Fools Rush In … Then Out Again

For the simple reason that a number of important things in my life have already happened on January 31st, I decided a while ago that I would publish my novel SEX & DEATH & SARAH PALIN (provisional title) on that date, which is now only a matter of a few hours away.

 

I finished the final read-through of the novel a few days ago and I am very happy with it. That was the first time I’d read it in around three months and it still made me laugh and cry and rage at the cruelty of human beings throughout the ages – specifically men. In truth, I see no reason why, with the application of shrewd marketing and the help of a tsunami of positive word-of-mouth, I won’t be sitting – within six months – on a publishing success that makes Fifty Shades of Grey look like Bete de Jour :: The Intimate Adventures of An Ugly Man.

 

The only problems at the moment are as follows:

 

I haven’t decided on the title.

 

I have no cover.

 

I haven’t managed to get on top of the formatting and the book is still a little bit of a mess with italicised words coming out underlined, margins and fonts playing up and what-have-you.

 

I have no internet access where I’m staying at the moment. My mum (because of a bad experience trying to get free of a BT contract) is convinced that the internet is the fifth horse of the apocalypse.

 

So I have two choices. I could a) ignore my self-imposed deadline and publish at some other date in the near future. Or b) I could purchase 24 hours of internet access from BT and make a challenge of it. Obviously, as you can see, I am plumping for the latter.

 

It shouldn’t be too difficult if I’m honest. Just so long as everything goes according to plan. Which of course, it definitely will. And if it doesn’t, and if I fail, I won’t have lost anything. Just a fiver, one day (which won’t really be lost) and one self-imposed deadline. But not heart, my friends. Not heart.

 

So here we go. Twenty-four hours to publish a bestseller. Who’s with me?

 

Regular updates will appear at the end of this post so do keep checking back. Right up till the moment I realise this is a really stupid idea.

 

Feel free to cheer me on, help me out with your knowledge or merely tell me I’m a flaccid-faced jerk who’ll never amount to jackshit. Just knowing you’re there will be tremendous solace.

 

Right then. It looks like we’re ready. Cue the Richard E Grant voiceover…

 

21:00 hours. First bloody Mary administered. Experiment begins..

 

…

 

21:42

So I’ve paid £5 to BT for 24 hours’ net access. It sticks in my craw frankly, but needs must.

 

My mum insists on giving me money for looking after her as she’s recovering from her operation so I bought the ingredients for a bloody Mary earlier. Or a series of bloody Marys. I have the first one in front of me. If this turns into a proper 24-hour slog, she also has a shoebox full of other drugs I can plunder, although I’m not sure Tramodol will keep me awake. But it can’t hurt.

 

Right. I’m now going to try and fix the formatting problems in my mobi file. Mobi by the way, is the file-type associated with Kindle books. I’ll publish on other platforms later, but my first marketplace is the largest. If anyone knows anything about Scrivener, please get in touch.

 

22:19

Jesus, time is suddenly going very quickly.

 

I’ve received a couple of the latest attempts at the cover. The guy who’s doing it for me unfortunately has a family and a job and I’ve rather dropped this 24-hour thing on him, like a bad nappy. So we may have a problem with the artwork. Unless I can persuade him to take the day off work tomorrow. No, just kidding. I couldn’t do that. He should just do it though really, if he believes in the work.

 

Also, I am asking the advice of a self-publishing dynamo vis-à-vis Scrivener, which is the app I’m using to convert Word to mobi and which is currently twisting my melon.

 

Also, I’ve just received a random email saying wonderful things about my writing. I’ll quote you a tiny bit in the way Duncan Banntyne would: ‘It is people like you who keep me moving towards something positive.’ You see? I mean, even if I end up in a gutter somewhere, at least I helped a stranger feel positive about life. There’s always that.

 

22:59

Bother. I’m feeling rather disillusioned. The technology is squatting over me and doing its business in my eyes. This was an idiotic idea, wasn’t it? Idiotic? Or courageous? Oh shut up.

 

I’m going to have a cigarette out of the window.

 

01:42

The title’s bobbins, isn’t it?

 

Fuck it. It’s gone.

 

I shall now consult the universe for a new title. The universe won’t let me down.

 

09:39

It’s been a funny old day. Well, not funny. Whimsical maybe. Wry? I don’t know exactly. I was woken up between snoozes by a rude wrong number around 8. He didn’t even say sorry. I hate that. But I forgive him. The shit. Then some other things happened, none of them as interesting as that. Suffice to say, I now have an oven to wash.

 

So, turns out there is more than one way to skin the cat of self-publishing. You can try getting your manuscript clean enough to bung on to Scrivener or somesuch and hope that everything stays as is, or you can crawl into the CSS and perform HTML surgery on your own ass. As you can see, when it comes to the latter, I don’t really know what I’m talking about. So I stayed up till about 3 cleaning. I am still cleaning. And you? What are you doing this bright chilly morning?

 

12:00

Nine hours to go and I’ve got to the point where I genuinely couldn’t give a fuck. Real life has taken over. The NHS are a shower of cunts, aren’t they? Yeah yeah yeah, I know there are some wonderful people who work for them, of course there are, but admin-wise they couldn’t organise … well, apparently they couldn’t organise the delivery of some dressings, despite promising said delivery for three days in a row. And that’s just the tip of the shitberg. What a fucking world eh? What a world where if you want a decent education, or decent care, you have to have money. People are just fucking awful. What’s the point of books?

 

Maybe I should give up and get a job in a supermarket. That was my first job, when I was 16, stacking shelves. You know, it wasn’t so bad. There’s a Morrisons near here. Nice wide aisles. Chubby check-out girls with pasty white cheeks and small fish and chips with peas for £3.15. On a Friday.

 

Oh God.

 

15:50

Oh, this is intolerable. I’m going to have to buy a dongle.

 

And I’m going to have to change the title of this blog post.

 

I’ve been doing other things for the past couple of hours. Doctors, chemists, phone calls, supermarket.

 

What a stupid fucking idea this was, eh?

 

This song is in my head. Get it in yours too if you like…

 

 

19:42

Fuck it. I don’t mind failing. Besides, I may have lost the battle, etc.

 

Let’s try for Monday.

 

Goodbye.