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It takes some time for technology to sink in, too often I seize upon the latest gizmo, hoping it will solve all my problems, only to find that either it doesn't do very much, or causes even more problems in areas I'd not anticipated.
I suspect the latter was the case when I decided to tick one box, or was it the other, when setting up this Blog. Following an email comment from my reader I have altered the facility so that anyone can make a comment. Hopefully that will not mean I'm deluged.
New technooogy includes new browsers, and I'd urge you al to move from Internet Explorer to Firefox, an open source programme orchestrated by Sun Microsystems and Mozilla. It works well, and has several features I already find very useful. There's an RSS reader, and a password facility that allows me to enter a chosen password once, and then the machine will do the rest. No doubt Spammers are working on it already.
I believe it's time we worked on Spammers - probably starting with a sledgehammer, which are very useful for cracking nuts.
Forward
It's beginning to feel rather cosy, rather like coming inside on a cold and blustery day, into a warm room, with someone toasting crumpets by the fire, as they hand me a warming mug of cocoa.
No doubt the door bell will soon ring and someone will heap a huge snowball on my head. For now, I'll just try to relax. This afternoon I face my first challenge, as a creditor attempts to squeeze blood from my stone. Not sure what will happen, as I've never been in this position before. Let's just hope the judge is benevolent.
I'm just beginning to realise that I am getting old. Not that my brain or body are in decline. I go to the gym every day, stride up hills without a puff, and only occasionally forget why I came upstairs. All seems to be working well. The problem is my lack of personal drive. All my life I have strived to achieve, whatever, something, get past the next post, jump the next hurdle. Suddenly I feel that's all a bit irrelevant.
It snowed this morning, good crunchy snow that gave me great pleasure as I walked along the sea-front. A breakfast of cooked plums with cereal, a house that feels warm, the chance to see some friends this evening. For now, that'll do me. Who needs success?
End of an Era
Five years ago the The Arts Council of England asked me if I wanted their support for my web site, www.author.co.uk. That's very unusual, I know of no-one else who has been asked. How could I refuse? So I prepared a draft budget. To my surprise they agreed, paying me the sum I'd suggested and promising me funding for at least three years. I was overjoyed, and began to work tirelessly to create a web site that people wanted, and to meet the innumerable demands and questions posed by writers. Rarely did I work less that 16 hours a day, falling out of bed in one room to switch on the computer in the next.
Author Publishing Ltd was created as a result, and funds were stretched out so we were very late in applying for the second year funding. They demurred over the amount, agreeing to pay half the figure requested. That was understandable, as there were expansive new ideas in the new application, intended to help writers, especially those wanting to reach readers.
It was suggested that the Arts Council had sought my support because they had made some disastrous decisions about their Internet presence for literature. Whatever the politics, I was immensely grateful, not least for the trips to London for quiet lunches over which I could discuss my plans for the web site with someone who cared.
Before I applied for the third year's funding the Art Council of England changed its structure. Grants were now considered locally, and application then had to be made to the Literature Officer for the East of England, Jonathan Haynes. By this time the author.co.uk site had grown, and the web hosting service were constantly demanding more money to cope with the increased traffic it generated.
Mr Haynes decided that we were no longer deserving of support. That was a devastating blow, from which it has been impossible to recover, but I made mistakes, living on promises.
My problem was an inability to say no. In 2002 I published 'Pathways to Publication' written with the incomparable Bernie Ross, it opened the door to publishing for many writers. There were exciting opportunities presented by digital printing, especially for those writers who were not aiming at a mass market. I began to help writers publish books, covering all the costs myself.
Last year I was persuaded to expand my horizons, and produce a book printed with offset litho. The unit costs are much lower than with digital, but the number of books printed at any one time are considerably more. My first venture seemed safe enough, sales were promised, both here and abroad. Armed with a bank loan I set off, full of enthusiasm and hope for the future.
It's better to have tried and failed, perhaps. Over 70 titles have been published since 2002 that probably would not have been produced without my help. That I can produce books, of high standard, that usually please the author, is now proven. What I cannot do is to sell these books to the established book trade. That's the real failure, and has proved so frustrating because there is no longer any money left in the pot. For the past eighteen months I've received no salary (didn't get very much before), and my private resources are now dried up.
Author Publishing Ltd must cease trading. Hopefully some crumbs can be extracted, and at least the original files of all the books remain safe. They can be resurrected if required.
Ownership of the web site www.author.co.uk was never transferred to APL, so that should be safe. Not sure what its future function will be. I'd dreamt that it should be the epicentre of British writing and publishing. That dream, for me, is in jeopardy.
Anyone want to buy a publishing company?
A Rare Day
So far it has been a rare day, because I have spent it on myself. This morning I went to the gym, nothing really unusual about that, but I did push myself just a bit harder. Then to breakfast, two boiled eggs together with some bread rolls I'd made late last night. It was delicious.
At that point I should have switched on this machine, put my head down and worked, to satisfy the hordes. But I didn't. Partly because I'd met Jo Harrison in the shop when buying the eggs. She reminded me of the death of my very good friend, John Davidson, who died of cancer early last year. She didn't know he had died, and that short conversation had me choking back the tears. I rarely met John, we came from different backgrounds, but I regared him as one of the closest friends I've ever had. His death pains me even now. It stopped my life for many months, and a huge part of me wil never be the same again.
It probably does us all good to reflect upon the course of our lives. A year ago, just at the time fo John's death, I moved a staircase. Upstairs the hole where the staircase once stood has lacked floorboards for a whole year. So, this morning I sawed and banged and laid new boards across that hole. It took me three hours, and I enjoyed every minute. And now I can stand and look at that space, a job finished, and that's a job that allows me to move on to the next stage. I need to build a partition, and then fit a bathroom. Once again I've had all the furniture and fittings of a new bathroom for the past year. But, I've always put the demands of others first, and so the bathroom has remained unfinished. There's never been enough time in my life - for me.
That's the message for today. Look at your life. How much is really for you? A small piece of floor that I can now walk on may not seem much, but it is a small first step. And, like any journey, that first step was necessary.
