Stuff going down

Went to the Cardiff Read book club last night as a guest - they were doing my Royston Blake adventure ONE DEAD HEN. Can't say it was an entirely relaxing experience but definitely not something I would have missed. As usual with my stuff, opinions were divided. Some love, some don't love. Trouble is, I can rarely learn anything from the don't-lovers. You either get it or you don't. To alter this kind of material in a bid to get more readers would be to dilute - fuck that. But a big thanks to Cardiff for being so welcoming. And Steve Dimmick for getting me down there.

I was on Radio 4 on Sunday doing a little guest bit on Open Book. Up for discussion was the difficulties authors have these days in staying published, especially when they have "not broken out". Hey, "not broken out" is my middle name, so I was right in there. It is airing again tomorrow (Thursday 15th) at 15.30, so you can catch it then. Or just use the iplayer thing (which may not work if you are in foreign parts). Thanks go to Mariella Frostrup for the nicely voiced questions, Matt Thorne and Alexandra Pringle for the discussion and Andrea Kidd for setting it up.

Also did an interview for Tammy Gooding's show on BBC Hereford & Worcester. Not sure when it will be aired, but listen out for me if you listen to her. She asks some good questions and I give answers that are so lucid they will actually change your life.

Do you fancy learning how to write? If so, consider an Arvon course. The one at the Hurst in Shopshire starting 28th May, for instance. Hey, that's the one I'm guest authoring at! Blimey, what a coincidence. See you there if you are into it. Romesh Gunesekera and Kate Pullinger will be doing the actual honours, I will just be... I dunno, doing the dishonours? Making a fleeting appearance, let's just say.

Not that I want to give you the impression that I am busy and out and about all the time. Other than these things here, I spend all my time in a dark cave, sitting in the corner, listening to 80s pop on a Sony Walkman.

Graven Image signing and TOP freebies

Anyone in or near Worcester should come down to Waterstones in the Shambles this Saturday (April 9th). I will be there from 11am-2pm signing copies of GRAVEN IMAGE. Also I've got 10 totally free ARCs of the new edition of DEADFOLK for the first 10 who buy Graven. Already read Deadfolk? Not a problem for this guy. Simply come down on the day, buy Graven, give me the answer to the magic question and hey presto, I'll present you with an ARC of Royston Blake's comeback special: ONE DEAD HEN.

How flipping generous am I?

But that is not the magic question. The magic question is:

What does Royston Blake spend most of Deadfolk trying to find?

Details here.

California and stuff

California by Ray Banks is my kind of noir. Small towns, short fuses and hopelessly unrealistic dreams. Banks is a master of character and you should check out this short sharp shooter of a novella, not least because the hero is called Shug. Also because one of the other characters has a "gaming chair"

On a Crime Express tip, a reminder that I will be in Matlock on Saturday 12th March as part of the Derbyshire Readers' Day, in a panel alongside Stephen Booth and Danuta Reah. They will be talking about CLAWS and NOT SAFE respectively and I will be going on about GRAVEN IMAGE. All simultaneously. It's going to be great! Come if you can.

Matlock, 12th March

Matlock: I've always thought that's a great name for a town. Tough and no nonsense. Matt Lock, private eye. He'd be somewhere between Mike Hammer and Matt Scudder, pissed up on whisky but still asking tough questions or blowing heads off. The right heads.

I will be in Matlock on Saturday 12th March as part of the Derbyshire Readers' Day (which seems to be two days, starting on the 11th, but never mind). Find me on a panel alongside Danuta Reah, hosted by Stephen Booth, which goes by the title "Keeping it Short", or something. Either way, it almost coincides with all three of us (along with the legendary Ray Banks) having Crime Express books coming out on April 1st, and those babies are certainly short. And to the point. But probably not very sweet. Check them out here. And dig those covers. Then, *ahem*, think about pre-ordering.

So, can you make it to Matlock? Check out here for details. Scudder and Hammer will probably not be in attendance, but Reah, Booth and Williams surely will. And maybe Matt Lock himself.

NB: Matlock was also a main location for the amazing Shane Meadows film DEAD MAN'S SHOES. If you haven't seen it, find it.

The 14/4 Lit Dinner

Hey, do you like food? Do you like books? How about The Rainbow Trust children’s charity, which provides support to families who have a child with a life-threatening or terminal illness? You think that's a good thing too, right? OK, here's the clincher... can you be in Windsor on the 22nd October? If the answer to all of those is yes, have I got a thing for you...

The 14/4 Lit Dinner

14 authors and a 4 course meal. One author per table and they rotate between each fabulous course, so you get to chat and talk books and writing and advanced chaos theory or whatever you want. And if your author turns out to be a ****, it's OK because there'll be another one along in a bit. Plus it's all for charity! But who are those mysterious "authors", you're wondering?

Robbie Hudson
Marie Phillips
Kate Williams
Warwick Cairnes
Tamsyn Murray
Charlie Williams
Tom Reynolds
Patrick Woodrow
Jess Ruston
Aliya Whiteley
Helen Rappaport
Cathy Rogers
Lisa Gee
Josa Young

No ****s there, I think you will agree! (Just to clarify, that's Robbie Hudson and Kate Williams, NOT Robbie Williams and Kate Hudson.)

More here.

See you there.

Down the station

If you get a chance you should go along to a Firestation Book Swap one of these days. I had a great time last night and I got the feeling most people did. Thinking back, I believe I talked a lot of rubbish and never got around to answering that curry question, but any failings on my part were made up for by the others onstage - Kate Williams, Marie Phillips and Scott Pack. And those in the audience, of course - it's a proper interactive thing.

Scott and Marie have a great format there and I think it points the way forward for book events. It's basically like a living room on the stage with a couch etc. There was even a kettle boiling behind my head at one point. Random audience questions are chucked into a hat at the start and read out during, so none of that horrible "any questions?" business at the end. Oh yeah, and books are swapped. Some lucky woman got my Charles Willeford. I think it then got re-swapped for another book. You were THAT close to reading a hidden noir classic there, lady. But hey, everyone goes home with something new so we're all quids in. Especially the guy who ended up with PICK-UP.

But it's not all books, and that's the beauty of it. What is it about then, if not books? Well... cake.

It's about cake.

There was even one with the guests' names on it. I ate my name in cake! As a big cake fan I can tell you it was a real honour. Many thanks to the lady who made it.

Also great to catch up with my old school mate Joel... who swapped PG Wodehouse for Iain Banks, I believe.

By the way, if I were a curry I would be a chicken bhuna.

Ta to Scott and Marie for having me down.

Swapalooza

So, a bit later I will be off to Windsor for the Firestation Book Swap. I'm taking Charles Willeford's brilliant 50s noir PICK-UP and some lucky swapper is going to get it. If you want it to be you, come along. Come along anyway, because this is a top event and a champion of books. (Can an event be a champion? Yes!) See you at 7.45.

Swap Shop

Actually a fire station, not a shop. On May 20th I will be an author guest at the Firestation Book Swap, which is held regularly at the Firestation arts centre in Windsor. The hosts will be publisher Scott Pack and novelist Marie Phillips and the other guest will be the historian Kate Williams. All you have to do is turn up with a book. Any book, as long as it is interesting and you are prepared to part with it. Everyone comes with a book and goes home with a different book - that is the deal. And there are cakes and stuff as well. So, if you are around the M4 corridor on May 20th, come along. With a book.

Frankly Mr Shankly, since you ask...

I have gone and let myself become blog-shy again. And there I was, getting into a good old groove with those typewriter cast thingies. But we move on, right? And we cannot let ourselves become slaves to technology... even technology that is older than we are. Plus I ran out of paper.

Been doing the usual stuff - writing a novel, a bit of reading, wondering what it would it would be like if you were an Olympic high jumper and you could actually fly... but you had to keep it a secret. A tricky balance, right? One air boost too far and Matthew Hopkins will be on your arse.

They have author pages on Amazon. I have populated mine with some stuff. Like it will generate any new readers. But hey, maybe it will?

I mentioned Harrogate, right? As in the Theakston Old Peculier Crime Writing Fest thing they hold there. If you're going, my event will be "Putting the Boot In" on Saturday, 14th July, alongside Ray Banks, Craig Russell and moderated by Martyn Waites. We will be talking about kicking the shit out of people.

That is all. Stay cool and take it easy with those air boosts.

Kent Event

A bit late, this, but if you happen to want to come to my event at Kent University tomorrow, here are the details:

Tue, 10th November, 6pm

Peter Brown Room, Missing Link, Darwin College, Canterbury Campus

£2 entry - pay the pink bucket at the door.

Tickets available at the door or by post. Please email english-office@kent.ac.uk to reserve or purchase a ticket.

More details here. I will be talking about writing, doing a little bit of reading (aloud) and answering questions. See you there if you're around.

Signing 2: Gloucester

Did the second leg of the "Stairway to Hell Tour 2009" last Saturday at Gloucester Waterstones. Things got off to a good start - by pure chance I chose the dodgiest car park in town and was greeted with the smell of urine-soaked concrete, making me feel right at home. Ten minutes later I'd found the store and was sitting upstairs, enjoying a complimentary coffee, gearing myself up for whatever lay ahead. I admit it, I was nervous. Even after doing all this in Birmingham the week before, my little heart was all aflutter. 'Don't worry, you'll rock them. Just like I did in Berlin, 1989,' a voice said behind me. I turned - no one there, only a couple of middle-aged ladies two tables along. And that was a man's voice, wasn't it? Quietly, in case people thought I was nuts, I asked who had said that. 'Me, David Hasselhoff.'

Oh yeah. I should have known.

So I went downstairs, listening David Hasselhoff's words of encouragement. 'You gotta hit them hard,' he was saying, adjusting his leather glove (he had his pet eagle with him). 'Don't take no for an answer. Don't even take yes for an answer. Just when they're coming round to the idea of buying your book, that's when you need to push even harder. See that button there?' Where? 'There, on the front of the book.' We were at the table now, next to a pile of STAIRWAY TO HELLs. I picked one up and examined it. No button. 'There is. Right there, see?' No, that's a "3 for 2" sticker. 'No, trust me, it's a button. A Turbo Boost button.'

OK.

I made a start on the job in hand. At 11am on a Saturday morning, Waterstones in Gloucester is not a rocking place. A nice place, but not yet fully rocking. The only people milling around my area were past retirement age. Which is great, but... Well, I thought I'd give it a try. After all, I have a hot property here. The new series of TV's X Factor is on telly, and my book offers a direct resposte to it's glossy, sentimental lowest common denominator-iness. What we have here, my friends, is a piece of the zeitgeist.

So I approach one or two browsing customers, aged about 65 or so. You know the X Factor? 'Yeah, don't like it.' Well that's good, because I don't like it either. 'Oh, OK...' [continues browsing...] And, you see, my book doesn't like it either. 'Your book doesn't like the X Factor?'

OK, so I've lost him. Try someone else... Do you like crime books? 'Yeah.' Great, well I've written three of them. But this new one, it isn't really crime. 'Oh...' No, but it's better! It's about a luckless pub singer who finds out he has the soul of David Bowie. 'I like John Harvey. Is it like his books?' Exactly like them, yes. 'It isn't, is it?' No.

I'm back at my table, thinking things over. 'You don't believe me, do you?' said David Hasselhoff. He was standing behind me, pretending to read a copy of Dissolution: The Crisis of Communism and the End of East Germany, by Charles S. Maier. 'You think I'm wrong about the Turbo Boost.' I just... I don't even want to think about the Turbo Boost. 'It's there for you, Charlie. Use the Turbo Boost. We all need a bit of Turbo Boost sometimes. Even me, when I knocked down the Berlin Wall.' Shut up about the Turbo Boost!

A few customers turn to look at me, then quickly avert their eyes. OK, so at least they've noticed me now. Let's try a new tack...

Hi, I'm a local author. 'Oh yeah? You're from Gloucester?' No, Worcester. 'Well, that's not really the same, is it?' No but it's only about twenty miles away. 'Yeah but it's not local is it? To be a local author, you must be from Gloucester. Or at least the surrounding county.' Yeah but... 'What?' Nothing.

Back at my table again, Half an hour gone and no joy. I look around: not a friendly soul in sight. Not even David Hasselhoff. But no one is looking, so... I press the button.

The Turbo Boost button.

'Excuse me, but if you're looking for a interesting third option on the 3 for 2 promo, you might want to look at this.' That's what I'm saying to the customers now, then leaving the book in their hands, smiling, and moving on, unless they look like they want more of a pitch. Ninety minutes later, 10 books signed and sold. Not great, but DOUBLE FIGURES!

Driving home along the M5 motorway, I reflected on how I'd sold out there, resorting to an economic angle in trying to sell a book that should speak for itself. 'Yeah, but only a fool ignores the buck. Money first, artistic integrity second. That's what I always said to Billy Warlock, when we were working on season one of Baywatch. Oh, and could you turn the car around? I think I left my pet eagle in that place back there.' I take a sideways glance at him, then ask a question. 'Seatbelt?' he says. 'Did you ever see Michael Knight wearing a seatbelt? No, and you won't see the Hoff wearing one either.'

I reach over, open the passenger door and push him out.

Many thanks to the staff of Gloucester Waterstones for letting me do this, erm... event. Next Saturday, the final leg of "Stairway to Hell Tour 2009" will be at Mangel. I mean, Worcester. Will I see you there? I promise there will be no deranged celebrities.

Probably.

Signing 1: Birmingham

Had my first crack at hand-selling my books on Saturday when I did a signing at Borders in the middle of Birmingham. Let me make this clear: this was not a signing like Ian Rankin does a signing. When Rankin does a signing, he sits at a desk and signs and chats for a queue of fans. Someone at my level, there's no queue a fans. There is a table and a chair and a pile of books and a whole lot of people ignoring you.

I say it's my first crack, but I had an opportunity to do this a couple of times before. At French (and Belgian) book festivals, they expect you to put in the hours in the dealer area, signing your way down a stack of books. I detected a lot of competition between the authors in trying to push their books, but I wasn't having any of it. It's hard enough talking up your books to a stranger in English, let alone French.

So the obvious question is: Why the hell would I voluntarily put myself through this when no one had asked me to? Three reasons:

1. I wanted to do something for my new book, which is going to have to compete with the summer's big releases in a market which is already saturated. On top of that, people are hardly splashing their cash around at the minute.
2. Why the hell not? I believe in the book, why not get out there and say it?
3. I am a masochist.

So I set up three in-store signings, this being the first.

OK, so the people at Borders very kindly agreed to let me do the event, and set up a table for me in the fiction area with posters front and back of the store. I get there, the books are stacked up tastefully by a nice bookselling person. I can sense a certain lack of faith in one or two of the staff. Do I look that gormless? Possibly, but I am told the problem is that this is not the best kind of Borders store to do this kind of thing. You need a Borders on a retail park, where people go specifically to get books. A city centre Borders is full of people just passing through or killing a few minutes while the wife is trying on skirts in Monsoon. Be aggressive, I am advised. Walk around and talk to them. Seems there is a well-known crime writer who has had a couple of signing events there and that's what he does, to great effect.

Hmm... I'm thinking. Aggressive. Like a boxer. Like... Rocky.

I'm all set to start wandering around being aggressive when a passing customer stops and looks at the books. I blurt something out about David Bowie and it catches - her husband is a fan. A read of the blurb and a bit of a chat later and she's getting me to sign two for her. Man, that was easy. If I can replicate that every five minutes, that's 48 copies in two hours. Piece of piss!

For the next ten minutes, no one else stops at the table. This is despite me blurting random things about Bowie. And urine.

I look at the cover. Maybe Bowie isn't so popular after all? Maybe it's Jimmy Page they want?

Another quiet ten minutes later and I'm looking at the cover again, wondering what's going wrong. Maybe I should drop the Jimmy Page line. And ditch the urine gambit as well, lest people think I'm telling them to piss off. Maybe it's time to take that piece of advice: Get out there and be aggressive.

I walk up and down a couple of aisles, snarling, picturing myself as a prime Rocky Balboa on his way to the ring in Soviet Russia, about to face the unstoppable machine that is Ivan Drago. Eye of the tiger, the ghost of Apollo Creed is whispering in my ear. Eye of the tiger! My fists are balled and I'm ready to beat someone into buying the book. Should be easy: a couple of jabs and then drop 'em with an overhand right, following up with a left hook on the way down, then just drag them to the counter and get their wallet out for them. But I can't seem to do it. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to beat someone into buying my book and getting it signed by me. I've never been good at throwing the first punch, and it's no different now. Besides, these are my kind of people: book people. How could I physically attack them?

So I wander back to my table, thinking. What would Mickey say, if he hadn't died of that heart attack brought on by the evil Clubber Lang? "Just take a look at youse!" he'd snarl. "Call yourself a writer? You're a bum!" Then he'd calm down and say something like: "What is this? A circus? Are we clowns? No! We're trapeze artists, flying through the air for the amusement of all these people. Except we're doing it between the covers of that damn book, which they don't even know about! Now get out there and whip up an audience! Bark like a dog, you no good Irish bum!" Then he hobbles off to the art section and leafs through a book on nude photography.

Mickey's right, of course. One of my great-great-grandparents was indeed from Clones. But how did he know that?

I work out a tactic: approach people (politely - no snarling or balled fists) and show them the cover of STAIRWAY TO HELL. Ask them if they recognise who those two guys are. They know Bowie alright, but most of them seem to think the other one is Marc Bolan. I don't know what to do about that, but it doesn't matter: I'm already talking to him or her by this stage. We're away from the cover and talking about what the book is about, why I wrote it etc. Some of these conversations lead to a signing, some don't. Most are fun and interesting, hopefully, for both parties.

At the end of two hours, I'd signed nine. "You're a bum!" Mickey's shouting. And he's right. Nine? Jeez... Then the staff guy wanders back and I ask him just how many that well-known crime writer signs when he comes. "Nineteen." So Maybe nine isn't so bad for this store, and I can go away and not feel like such a loser. "Crap!" Mickey's screaming. "You're a no-good, Irish, scum-sucking b--" I shove a sweaty towel in his mouth. Mickey, why all the negativity? Why not just chill out?

I go home, leaving him on the floor behind me, having another heart attack.

Do you know what? Mickey's wrong. That book is not a trapeze act and I'm no circus barker. It's a high wire act, like all good books are. And I'm a relatively unknown writer, putting myself out there and trying to make myself a bit more known. Even if a conversation leads to a signing and a sale, I'm still making someone aware of my book and myself. Maybe they'll think about my book and buy it later. Maybe they'll see my next book and remember me. Either way, it's a bit of exposure.

Thanks to all at Borders in Birmingham for letting me do it. And to all the people who showed an interest. Even that guy who came in the hope that he was going to get this guy's autograph (I had to break the news of his death).

Next Saturday I've got another one lined up at Waterstones in Gloucester. If you're around, do drop in and see how I'm doing in my pursuit for that elusive 10 books. Mickey's not invited to this one, and neither are Rocky, Ivan Drago or Apollo Creed. But I think David Hasselhoff might be there, so you could try and get his autograph.

Paris, Radio and Trousers

A great time in Paris was had this weekend. Lisa and I sailed over a day early on the Eurostar and soaked up a few things (mostly beer and chocolate croissants). Next morning I did a radio interview with Radio Libertaire, France's official anarchist station. I did the whole thing in French, which I was a bit worried about beforehand but it went OK. I think. Anyway, if you're French and you heard some English twat babbling incomprehensibly on Saturday afternoon, it was me. Or Chris Waddle.

Later on that afternoon was the "humour in crime" panel at the Bilipo, where I shared the floor with the Colins Thibert and Bateman. The moderator was Natalie Beunat and it was a good session at a fascinating venue. If you're in Paris, check it out (especially the morbid displays in the foyer). After that, the Bateman and Williams entourages went in search of food and alcohol. It was great, but can I just say here that the traffic cone on top of the Eiffel Tower in the early hours of Sunday was nothing to do with me.

Talking of Colin, check out his new book, MYSTERY MAN. The logline is inspired: "Murder, mayhem and damn sexy trousers." That's the important things in life right there. And traffic cones.

In other news, a seal of approval has been given. Nothing to do with me really as I didn't design the cover, but it's a nice thing anyway.

Coupla things

ARK has been selected for the festival of French and British cinema at le Touquet on 5-7 June. Check it out here with a couple of cool stills.

I have seen a copy of PAINT A VULGAR PICTURE: FICTION INSPIRED BY THE SMITHS and it is magic. What do you reck? Look out for my story "Sweet and Tender Hooligan" as well as great ones by John Williams, Kate Pullinger and Jeff Noon. Pick it up here for cheap, or at a book emporium near you from 28th May.

Talking of cheap, you seem to be able to pre-order my next book STAIRWAY TO HELL at Amazon.co.uk for only £4.79. Can this be real?

Factoid about STAIRWAY TO HELL: Despite the outlandish premise it is based on true events.

Are you a Parisien(ne)? Do you like humour in crime books? Come and hear me roar at the Bibliothèque des Littératures Policières on Saturday May 16th at 17.30. I probably won't roar, actually.

Lost in France

I hear in Paris they have a library dedicated to crime fiction. That's cool, right? Another cool thing is that they are having a festival of crime in May, where the intersection of the criminal and book worlds will be celebrated in all its glory. Can you guess where this is going? Yes, a third cool thing: your humble narrator will be at this festival. Apparently humour in crime is my bag and I'll be taking part in a panel on this subject, along with a couple of TBAs.

So, if you're in Paris on the 16th May, check us out.

You know, anyone would think I'm living on the continent. It's three years since I did any kind of event in the UK. I am a literary exile, condemned to tread only foreign soil until I can write a book that pleases MI5. Maybe STAIRWAY TO HELL will be that book? Ah, fuck MI5. Do you know the people that really matter? Critics? Don't make me laugh. Readers? Well, maybe a bit... but that's not the answer. It's CI5. Bodie and Doyle. And there is NOT A CHANCE they would have disapproved of any trilogy of books with one of these babies as a major character.

Saying all that, I do quite like foreign soil. Especially France. They have really nice soil, very dark and peaty. Plus they have loads of beer. I'm sorry, Cowley... you can grin all you like, I'm staying here, in this bar. Got my Leffe. Got my chips and mayonnaise. Got my table footy. Got my soil. I'm staying. I'm finishing my coffee. Enjoying my coffee.

We're not in Kansas anymore

One thing the French do at their book fairs is get the authors to spend a long time sitting behind piles of their books, ostensibly doing "dedicace" (signings) but in practice actively flogging units. Naturally, some are better at this than others. I think I'm not so good (especially in French). Personally I can't understand how any writer is good at that. Writing is a solitary thing. Your communication skills get specialised towards the written word and probably flag a bit elsewhere. You develop a manic look when people approach you which tends to ward them off. Also the chronic dribbling and gibbering doesn't sell books in the long run. So, I'm no good at the face-to-face side of book promotion. And I reckon I'm not alone in that.

I think that's why writers embrace this internet thing. You get to use weapon #1 on here: text. Any ideas about your work* you want to communicate, you can do it from behind the silver screen of cyberspace. You're a bit like the Wizard of Oz - the stumpy little gimp who sits in his magic cubicle and tries to make out he's a god. And you get to dribble.

So, to compensate for my lack of "meatspace" sales skills, I hereby invite anyone to drop me a line if they want to know why they should read my books. (Or why they shouldn't - you never know.) But I have to know who you are, or it's just sales literature. So tell me at least one thing about yourself (eg: what books you like... what sort of alcohol you like...) You can even do it in French. I've got a dictionary here.

I don't expect to get a lot of take-up on that offer, but there it is. And it's a permanent one.

* What a ponce. Any writer who says "my work" is up their own arse.

After Lyon

Back from the Quais du Polar festival. Too frazzled yesterday to post anything about it, but now I can officially report to you that it was top notch. A really magnificent festival, well organised and well attended by people in the know. Obviously it helped that the festival was free, which meant you got half the citizens of Lyon coming through for a gander. And what a nice bunch they are. Even the bloke who told me off for changing the traditional format of the Série Noire paperback, thereby tinkering with the fabric of reality itself. Also great to chill with the Gallimard team of Aurélien and Christine, along with Jonathan Trigell, D.O.A., Olly and "André Dussollier". There were many others I chilled with and I hope to chill with them again. What's all this "chill" bollocks anyway?

Lyon is such a nice town and everyone was sympa, as they say. Even if no one told me that beer was 8.5% until it was too late.

Special thanks go to the people who bought LES ALLONGÉS. And hey, you can still do it here.

Lyon

In Lyon this weekend? Come along to the QUAIS DU POLAR festival, why don't you. It's a festival of polar bears, and... Oh no, let me just look that word up. Ah, it's a festival of crime fiction, and there won't be any polar bears there at all. Mind you, if someone were to write a mystery about a murdered polar bear, who knows?

Anyway, I will be doing an event with my editor Aurélien Masson at 11am on Sunday. You get to find out about LES ALLONGÉS, and I'm even going to speak some French. See you there.

Thinking about it, you could also have the polar bear as the murderer. Shit, why stop there? Let's have a polar bear serial killer who knocks off other polar bears, and he's being chased down by a polar bear detective, who interviews lots of other polar bears. This could be a really ground-breaking work!

Harrah-gut

Which is how you're meant to pronounce Harrogate, so I was told. Being a sensible person I totally ignored it and went on pronouncing it "Harrogate". Anyway, I had a great time, if you don't count the drive home when our way was blocked by a major RTA just in front of us, and some very bad stuff going on there. But the fest itself? A fine one.

The reason why I (strictly small-time) was there at all was because I was lucky enough to do an event a couple of years ago at the Birmingham Book Fest alongside Mark Billingham (large-fry) who was this year's organising committee presidente, and he is a generous as hell guy and man of his word. Where this got me was on a panel called "Unique Voices", which I guessed was the four writers who didn't fit anywhere else. Namely John Connolly, Stella Duffy, Shane Maloney, moi, and the urbane Marcel Berlins in the chair. It was a good panel and I enjoyed it (depsite the heat), but anyone who was there will know that it got kind of diverted down a strange and unnecessary side-road that didn't make much sense. Well, maybe everyone there wouldn't think that, but I sure as hell did, and I suppose it must have come across from my comments, when I could shoe-horn a word in. But I guess it's also true that strange side-roads, when driven down with enough shouting and swearing and sweat, make good entertainment. So there's that. Like I say, it was a good panel and I was grateful to be on it. It just could have been more interesting if it had stayed a little calmer and under control, and I knew what the hell people were talking about.

Most of the rest of my time there was spent (accompanied by my wife Lisa) in the bar, drinking and talking shit with God knows who. I got there about 2pm Friday and was gone before 24 hours were up. This isn't because I didn't like the fest, but because, well, we've got obligations elsewhere, youngun-wise. But I don't think I could have lasted anyway. Some of those guys, they're on the solid drink and yak from opening night to closing morn, and I don't know how it's done. The drinking I can go with, but how can you talk so much? I like to be sparing with my words. I'm like one of them red indians who don't like having their photo taken because it takes away some of their spirit, so they demand 5 dollars. I'm like that, but no one has yet paid me 5 dollars or even 5 cents (maybe I should ask in sterling next time). But hey, there are some entertaining blokes and birds out there, I'll say that.

As for star spotting, fuck that. Ian Rankin was around most of the time but what are you supposed to say? "Hi Ian, er... Can I polish yer shoes, sir?" What? I thought I saw PD James at one point, sitting on a table with a bottle of plonk in one hand and a fag in the other, but Keiran Wiggins told me I was wrong. (I'm still not sure.) And also I thought I saw David Hasselhoff, but I see him everywhere so don't worry about that.

One final thing: crime writers are, by and large, way cool people. And crime readers too. I never really understood conventions before I went along as a writer, but I do now.

People who I met there, it was great chatting to you. I don't recall one bad conversation (from my side of it anyway).

Left Coast

Yep, I was there. Due to the constraints of real life I probably only saw about half of it, but I had a great time. This was my first "con experience", and if they're all like this in some way I'll defo be along to more.

It was superb to finally meet Allan Guthrie and Donna, Ray "the Truth" Banks and Ana, Sarah Weinman, Kevin Wignall (in disguise), John Rickards (those two have identical hair, believe or or not), Russel McLean (nice coat), Jason Starr, Donna Moore, (I really didn't intend this to sound like an Oscar speech), Maddy Van Hertbruggen, Adrian Magson, Pat Mullan, McKenna Jordan and David Thompson, Martin Edwards... There are others I met who I just can't remember the name of, or couldn't hear it when I asked. I've got a problem listening to one voice in a crowded and noisy room, and it becomes a bit embarrassing when you have to keep saying "What was that?" four or five times. There comes a point when you just have to give up and say "Oh, right. Nice name" and get on with it.

Even greater than meeting those guys were the folks who came up to me when they didn't have to, to get a book signed or just to say hello. I'm incredibly grateful for those, and to anyone who came to the two panels I did (especially the first, which I moderated).

Ah, those panels. One of them was great. Donna Moore moderated it smoothly and with great aplomb, and the other panelists (Al, Ray, and Jason) revealed themselves as natural entertainers in the Bruce Forsyth mould. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, and I certainly did. Then there was the other panel, which I actually moderated. All I can say is thanks to Greg Rucka, David Lawrence, Peter James and Catherine Aird for keeping things going. And Greg - sorry I kept going on about your comics, rather than the Atticus Kodiak and "Queen and Country" series. I just couldn't get the word "comics" out of my head. I think I might even have asked Catherine if she'd ever written any. Or read any. Or just thought about comics in any way.

Congrats to Tony Broadbent for winning the Bruce Alexander Award and Peter Guttridge for the Lefty (like they'll ever read this). FAGS AND LAGER was up for a Lefty but, hmm, it didn't win. Apologies for those near my table who caught shards of broken glass, and to the staff who had to clean all the red wine off the wall. I've calmed down now. You can let go of my arm, really. I'm not going to throw anything else.

Well done to Myles Allfrey, Adrian Muller and co for organising it all.

Jesus, why am I still writing this? There were some people who I intended to "approach" but never got around to it. Stuart McBride was one of these. He probably would have spotted a nutter coming and made off (as did Jeffrey Deaver) , but I recognised him from his blog, and meant to go over but couldn't shift my arse from the comfy sofa. I was also going to have a word with Peter Guttridge, and ask him if I could just hold his blue glass Lefty award for a few seconds. But after the ceremony, when they'd let me out of the secured room, I had this strange electronic device around my neck that induced debilitating head pain whenever I came within ten feet of him. And I was going to say hello to Lee Child, and maybe swap suaveness tips. Sorry, Lee, you'll just have to stumble along as best you can until our paths cross again. And there were others. Oh yes, many others that I wanted to meet. But let's face it: I'm just not a good networker. I mean, come on, I'm a writer.


PS: Ray Banks would have you believe the only thing that separates us in height is my big hair. This is untrue, and I will prove this by having a "number 1" the next time we meet (interpret that how you will). And the big hair, I assure you, was down to the extremely windy conditions outside the hotel, and my inability to look in a mirror.