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My Reason To Write

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If your only reason for writing a book is to make money, think again.

We all have that age old picture of the Dickens era writer with black ink stained fingers, scratching away at his parchment by candlelight, and to be honest, when you look at the industry today with all its high class technology, you could be fooled into thinking that writers have it easy and are sat on a good size pile of constantly flowing cash. But the harsh reality is, for the writer things have not improved a great deal from back in the days of Dickens.

Writing will not make you rich overnight, well not for 90% of those who choose to do it. Yes there are those chosen few who the chips fell right for, and they have the privilege of living a life of comfort and security. For the rest of us that is a dream we can only dream of, as getting a book written edited and then out for sale is a mammoth task, and that is just the first hurdle, then you have to make it sell. Most of the big publishers are not that interested in new writers, there is little money to be made as the investment in promotion is very high, and the returns may not recoup their initial investment, they prefer the tried and tested route of known name celebrities and writers, as their first consideration has to be profit driven. Self publishing does give you a much longer term programme, and personally considering the fact that with a traditional publisher you have pretty much the first four months of release to make a profit in order to stay on their books, then self publishing does make more sense, as you have time to sit back and wait, especially if you are constantly writing new material. This is how a lot of writers are starting to think now, looking at the bigger longer picture, but even so, the rewards in the form of financial gain will never be high.

It’s a very real fact that your average writer earns less in a year from writing than most people do in a month of working at their usual job, you may see the handsomely priced books at £5, £10 and £15, but believe me, when it comes to the royalty of that price being paid out to the writer, it has dropped to less than 10% of the book price per sale.

So why do it?

The fact is that most writers are book geeks, they love literature and reading, and are driven from within by a compulsion to sit for days and weeks slaving away slowly crafting the limits of their imagination into words, that hopefully one day they will share with the rest of us. It’s not very glamorous, and at times it can be quiet boring, and yet the need to write drives all writers forward.

Looking at my own life, I sit alone separated from my family, happily tapping the keyboard lost in a world of my own invention, I lose all sense of reality and time as I watch the words appear on the screen, and I feel the rush of whatever related emotion is present within at the one lost moment in time. Where it all comes from I cannot say, I have a plan in my mind of what I want to say, and how I want the story to develop, but I can assure you the finished result is far superior to what I had first imagined.  Woven into my thoughts and my words via this wonderful process of merger between my conscious self and the depths of my soul something wondrous and beautiful is created, as every thought I have ever had and every experience, be it happy or from the depths of my despair fuses into the words of the person you think to be the creator of the story. It may sound odd, but the conscious part of me cannot happily take all the credit, because writing unleashes huge deeper parts of me, and that is something that I find mind-blowing, as it reveals parts of my own self that even I was not aware of when I began. I suppose that is my reason to write, that part of me is cooler, wilder and far more adventurous than ordinary everyday me.  Put plainly I would say, its more addictive than any drug or substance you could offer me, and leaves me thoroughly exhausted with just the single thought of deep happy sleep to occupy my mind as I drift off slowly.

Reading what I have written back is like reading a code known only to me, as I gasp at what has been revealed. To any other reader it is simply a story, a tale to captivate the mind and intrigue the soul, but for myself alone at my desk, I see my life, my feelings, my hopes and dreams, it’s so deeply personal that it almost feels like standing naked before the world, my only security is that I know no one will ever truly work it all out.

There is no part of the process where I have thoughts of money and gains, I feel no need to embrace vanity and be adored, if anything I am possibly one of the most reluctant writers to publish. Publishing is a drag; I find it tedious and annoying as it takes me away from writing, as I am forced to promote the book. I am the worst possible person alive to ask about what I write, because when I look at what I have committed to paper, I find it hard to break out of my deeply private sense of privacy and talk at any length about how the story came together. I am in many ways also the biggest critic of what I have written, I am never satisfied with the finished result and always feel it could be better, so promoting it is not an easy task, and I would much rather be sat at my desk lost and alone caught in that moment of wonder where it all spills out onto the page.

Selling a book feels like real work, writing comes to me in an uncontrollable compulsion, and there is nothing in the process that I do not take great joy from, money plays no part in it at all. I cannot think of sales and income, it is too much of a distraction from the process of physically writing.

I am a pretty rational person, and yet I am a full time writer, I know it means things can and will be tough, and as selfish as it sounds I don’t care, I have spent the last 30 years of my life breaking my back working in horticulture from dawn until dust, in every kind of weather, and I was not rich then either. It’s nice to sit at my desk, snug and warm and rest my aching body that has the scars and has paid the price of my labours since youth. Writing has afforded me the time to watch the world and take note, it has given me back a family life, and a chance to walk in the world and enjoy its wonder, it doesn’t pay in sterling, but the rewards have been vast in so much as it has taken a tired workaholic and given me back a life of quality and value.

There is little financial gain to be made from writing, but there is the huge payoff of knowing that I have shared something deeply private and special with those who turn the pages of what I write about. I have the reward of being closer to those who I love and love me, so because of writing I feel I have become the wealthiest man alive, and if by chance I do need money, well hey, there are always part time jobs.

 

In Remembrance of my Furry Face Friend.

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Sparky the Cat, the inspiration for Furry Face, in HTTK.

Sparky the Cat, the inspiration for Furry Face, in HTTK.

When I was a young boy I was told by a Vicar that pets don’t go to Heaven. It was for myself a very profound moment, because in my mind at the time, I just could not accept that my rabbits, of which I had a few at the time, meant the world to me. I think it was a turning point for me, as the notion that living things such as animals were not like us, and therefore lesser in the eyes of the world of men, was so alien to me, I simply refused to accept the word of an adult for the very time in my life. Today my view has not changed, I see all living creatures as individual beings, and I do try very much to show them all the same courtesy and respect, as I would another human.

The case in point I think is very apparent when I think about my cat Sparky. Sparky passed away three days ago, at the grand old age of 16, which for a cat is pretty old, and today I feel like I have lost one of the most important people in my life. Its just a cat I hear a few of you scoff, and yes I can understand such lines of thought, but the reality is he was more than just a cat to me.

I came across Sparky when he was three years old, he was living in a house that was filled with Foster children, and to be honest they were brutal in the way they treated him. He was dirty, underfed, and would spend his days nervously sitting under the bushes in a friend of mines garden. To make matters worse, the layers of his left ear had separated, and filled with blood, which resulted in the ear swelling to twice the size of his head. It was so heavy he had to drag his face across the floor, and he actually walked backwards. He had no trust whatsoever of people, and he was very timid and afraid of everything.

I was appalled at the way he was being treated and I wanted to help him, but he was not an easy cat to get hold of, and I spent weeks as the huge ball on the side of his head grew larger trying to find ways I could capture him. I think the thing that motivated me, and made me try so hard to help him was simply the look in his eyes. I could see the sadness and the weariness from the burden of life in the foster home, and the mass growing out of his head. I really do not care what anyone may say, his eyes reflected back the horror of his life, and the deep overwhelming sadness he had as a result

When I eventually did capture him, and wrestled him into the cat carrier, he fought with everything he had, I could see the terror on his face and he scratched me and bit me as if his life depended upon it. Sweating and bleeding, I got him in the box and took him to the Vet. Now I will say at this point I had vowed never to have another pet, I do get attached and at that time I was working the markets and away a great deal of the day, but the vet told me quite clearly, it would be better for him if he was destroyed, and considering the quality of life he had at that time, I could not even think that way, in my mind he deserved to have a least some life free of the burden he had carried so long, so in the end I chose for him to be operated on and told the Vet to do everything he could to make him well again.

All I can say is that looking at his face, I could see the intelligence behind the eyes, and even though he was terrified of me, I think in some small way he knew I genuinely was trying to help. A week later I returned home with him, having had to do a quick shop and get all the things I would require for the nursing back to health of a cat, I will say at this point I had no intention of keeping him, I just wanted to make him better. The Cat hated me… I came home opened the cat carrier and with a head full of paw print covered bandage and large plastic cone, he bolted straight out of the carrier, and headed for the window, he bounced off the glass and hissed like a cat possessed, and then darted behind the sofa. I spent the next five hours trying to coax him out while he repeatedly fought with the cone to get it off his head, and if I even tried to get close to him, he would wail and scream at me as he hunched up ready to strike. I found myself to be the carer of one very pissed off cat, and so began the very long process of trying to show him I meant him no harm.

To begin with I placed his food in the centre of the room, and lifted my feet off the floor so he could see the food but not me, it worked and he slipped out and ate vigorously. I tried to ignore him and just went about my business as if he did not matter, which again did help calm him down, it was obvious he was very antisocial and wanted no contact with anyone, especially me. Life continued this way for a week, but the problem was I needed to check his dressing, his ear had been stitched back and I had been told to keep an eye on it, but there was no way he was going to allow me closer than six feet. The moment I tried to come closer to him, he would explode and hiss and then shoot off for the back of the sofa, it was really frustrating.

One evening shortly before he had to return to the Vet, it had gone very cold and I had lit the fire, I had been busy in the other room and as I came back to the main room I noticed him lay in front of it a look of sheer bliss on his face. I stopped and looked at him, and as had become the trend over the last week I spoke to him, trying to keep eye contact with him, he viewed me warily, but such was the joy of the heat, he stayed lay on the rug. I knelt down a good ten feet away and quietly asked if he liked that, I noticed he moved his paws, almost as if he was opening and clenching a hand. I know this is something kittens do when they are insecure, so I spread my hands out on the carpet and I mimicked his actions. I could see the surprise in his eyes, and watched as he copied my movements, and so began what was in a way our first moments of connection, and the first rung of the ladder of trust between us. I got within four feet of him as his dark eyes watched my hands and I copied his paw movements.

It was a start of the process, and over the next week became almost like a game between us, he would lie in front of the fire and watch me, and I would sit on the sofa carefully watching him out of the corner of my eye, each time he moved a paw, I copied, it was almost like we had some sort of secret sign language, until finally one evening he had his food, and then walked straight up to my leg, and rubbed his cone contained head on it before going back to the fire. Needless to say I got him to the Vet and with a little less fighting, and he had began to see that I meant him no harm, we had established the basics of trust between us. When the time came to hand him back to his rightful owners over nine weeks later, I knew I couldn’t, I know that technically I had for want of a better word stolen him, but I had done it for his sake not my own, but the thought of taking him back to that hell hole where children could kick and punch at him was simply too much for me to bare. It was a friend of mine at the time who made it clear I had saved his life, and he had shown some trust in me, and to hand him back would violate everything between us. Wrong as it was I kept him, and to be honest it is something I will never apologise for, or regret.

I named him Sparky, simply because when he hissed at me, he sounded like a fizzing light switch, it’s one a few quirks he had, and together we worked on our levels of trust and over time we became firm friends. It was a long slow process, but we did build up a huge amount of trust between each other, he still did not trust anyone else, and would bolt if I had visitors, and if they tried to stroke him, believe me he would take their hand off such was the power of his claws. Sparky put on weight and looked like a completely different cat, he was big for a cat, but not fat, if anything he was muscular and powerful, I was told he was a Scottish breed by the Vet who informed me he was now in tip top health, unlike my bank balance, and he was indeed surprised, as he then admitted he was sure that Sparky was not going to make it when he first saw him.

So began the years of togetherness, when I was home in the greenhouse, he sat at my feet and played with the twine hanging from the bench, if I was at my desk, he slept below my chair, and at night when I slept he lay across my feet, and would pounce on me if I moved too much. Sparky gave me another dimension to my life, I worked really long hours and would come home exhausted and collapse on the sofa. I would always wake to find him snuggled into me and I realised that he filled an empty void in me that I was not even aware was there. At that time I was in a relationship, which had become quite long term, but it had been made quite clear there was no chance of marriage or living together, and as I look back, I can see how in many ways how unfulfilled it was, don’t get me wrong there were obvious benefits to it, but it felt almost like it was just a surface relationship with no real depth, if I am really honest, it had reached a point where it did feel like Sparky had a closer bond with me than she did.

In 2005, I had stopped working the markets and taken up residence on the front of a local market in one of the market units. I have worked hard all my life, and finally my efforts had begun to pay off, in a fixed unit my business became quite successful, and for the first time in a long time, I was home more and was also saving money. My long term relationship finally had come to an end, and so I settled back into life with just me and Sparky. He was good company and loyal, our bond had grown and he trusted me implicitly, and it was at this time I returned back to writing as a way of passing my free time. Most nights I would sit in my office, with his bed at the side of me on the floor, and I would write away happily, stopping only to read back what I had written. I often caught him watching me as I read back my words, and it felt as though he was listening to my every word, it made me smile to think here was a cat who enjoyed literature, but at times just that look in his eyes felt as if he was taking in every word.

I would ask him what he thought, and he would nod his head almost as if saying “Yeah it’s not bad” and I would scratch his crinkled ear and then carry on writing again. Sparky was the first to ever hear the first complete drafts of Heirs to the Kingdom read out loud, and I would smile at him and ask, so how was that? He responded with a gesture or would stretch on his bed and stand up to rub his head on my leg, which I felt was his way of offering his approval, every now and again he clenched his paws and expanded them again, which I took as full approval. For a while a I settled back alone at home with my unexpected new found friend, who was in so many ways similar to myself and I would find myself enjoying my free moments at home more and more with just my rapidly growing cat as wonderful company. He gave me so much joy, it was hard to understand how it was possible, I would sit in the garden and look up at him sat high on the pergola cross beam, enjoying the sunshine and watching the world as I did, and it made me smile. We always played before bedtime, he loved cat nip, and I had a jug by the fire filled with his toys, it was often funny to hear a thumping downstairs, and when I went down there he would be with his head in the jug, lifting out his favourite toys to play with. I spent hours in the garden with him softly talking to him, he would lie in the sun and open one eye when I spoke, or wink at me, his eyes always filled with life and contentment, and deep down inside I knew how happy he was, and that gave me happiness as I know that I had done right by him.

Around this time the local council announced that they were going to demolish the market including my shop, and build a communal garden and market square, something that was a hugely unpopular proposal with the local people who used the markets, and I began a campaign with the local traders to save the market place and my business which was booming. What followed was to be two years of hell, as the traders clashed with the local council to try and save their businesses. We had no chance of winning from the offset as the councillors were hell bent on getting their own way, and to be honest were not too fussy about how they achieved their goal. The following two years were stressful as I watched their endless dirty tricks slowly bring about the collapse of the business. There were endless rule changes and new conditions imposed, the roads around our shops became no parking zones with a whole host of new traffic wardens, and finally after over a year of open letters crossing in the press came the threats, I was losing money and losing everything, my savings plummeted as I used up what I had to keep me afloat until the court fight was over, and I was starting to get sick from the fatigue of not sleeping and constant worry. Many nights I would return home exhausted and upset over yet another problem, rule change, or imposed fine for something I had allegedly done to breach market regulations, and I had finally reached the point where I had run out of money and was living on the edge of my nerves. Sparky always sat on my bin waiting, and as trudged in through the gate he would jump down with a meow and with his tail in the air come to greet me.

It felt as if no matter what else happened that was awful in the world, it didn’t matter, because he cared what happened to me, and he was always happy to see me, and at that time, I really needed a friend to sit and comfort me. I would sit at home at night on the edge of breaking, and he would jump up at my side and nuzzle into me, then curl up on my lap as I softly stroked his ears and relaxed a little. I think in a way it was almost as if he was finally returning the favour, for this was my darkest time and he made sure when I got home he was there for me as I had been for him. By the end of 2007 I was grabbed in the local supermarket car park and threatened by two very heavy guys that I needed to quit fighting the council before I got hurt, and to be honest that was enough and I ended the fight and gave the council the terms I would settle out of court for. It was enough to finally frighten me and by Christmas Eve 2007 I was off the market, and had lost my business and all my savings, I had nothing left and everything was gone, exhausted and alone, I came home bolted the door and slept through Christmas in an exhausted state, only waking for brief periods when Sparky would jump up on the bed and nuzzle into me, again it felt like he was just checking to make sure I was OK.

It was January 2008 when I finally got out of bed and had to work out what I was going to do for the rest of my life, I was still worried about the threats of violence, as I had caused the council some huge embarrassment with my endless writings of the facts in the press, so I decided to keep a low profile, and stayed home to write my book. It was a really cold January, but Sparky and me made ourselves comfortable in my office and I rewrote my book from scratch. Something in me had changed a great deal, I think it was a process of re-evaluation brought on by all that happened, I was heartbroken at losing my business, which I had slaved over for 12 years to build up, which had been demolished for nothing more than the vanity of a local Labour council, I took a long hard look at my life and was not sure I liked where I had ended up. It was a time of high emotion, as I felt broken and dejected and as it came to the surface and all bubbled over, I let it all flow out and into the books I was writing. It was a bleak time and Sparky sat beside me and would lift his head and watch me, just to ensure I was alright. He was my greatest companion and source of comfort at that time, and as mad as it sounds it was almost as if he knew and understood everything I was going through. There were many occasions when I broke down and would slump on the desk and weep, and every time he jumped up on the desk and nuzzled his head to mine to comfort me. They say that creatures are dumb and do not understand, well let me tell you, they are a lot smarter than we give them credit for, and Sparky especially was a very clever cat. I am not sure I would have made it through those times without him; his small little gestures would break through my sadness and pain, and help me get through the darkest moments of my life, and just the look in those incredibly intelligent eyes reassured me there was someone around who did care.

It was during that time as I talked to him sat in front of the PC, I told him all about my story, and I told him as my greatest supporter through the writing times, I would model a character on him. Sparky was a bard cat with beautiful black markings on hues of grey with and light brown, and he sat watching approvingly, I told I would write him in as a ferocious Tiger, who had the heart of a lion, but could show great kindness to those who deserved it, and so began the role of Furry Face, who Jade and Runestone would call “Big Baby Boy” a term I had often used in regard to him when scratching his chin as his eyes rolled in delight. He entered in book three for time, and then reappears later when I had the chance to define his role better, as the tiger who was neglected and mistreated by his keepers, and escaped to live with those who would love and care for him. I read him the first extracts as I wrote them, and he made me giggle when he suddenly sat up and looked rather smug and pleased with himself, I never doubted he understood every word I read out, and in a way I am happy knowing that through my writing, his spirit will live on.

The following years saw great changes to our life, I met my wife to be, and children came to the house as our family expanded, I must admit I was worried about how he would react, after all his greatest time of fear had been due to the persecution he suffered with children, and he was still very antisocial with everyone apart from me. Sparky took instantly to my wife Rin, she was actually more nervous of him at first, but with a toy and some string he played almost like a kitten with her, something I had never thought I would ever see. They became firm friends, even more so when she became pregnant with my daughter, it was almost as if he was aware of the life within her, and he stayed close to her at all times, choosing to sit by her side, or on the floor next to her feet. When Iona came along again I was worried at how he would react to two children in the house, Alfie who was four had at times teased him a little and he had scratched Alfie, but with Iona he was completely different.

Sparky took to her from day one, it was almost as if he felt it was his duty to guard her, there was one occasion when Iona was in her baby chair just inside the kitchen, when one of the neighbours cats peeped in through the open window, I have never forgotten the sight of how he leapt up in front of Iona and on to the unit and attacked the cat in a brutal manner, it was by far the most fierce I had ever seen him, and all I can put it down to is that he was protecting her in his own little way. He was always very different with Iona, he tolerated far more with her than he did Alfie, if she went to far he would knock her away with his paw, but he never brought his claws out. It was quite normal for him to walk up and nuzzle into her, which delighted her and it was very clear how attached to him she had grown, “Cat” was one of the first words Iona ever learned, and as she grew and she would sit and draw at the table, she always drew pictures of stick men that showed her family, one for Mummy, one for Daddy, one for Alfie, and herself, and at her side was always Sparky. I think it was the most simple and yet the most accurate definition of the family, because Sparky was never just a pet, he was without doubt a full and equal member of the family.

The whole Family, as seen by my daughter.

The whole Family, as seen by my daughter.

In spring of 2013 Sparky came home shot. All I can say is that it was the act of some cold evil and sadistic son of a bitch that would target a cat at point blank range. The bullet went right through him, but luckily it did not hit any major organs, nursing him back to health took quite some time, and for the first time in all the years we had been together I was seriously afraid for him. By now he had grown old, he was reaching his 16th year and had already started to turn grey in places. For most of the time as he recovered he would lie on the bed and watch me as I worked at the desk, a great deal of the time Iona would lie on the bed next to him and talk to him or sing him songs, something I think he took a great deal of enjoyment from. His recovery was slow but he finally made it back to full health over a long four months of constant care. I think it had a dramatic effect on him as he began to feel his age, he no longer jumped up on the unit to go in and out of the window, he sat by the back door and waited to be let out, and he began to sleep more and only go out if he needed to. I think in the back of my mind I knew his time with me was coming to an end, but like everything you love, you try to dismiss it and hope its not so.

In the first ten days of October 2013 he stayed in front of the fire on his bed and did not move, I could tell he was not feeling his best and sat with him most nights just stroking his ears and talking to him, his appetite dropped something I knew was not good, Sparky was a big cat, never that fat but very muscular. I tried to hand feed him and he did take it off my fingers, but I knew it was not enough to sustain him for long. As I sat beside him quietly talking, just after midnight on October 9th he had a seizure, it frightened the hell out of me, and brought home one of my biggest fears, as I knew then I was going to lose him. He appeared to recover a little and relax and in his way he thanked me for being there with him, and so began our final moments together.

I wrapped him up in his blanket and lifted him into my arms, and for the rest of the night I talked to him and stroked him, his eyes were fixed on me all night as I held him and told him how much he meant to us all. It was a painful difficult night, as I really was not ready to say goodbye to him, but at 7:40 am just as the sun rose on October 10th, he gave a small meow, and then started to purr, something Sparky had never done before, it had always been a joke with us that he was a cat that did not know how too, but as clear as day he purred as I tickled his ear and then gave one last huge sigh, the purr drained and he died in my arms and the wave of grief that washed over me was huge as I lost a wonderful friend whom I loved very deeply, I think he knew that and had the roles been reversed I think he too would have felt the same way.

I laid him out carefully and took great care to ensure he was groomed and presentable. He was wrapped up and his blanket with his favourite toys, and shown huge honour and respect as he truly deserved, and I laid him to rest with a prayer, as would be befitting of any human being, he deserved no less. Sparky was buried in his favourite part of the garden, below the confers he climbed, and where the sun always shone to warm him. Around his grave I made a circle of stones befitting any Celtic hero, and I lit incense to honour him and ensure his passage into other worlds.

If you honestly believe animals do not have souls, and are lesser than humans, I can honestly say I pity you, for my experience of Sparky proved to me beyond a doubt, that even though they cannot speak to us in our own words, animals have exactly the same feelings and emotions, the same insecurities and strengths, and the same loyalty and capacity to love as all of us. In his final hour Sparky knew I was with him, and he understood the depth of my feelings towards him, they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and looking into his, it was clear he had one, and as such he was laid to rest with honour and the respect befitting his status. I miss him, and will never fully get over losing him, for he impacted my life in ways I would never have thought possible, he brought me endless amounts of joy, and became more than just some creature to care for, for he became a companion of equal standing to any friend I have ever had, if not more. I loved and cared for him as deeply as I do my children, and I was glad to have been a huge part of his life. In the sadness I feel at his loss, I also feel some happiness, because I saw the change I made, when I lifted him out from under a bush as the tortured and victimised creature he had become. I take huge comfort in knowing that by helping him, I gave him a new life that was filled with happiness and love and was fully contented. He was happy and lived his life to the full in peace and safety, and as a result he grew to a grand old age for cat, and I also think it was a debut he repaid to me in return out of gratitude and love. We were friends, who started off with a lot of mistrust, but the bond that grew between us was unbreakable, and both of our lives benefited from knowing each other, and I will be forever grateful for the part he played in my darkest of moments, for he truly helped me through all of it.

I still look to the window in hope he will come through, or glance at the fire or bed expecting to see him, it is hard not seeing him around the place, especially when returning home from somewhere, I miss him on the path or by the gate waiting for me to welcome me home, yet I take some comfort from knowing that his spirit will be with me forever, as is the spirit of all who have passed through my life, and when my time in this world finally comes to an end, somehow I think it will be his spirit sat watching and waiting to greet me as I enter the new world, and we will wander together again as good friends through eternity.

In loving remembrance of a true and loyal friend, Sparky (Furry Face).

Taking Stock.

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There comes a time in every man’s life, where it is time to stop and take stock of all you have done and achieved, for most men it is a single event that comes around forty, and it is an important moment as you look back at all you have done, and with a little hope the picture is pretty good.

I have done it a few times in my life; I often think that was due to the fact that I had to change direction often, as deep inside me there were important changes going on brought on by changes in my life. My first break up from a long term relationship, losing my job after 12 years of hard grafting loyalty, fighting a council to save my business, all of them exacted huge changes that made me stand up and take notice, and forced me to drastically alter the way I lived. Within the past two years two events again have made me sit and focus on what is important in this life we live, and I feel it poses as many questions as it answers.

I think most of us take Nature for granted, and I think within that lies a note of caution, because Nature holds all of us within a delicate balance, something brought home to me in the hardest possible lesson recently as I watched my first daughter suffer, it was a reminder that had been served to me a year earlier as I watched my father struggle when he nursed my Step Mother back to health, and from those hard and painful times, I have started to understand the true value of the gift we all call life.

A recent survey I read (Which I cannot find the link to. If I do I will add it later) listed the five biggest regrets men had on their deathbeds, and one that struck me whilst reading, was the high proportion of men who wished they had not worked so much. I think it resonated so deeply within me, because in the childhood of my first daughter I worked at large Garden Centre, and the job which I loved took me out of the home at weekends and holidays, and also involved almost dawn till dusk working hours, as a result I missed all of those important moments watching her grow up. The sad thing was it wasn’t even worth it, I worked so hard and was without doubt one of the most loyal members of staff, but when it came down to the line, the owner let me go simply to save money in a budget cut, where he kept on the cheaper members of staff. OK in the long run he lost out, after all I was the one who brought in the sales, and to a large degree could justify my long working hours with my wage, but it hit me hard at the time, and it knocked me flat on my face for a long time after. I vowed then I would not work for another employer again, and began to set up my own business.

I learned an important lesson, one which I was lucky to get earlier in life than most other men, and when by what I see as a miracle, I became a father again later in life, I knew I was not going to pass up the chance of a lifetime to enjoy the life of my new child. Today I write from home, the money as a writer is not great, I do not live as well in comparison to my days working in a large Garden Centre, but I am surrounded by my family, and even though it is a struggle at times and I do worry about what happens if my books do not sell, I still think by comparison I am a lot happier than I was back then. It does pose the quality versus quantity argument as to which approach is best, and yet being by my wife’s side and enjoying the freedom to take my children out and watch them as they excitedly investigate the world around them, for me is something of extra special value, as I now want my time here with all of them to count.

As most of you know I love Celt culture and tradition, and one thing in particular that I am reminded of at the moment, is how they believed you should honour your ancestors and all who have been before you. To the Celts, it is the sum total of each member down your family line that has brought you to this point in your life, it is a profound thought when you sit and think of the lives of your family dating back through each generation, In a way I think it is a very important point that most of us have forgotten.  In heirs to the Kingdom I used the phrase, when I leave this realm, I will sit in a place of honour at my father’s table, it is a reference to this the oldest of Celt traditions and it is something that is a deep part of my own personal beliefs. Again it poses the question of when I finally leave this realm, what will make me worthy enough to earn my place at the table?

I know a few people who have worked hard all their lives, and in many cases they have built themselves up quite a business or small empire to show the world the worthiness of their achievements, and you cannot react in any other way than to admire the courage and determination they have shown in achieving such a feat. But at the moment I do question whether or not it was worth the sacrifice and effort, because I can only ask what will happen when they are finally gone? The cost they pay to achieve such a thing is very high indeed, and in most cases behind every successful business man, is a divorce or unfulfilled wife, and children who really do not know who their father truly is a person, it feels like a heavy price to pay for success to me.

History teaches us that all empires fall, so is it even worth building one in the first place? That at the moment is a question I have no answer to. Something that I think about and is important to me is the example set by my father. His father died when he was a small boy, and I often think of how my father worked his way up in his job to finally reach the top position, it was not an easy journey as he began at the bottom. Along the way he earned a great deal of respect, due mainly to his even handedness of those he managed. He spent a great deal of his free time in the Mountain Rescue, again playing his role as a team member saving the lives of a great many people. Is his father sat in another realm watching with pride? I would say a very resounding yes; my father has indeed earned his place at the table, because even when he is no longer with us, as a result of his life, other lives have been touched and changed by the way he lived.  As you can probably imagine I am very proud to be his son, and I can only hope that one day I will measure up to him, and all that have been before me, and take my own seat at the table that is the legacy of my family line.

I have lived quite an unconventional life, I am a natural rebel and I have lived a life without too much planning, taking in the moment and trying to make the best of it. I have always felt we place far too much emphasis on money and possessions and how everything appears to others, we are indoctrinated from when we are small children as to what is and is not acceptable, and yet those who teach us these so called important rules for life, disregard them completely and are usually the ones who obsess over money and gather great possessions, whilst breaking every rule ever set for what is deemed to be acceptable moral or otherwise. It is their way to control us, and I think today we are seeing that clearer and clearer as we watch corrupt governments and religious leaders lie and cheat to gain power and wealth for themselves, and the banks and business grow ever larger under the rule of their fat cat owners, as inequality and injustice are heaped upon the rest of us, so why should we live our lives at their benefit? The world has become obsessed with celebrity culture and the material gains they flaunt, I mean lets be honest why does the sex life of a celebrity really matter? Who cares if they have had an affair or slept with ten people in one night, I mean really does it matter that much in the scheme of things that they spent ten million on a marriage that lasted only fifty days? Focus on your own sex life and enjoying it, and make yours the one marriage that no matter what trials you have, it works.

Is it not more important to live as feels right for us?

Shouldn’t we all live in a way that honours those who came before us? I think it is time for change, and it should start by all of us taking stock of who we are, and what is more important to us. For myself, it is important that I leave something behind that my children and wife will never forget, it is also important that I earn the respect of my father and earn my place at his table. I am lucky I am a published author, I will leave something behind, my words will remain on file in the central library of the UK forever and so future generations of mine will be able to read the words I have written and share in my world, for my books do contain my life and my feeling and thoughts, even if they are written in a way that is encrypted to the rest of the world. More importantly I want my children to hold the respect for me that I hold for my father, that is the legacy I want to leave them, I want the memories to be of happiness as they remember how I introduced them to Nature and showed them how to use the tools we have to create and build things, and also to remember the lessons I learned in life to aid them and prevent them making the same endless mistakes I have. I want them to live free of thought, and not shackled by the rules of the institutions that have crept into this world and dominated opinion for generation after generation.

The one thing I am very proud of is my thirty year role around plants. I have sown millions of seeds, taking hundreds of thousands of cuttings, and travelled this country selling them on cheaply to people who have taken them home to plant and grow on with care. As I look out of my window across the woodland and wild fields, I can see countless trees that have been planted by me, some of which are now growing into early maturity. I have collected and scatted millions of wild flower seeds across this land, and helped revive some flagging varieties by reintroducing them back into the wild, and I have fought and campaigned to save trees all around the world, so when my moment comes to walk out of this world into another one, I will know I am leaving it a little more beautiful than when I came into it. That is one thing I am immensely proud of, and even though no one will ever truly know the extent of my life with plants, I have left something behind me which with hope will remain as a marker to my life for many years to come.

Be UniqueThe one thing I have learned more than anything else in the past 18 months is that life is precious, and it should be lived to its fullest. It is so unimportant what others think, being true to yourself and living every moment is far more important, because we really do not know when Nature will slip and the balance will change. The media is filled with endless opinion on what is and is not acceptable, but the daft thing is, it is only at that moment of time that it appears relevant, all the shocks and scandals we see blow over in days as the news rolls ever on, and it is the same of life, none of it really matters, but your family and its past heritage will, so honour it and those around you, by being true to yourself. It does not matter how you live, what is really important is that you live it well.

The Celts believed: Respect all of nature and every living soul. Live your life to its fullest, and hurt none. It is a ten thousand year old piece of advice, and to be honest, it is still the best piece of advice I have ever read.

Revue of 2012.

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Its that time of year again, where most of us look back at the year gone, and look in hope to the coming New Year. I think there will be a very large amount of people around the world this year praying for something to change, as 2012 has been for just about everyone a very turbulent and difficult year. The global financial melt down of a few years ago has finally kicked in, and this year all of us felt the bite as people of the every nation have had to pay for the mistakes and greed of the very rich few. Talking as I do to people online or on the streets, the feeling of injustice is rife, and I think it is warranted, although knowing how the bankers have used their influence over the years, I think that they will wriggle out of it as they have in the past.

For everyone its been difficult, and for myself personally it has been a bit of a roller coaster year that started with some terrible news of a family member struck down with the threat of a terminal illness that had a very profound effect on me deeply, and changed some of my ways of thinking. That was followed up with troubles for my mother that stretched throughout the year making life at times very stressful to deal with, and for a while in the middle of the year, I lost my ability to focus and write, something that has never happened to me before, and that really tested my limits of endurance, as I fought my frustrations to redefine my focus and continue with the writing. There has been a lot more than usual for the shredder this year, poor thing, I think I have pushed it to the limit.

Summer was wet, again a frustration that encroached on my time outdoors in the garden, although I was still able to walk with the trees above my head, and watch my children splash in the puddles. I spent a great deal of time watching the rain run down the windowpane making notes for the moment when I could focus my mind on reaching the climax to the series of Heirs to the kingdom.

The landscape in the book world has changed again this year, and in the early part of the year printed books sales appeared to die, casting a bad omen for every writer. Like all other writers, I thought about digital books, and when I was emailed to inform mw that the Moby site had been taken down, I contacted my Publisher to discover that I no longer had digital copies of my books available. Over the month that followed and subsequent emails the New Digital Kindle editions were made available via the publisher, and I was pleased to see that in that first week quite a few copies were being downloaded, I must confess I am not a fan of Digital, and was sceptical as to whether or not the books would look decent on such a small screen, and although I am not 100% happy with how they look, the feed back from those who bought them was positive and gave me a lift.

Early winter saw a big change for me, as my wife took the Jaded Opals stall out on her own for the first time, its not been the best of years for bookings, but when the chance came up to run it for seven weeks, she took it and left me at home to look after the kids and focus on the writing. It felt so strange not having her there as I wrote to comment on my thoughts, and although I had written a few new things, I made the most of the quiet moments to look at HTTK and think of ways to improve on we have available to date.

Income has been hard to find this year, creating the largest frustration of all for me, as I have not been able to get the fourth book in the series out. Behind the scenes I have gone through a wide spectrum of emotion as I stressed myself out trying to force an issue that was not going to happen. I was bent all out of shape not wanting to let the readers down, and it did me no good as it just added to my frustrations, but finally with a few calming words from my wife, I accepted my fate and found I had clarity to move forward. With no book out, I have had to focus on promotion, and so for the last quarter of the year that has been my plan. On Facebook there has been an increase in what we post, which has included excerpts from the first three books, and behind the scenes I have worked on changing some of the pages to the website, as well as including some new ones.

I think a more positive outlook had a big effect on the world around me, as I saw my family member who had fought all year with ill health grow steadily stronger and better, there is still some way to go, but I feel positively thrilled that they have come through the worst and have it under control. My Mum who has struggled in terror, has moved to a new house, and that has solved most of her issues talking a huge load off my shoulders, and the best thing of all is that I found my stride and continued with a renewed vigour on the final book in the series, completing a full 24 chapters to date, with enough notes to write possibly another six books (Just joking this is the last one).

Feeling a lot more at ease and more creative than I have been in a long time, I took my notes and began work in mid December on a new aspect of the web site. On Boxing Day I put up the first of a series of interviews and situations experienced by a man I have named Gordon Waggstaff. He is a writer who runs the postal service out of Mottram on the edge of the Peak District. The idea behind this project is that this allows me to run a blog like newssheet from the heart of the woodland realm. I know I run the blog from the HTTK website, but this news letter known as the Tribune Today, allows me to give a view of life directly from the woodland realm at the moment the story happens. I have a quite a bit of work to do back dating some of the articles, but this also allows me to fill in the time gaps between some of the books, as well as provide more details and information of the life our hero and those around him live.

Editing HTTK always sees the loss of a few things, so the Tribune is a way of including them using the website as a vehicle to do so. Its still very early days, but hopefully it will bring another fun and interesting aspect to the whole of the HTTK experience. In my mind, I can only try and hope that you all enjoy it. Some early feedback has been positive, so I can only hope it continues that way as the articles open up and expand on the storyline.

Facebook has been difficult this year, they have made a lot of new changes of which most of them have restricted the way in which I send out posts and updates. They are starting to show their corporate credentials as they push to make page holders like myself pay for the content I post. I have to confess that if that becomes the case, I will not have the income to continue on Facebook, and so I have tried and will be trying a few methods to help get round the difficulties. The most obvious first attempt is with the free books giveaway, The Kingdom Christmas Giveaway, which although is still quite small scale, has proven that there are a lot of people out there who are not aware of the books and would be interested in reading them, hopefully over the coming year I will find a few more ideas that will do something similar. It has always been the goal of my wife and myself to try and get the books into the mainstream to attract the attention of the public, as I do believe there are a lot of people who would enjoy what I write, so each time a books sells we are one step closer, and can only hope that they recommend the books to a friend or two. It is a long-term view of things, but for a relatively unknown author such as myself, it is the only way I can move my work forward. I have been given a great deal of hope this year, as I have seen authors similar to myself make giant steps forward in the book world by using social media to promote, and so at this point I must say a very special thank you to each and everyone of you who has given a moment of your time, to like a post, comment or recommend my books to a friend, I really cannot put into words how grateful I am to those who have supported me, and helped me spread the word of my writing. There have been some pretty dark moments for me this year, and it is through your efforts that I have felt the greatest encouragement and resisted the urge to throw in the towel and get a proper job, so thank you to all of you, it really is a heart warming aspect of my long days sat here at the desk.

So the New Year is almost here, and what do I have in store for you all? My priority is the fourth book, I want it out like yesterday, and so my attention and focus is to drive hard and do everything in my power to get the book out there and continue the story for all of you. I personally think each book has a feeling all of its own that is very different to the previous book, Dunnottar as those of you who have read it know was quite dark at times, so I am really excited about the fourth book, which was for a long time my favourite book to write. The book is very bright and quite fast paced compared to the previous books, and I think its quite emotional in parts as our hero has many changes in his life to deal with, Jade and Jett take on a whole new depth, as more of their future’s is revealed and some of those characters around the edges will come forward and shine as you learn more about them. There a some new villains to personify the evil ways of the Knox family, and as always the Dark One has been cooking up a few new frights for the Woodland fighters. So hopefully I will be able to bring it all to you as quickly as possible, and in between I will be posting on the Blog, Facebook and the website to hopefully thrill and entertain you to the best of my ability. Behind the scenes I want to finish the series and then look at a few other things I have plotted out, and maybe if things run a little smoother than 2012, I will be able to introduce you to other realms and other people living life in a whole number of differing ways.

As always I thank you for staying loyal to HTTK, and I hope that as we turn the corner of another year, that you all find peace and happiness, and enjoy your life in safety. My very best wishes to you all for 2013… Robin.

The writers reality.

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It is often very interesting to see what people actually think you do as a writer, compared to what it is actually like to do it. I find it interesting that a great many people take a step back when they discover what it is I do, in most cases they wear a look of surprise, which does then turn to slight admiration, and the nicest thing about it is that they change their approach in the way that they treat me. I must admit it is a very pleasant aspect of what I do, being treated with courtesy and respect is a very nice way to be, and I prefer it to the condescension that I often see others shown. In many ways it is a sign of how false the world can be, as the implication here is that being a writer who has been published, makes one something better than the rest, and with that I do feel very uncomfortable.

The world is preoccupied with celebrity culture, and to be honest the perception is far more glamorous than the reality. Society implies that writers are rolling in money and have no cares at all in the world; they are free to sit around all day and do very little, people just assume that knocking a book out is a part time occupation that pays high dividends for the least amount of effort. The reality really is so far removed from the view that people share, and that is probably the reason why so many who could achieve great things in writing choose not to do so.

Moving away from the admiration shown by strangers and getting into the day to day mechanics is so very different, as those around you do not quite understand what can only be phrased as a form of obsessive compulsion. Half my family and friends, either think I am insane for doing this, and the other half I am sure think I sit around doing nothing enjoying a life of leisure. Being simply published is not a right of passage into wealth, just because your book has been put out there, does not provide any assurance that every bookshop in the land will stock your books, and tell every customer who enters the shop your work is there to be read. Selling books is actually one of the hardest professions I have ever been involved with, and I was always sure that like in my past, I could sell just about anything to anyone, the reality is it is a long and difficult task with fierce competition from the big boys who completely control the industry, doors do not open easily in the literate world, and unlike many professions, this is one field where you really do have to earn your stripes, by constantly pushing forward and not giving an inch to your rivals.

So why do it? I mean let’s face it, most writers with books out there barely earn enough to cover a week’s rent, let alone afford a normal life. It feels at times very much like the life of the poor writer from the times of Dickens has changed very little. The reality can be very off putting, and those who surround us have no understanding at all of why we appear to suffer as we labour at our craft. I think if I was paid one pound for every time I have been told I should get a proper job, I would indeed be far richer, and living to a much a higher standard, but the simple truth is there are few who really do understand why we choose to take the longest road to achieve our goals in life. For those who watch from the wings, they fail to see that the reality of writing goes so much deeper than money or material wealth. In a nutshell the world is far too obsessed with money and material gain to fully comprehend the love and joy of working with words.

Writing for everyone I have found is a deeply personal thing. I have spoken with quite a few other writers in my time, and I find that everyone has a very unique and different reason for what they do. From my own point of view, I love doing it because I like the person it has allowed me to become.

It may sound strange, I realise that, but if I elaborate a little, you will see what I am getting at. I think to be honest I not a terribly bad person, in fact I hope people have taken note of my life and the way I conducted it, for I will say that I have always tried hard to help people if I felt they needed it, but within that has lain a trap, and it is one I walked into many years ago without realising. For many years I ran my own business, and in my spare time I tried very hard to be there for those around me. I was a parent and in a relationship and doing my best to juggle all that was expected of me. It was not the easiest situation as I ran round taking care of business and helping out the family with endless duties related to caring and the building a better life, and everything that goes with it. I still lived at home alone, as my daughter had moved into her own place, and I spent my time in a relationship between two houses. For many years I seemed to be able to juggle it all and everyone was relatively happy, although there was always another task to do, and as soon as I finished one thing, I wasted no time getting involved with another, it was a busy and hectic life, and I think like many other people in the world today, I just assumed that it was appreciated and had meaning to those that I laboured so hard to help

Life ticked on, I was not wealthy, but I had a few pounds tucked away and enjoyed my annual holiday and a few small luxuries in life. Looking back today I was pretty much your average guy living the same sort of life as most other men in the world, but I found over time I was spending less and less time at home. My days were long, and I rose with the sun to go to work, which was quite manual and hard, and then after work I would spend my evening running around until late, and finally arrived home in the darkness and collapsed into bed, only to rise with the sun and begin it all again. It was very rare to spend a great deal of time at home, although on the few occasions I did, they felt like precious and special times.

After twelve years of this I clashed with the local authority and ended up in a fight to save my premises and business, fighting a fight I could not possibly win. It was a long drawn out, stressful and exhausting time, which resulted in the end of a relationship and the loss of all my savings. I finally won a small victory after two years of living hell, and returned home tired exhausted and very ill, and very much alone. That was at Christmas 2007, which is without doubt the worst one of my life; I was at braking point and felt very much like there was nothing in life worth continuing for. It was the darkest moment of my life, talk about landing with a bump! It is a sobering moment when you realise nothing you have done has meaning, and even though you have given everything, it was never appreciated. I had lost touch with my whole life, I had no idea where my friends were, I forgotten who the hell I was, and suddenly understood that I had sacrificed everything and every part of who I was in the hope of being the person everyone expected me to be. Talk about deep empty loneliness, it really was the bleakest time I have ever lived.

There comes a time in everyone’s life where you sit and look back and take stock of your life, well that was mine, and it was a very unpleasant experience. I tried to work out who the hell I was, and just what exactly I wanted out of life, nothing seemed to have meaning, even thirty years of working in Horticulture, which had always been my biggest passion laid dead before me, I struggled to think of one thing I had left that had the remotest glint of happiness attached to it.

The moment it hit me was like a bolt of lightening flashing through my mind, the one thing that I had always enjoyed was writing. Writing for me had been a way to channel the creative bursts that flowed through me from childhood. It was an unexplained phenomenon that had been the most consistent aspect of being me, something I was secretive and guarded about all my life. I guess I have a very insecure streak and so even though it had been something I loved, I had never actually shared it with that many people up until recently that was.

A year earlier when I had split up from my then long term girlfriend, I found myself alone at home, and used a little of that time writing to try and relax and distress. I had shared one story with a very small and trusted circle of friends who I worked with. To be honest I did it because all of us were caught in the same fight with the local authority and we needed a slight break from the endless stress and worry. But funnily enough, even through such a time of darkness and destruction it had brought a new life to the bleak life we ere enduring, and had served to help me unwind and relax a little whilst away from the shop. Writing down stories had been a long time hobby, I was never serious and honestly thought people would laugh at me if they found out, but as I looked back I remembered some of the things I had written, and how happy and contented I had been at those times. It did not take long to work out that I was too ill to go back to work, and needed a little time to get myself sorted out, and so I decided to take a few months to rest up and use the time to finish the story I had been working on for years. That was five years ago and I am still to this day writing with three tales from that story published and available for purchase.

To return back to my point a little earlier, why do I do it? I think it has become more than apparent. Becoming a writer may have surprised a lot of people; there are those who think I am insane so late in life to change my career. There are those who simply think I have lost it completely, and think now I have done it for a bit I should stop and get a real job. I simply will reply that I have given everything for years at great sacrifice to myself, and it ended up meaning nothing at all, and so I sit here alone at my desk and I do something that fills me with life, and gives me great joy. It makes me feel happy and contented, and for the first time in years, I actually feel like I am doing something that has meaning. I feel for the first time since I was a teenager that I truly understand who I am deep down inside, as the writing has given me the time to explore myself as I examine the world around me, and I have grown to like the person I know as me.

I have no idea if I am a good writer; I just know I feel good about doing it; I have sold books, so ask those who have read them what they think. Will my books continue to sell? Yes I think they will, I will not say you will see them on any best sellers list soon, but does that really matter? I think not. Writing cannot be about personal material gain; it can only be about those secret moments a writer has alone, where the magic creates something so wonderful it must be shared, and that is the reward of the creativity. My payment is being able to live my life on my own terms, probably for the first time ever, and all that came before is not as wasted as I thought, but it has become a rich mix of experience to serve my creativity in future stories.

I wake up each day with a mind racing to go, as ideas swirl endlessly around, I often get caught day dreaming, as I slip away from a conversation as something sparks inside and new ideas flow to the surface. I find my fingers twitching for want of a keyboard, and I know that something else that is very unique and special is about to come up and flow out of me. Life is suddenly exciting and wonderful, and filled with the thousands of emotions that I can lock onto paper, as I hear the rattle of the keys and excitedly pound them like a child waiting to find out what his present will be as he tears off the gift wrap. I write and research, or I spend my days trying to promote and spread awareness of what I have done, It is a longer day than I have ever worked, but somehow it feels so much more rewarding than anything I have ever done. That is my reality, and for me that is the pulse of life, I contain a deep passionate obsession that flows from my head and my heart into my fingers, and it beats in tune with the person I am today.

My writing has allowed me a chance to unload and release a lot of what was trapped within me, it is hard to explain the process, because at times even I get surprised at what ends up on the pages. All I can say is it is a part of my newly discovered personal happiness, and finally after some long years of wandering, I feel I am no longer lost. I feel that I am a very lucky man today, as I have a very supportive wife, who does indeed understand a great deal of why I write. She has been the one who has helped me and supported me in my writing, and even though life can be a struggle at times, I think she sees how much of difference it has made, and how happy I am to have her there at my side.

I write for the joy it brings, hopefully as a published story I can share it with others, and in some way they too will feel the joy of the process of writing as they read it. At the end of the day if people like it enough to encourage another to read it, then I am happy with that. I doubt you will ever see my books in the top 100, but for me personally that is not what writing should be about.

 

The real price of something for nothing.

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There is quite the debate going on at the moment about the price of digital books, and the question is being asked why it is that they are being offered for such a low amount of money. I have heard all the arguments, the most quoted being that the consumer has grown use to low prices, and therefore demand cheaper books, and also that it is a cheaper route to publication, and so therefore should be cheaper, but somehow I feel sat here isolated from the rest of the world at my writing desk, that out of all the arguments within the debate, the one thing that appears to be lacking is the point of view of the Authors.

I cannot really speak for other author’s as I have only my own experience of writing, but I can say that for myself it is a very worrying trend and I do feel concerned about the way the larger global companies discount books and offer them at such low prices, often below the price they have paid themselves. Discounting is and has always been a large part of the printed book selling industry, but recent trends in the movement to digital has seen a sharp fall in the sales of printed books, and as more and more people switch over to one of the many digital devices, I fear my time as an author may be coming to an abrupt end, because with digital books selling at lower and lower prices, I find it hard to see how I will earn enough revenue to actually stay afloat.

I have just finished writing the latest in the series of books I have been working on since 2006, (Heirs to the Kingdom) and currently have three of the series out and the fourth is ready for publication. Obviously because this is a detailed series and I had been writing long before I got the first published in 2009, I am at an advanced stage in the writing process, and as you can see I am six years into it. I work every day of the week on the books, and due to the plot and the many layers within the books, I have a constant run of threads weaving through the series that have to be picked up and woven into them. The latest book in the series has taken me just over a year at 14 months to research and write, it has been a long drawn out process checking every step of the way that I have not missed out vital key issues from the previous books, and has also involved a great deal of research and fact finding missions, to ensure that the book comes across as being realistic, even though it is a work of fiction.

The research for the books can consist of Internet searches, book purchasing and reading up, or visiting locations that allow me to take photographs to aid in the process of writing accurately. All of this has a cost that is borne out by myself, I am like so many other writers out there working hard to establish myself in the world of fiction and trying to build a reputation for myself. I have used a self publishing company to get the books out, which not only has a cost for production, it also means I have to fund the costs of promotion, which has many related extra costs. I pay for the web site to remain up and running, and I also have to pay many of the various sites that feature my books, I try wherever possible to use as much free publicity as I can, but that is a shrinking market and so more often than not, a new site to help me promote comes at a cost.

I have spent six years writing almost full time, earning extra income selling jewellery which my wife makes, and purchasing my own books at wholesale to sell at events, its a low income way of living, but with some clever budgeting we survive as a family and push forward.  When I first decided to publish this series, I sat for a great deal of time with my wife, and we looked at our prospects, having researched the subject in full, it was never going to be easy, but we have managed and have taken the long term view of slowly building up the reputation and taking it one sale at a time. To date we have invested quite a sum of capital into this project, its pretty much almost everything we had, and we have after three years of hard work, recovered around 5% of what we have spent, it is indeed a very long term investment.

This article is not a complaint, its an honest appraisal of what myself and others have done, for I know that in this I am not alone. I love writing, it has taken me a very long time to pluck up the courage to put my work into print, and now that I have, I can honestly say I am happier than I have ever been, as I have finally found something that I love and adore as a working lifestyle. I do not mind that its taken the last 14 months to put together the latest episode of my series, I have no qualms at all knowing I will now move forward to check the book over and over to ensure it is to the highest possible standard before it goes of to be proof read, a process that will take possibly another six months of constant scrutiny, because at the end of the day I know that there is growing readership of people who will read my words and gain a great deal of enjoyment from them, but I have to ask one very important question.

Why is it when it comes to the world of books and writing, that my efforts have so little value?

My books are not in a digital format yet, and even though this is going to be the future of books, you must agree that to sell what will finally reach 20 months of work for less than the price of a birthday card is somewhat insulting?

I know of no other industry where a man’s life and work have such little value, and yet that is what the digital readers demand, which in my case is a detailed book of over 200 thousand words for less than £4. The mad thing is that is not even my share, as profits have to go to the distributor etc… I think it works out about the total value of a cheap cup of poor coffee per copy sold. I must have drunk over a million whist sat here writing the thing. I suppose the question is… If I offer you a job and pay you the same, would you consider it for more than a millisecond? Of course you wouldn’t, who would?

Publishing is one of very few industries that exploits its most valued asset, the creative source, and no matter what happens in the future that will remain unchanged. All writers know that the odds of making a living that can sustain life are very slender indeed. There are a few very lucky writers who hit at the right moment and they are the 3% that make it as a full time writer reaping the rewards of their labour, the rest of us keep going in hope that one day someone out there will read our work and hopefully recommend it to their friends, which at the end of the day is how books become known, its no different to acting or dancing, all of us are waiting for that all important break, and some of us will never get it, but we live in the slim hope we may if we persevere. We love what we do, and we are happy doing it, but do not insult us beyond that, have the decency to understand how much time and effort goes into the process, and offer us a fair price for it. Digital may appear a cheaper option, but the costs are not really that much different from print for an author, it should be a cheaper version I agree, but lets keep the price a little fairer. It matters not how you read a book, whether its print or digital it has value, because for the reader it an experience that provides joy and excitement, and for the author it is often more than a year of their life.

Hopefully this will shed a little light which I feel enlightens the view, I shall remain a writer no matter what happens, and I shall see where that takes me, one thing I do know is that its going to be an interesting journey.

 

Will many writers survive Digital?

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I often wonder what peoples perception of what a writer actually does is, because when people find out that I write, it appears that they just naturally assume that somehow I am loaded and raking in masses of money, if only that was true.

In 90% of cases a writer barely earns enough to give their family a weekend away, let alone provide them with a luxurious lifestyle, and they have to take on extra jobs just to make ends meet. People really have little idea of how hard it can be to survive on book sales, they really only see the very lucky few who make it up the mid-lists and into that top bracket where life at the top has its privileges.

I was talking recently to a few friends who just naturally assumed I was making well over five English pounds per copy of my book sold. Oh if only that was the case, they were stunned to find out that the average author earns just fifty pence per copy sold, and therefore need massive sales just to cover the costs of living whilst writing, let alone any future plans.

From my own experience of writing, when I look at the amount of money spent on researching, travelling and reading to prepare my books before I even write a word, never mind the costs of a family containing a wife and two children, it is amazing how much money goes in long before you finally get that illusive publishing deal, and that was just to get the book finally printed.

The sad fact is that for most writers money is not the motivation behind the work, for myself it is the joy of preparation, researching and writing, to that point where you sit back and know that you have created something unique and feel satisfied that you have accomplished your goal. It is a wonderful feeling that stirs deep inside and you have a final result that you can look at with pride, knowing you gave it your all, and also knowing that somewhere it will bring a moment of escape and delight to those who read it and live in a world you created, there really isn’t any other feeling like it in the world. It is something that is very easily exploited by those who run the industry.

It is well documented that the publishing industry has used it for years to line their own pockets, stating their costs as justifcation and takeing the lion’s share of the money, leaving the author with the smallest amount of the profits, and I think we are all intelligent enough to understand that it has always been the way of things, and maybe we have all sat back and accepted it when we should have asked for more. The biggest problem with that though is that publishing deals have always been hard to come by, and we are also smart enough to realise that if we push too hard, we could end up out of deal, left high and dry with no contract.

There is no shortage of writers, if anything the numbers have risen steadily for years, so one wrong move and you can very easily be replaced, and that has always been something that has in a way acted as a deterrent to writers rebelling against the system. However things have been changing now for several years, and to be honest one has to question if there is even going to be a future for writers, as the digital age forces rule changes and working methods across the globe. The publishing industry is in a shambles at the moment, I spend most days reading the various Blogs and newsletters emailed to me from inside the trade, and I find it very hard to see how the future of books printed or digital, will survive without some radical changes of thought from not only the industry, but also from the consumers, because lowering prices are squeezing the life out of everyone.

Without readers there is no need for books whether they be on a page or a digital screen, but it looks to me like we are all heading for a very big stalemate, as consumers demand cheaper books, especially digital ones, but as the price falls, so do the royalties paid to the author. I am a bottom list author and believe it or not I am in the largest bracket, as there are many like myself out there all trying to get the word out about their books, and we all know our sales will not be huge. As much as we all dream of that freak moment when we get discovered, we do not have the support of a large company who will spend thousands on us to publicise our work, and most of us promote from home with the help of a few friends using the internet and social networks to try and increase our sales. Our print runs are low or use print on demand, which means the costs of our books is higher than the big names, and although we have publishers, we still only get the nominal royalty, so for us digital is a huge fear.

Its bad enough so much of the price of our books goes to the retailer, wholesaler and publisher, but recent trends show how little value our work has in this modern time, as the price of digital downloads is pushed into the floor. The bigger online retail companies are very aggressive; they list millions of books and are not reliant on massive profits per book to stay afloat, and so they have created an atmosphere of cheaper and cheaper in order to rival their competition, and the book buying public has sold into its practice to such a point that it is becoming impossible for any author to realistically get any return for their effort.

One very large online presence in particular pushes masses of books for just $0.99, and I see it on the screen and feel this must be madness. I am told this is what the consumers of books demand, and they are unlikely to pick your book if it is valued much higher, because digital is cheaper easier and faster, and therefore should be cheaper. I am sorry to disagree with the worlds leading book seller of the moment, but I got no discount when writing it because one day it would be appearing as digital download. My hours of dedication have not lessened because it will eventually be delivered via an inbox rather than a post box. To be honest it is insulting, how would the consumer feel if I asked them to work all week as I have for just $0.99? I am pretty sure they value the jobs they do to earn their living, so why has mine become so worthless? Is it not bad enough that I have to live with an industry that puts my creative ability as its last priority, whilst it makes twenty times more money from my work than I do? Do all writers now have to suffer the ultimate humiliation of being told by the consumer that their efforts rank lower than everyone else’s?

It’s a very sad truth that in the capitalist society we live in writers have no worth at all, and with the onset of digital, and the so called death of the book, the future for writers just became very dark indeed, and one can only wonder how long it will be before the writer has no choice but to stop publishing simply because they can no longer afford to. We could simply leave publishers and go the self publishing route, and upload our books directly, which is starting to happen, especially since publishers today are cutting their lists and courting the already rich and famous for their biographies and cookbooks, but even then, when the retailer takes their cut of the $0.99 there is little left to live on for the author.

Will we reach a time when writers have to write for free and just accept it? Or will we one day see a time when all there is to read is a classic that has gone out of copyright and so is available to download free, it is a very real possibility, because in the scramble to gain control of the digital book reading world, it looks to me like every single area is being scrutinised except the most important one of all, and that is the role of the future author.

I have no choice but to be a spectator at the moment, and I am watching very carefully, as depending on how things go, I may have to make a very difficult decision in my future. Will I stop writing? No, its not possible for me. Will I stop publishing? That is a question I will eventually face, and I am sure there are many out there who like myself will face the very same question. All I can say for now is, I am watching…. I will have to wait and see.