In case you hadn’t guessed, (Slight Return) is all about the music. I tried to weave the stuff I was listening to into the stories, I tried the make the stories reflect the moods the music put me through. The 7″ fiction components used music as a gimmick. The Spotify playlist to accompany it was an afterthought, but came about when I started thinking of the collection as a kind of multimedia experiment. A fairly basic one, granted, but I thought it might be interesting to listen to the songs and see what I wrote about them.
I then started thinking about how I was going to promote this. Initially, I thought maybe I could get a small publisher interested. I tried, it didn’t work out. So I went the indie publishing route again instead. And in some ways that’s better I think because I can whack extracts of the book up wherever I want, stick videos alongside them, it’s pretty much up to me what I do with it. The promotion stuff, meh, it won’t reach many people. But you know, I’ve decided I don’t really care. My only real ambition for years has been to be writing and be read by someone, somewhere. Yeah, of course, it would be nice to be able to make a living from it. The reality is that not many people do. Ok, so why should that stop me? Using a music analogy because, hey, it seems pretty apt, there are a ton of bands and artists I love who have very limited or no commercial success. They still go out and play, they still record and release music. They do it because they love it, they do it because that’s what they do. I can’t stand those capitalist definitions of success that our celebrity consumer culture throws up: people on X Factor who say “I don’t want to be singing to a pub with four people in it, I want to be on stage at Wembley in front of hundreds of thousands”. Why? What difference does it make? You’re singing aren’t you? People are listening?
So yeah, I’m writing, the odd person is reading what I’ve done. What difference does it make? I’m going to keep doing it because when I’m not doing it I don’t feel like me. I get the odd nice comment, the odd bit of constructive criticism, the odd snide remark. All good, all cool. It’s nothing I haven’t already told myself. As a bloke approaching middle age I could be spending my time out there on a golf course and banging on about my handicap. That’s not my thing. Sticking sentences together is my thing. Some people may want to read those sentences about as much as I want to hear about the birdie they got on the sixth hole, or about as much as the distance they ran around the park this morning (again). And that’s fair enough. You don’t have to pay any attention, I don’t mind.
I do wish I had kept this blog a bit more current, I do wish I had kept in the indie game a bit more over the last five years. What can I say? Life got in the way and it took me much longer to get this collection done than I thought or planned. I dropped off the face of the earth a little bit. My bad. Hopefully that won’t happen as drastically again. In the meantime I’ll just keep talking to myself here and working on the next thing. Hey, it’s what I do…