The Late Arrival at the Back of the Class

I feel I am sneaking into the back of the class very late, desperately hoping the teacher won't notice as is I sidle in behind my desk.

I was honoured to be invited to become a Novel Racer some days ago but have not had time to introduce myself because my daughter and two granddaughters have been staying, causing happy bedlam. I am, of course, too young to be a fully qualified, grown-up grandfather. I think some mistake has occurred in the time/space dimension. My granddaughters sensibly treat me like an idiot younger brother.

Briefly about me: I have always written in a professional capacity, mostly as an advertising copywriter in London but also as a feature writer. I have known for years I would turn to writing novels one day, I have just left it a little late; on the other hand, writing is a better use of my time than life on a Saga Holiday cruise.

I have finished my first book, Thursday To Thursday, a darkly humourous work of Absurdist Fiction. I have another book completely blocked out for a younger audience, and an idea for my next serious fiction/faction that will take much research, Eyes Across a Canvas. (On that point: has anyone ever applied here to the Arts Council for funding to undertake research? I know a playwright who received such to extend a ten minute play to an hour long version.)

I have started the search for an agent. I have been more exercised by this than I was writing the book. As I have blogged, it is not the rejection I fear but the responsibility of calling myself an author.

I am very honoured to be among such company and look forward to contributing the occasional thought of interest when my young muses, Katie and Amy, are gracious enough to pass on a pearl of wisdom.