Men in white coats turned up yesterday to drag me there screaming whilst friend and fellow author John H looked on whilst hysterically laughing. Somehow the men in white coats left him shivering on his doorstep, weakly waving goodbye.
Well that's how it felt. Yes the final final final hurdle for the book has been jumped. We bought 10 ISBNs and 10 barcodes and off they went to our printer. Now all we have to do is check through a final final final final final proof. That's the theory anyway.
But enough of that. Let's talk about my journalism and please excuse me as I'm going to blow my own trumpet, or should that be play my own piano?
I spent yesterday morning on the February edition of Hethersett Herald which is due to be published next Wednesday which gives me just over a week to finish it off. Still have lots to write and one of the things has been to look back at some of the stories we have featured over the previous 99 editions.
That meant re-reading certain stories and I was pleased at some of the levels of journalism involved. I looked at my own style and realised I possibly do have one. I mention this because I am currently reading, amongst other books, a history of the New Musical Express (NME). It talks about two music journalists who pulled the newspaper/magazine around with their original styles of writing. These were Nick Kent and Charles Shaar Murray.
Murray is still around at the age of 72 and Kent is still around at the same age. I haven't seen any of their work for some time although I did buy an autobiography written by Kent from a second hand bookshop in Much Wenlock. Now as you all know Much Wenlock is the town famous for the Wenlock Olympian Games, dating from 1850, which are a forerunner of the modern Olympic Games. They are organised by the Wenlock Olympian Society (WOS), and are held each year at venues across Shropshire centred on the market town of Much Wenlock.
So there I was (notice I started this sentence with the word so) in a second hand bookshop in Much Wenlock, having been asked by the owner whether I was looking for any particular subject. There were books piled high on high shelves. I answered with the first thing that came into my head "music." Actually I was just keen to find somewhere warm and dry whilst the other four-fifths went clothes shopping.
I felt duty bound to buy something despite the books being rather overpriced. Now this is a strange phenomena of our modern society. You can get any number of books free from book hives, old telephone kiosks, books left on buses etc or get them for peanuts from charity shops. But style yourself as an antiquarian bookshop and it seems you can charge the earth. I bought a book from an antiquarian bookshop in historic Elm Hill in Norwich which cost me more than its cover price when new simply because it was signed by the author. It was a book on the Great Yarmouth Rows.
But back to Much Wenlock. The only music book I could find that was vaguely of interest and not ridiculously priced was by Nick Kent. It turned out to be a real saga of sex, drugs and rock n roll.
But I seem to be waffling so back to a journalistic style. The NME book talked about Murray and Kent being unique in placing themselves within what they were writing. Now I thought this was a way of saying that they were so arrogant that they needed to talk about themselves whilst writing articles about Bowie or the Rolling Stones or Lou Reed but apparently not so.
Now reading my stuff (and that's what I must call it) I realise that in many of the stories in the Herald I have put myself in the centre with reminiscences about the past and my thoughts on village life. So maybe I'm into Gonzo journalism (and if you don't know what that is just Google it as granddaughter Poppy would say).
OK I don't want to make you work too hard. The Google definition of Gonzo journalism is as follows: "Gonzo journalism is a style of journalism that is written without claims of objectivity, often including the reporter as part of the story using a first-person narrative."
Yep that's you I hear you say - a big headed schmuck always going on about me me me me me.
Whilst on the subject of journalism - let's return it to a local level. When I was a sports editor on weekly newspapers in Norfolk one of our regular contributors was Roy Webster who wrote about angling and football. I was having a look round a variety of Norfolk based Facebook sites and in one on Norfolk Life there was a tribute to Roy whose main claim to fame was when he made the national newspapers. For many years Roy reported on the fortunes of Wroxham Football Club. Wroxham play at a reasonable level but the town is better known as the self styled capital of the Norfolk Broads or for Roys of Wroxham which boasts that it is the "World's Largest Village Store" which is probably a boast they can never substantiate.
Anyway dear old Roy, who always sported long white hair and a long white beard when I knew him, had a disagreement with Wroxham FC who banned him from their ground. He still managed to write his reports on the club by watching the game from the top of a ladder in a friend's garden close to the ground. This wasn't in my time of sports editing I hasten to add.
Apparently when it came to the subject of maggots, there was no=one more knowledgeable on the subject than Roy who often dug them up I hasten to add. For fishing purposes of course.
And that as they say is a wrap for today.