're safe! Course they're not safe. They are neither more nor less safe than if we hadn't had this stupid, pointless, expensive, ignorant rule. In fact, perhaps they are less safe, because if we didn't have it we could have something more sensible and practical, something that actually would help. Don't ask me to say what that night be - I'm a children's author: I write them stories and inspire them. That's all. In groups. With eagle-eyed teachers looking on. The more teachers the merrier.

Actually, on second thoughts, I DO have something that would help. Simply make it the rule that no visiting adult can ever be allowed to be alone with a child. We don't want to be. Last thing we want, actually. What we want is to be in front of LOADS of kids. Otherwise, what's the point of us being there?

Listen, silly govt official / policy maker, please go and spend your time protecting children. Don't waste your time ticking boxes and making me pay for it. I am seriously concerned for the well-being of our young people if you really think this is how to protect them.

Meanwhile, anyone who asks me for this document can have instead a document which I will write myself. It will say that I am a decent adult, fantastically committed to the well-being of young people and if that is not enough you can sing for your event. I simply will not kowtow to the government's ridiculous and pointless form-filling requirements. I have better things to do and so should they.

People have talked about why authors should be exceptions. We shouldn't be. NO visitor to a school, invited by the school, should have to have this empty bureaucratic check. Every visitor should be escorted at all times, out of courtesy and common sense. Frankly, when I'm not escorted, I get lost, which is a serious worry to me. I don't care if you're an author or a visiting astronaut: you need protection from getting lost or from accidentally finding yourselves in the school canteen. Now there's a scary thought!

It's so simple, people. Just stay with us, please, as you always do. Last thing we want is to be accused of anything. Hmm, come to think of it, I think I'm going to ask all schools from now on to sign a document saying that I won't be falsely accused of anything while I'm getting lost on the way to the toilet.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

THE DASH DONE

(Happy faces and dazed author at Fettes College, near the beginning of the Deathwatch Dash.)

The Deathwatch Dash is done and dusted and I plan never to do such a silly thing again. It was very exciting but too much excitement can be bad for a person. I did wear the famous turquoise boots, which turned out to be a bad move when I found myself running through driving rain after we (in three cars) found ourselves locked into a school playground. I then ran slip-sliding through school corridors looking for a janitor who might release us, but never found him; tottered into the school office to find a disgruntled school secretary who was oddly unmoved by my desperation to get out of her school; and ran back through the heaving rain and floods to the car, where an already soaked bookseller was sitting gently steaming.

I spoke to about 700 pupils in the six schools and was asked wonderfully perceptive questions, digging deeper into Deathwatch than I thought we could go. I discovered that they all wanted to get right into the spirit of who the stalker could be, and they came up with many reasons why it might or might not be the creepy (but sad) guy in the museum.

Loads of them bought books, and loads more ordered them because they hadn't expected to want to buy one so hadn't bought money. And a lot emailed me with lovely comments afterwards.

Thank you, as ever, to the Deathwatch team from The Mary Erskine School, Edinburgh. Diana Esland, their teacher, transported some of them around with us all day, and they were incredibly useful and nice. I hope they enjoyed the chocolate biscuits in my house, between events! (Not that there was mnuch between events, but there's always time for chocolate, I think.) Thanks to Diana for her general calmness and efficiency, not just today but throughout the whole project. I'm guessing that more than 1000 emails have passed between us, but my computer crashed when I tried to ask that question.

Highlights: the cheering at Fettes and Merchiston; the excited book-buying at St George's - and their desperation to find money from somewhere ...; the fact that the Head of the Fettes prep-school made the effort to join us; the cakes and analytical questions at Merchiston Castle; the clever questions at George Watson's (and the fact that one of the girls had already put an amazing review on their website); some great pupils at Boroughmuir and Royal High too; and the way that pupils from every school - even the huge and over-heated audience at Boroughmuir, where we all roasted in a greenhouse - listened brilliantly when I read extracts, allowing me to whisper the scariest bits.

I did think I was starting to lose it when I called it Deathmarket, though. Now there's a title for a book ...

Sunday, May 24, 2009

PROBABLY THE MOST BIZARRE INTERVIEW I'VE EVER DONE

Today, I had a long list of things to do. Instead of doing any of them, I had a load of fun being interviewed by "one of the most important interviewers in the world". And guess who won the contest? (Sorry, I mean "interview").

Enjoy!

Friday, May 22, 2009

Madness in Morningside


Morningside, in case you wondered, is where I live. It's also, by incredible coincidence, where my forthcoming book, DEATHWATCH, is set.

I am entirely mad. I have evidence: a folder on my laptop, entitled "Deathwatch Promotion" and 54 documents in it. And that's after I had a bit of a clean-out.

I don't need to do this. (No, I mean I do need to do the clean-out but I don't need to do all the mad promotion.) After all, I've got lovely publishers with a great marketing team who even have that rare thing, a BUDGET, and here I am exhausting myself with plans and wheezes and tasks which take a four page doc even to list.

Probably the maddest idea occurred to me one perfectly normal grey day back in March. Why don’t I see if I can set a world record for the greatest number of school visits by one author in one day, I thought. Why not, indeed? Now, as the time draws near (June 15th is Deathwatch Dash Day, or D3), I can think of reasons why not. But my problem is not that I have ideas, it’s that I tell people them, and then I have to ACT on them. So, after I’d tripped along to Vanessa’s Children’s Bookshop around the corner from my house in Edinburgh (my only house, I hasten to add - I’m not claiming expenses on a second home) and asked her to do the book-selling, she leapt on the idea - not literally - and that was it. Trapped by my own stupidity.

Apart from that, I am surrounded by lists that say things like:
  1. organise competition for D3
  2. organise different competition for all Scottish schools
  3. buy lots and lots of chocolate
  4. decide who I can face asking to look after the dog on 18 separate days
  5. make a list of lists
  6. sign 600 postcards which I've had designed for every D3 pupil
  7. sign 1000 other little cards for other events
  8. plan 9 entirely different talks
  9. make sure I've got enough posters for everyone
  10. make sure I know where I should be on any given day - this may not work
  11. put reviews on website
  12. make food for meal after launch party
  13. tell more people about the You-Tube video, stunning screensaver and other free downloady stuff
  14. get really really really scared
  15. check Amazon and Google. Again.
  16. the list goes on
  17. and frankly I haven't put half the important stuff on it - it looks too scary
Why do I do all this when I've got a great marketing team at Walker Books? Fear, is why. Sheer terror that my new baby will drown, that no one will see it, or people will hate it, or ...

Aghhh - radical thought alert. There's only one way to make sure no one hates it: DON'T TELL ANYONE ABOUT IT.

Why didn't I think of that?

DEATHWATCH PROJECTS

A lot of people think I'm mad. I don't blame them. After all, I've got lovely publishers with a great marketing team who even have that rare thing, a BUDGET, and here I am leaping in with totally crazy ideas, setting world records (literally), madly running round the country, making podcasts and You-tube videos and fielding hundreds of emails from schools and readers and my dog. I really did get an email from my dog. Or I thought I had, since my dog’s called Amber, and a person called Amber just emailed me to ask when she could read Deathwatch because she’d heard about it from a friend who’d heard about it from a friend who’d even been sent the lovely beetle viral for her phone.

What’s this about a world record, I hear you ask? That was probably the maddest of my mad ideas. Hey, I thought, one perfectly normal grey day back in March, why don’t I see if I can set a world record for the greatest number of school visits by one author in one day? Why not, indeed? Now, as the time draws near (June 15th is Deathwatch Dash Day, or D3), I can think of reasons why not. But my problem is not that I have ideas, it’s that I tell people them, and then I have to ACT on them. So, after I’d tripped along to Vanessa’s Children’s Bookshop around the corner from my house in Edinburgh (my only house, I hasten to add - I’m not claiming expenses on a second home) and asked her to do the book-selling, she leapt on the idea - not literally - and that was it.

Trapped by my own stupidity. I am writing this blog post now, ten scary days before publication, because if I wait until after D3 and the huge launch party at The Mary Erskine School and the big school events and my trips to Aberdeen and London and umpteen other places in between, I may not be in a fit state to write anything at all.

Before I go, I have to tell you the thing that could have been madness but wasn’t. Supposing I said: I’m going to get some teenagers to commit to a two year project involving a book, which they will have to do mostly in their own spare time. You’d think I was mad. Well, two years ago I asked 14 girls from The Mary Erskine School in Edinburgh to help write Deathwatch and be my consultants throughout all the drafts, and then handed over the youth promotion to them. Yep, I handed over responsibility for my new baby to some teenage girls with a lot of other things on their agendas, because I trusted them. And they didn’t let me down. Amazing is one word. Walker Books even thought this was a good idea too, which shows how much they respect young people - and well they might, since they publish books for them.

So, thank you to Walker, thank you to the Deathwatch Girls, and thank you to whichever chocolate manufacturer I decide to choose to fuel and support me during my mad month.

Friday, May 01, 2009

The day I climbed a mountain

I am feeling pretty pleased with myself. I went for a little walk, with husband and crippled labrador. And here's what we walked to the top of. Yes, that. No, really. That big thing in the middle of the pic. Stac Pollaidh (Stac Polly) it's called and very lovely it is too. Especially when you're looking at it from the bottom.



The dog couldn't manage the last bit (they don't make pitons and crampons and things for dogs) so we took it in turns, and when I scaled the summit, this happened:




I began to write the headlines: "Stupid city wallies cause expensive air rescue after accidentally walking up a mountain with only chocolate as emergency rations."

Or, as I prefer, "Writer has head in the clouds."

Deathwatch - the movie ....

Deathwatch the Movie? Not yet, but only time will tell. Almost certainly a rather long time; so, since you don't have a long time to wait, you could try this little taster. Two short extracts read by yours truly and with the stunning screensaver as the backdrop.


Friday, April 03, 2009

MOST ODD CONVERSATION

As a self-employed person, I get really tetchy about being phoned by people trying to sell me things in the middle of the day. Don't they know I'm trying to write a novel? So, I do tend to have rather short conversations when they phone. Sometimes very short. And I've just had one, but it was really quite odd, and left me staring at the phone for several seconds afterwards.

Me: Hello, nine three two nine.
Woman: Can I speak to Mr Harry Morgan?
Me: No.
Woman: Pardon?
Me: No.
Woman: Why?
Me: Because he's not here.
Woman: Oh, thank you. Bye.

I hereby award her the prize for Least Persistent Salesperson of the Day.

Meanwhile, why am I blogging? Don't I know I'm trying to write a novel?

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

MY BRAIN CAUSES AIRPORT SECURITY ALERT

There are many hazards involved in doing school talks. Personally I think we should get danger money. Most of the stories in this blog have been brought about by untoward incidents while travelling to or from or delivering such events. But none has caused a major security alert at an international airport until today.

I was coming back from Belfast, where I'd had a lovely day being royally looked after and speaking to excellent audiences at County Antrim Grammar School. Ironically, this very day, when I'd shown my life-size, almost life-colour, life-weight model brain to one audience, I'd said, "One day, this will get me into trouble at an airport." And they'd all politely laughed. Later that day ...

So, coming through security in a very long queue, and I'm waiting for my bag to come through the weird bit where everything seems to disappear for longer than it should. It's some kind of vortex in there, don't you think? And I'm standing in my pink socks (because I'd forgotten that I'd have to take my boots off and reveal that I was wearing more than black tights. Obviously, I was wearing more than black tights but you know what I mean.) And I'm wondering why four security people are leaning over the computer screen and pointing and turning their heads onto their sides and Looking Concerned and calling more people over. Then a man comes up to me, pleasantly enough, and says:

"Is this your bag, madam?"
Me: Yes.
Man: Do you have anything unusually dense in your bag? (I am not joking. His exact words.)
Me: (immediately guessing the source of the problem and not realising that this is not the time for jokes) Ah yes, that'll be my brain.
Man: Sorry?
Me: (realising belatedly that this is not the time for jokes): a model brain. I carry a model brain because I'm an author.
Man: Does that explain it?
Me: Well, I write about the brain sometimes and I've been doing school talks in County Antrim Grammar School (hoping that the detail will make me sound authentic, which I am, and trying to look really relaxed and possibly even flirtatious, which is not something I really do unless pushed, which I was being) and well, this is one of my props.
Man: (perfectly pleasantly and nicely) I'm afraid we'll have to search your bag.

When security people say they're going to search your bag, they have a different meaning of the word "search" from the one my husband uses when he says he's going to search for the correct place to put the kitchen sieve. Very different. Their version of search involves them taking everything out of my bag, and then everything out of everything that's in my bag. Now I, being a bit of a control freak and an ex-girl guide (see Of boots, escalators and photographers) tend to have some weird things in my bag when I'm away doing school talks. Even weirder than plastic brains. To be honest I'd prefer not to say some of the things that I had in my bag but if you were one of my fellow passengers, you would know. And you would be laughing. As they were.

Anyway, each item had to be swabbed. They even took my brain to pieces and swabbed every part. I now have the cleanest limbic system and brain stem in Scotland, possibly the world. I mean, who else can say they've just had their brain swabbed by security, or indeed by anyone else?

One item they found needed further explanation (and widespread derision). It was a foil-wrapped package, small, about the size of two flapjacks. The fact that it was actually two flapjacks was not enough for the security people: they had to ask me what it was. I said it was special brain food, my own recipe, a new variation on my world-famous Brain Cake (TM), called Brain Bars (TM). This is the literal truth but was not enough. They had to smell it. "Flapjacks," was the verdict. "With other stuff in. Bits, sort of."

"What do you do with that, then?" they asked.

"Er, well eat it. I plan to eat it on the plane."

"No, but how is it good for your brain?"

Well, they did ask for the lecture ...

Now, all this was done in the spirit of enormous hilarity. However, I would have been less hilarious-minded if I had realised that Easyjet (praise be to them for cheap flights and horrible uniforms and blamelessly egalitarian boarding systems, unless you are the last one to board) had in their wisdom decided to move the flight to an earlier time and not tell me. So, having endured fifty minutes of such hilarity and thinking I might have time for a quick coffee, I sauntered through to the departure lounge with my clean brain, only to discover that my flight had just issued a final call. And the gate was not exactly near.

Now, some of you may know that I do need to wear good boots for school talks and by good boots I mean good boots for looking glamorous in, not good boots for running through airports in.

Previously in airports, I have been the one who has rolled her eyeballs and frowned superciliously when some idiot is called by name to board the plane at the last minute. "Would passengers Stupid and Inebriated please proceed immediately to Gate 1078 for immediate boarding. Failure to arrive in the next five seconds will cause your luggage to be removed and you to be forcibly ejected from the airport to enduring public ridicule and ignominy."

I will never roll my eyeballs at such people again. All they were doing was carrying perfectly innocent, though possibly weird, items through security. They are the innocent victims in our sad mistrusting world. They are the ... Yes, well, anyway. They probably are sometimes stupid or inebriated but I honestly wasn't. But I was last onto the plane and people had to get out of their seats to let me in and it was very demeaning and I am just glad I'm not famous.

But what I'd like to know (granted that the security people were only doing their job and doing it brilliantly and actually were very pleasant and I have every respect and sympathy for them) is this: having established that the offending item was only ("only") an artificial brain, why did they still think that every damned item in my bag needed swabbing and sniffing? Is it the case that someone carrying an artificial brain and some flapjacks is in any way more likely to be an international terrorist? And why did they also take my perfume away and subject it to chemical analysis? Because I was carrying a plastic brain? Is it written somewhere that someone carrying a plastic brain is statistically more likely also to be disguising Issy Miyake as something dangerous? It's the rule book what's wrong, not the excellent staff. It's not well designed for catching people who really might cause damage, not flapjack-carrying unfortunates like moi.

And another thing I'd like to know: the security people said that next time, if I take the brain out of the box and send it through the x-ray uncovered (yeah right, I can really see me doing that - so, certain ridicule versus possible ridicule??) there'd be no problem. Apparently the problem is trying to hide a brain and to make it look like a thing that's trying not to look like a brain.

I do not pretend to understand such things. Maybe if I had a better brain ... Or maybe next time I'll just leave my brain at home.

But there is a happy outcome to this story. Prepare to be very, very jealous. You see, they called the head of Security Training - oh yes, the Head of Security Training - over and they have decied that my brain (not yours, MINE) is going to be used as part of their training manual. I said that I'd have to charge for this. They actually for several moments looked as though they thought I was being serious, but I decided not to push my luck and I quit while I was not really ahead. But anyway, yes, I am proud to tell you that it is now the case that my brain is part of the training for airport security.

Not many people can say that.

PS - when I told my husband about this and added that "I knew this would happen one day," his response was, "I told you so." How does that work as a useful response? Anyway, at least I know where the kitchen sieve lives. I have the right sort of brain.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Brain-Training tosh- "It's official"

Any time you hear that your kids' school is going to introduce Nintendo Brain-training for the pupils (and leaving aside the outrageous waste of money for the tax-payer), point them towards this very revealing piece of research. And trust me, some schools / education authorities ARE thinking of this.

As I said a while ago in a previous post, and as I have said very publicly (incl on radio), these things are very clever and fun toys, briliantly marketed, but they have no good controlled research to back up half the claims. I'm not saying don't get one - I'm just saying don't get one because you think its' the best thing (or even up there anywhere near the best things) for your brain or your kids' brains or your grandad's brain.

And that's all I'm going to say on the matter. Though I do say a bit more in my book, Know Your Brain ... Which was written 2-3 years ago before this new research came out. Not that I'd like to say "I told you so" ....

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Turn away now, please. Really.

I am reeling. And nothing to do with it being the 250th anniversary of Robert Burns' birth. I'm also cringing because I know I'm about to do a bit of blatant self-publicity and I am incredibly cautious about that but in this case how can I not do it? I have just been pointed in the direction of an amazing podcast. Amazing for me because if I was to pay someone to say nice things about me (where do I send the cheque?) they wouldn't say anything as nice as this. So, if you don't want to listen, just don't. Please. I mean that. I recommend that you only listen if you actually vaguely like me and wish me slightly well.

http://podcast.litopia.com/2009/01/27/litopia-daily-133-tin-guts-notebooks/

But if you do, make sure you choose the right one: No 133

Only two weeks ago, when I started the blog they refer to, I had no idea it would be picked up so quickly. But I have just loved writing it. There's something about blogs that's so immediate - unlike writing a book, which is SO difficult and takes SO long and then you have to wait SO long for publication day and by the time you get any feedback you have forgotten entirely what it was about.

Anyway. That's it. Off to lie down with some bits of cucumber over my eyes. I think this also calls for substantial chocolate.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Full-time Work Avoidance Strategies

"Are you a full-time writer?” It’s a question writers are often asked. I always hesitate before answering. Yes, in the sense that I don’t have another job and I am attempting to earn my living by writing. But if I’m a “full-time” writer, how come I spend so little time writing?

Something came through the post the other day. Something dreamt up as a “project” by some arts admin person – DON’T get me started but they LOVE projects – in a salaried ivory tower. It was designed to help me discover my goals and aims and outcomes and targets and objectives. All these are different, by the way, but you need to be a full-time salaried arts admin person to understand how. I hadn’t asked for this thing to be sent but I had a little look at it. (Work Avoidance Strategy, No. 1).

Part of it asked me to draw a circle and divide it into sections like a pie-chart, according to how much time I spent on any activity in one day. Because it was a caring-sharing kind of a document, it also said that I could, if I preferred, do percentages instead of pie-charts. Actually, I didn’t prefer either, so I decided not to waste my time, and just get on with some writing instead.

Trouble is, by then I was distracted by the question: how much time DO I spend on writing? So (Work Avoidance Strategy No. 2) I made a list of all the things I do that are work-related but don’t actually involve writing. Lists are things I do well. Pie-charts and percentages are not.

Here’s my list: doing talks for schools, conferences, festivals etc; planning those talks; answering the copious emails that fly around during the months leading up to those talks; booking travel / accommodation for those talks; calculating costs and sending invoices related to those talks; office admin such as dealing with computer problems, stationery, things breaking, tax stuff; doing committee work for the various things I’m involved in, especially the Society of Authors, which I chair in Scotland and which occupies HOURS and HOURS; answering emails and letters from fans (both of them); answering homework requests from readers who have to finish their essay by Monday and need my help or their teacher will kill them; research; copy-editing or proof-reading a typescript that has just arrived back on my desk needing checking; writing the cover blurb / dedication / author notes / stuff for Amazon; writing articles for websites / magazines / newspapers; doing interviews; thinking up and then acting on publicity ideas; organising events or launches; travelling a LOT. Oh, look, for goodness' sake – this is boring (but a very good Work Avoidance Strategy).

And I’m not even counting the other very important things, like having coffee with friends. And buying new shoes.

The reason I’m vexed about this right now is that I’m in the middle of a ridiculous period of not being able to write because my diary is full of these tasks. And why have I allowed this to happen? Simple: because all those things are SO much easier than actually writing, which is much harder than you might think. In fact, there’s a great quote (Work Avoidance Strategy No. 3 was to find out who said it - Thomas Mann) – “A writer is someone for whom writing is harder than it is for other people.”

The good thing about all this is that I am now absolutely desperate to write. And with any luck really wanting to write will mean I write better. So, not writing makes me write better? Hmm, I like that. I should do more not writing. Bring on Work Avoidance Strategy No 4: coffee and chocolate.

STOP PRESS PS
Actually, I wrote the above stuff a few weeks ago as a real work avoidance strategy and then work got in the way and I forgot to post it. I guess that means that work itself became a work avoidance strategy avoidance strategy. This could get seriously complicated and I am not sure my brain can cope.

More importantly - I think - I have started another blog, which has been taking me away from this blog (blogs are stupendously brilliant work avoidance strategies and having TWO of them is bliss). It's called Help! I Need a Publisher! and is aimed at unpublished authors. www.need2bpublished.blogspot.com

And now, I must go and do some work. After I've checked the other blog. And had chocolate.