Apparently, publishing used to be a pretty direct business. Somebody set about writing something themselves, or caused something to be written, and went either to talk to a publisher or published it themselves. Only from the late 1800s, with the arrival of the literary agent and the explosion of mass production in books, did it become either too labyrinthine or unacceptable as vanity for a writer to publish simply through their own efforts.
I grew up in a house surrounded by books. But I read very little and was untouched by them; I felt that they had nothing to offer. I eventually did start to read only in my late teens and, since arriving in their world, I haven't looked back.
Often what affected me every bit as much as the content (the language and the words that transported me away from myself) was the tactile fact and temporal permanence of the book as an object, especially when also a possession. The construction, the look, feel and smell of a book were an integral part of reading and my newly discovered world of books was one bound by loyalties not only to certain writers but also to certain publishers.
Technology has put paid to many things, but not - one trusts - the human need to tell stories, and thankfully not also to the equally human need to hear and read them. With this in mind, and in the context of an almost instantaneous World of connections, I have decided to behave as a very modern author to return to the days when an author published directly.
All of this may simply be a long-winded introduction to a short-lived project, or hobby, which is my own book of fiction.
The work in question is a collection; a novella, short stories and poems, and is my small contribution to the imaginations of others. So, you read it here first! "The Messenger's Falling" is now available from Lulu.com and, when I work out how to do it, from all good virtual bookshops such as Amazon.co.uk, as well.
I grew up in a house surrounded by books. But I read very little and was untouched by them; I felt that they had nothing to offer. I eventually did start to read only in my late teens and, since arriving in their world, I haven't looked back.
Often what affected me every bit as much as the content (the language and the words that transported me away from myself) was the tactile fact and temporal permanence of the book as an object, especially when also a possession. The construction, the look, feel and smell of a book were an integral part of reading and my newly discovered world of books was one bound by loyalties not only to certain writers but also to certain publishers.
Technology has put paid to many things, but not - one trusts - the human need to tell stories, and thankfully not also to the equally human need to hear and read them. With this in mind, and in the context of an almost instantaneous World of connections, I have decided to behave as a very modern author to return to the days when an author published directly.
All of this may simply be a long-winded introduction to a short-lived project, or hobby, which is my own book of fiction.
The work in question is a collection; a novella, short stories and poems, and is my small contribution to the imaginations of others. So, you read it here first! "The Messenger's Falling" is now available from Lulu.com and, when I work out how to do it, from all good virtual bookshops such as Amazon.co.uk, as well.
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