Hi!
Last month’s email led to so many drop-outs, bounces and leavers that this community is back to the same size it was before the start of summer! I guess that’s what happens when you’re quiet for so long that people and their email servers start to forget who you are.
Well, I’m still Nick, I still write books that I sometimes but rarely publish, I’m still drenched in cynical optimism (or is it positive pessimism?), and I am still nowhere near as successful as people seem to think I am.
A few years back a very persistent stalker-fan on Twitter kept haranguing me for quick routes to make it to the top in publishing. If I knew what those were, I would definitely have shared them, but I’d make a point of following them myself first.
The current route I’m taking towards getting I Have Tried Everything Else and I Thought You Were All Better Now?* finished involves writing down every single issue, barrier, goal and concern, and turning them into a list of specific actionable tasks. That might sound daunting, but the meticulous and obsessive quadrant of my brain (in name only, since it takes up way more than 25%) laps up this kind of workflow, even if a lot of the tasks are just “Do this, only better.”
Speaking of doing things better, last weekend I was in Brighton having a long, involved, and very drunk conversation with someone about the purpose, style, and ambition of my work, and how we both felt about a “build good/fight bad” approach to living.**
As our encounter came to an end and the inevitable swapping of details approached, I smugly produced one of my latest contact cards. Then stopped.
The Facebook address was out of date. The Twitter handle was wrong. The referenced Instagram account doesn’t exist anymore, the website is just a placeholder and oh – the headshot doesn’t even look like me.
So, persistent Twitter stalker-fan from the past, you might be better off finding your own way without me.
I hope you are well,
Nick
xx
* I am so very successful in publishing that at this point I had to look up what the name of my own book is.
** At least that’s how I remember it. For all I know I blathered on for six hours while they nodded and thought about biscuits.