Vanity Publishing

Yes I'm still here, plugging away at 'Not moving to Eastbourne' falling deeper into the lives of Lilian and Gwen. I'm over the half way mark and the end is written, it's just a case of ploughing on and imagining the final product. Life still gets in the way, time and energy is limited. It is not the completion that frightens me, but the fact that it may languish unread in a file, that despite all of my blood, sweat and tears Lilian and Gwen may never see the light of Day. I can't leave their stories to gather dust! Today I wrote about the day Lilian's husband Jim had a stroke, last week Gwen and Lilian had a blazing row and they remember the day that their house was bombed to the ground with Lilian's new born son trapped inside. Although I am enjoying the process I do not write for my own sake. I am telling a story and I want people to read it.

And so I think of approaching publishers with my first three chapters. On a good day the Booker prize looms, but realistically I know how hard it is to get an agent let alone a publisher. I have always poo pooed self publishing, vanity publishing as it is known, but now I am coming to the round to the opinion that I do not necessarily need the approval of a gatekeeper, that if musicians can do it for themselves, so can writers.Anais Nin self published long before the Internet made self promotion so easy, she set up her own printing press for god's sake! So not only am I writing, I am plotting self promotion, launch events and PR strategies! The world is my lobster...... I may even build a giant Faberge egg!!!!

But for now, my dear seven followers, here is another snippet of a work very much in progress.

Lilian marvels at the sight of little Bette sitting quietly on the sofa, her large brown eyes flitting around the front room. She wonders what the girl is thinking, what a fresh pair of eyes is making of her home. They had appeared out of the blue, Gwen’s Grandson Warren and his girlfriend Bette, ringing her doorbell as she sipped her sherry, unannounced visitors just like the old days. But Lilian was no longer prepared to receive visitors and as she looks at her shabby undergarments hanging on the radiator to dry, she realizes how far she had let her standards slip. There was a time when she would clean and tidy the flat before she served the dinner. The ashtrays would be emptied and washed, the scatter cushions arranged and plumped, mugs from daily rounds of tea scrubbed and put away. Sometimes she would even set the table with some flowers and a candle. Lamps were lit, music was played and so if a visitor did happen to pop in for a drink or a spot of supper the flat was presentable and Lilian only had to apply a touch a lipstick to greet her guests. Now every surface in this room is host to an overflowing ashtray or a half finished cup of tea. Piles of magazines and leaflets litter the floor and used tissues pile up on the occasional table by the side of her armchair. She hasn’t opened the curtains or the windows for a while and the air in the room is thick with old cigarette smoke. She has worn this housecoat for days and wonders if they have noticed the food stain above her right breast. As she leaves the room she pulls her underwear from the radiator and one of the ashtrays from the side of the sofa. She wonders what they will whisper about her as she disappears into her bedroom to get dressed.Tonight it will take more than a simple application of lipstick.

By the time she re enters the lounge, Warren has located the hoover and his girlfriend has cleared a space for herself on the sofa. Lilian thinks Bette looks out of place in her living room. A tiny picture of perfection amidst her tired furnishings. She loves the way she styles her short black fringe, how she has curled it under in the 1940’s style and her red, high heels that press into the carpet. Her nails are painted crimson and she clutches a small bag studded with hundreds of diamante Scarlett beads. She lights a cigarette and as she brings it to her mouth Lilian admires the way she has painted and penciled her full, plump lips. She lights one for herself and they smile awkwardly at each other before Warren emerges from the kitchen balancing a bottle of cava and three champagne glasses on a tin tray.....