Marital Advice? (Peter Davidson has made some notes!)

It's easy to get comfortable with our reading and stick to what we know. And I say this staring at a shelf filled with thrillers (not all of them my own...), comedy material and books about the craft of writing. The world - and the internet we tend to see it through - is a big  and interesting place though, and if you turn off your literary sat-nav you can sometimes find a gem. 

Recently, a US author, Peter Davidson, contacted me about a book he thought I'd appreciate. Turns out he was right. Marital Advice to my Grandson, Joel would not have appeared on my radar but I'm glad it has. It combines observational humour with personal anecdotes and has a ring of truth about it, not least because Peter genuinely wrote this book for his grandson, who in turn genuinely got married to Abby (see photo below). 

Peter's book doesn't take itself too seriously, but it has a lot to say about man's evolution, and why it would be a great idea!

Guys, relax. He has it covered.

Marital Advice to my Grandson, Joel

By Peter Davidson

When Peter Davidson's grandson, Joel, got engaged, Davidson decided to jot down a few words of marital wisdom for him, based on his vast experience as a husband. Davidson wrote and wrote and wrote until the “few words” became an epistle. Then he thought, why share this wisdom with only one person when he could share it with the whole world.  So, Davidson started a blog, listing new marital advice every week.  As the popularity of the blog grew, people suggested that the material should be turned into a book.  The result is Marital Advice to my Grandson, Joel.

The book reads like a long letter from a grandfather to his grandson, filled with homespun marital advice and philosophies, true stories, and large doses of humor. The reader will have the feeling of peeking over Davidson's shoulder as he pens his wisdom or of eavesdropping in on a conversation between grandfather and grandson.

Advice to grandson Joel, and to any man, includes: make sure that you buy a roll of electrical tape before you volunteer to do the vacuuming, and why, how to deal with your wife's steely-eyed, clinched-jaw scowl, known as “The Look,” the warning that your mouth will get you into a whole lot more trouble than your Willy ever will, and how to create the world's most powerful anniversary card for your wife.

Virtually all of the material in the book is presented in the form of upbeat stories, scenarios, and examples.  This is definitely not the type of advice that you'll find in a textbook on marriage or in a book on marital relations written by some psychiatrist.  This is the real stuff for real people.

The book is available at amazon.com, barnseandnoble.com and at book stores.

And just to prove there was - and is - a happy couple, here's that wedding photo I promised.

Butterfly thoughts

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Last month, Anne and I finally cleared the old books out of the garage and took them to a car-boot sale. You can learn a lot about people at car-boots - the tryers, the observers, those who know exactly what they want, those who are open to anything that catches their eye and the browers - who want nothing more than a brief distraction in their day.

As luck would have it - and the luck was mine - we waited almost two hours to be allowed on-site, were allocated the final spot in a dead-end and the weather wasn't entirely kind to us.

All that said, I rather enjoyed the event. It was a great opportunity to let the books see daylight and to appreciate some of them again, and the stories that lay behind them. A holiday book inevitably brought to mind that holiday in Turkey - the one where I not only had the trots, but also wrote three short stories (one of which was subsequently published). 

Some were books I used to favour, but had chosen to release them into the wild; likewise a Christmas gift or two from long ago. There was also an esoteric volume, bought to research material for my magical fantasy, Covenant. Away, away all, and sendback a quid.

And the people...

Some would-be purchasers spent time chatting and befriending us, before clearing their throats and asking for a friendly discount. The books were all £1 each, just so you know.

Other customers rifled through the piles of books, couldn't find what they wanted and sniffed derisively as they left me to tidy up the display in their wake.

One person paused to pick up a book and then waxed lyrical about how much he hated the subject. My suggestion that he buy the book and then turn said person's face to the wall, as a sort of protest, fell upon deaf ears.

I met a man on a mobility scooter, joyous and witty (though alas, not in need of a book). I also met people who, to quote our late mum, were probably enjoying themselves, deep down, but had forgotten to tell their faces.

And as we tried to shelter from the rain, while simultaneously holding down the plastic sheet over the books, three thoughts came to me:

1. It's time to pack up.

2. Let's never do this again.

3. This is a lot like being a writer. (Although, to be fair, I think that about pretty much everything. I'm a little like The Fast Show's fabulous character, Swiss Tony, only with writing.)

How so, I imagine you asking.

Well, some writers will cosy up to you and loiter in your presence precisely as long as it takes to extract whatever information they're after. And then they're off, like a fart in a packed lift.

Others know exactly how they see themselves - and what they want - and have no time for anyone or anything else. They stick to their genre and whatever rung of the ladder they believe they're on.

There are writers, too, who make time for criticisms rather than critiques. They'll rush to Amazon for the latest bestsellers, only to read the worst reviews - and perhaps write a few as well.

Now, I'm not saying that the world of writers is an egalitarian utopia and that we should all hold doors (and windows) of oppurtunity open for one another. Although, frankly, it would be a nicer landscape if we did. I'm not that naive, as the woman with the $4trillion dollars for me in an offshore account discovered when she emailed me.

However, when we're busy writing and rewriting, pitching, submitting and smediaing (neat word, huh!), why not make the best of it. Tell your face, and tell your face to tell the world.

In the car-boot of life, even being able to pick up a pen and write whatever you feel like writing about, is a bargain. Even if no one may be buying right now.

Agent provocateur

Maybe things are looking up...

So far, in my writing journey, there's one experience that has eluded me (well, yes, apart from never having received a huge book deal). There have been editors, and contracts, but no agent. 

Perhaps it's time to review my approach, as I consider:

Things you must never say to an agent*

I've made you a key ring, enclosed, from my own hair.

I've discovered that your house is only a couple of bus rides from my office. I could bring my manuscript over, one evening after work, along with a pizza for us. I bet you like Hawaiian too.

I hope, even if you ultimately completely devastate me by rejecting my wonderful book, that we become friends.

I wouldn't say my book is a best seller, but you can!

Do you like horses? I bet you don't like them as much as I do. I LOVE horses. And alpacas. Anyway, please find enclosed my spy thriller - about a crime-solving horse and her alpaca sidekick.

Enclosed is a photograph of my tattoo, based on your website photo. 

How soon can I get an advance on future royalties? Only my landlord is chasing me for last month's rent.

Of course, there are much better margins in self-publishing, but I thought I'd give you a chance to prove yourself.

Several agents I sent my book to, who all rejected it first, suggested I try you as a last resort.

This is the first book I've ever written, so feel free to mark up any corrections for me. And if you have any ideas about how I can improve it, that would be great too. Sorry, but I can't afford stamps right now - I'll pay you back when the book starts earning.

There's no rush for a decision. I'm away in Marbella for a fortnight, so take your time.

I've put a surveillance device in the envelope so I can get honest feedback. Remember to speak clearly.

* And in case you're an agent reading this (you know who you are), I'll be good next time!

Here's Looking at You

Writers often talk about the many things that inspire a piece of writing. But what about our individual approaches to writing?

Take our cat here, shamelessly posing at the window (in the hope of more food). She, like pretty much every cat I've ever met, is a masterpiece of individuality and integrity. 

What can she teach me about being a writer? I put it to her and, once she'd finished a power nap, she offered me the following kitty wisdom.

1. Be true to yourself, like a cat. Cats don't play pretend. 

[Translation.]
Cats don't chase an 'idea of themselves'* or craft a profile based upon social media demographics. They don't commit to anything they don't want to do - because they know that doing so means they're less likely to get fulfilment from it. And cats love fulfilment.

2. You don't need to be a cat whisperer to figure out what's going on in that furry head - tail, demeanour, voice - it's all there. 

[Translation.]
Be honest with yourself and other people. Make space, make time, make demands if you need to.

You became a writer for you, first and foremost, to temper yourself in the fires of your enthusiasm. Don't blow it on writing anything you don't believe in or feel comfortable with - and that includes reviews for other people, blog posts, comments, the dreaded FB likes and all the other techno-wizardry that take time way from the page.

3. Don't apologise for being the cat that you are. That beautiful, luxuriant, bird-killing, slug carrying, yowling fur bag of delights. 

[Translation.]
Don't apologise for the writer you are. Romantic fiction? Faith writing? Poetry? Vampires? Dirty limericks**? If it matters enough to you to want to write about it, that's all that matters.

4. Stay light on your feet and alter your plans as your needs arise. No regrets, no justifications. The human thighs that start out as a pillow may yet need to become pin cushions - that's just the way it is.

[Translation.]

Change your genre. Change your mind. Change your allegiances. Change your perspective. Above all: write. Unless it's time to stop for a while!

5. Ask if you need to, but don't expect. Believe me, I've sat at that cat dish for a good five minutes before any cheese arrived. I should have done what I did one Christmas, and just helped myself from the plate.

[Translation.]
Be honest about your needs, and allow others to be honest about theirs. Most writers are a supportive bunch by nature, but they're not psychic (well, some of them maybe). There's no shame in asking for a favour, and no offence to be taken when the answer is 'no'.

How this blog post came about (apart from the cat and the typing part, obviously).
I listened to a serialised drama on Radio 4 recently - The Other One by Oliver Emanuel*** - and I was mesmerised by it. The kind of rapt attention that makes you stay listening in your car until it's over, even though the oven chips are melting. The story was compelling, and the direction and acting just perfect. And I started to think about how often I write a piece of fiction that's just 'okay'. Not terrible or anything, only not gleaming either. It all starts with the initial premise, but more than that, it seems to me, it starts even earlier with the initial premise of myself as a writer. And how I got from that to the cat is another story.


* Although they probably would if it was tied to a piece of string.
** As if you hadn't already figured that one out.
*** Oliver has very kindly agreed to an interview, when he has some free time. If you have any questions about radio drama, send them in a comment and we'll try to get them covered.

Life Lessons from Social Media

Andy Social always used an alias
online so people took him seriously. 

Whether you love it or loathe it, social media is here to stay. Yes, it can suck the time out of your day like a chrono-vacuum; and yes, there are those who swear by it (opposed to at it) for promoting their wares and bringing home the bacon. However, there is another side to social media - it can teach us about life (by which I mean 'real life' away from the screen).

Here are my social media life lessons, distilled from literally minutes of contemplation.

1. You cannot please everyone. Get used to it. Once you adjust to the statistical probability of being on the receiving end of someone else's disapproval, life becomes a lot easier.

2. Everyone has an opinion and they'll happily use up oxygen to share it with you. You're not obliged to take it seriously and what you do with it afterwards is entirely up to you.

3. People only tell you what they want you to know. And it's a good policy to adopt.

4. You're not obliged to be friends with anyone just bceause they want you to. You're not in school any more, so don't allow yourself to be swayed by peer pressure.

5. Sometimes it's good to sit back and think before you act. Knee-jerk communications rarely come out well - count to thirty-seven.

6. Everyone is selling something - a product, a service, an idea or a worldview. That's what communication is - a desire to express something so that it is understood.

7. People who say, "I'm not like other people," generally are. "I'm so zany, pick me." Erm...no thanks.

8. Other poeple's conversations can be addictive, but that doesn't make them beneficial to you. Dip in. Dip out. Jog on.

9. The friend of a friend is not necessarily going to make a good friend for you. Which is just some friendly advice.

10. Social media is just a tool. You don't have to play, but if you choose to do so then see it for what it is.

And my three cardinal Twitter sins, from the gospel of Derek?

1. Begging for retweets. It's like seeing a whiny Labrador craving more biscuits.

2. Auto-tweeting someone who's just followed you to visit their page or buy their book.

3. A follow from someone who has no interest in you (based on their tweet history), and who is blatantly just trying to build up numbers. (End of civilisation peeps, you know who you are.)

Cynic no more

We'll always respect our first...

I'll never forget that first, magical book contract.

David French and I had been producing our own satirical magazine, As Above So Below, for a few years - a mixture of cartoons, spoof articles, quizzes, ads and interviews. But we wanted to break into print.

I was already experimenting with one-liners and slogans, and we liked to subvert popular sayings, so it seemed logical to put a collection together. Once we had around 100 quotes - some of which had originally appeared in the mag - I set about contacting every 'Little Book' publisher I could find. To our great suprise, one wrote back with an encouraging response. They said they had no budget left for that year, but they'd be willing to consider us for the following year's list.

Wind forward an exchange of letters and a year later, and we had a contract. We read it through carefully because we'd never even heard of a buy-out before. For the unitiated, it means they own your book lock, stock and barrel. Instead of royalties, they give you a one-off payment. I spoke with the Society of Authors and we went back to the publisher to try to get an improved offer, but their terms were standard.

After much deliberation we decided, based on the fact that half the material had already been in our magazine, that it was worth taking up their offer. Besides, it was effectively just a collection of 100 or so gags, and I knew from personal experience back then that gags were hard to sell unless you had contacts.

When the free copies of the book arrived, we were really disappointed with the graphics and cover design. I'm not sure what we were expecting, but that wasn't it. The cheque was nice though, even though it was split two ways.

Only later, as I waded deeper into the world of writing and publishing, did I realise how lucky we'd been. Easy to write, published on time, and with payment forthcoming, The Little Book of Cynics was a lovely introduction into the world of paid writing.

LBoC also opened the doors to a whole range of experiences: 

1. There was the book signing, where friends in Glastonbury bought in dozens of copies and watched as we sold three copies in a day. An event not recorded in any of the local newspapers, despite my press releases. 

2. The Little Book was also partly responsible for an interview I did on comedy writing with BBC Cornwall (where we were bounced off early because a dog was coming in to promote the Dog Olympics - I kid you not). 

3. And, more positively, LBoC remains a calling card, which I've no doubt has helped me procure freelance work across the web and in the real world.

The most important lesson about the Little Book of Cynics is that you never know where an opportunity will take you. I believe the book is out of print now, so if you were one of those people in Glastonbury, with a signed copy, it could be worth something one day.

"I'll Have What She's Having?"

Remember that line? Penned by the wonderful Nora Ephron for the screenplay of ‘When Harry Met Sally’ and spoken just after Meg Ryan (Sally) assures Billy Crystal (Harry) that women can indeed ‘fake it’. It was a fabulous scene and worthy of an Oscar for Meg Ryan. Or perhaps not? If she’s to be believed, we women are all capable of turning on such rapture on demand. Anyway, a funny scene I wish I’d written and one which I remembered, when a friend recently suggested I read some Nora Ephron. I’d wanted to read about the real, untouched by tourists New York , as I was about to take a trip there. Having managed to get a copy of her book of essays titled ‘I feel Bad About My Neck’ just before I left, I settled happily to the read at thirty thousand feet.

Suffice to say the poor man sat beside me was straining to see what title made me chuckle for most of the long journey. I LOVED it. Really, anyone who has ever struggled to think of a present for a girlfriend, buy her a copy of this book . It reminded me that when I started to write I really wanted to write a funny novel. Somehow, somewhere along the line, I seem to have lost sight of this? Possibly because since I started to write I’ve submerged myself in several ‘how to’ books and read more of everything from literary to vampirical sagas.

Nora has made me yearn for a return to humour. Nora is my new imaginary best friend. She and I regularly hoot with laughter over cocktails at the Manhattan Carlyle...

But this post is not only an homage to Nora. It’s also about said trip to New York that I’ve just taken and the effect it had on me. It was genuinely orgasmic. Seriously. No faking involved. Every moment was tasted, savoured and enjoyed. I saw the Dakota building, the Guggenheim; took a walk through central park in the snow, ate in diners; wrote a chapter of my WIP at a table in the main hall of the New York Public Library on fifth avenue and sat at the famous table in Katz’s deli where Sally did ‘her thing’ in the movie. Frankly, I was so turned on by the whole experience that I had to hold back from trying to mimic Meg Ryan. (I resisted - thought it best not to end up on uTube)

Because the NY experience was exceptional and rare, I tried to make sure to feel every nuance with every sense in my body and to take notes along the way. Right now, if I close my eyes, I’m back there... I can smell the salami on rye in Katz’s deli; I can hear the fire engine sirens outside; I can see the nut and bolt detail in the rusting structure of the Brooklyn bridge; I can feel the hairy, slightly scratchy but warm warm touch of the woollen scarf, wrapped tight against the cold and I can taste the steaming starbucks on every corner.

And I’m determined to keep it up - to ‘write with my senses’ in my head even while I’m walking or doing mundane chores. And to re-capture the humour... Because someday I’d love to sit beside a stranger laughing as she reads on the plane to New York (I'm on my way to close the deal on my new Tribeca condo...) I’d think, ‘I’ll have what she’s having’, just before I notice my name on the spine. Ah yes, the stuff dreams are made of. Speaking of which, my eyes are closed again and I’m back in the Carlyle with Nora. It’s Cosmo time and there’s laughter in the air.