Reviews: perhaps my readers know more than me…

At one point, my day job was of enough interest that someone actually reported on something I did. This is where I learnt something important, that I believe Hollywood actors say, ‘Never read your own reviews, daaarrling!’ Or at least, I beleive they say, in some sort of thespian drawl, whilst avidly poring over everything written about them or their work in private. Anyway, so perhaps I shouldn’t read my own reviews. But, as a debut author, with a book to pitch that, to be honest, I am not entirely sure how… Read More

To the towns of our childhood, whether we escaped them or not…

To celebrate getting this book out there, a friend bought me this: Yes, this is what everyone needs in their life, a lapel pin of the place they escaped from, so they can carry it around eternally. Technically, Plumstead is quite green, we always joked that because the land was cheap, there were so many empty (read: green) spaces, that, and graveyards, the area has a lot of graveyards. The blank area at the top of the badge is the common (technically, Plumstead Common and Winn’s common), at the bottom left is… Read More

Beat poet of the ’90s

One of my favourite characters in the book is Seth, the goth drug dealer introduced as a beat poet of the 90’s in this passage: Seth rolled the cigarettes between his fingertips, dropping tobacco and sawdust onto the papers. Then out came the plastic baggies. They were the sort of thing you found tacky jewellery in in places like Woolwich Market. One bag was larger and had good-quality green in it, the leaves dried up like little dead spiders, all spiky legs and crispy. The other bag was a thick, sticky resin,… Read More