Alex George's Blog, page 10

Librarians Are Not all like Philip Larkin. Really.

Let's play a little cultural word association.

If you ask an Englishman what comes to mind when he hears the word "Dallas," he would probably answer Larry Hagman, JFK's assassination, and possibly cowboys (although the cowboys would be wearing ten-gallon hats, rather than football helmets.)

I'm told that if he was of a certain age and inclination, he might also think of a lady named Debbie, although I wouldn't know anything about that.

What he probably wouldn't think of is: librarians.

This Englishman, though, will always associate the place with librarians, after my flying visit there last weekend.  The event was the winter convention of the American Library Association.  I had been invited to speak at a breakfast with five other authors.  The idea was we would stand up in front of a roomful of librarians and talk about our books.  They would be a sympathetic crowd, I had been reassured by my publicist.  "Just remember to tell them how much you love libraries," she said breezily.   Libraries.  Right.  I decided to tell them about the summer when I was 10 when my library card had been misfiled under the name of George Alexander.  It wasn't exactly gripping stuff, but it was all I had.

I flew in from Kansas City on Sunday evening.  One of the brilliant things about these trips is that you do feel just a little bit like a rock star.  There was a guy standing by the luggage carousel with a card with my name on it; we walked out to a gleaming limousine and scooted into town.  There was even a bottle of water in the back seat.  Just for me.  I mean, really.  Living the life, baby.  My driver, James, had the football game on the radio, which gave me an opportunity to display the profound depths of my ignorance about the game.  They take football very seriously in Texas.  It's testament to James's professionalism that he didn't throw me out of the car and make me walk.

The hotel, the Joule, was achingly hip and beautiful.  As is now traditional on these trips, I took a picture of the bathroom, in this instance the sink.  (At least I think it's a sink.  It might just be a salad bowl that someone had left there by mistake.)

The room was gorgeous, although it took me several minutes to work out how to turn the taps on and switch the lights off.  (These days I am used to being outsmarted by hotel facilities.  When Penguin put me up at the Trump hotel in Soho, I couldn't for the life of me work out how to empty the bath, so had to leave with my dirty water still in the tub.)

The other problem with swanky hotels is that they never have those little Mr. Coffee machines in the rooms.  I mean, don't get me wrong, Mr. Coffee coffee isn't great, but it's still coffee.  The next morning I stumbled around, dangerously uncaffeinated, while twitter friends assured me there would probably be FREE COFFEE in the lobby.

Thankfully they were right.  I gulped down two cups and had pretty much stopped twitching by the time I met Alan Walker of Penguin Academic Marketing, who was in charge of corralling the various Penguin authors who were appearing at the convention.  Alan is very chilled and fantastically nice.  We discovered a mutual love of squash – the game, people, not the vegetable; we are men, after all – as we walked to the convention center.  When we arrived at the author breakfast I met Alan's colleague Dominique, who is as lovely as Alan.  (Where do Penguin find these wonderful people?)  I was directed to the author table, and poked anxiously at my eggs as I waited for the event to start.

I should say here that I don't much like public speaking.  Much as I am very fond of the sound of my own voice, the only way I can get through these ordeals is if I have thoroughly prepared and know what I'm going to say.  Consequently I had three pages of typewritten remarks tucked into my pocket, which I patted for reassurance every so often.  I was up second, which was a blessing, as I didn't have time to be completely traumatized by the fact that all the other authors spoke without any notes at all.  In particular, Robert Leleux and Val McDermid were utterly brilliant, impassioned and hilarious.  Anyway, the audience seemed to like my library card story, and nobody threw any tomatoes.  The other authors were all fascinating to listen to and I found myself desperately wanting to read all of their books, especially Pure by Julianna Baggott.

After the breakfast Alan took me to the Penguin booth where I signed copies of A Good American for an hour.  By the end, my signature bore no resemblance to the scrawl it usually is.  It was equally illegible, though, so I suspect nobody will ever be able to tell the difference.  Everyone was fantastically nice, and seemed excited to read the book.  Gratifyingly, many people had already heard about it.

Once we had run out of books, Dominique and Alan helped me choose some brand new books for my children and then it was time to find James for the return trip to the airport.  It was a whirlwind trip – less than 24 hours – but a wonderful one.

Oh, and by the way.  I managed to fit eleven books into my tiny backpack. It's amazing what you can achieve when you put your mind to it. (I knew there was a reason I packed so light.)

Catching Breath

Not really.  No time to catch breath.  Just under three weeks until publication, and things are going ever so slightly bonkers.  But in a good way.

Lots of news to share with you.  Where to begin?  Let's see…

A GOOD AMERICAN was named #1 Read to Pick Up for February in O Magazine.  Yes, that's Ms. Winfrey's little publication.  Kind of a big deal, and we're all very happy about that.

The book has also been named as a Midwest Connection Pick for February.  These are books chosen by the Midwest Independent Booksellers Association.  I'm very honored about this, and obviously pleased and proud of the novel's connections to this part of the world.

My editor, Amy Einhorn, was profiled in the New York Observer on Monday.  And yes, she really is as smart and as kind and as generally wonderful as the piece suggests.  My book got a mention as being this year's February Amy Einhorn release, following in the footsteps of The Help, The Postmistress, and The Weird Sisters.

So.  No pressure there, then.

As I type, I am suddenly spooked by the lack of definite article in my book's title.  Eep.  (Because, like, I didn't already have enough things to keep me awake at night.)

This week also saw the online publication of a great interview with BookPage, which will appear in next month's magazine proper.  It was one of those interviews that was scheduled for 30 minutes… an hour later, we were still talking.  (People who know me won't be especially surprised by this.)

You will have already noticed that things have changed a little around here.  Yesterday saw the launch of the new site design , and I hope you like it.  Quite possibly (= almost certainly) there are typos and mistakes lurking; if you catch any, or find some dodgy links, or have any other suggestions as to how the site could be improved, please do write to let me know.  My deepest thanks to web genius Paul Boomer for all his hard work on this.

For those of you in mid-Missouri, I'll be reading and signing books at the Barnes & Noble in Columbia Mall at 7.00 p.m. on Tuesday February 7 – the launch date of the book.  I'm not quite sure yet exactly what format the evening is going to take, but I'd love to see you there if you can make it.  Details on other tour dates can be found here.

Finally, speaking of travel-related matters, on Sunday I am flying to Dallas to the American Library Association Midwinter Meeting.  I get to deliver a little talk to a roomful of yawning librarians on Monday morning while they eat breakfast.  Tough room, I'm guessing.  Now we'll really find out how far a cute English accent will get you.

Missing Link

It occurred to me this morning that there was a photo missing from my last post, which illustrated an absolutely critical part of the process.  Here it is:

This is a page chosen more or less at random, during the second six month rewrite, after I had signed my deal with Amy.  I am hopeless at editing on screen – I need a pen, paper, and lots of time.  (And quiet.)  And then I do this sort of thing.  Whether you call it fine pruning or hacking with a machete is, I suppose, a matter of opinion.

One of the reasons I wanted to post this photo is that this kind of close editing is one of the most enjoyable parts of the process for me.  The careful chipping away of unnecessary words, the cleaning up of infelicitous syntax, the hunt for clarity – all these things are immensely rewarding.  The only downside to it is that it is a never-ending process.  I know that if I were to pick up the book today I would still find things I'd like to change.  But I cannot.  I am learning to ignore those little voices in my head.  My work here is done.

A Story in Five Photos

Once upon a time, there was a blank sheet of paper.  You know, that thing Ernest Hemingway was allegedly so scared of.

This blank sheet of paper (and a few hundred others) got written on.  Some guy had an idea for a story, and every morning at five o'clock, he hauled himself out of bed, switched on the coffee machine, and sat down to write for two hours, while the rest of his family slept.  The story was an elusive thing.  There were many wrong turns taken.  Whole plot lines lay abandoned on his computer's hard drive.  Once-cherished characters got written out entirely. Some good ideas turned out to be very bad ideas.  It was an exhausting, enervating, frustrating and utterly wonderful journey.

Five years later, this is what he ended up with:

So: a book!  Or rather: a big block of paper with lots of words on it!

The guy sent this big block of paper to his literary agent in London, who liked the story.  His agent sent it to another agent in New York, who also liked the story.  Submissions began simultaneously in both markets.  Within days, there was a response from a well-known editor in New York.  She loved much of the novel, but couldn't make an offer for it.  The last third of the story was too flawed, she said.

OK, said the guy, wobbling only slightly.  As rejections go, that's pretty heartening.

Over the course of the next few months, the big block of paper was rejected by everyone else, too.  Many people professed to love it, but nobody wanted to published the damn thing.  Most mornings there was another rejection waiting in the guy's inbox.  He began to dread waking up.  He became despondent.  Sure, he still had his big block of paper – nobody was ever going to be able to take his story and his characters away from him.  It was still, people told him kindly, a wonderful achievement.

But.

Finally, the guy called his agents and told them to stop the submissions.  Something was obviously wrong with the story.  It needed more work.  He hunkered down, and with a slightly heavy heart, attacked the manuscript once again.  The five o'clock starts acquired a new focus.  Six months later, he had a streamlined story, with a completely new ending.  This time, they submitted the manuscript to just one editor – the very first person to respond last time around.  And, this time, she liked it, and made an offer to publish it.  But, she warned, it still needed a lot of work.  Oh, and a new title.

The guy and his new editor talked long and often on the telephone, discussing what had to be done.   "A lot of work" was something of an understatement.  The guy sat down and beavered away for another six months, making wholesale changes to the story.  And the story was immeasurably better as a result.  A few weeks after he delivered the revised manuscript, this arrived in the mail:

That, ladies and gentlemen, is an uncorrected early proof copy.  It is, frankly, a mess.  It's full of typos.  The font size changes at haphazard moments, the pages are not properly formatted, and the cover, you'll notice, won't be winning any design awards, either.  But, to the guy's eyes, it was a thing of beauty.  All those words he had been wresting with for so long finally looked like a book.  He no longer needed a carrier bag to haul his novel around.

Work continued.  The text was line edited, copy edited, proof edited, fact checked.  Every last syllable was scrutinized.  The guy read and reread, wrote and rewrote, until the words were swimming in front of his eyes.

Then came the cover.  And it was a thing of beauty.  Soon after that, galleys were printed, resplendent with gorgeous design and kind quotes from early reviewers.

These beauties were sent to reviewers, booksellers, magazines and a fair few were sent out to readers.  Soon people began to talk about the book.  Reviews began to appear online.  A buzz was building.  (By this time, the guy's left arm was a mosaic of black and blue bruises from all the pinching that had been going on.)

And then, just after  Christmas, this arrived in the mail.

I'm kind of anxious to find out what happens next.

A GOOD AMERICAN #1 Pick for February's Indie Next List!!

Exciting times!

Through the Indiebound collective, booksellers from independent bookstores across the nation submit nominations for the books published each month that they're most excited about.

I'm proud, and slightly startled, to announced that A GOOD AMERICAN has been selected as the #1 pick for February 2012.

As you might imagine, this is fabulous news.  Independent bookstores remain the beating heart of the publishing industry.  Their influence is of unparalleled importance when it comes to creating a buzz about new titles and handselling the right books to the right customers.  Indie bookstores are owned and staffed by knowledgable, articulate, fantastically well-read people who are passionate about books.  I can't imagine a more gratifying nod of approval.  I'm incredibly humbled and flattered.

So – thank you, thank you, indie bookstore people everywhere, for your amazing vote of confidence in A GOOD AMERICAN.

A GOOD AMERICAN #1 Pick for February's Indie Next List!!

Exciting times!

Through the Indiebound collective, booksellers from independent bookstores across the nation submit nominations for the books published each month that they're most excited about.

I'm proud, and slightly startled, to announced that A GOOD AMERICAN has been selected as the #1 pick for February 2012.

As you might imagine, this is fabulous news.  Independent bookstores remain the beating heart of the publishing industry.  Their influence is of unparalleled importance when it comes to creating a buzz about new titles and handselling the right books to the right customers.  Indie bookstores are owned and staffed by knowledgable, articulate, fantastically well-read people who are passionate about books.  I can't imagine a more gratifying nod of approval.  I'm incredibly humbled and flattered.

So – thank you, thank you, indie bookstore people everywhere, for your amazing vote of confidence in A GOOD AMERICAN.

DIRTY MINDS by Kayt Sukel is published today!

Kayt Sukel is one of those annoying people who can do absolutely everything, it seems.  She is an award-winning travel writer, food writer, and science correspondent, and has written for apparently every major publication you might think of.  And today sees the publication of her brilliant book, DIRTY MINDS, which delves into the mysterious world of the brain and its workings when it comes to matters of love and sex.  It has garnered glowing reviews from Publishers Weekly, Kirkus, Scientific American, and other similarly august journals.  And with good reason.

Kayt (who is a friend of mine, full disclosure, blah, blah) was good enough to send me an advanced copy of DIRTY MINDS a while ago.  I loved it.  I've been going on about this book on twitter and facebook for a while now, and I'm excited that the day has finally come that the rest of you are able to see what the fuss is about.   Here's what I wrote on Goodreads:

"Kayt Sukel's debut takes a long, hard look at human relationships from a unique perspective. With her background in neuroscience, Sukel examines what goes on inside our brains when we think about love, and sex, and all that good stuff. It's a fascinating read. The brain is such a complex organ that much of the studies performed so far are not conclusive, but the book sheds a whole new light on some of the most enduring questions of mankind, which have hitherto primarily been the provence of artists, writers, and musicians. The collision of biology with the vaguer arenas of emotion and love is a compelling saga in itself. The author does a wonderful job of setting out the research in a way that makes it easy for non-scientists like me to understand. If this all sounds a little dry, though, don't be fooled. It is an extremely funny book, and Sukel's ultra-dry wit had me chuckling throughout. Informative, entertaining, relevant – who could ask for more?"

Highly, highly recommended.  Depending on your preference, and for your ease of shopping, might I recommend the following links?

Indiebound
Amazon
Barnes  & Noble

DIRTY MINDS by Kayt Sukel is published today!

Kayt Sukel is one of those annoying people who can do absolutely everything, it seems.  She is an award-winning travel writer, food writer, and science correspondent, and has written for apparently every major publication you might think of.  And today sees the publication of her brilliant book, DIRTY MINDS, which delves into the mysterious world of the brain and its workings when it comes to matters of love and sex.  It has garnered glowing reviews from Publishers Weekly, Kirkus, Scientific American, and other similarly august journals.  And with good reason.

Kayt (who is a friend of mine, full disclosure, blah, blah) was good enough to send me an advanced copy of DIRTY MINDS a while ago.  I loved it.  I've been going on about this book on twitter and facebook for a while now, and I'm excited that the day has finally come that the rest of you are able to see what the fuss is about.   Here's what I wrote on Goodreads:

"Kayt Sukel's debut takes a long, hard look at human relationships from a unique perspective. With her background in neuroscience, Sukel examines what goes on inside our brains when we think about love, and sex, and all that good stuff. It's a fascinating read. The brain is such a complex organ that much of the studies performed so far are not conclusive, but the book sheds a whole new light on some of the most enduring questions of mankind, which have hitherto primarily been the provence of artists, writers, and musicians. The collision of biology with the vaguer arenas of emotion and love is a compelling saga in itself. The author does a wonderful job of setting out the research in a way that makes it easy for non-scientists like me to understand. If this all sounds a little dry, though, don't be fooled. It is an extremely funny book, and Sukel's ultra-dry wit had me chuckling throughout. Informative, entertaining, relevant – who could ask for more?"

Highly, highly recommended.  Depending on your preference, and for your ease of shopping, might I recommend the following links?

Indiebound.

Amazon.

Barnes  & Noble.

Write, Erase, Repeat.

Since my recent post about my new Kindle, I have been thinking  a lot about technology.

On Saturday night the kids and I had a chew-and-view.  We ate tortellini and watched Shrek the Third, renting the movie on my laptop from amazon instant play and having it transmitted to the TV.  Who needs Netflix?  I don't even need to wait for a DVD to come in the mail any more.  Later that evening, having enjoyed a delicious (and very silly) twitter conversation earlier in the day about a modern-day reworking of A Christmas Carol, I downloaded the book on to my Kindle for free and read half of it there and then before I went to bed.  While I read I listened to some old Ella Fitzgerald albums that I used to own in college but were lost years ago in one of the many moves that I've undertaken since then… that no longer matters, though, as they're all available for limitless streaming on Spotify.

All pretty cool.  But.

(I know.  You all saw that "but" coming a mile off.)

There is something slightly oppressive about the fact that I am apparently unable to step out of the door in the morning without several hundred dollars of electrical hardware in my pockets.  It is sad the decision to leave my phone in the office when I go out to lunch is an event worthy of a tweet (and several congratulatory tweets back.)  My calendars lie, in fully-synced harmony, on my phone and my laptop.  I can never escape them.  I'm electronically tethered as effectively as any criminal out on day-release.

Well, enough, as they say, is enough.  In my new kitchen, we have decided to go old school.  I bought a white board and a bunch of colored pens.  And we write whatever needs to be written on it.  Here's a photo of it I took a week or so ago.

So that would be:

Ideas for future blog posts (including, I notice, this one)
Shopping list (complete with inept illustrations)
Ideas for Christmas presents
Odd little exchange with son (bottom left)
Daughter's unsolicited opinion about this weird new medium (bottom right)

I think it's fair to say that Catherine speaks for us all about the whiteboard.  We all love it and use it.  In addition to being a genuinely useful tool – and heaven knows how many yellow stickies it has saved us from – it's a communal forum, an outlet for our creative urges and silliness.  We can scribble whatever nonsense comes into our heads and draw pictures and anything else that takes our fancy.  The children like to insult each other on it in a way that makes it very difficult to be cross with them about it.  And the beauty of it all is that it can all be wiped clean with a few swift strokes of the eraser.

And, in this world of tapping at tiny screens, there is something pleasingly primal about both the act of writing on a whiteboard with a brightly-colored pen and then erasing those same words – it's a physical, visceral sensation, all the more pleasurable for being completely self-sufficient.  Not to brag or anything, but our whiteboard works during a power cut.  We never have to call the helpline. I don't worry about when the warranty will expire.  Best of all, even a child can use it.

Holiday Cheer

Something of a pot-pourri today.

Good news continues to roll in about the book.  We are now hearing about media coverage in newspapers and magazines, and it is all very exciting.  I will post nearer the time when and where things will be appearing.

In the meantime, I have to share this wonderful review of A GOOD AMERICAN by Michael Magras.  It was a wonderfully thoughtful (and generous) write-up.  Michael and I have been corresponding on twitter for some time, usually about either writing or jazz, and so it should come as no surprise that the focus of his reading was on the musical elements in the novel.  I have Michael's new novel on my kindle and am looking forward to reading it over Christmas.

Speaking of which, the festive spirit has finally arrived in our house.  We had a late start and were starting from scratch in terms of decorations but the children and I have been hard at work with the glitter glue and stickers and now we have a nattily-dressed tree that we are quietly proud of.

The children are staying with me pretty much all the time until Christmas Day.  It will be beyond strange, and I fear beyond awful, not to spend Christmas itself with them, but such is life.  This year they will get two visits from Santa, and right now we are all focusing on those kind of silver linings, such as they are.

Once I have dropped the kids off, I will be turning the car east and driving down I-70 to St. Louis.  Since I won't be seeing the children again until after the New Year, I'll be flying back to England on Christmas Day itself, arriving home on what we call Boxing Day.  Being on the other side of the ocean from my children will be hard, but it will be wonderful to see the rest of my family (including the northern California contingent.)  While I am in England I will be reading (a lot), catching up on a backlog of blog posts that I owe various people, doing a variety of interviews and PR-related stuff, meeting my agent and seeing old friends in London, and (I hope) catching my breath before the madness of publication begins in earnest next year.

On the subject of catching one's breath, I am joyfully rediscovering the therapeutic benefits of having a dog.  There is a park near our house where dogs are allowed to run off-leash and the four of us have been there three times in the last two days.  Theo runs with the other dogs, while my pet-crazy children pet any four-legged creature they can get near.  The weather has been unseasonably warm for the past couple of days, and we have loved just being outside in the fresh air, watching our puppy have the time of his life.  It's astonishing how witnessing such unbounded joy can rub off on you and wipe away more quotidian worries.

The other wonderful thing about all this is the aftermath.  Tired children + tired dog = relative peace and deep, deep contentment.