All me to introduce myself

An aching bum... but it's worth it
I spent this evening at Waterstone's in Weston-super-Mare, signing books as part of the launch of late night shopping at the Sovereign Centre. I like book signings. They're tiring and they make my bum, jaw, teeth and ankles ache, but I get to meet the people who are reading my books... I get feedback. At first it was a tad frightening. After all, I could have been descended upon by a mob bearing torches and pitchforks... followed by a contingent carrying rope and pointing out suitable trees as they went along. But oh, what a wonderful feeling when a complete stranger comes up to you and tells you how much they laughed whilst reading your book (obviously, this is only a good

My first bookshop love affair
I first came across Arthur Probsthain, Oriental & African bookseller, in 1986. I was in London to visit the British Museum for the first time, and I was sixteen years old. It was a rainy day - somehow London always seems more Londony when it rains - and my heart gave a little flutter when I first spotted the bookshop's hanging sign. I was obsessed with Japanese prints, but no local bookstores stocked books on the subject, and it was back before the Internet took hold of us and provided the opportunity to buy the rarest of books from far-off places at the click of a mouse button. A small shop, with two rooms filled with dusty second-hand and new tomes, I stayed in there for what seemed

I am experiencing sudden raptures
I was quite taken aback by myself today. Ever since my books first came out, I've been so busy working on other projects that I haven't really had much time to sit back and take in what's been going on around me. The books have had great reviews, and I've been very happy about that, in the few seconds before falling asleep when I had a quiet moment to think about something other than my next paragraph. The signings have gone incredibly well, and for the duration of the car ride home I've been able to enjoy that great sense of achievement that comes with flogging piles of books to my poor unsuspecting victims... erm, I mean 'readers'. Even during the only break we had this year, when Ry

Doom and gloom, go zoom to the moon!
Anyone who's read any of my previous blog posts knows that I am not a floaty, fluffy, 'it's all sunshine and moonbeams' kinda gal when it comes to this writing malarkey... I'm a realist. I'm all for realism. What I'm not a great fan of is scaremongering codswallop. So, the publishing industry's going through changes... has that never happened before? Book sales are down and, apparently, the end of the physical book is in sight... well, we're in the middle of an economic recession... money spent on social drinking is down, but who's going to suggest that beer's about to become extinct? There are less people reading and buying books than ever before! Really? Considering the fact that in

Great expectations
"Are your books doing as well as you hoped they would?" I have been asked this question so many times, and I haven't once been able to answer it. I have no answer. In order for my books to do as well as I hoped, I'd have had to hope in the first place. I was told by a very dear friend, when I was sixteen years old, that there's no money to be made in writing about art. He'd been doing it for years, and was very well respected in the field... he knew what he was talking about. I listened to him, accepted that I would make no money, and continued regardless. Much later, another writer friend told me that I'd have more chance of being struck by lightning than becoming recognised for my gr