Good Hair Day

Warming Up

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I was going into town for a meeting about possibly writing another book. It's been a while since I've sat down and written something. It's maybe three years now since I handed in the manuscript for "Can I Have My Ball Back?" and though I have subsequently turned that into a stand up show as well, I haven't been writing anything else. Unless you count this lump of shit I call my blog. So yes, I've written a few hundred thousand words, but I haven't written anything.

I'd love to get my teeth into something again, but then again I'd love to do nothing at all and just slip-slide onwards towards the blessed release of death.

It feels like this autumn is going to be significant in the direction I choose to go. Do I coast onwards with what I am doing or roll the dice again to see if I can get something new off the ground?

The choice isn't entirely in my hands.

I am not someone who pushes myself or networks, still operating on some naive belief that there is fairness and justice in the system - so it's always nice when someone spots something in my work and even wants a meeting. I know from experience that most of these meetings will lead to nothing, a few might lead to working up an idea that leads to nothing but a few result in a job. You have to go in with a positive (if realistic) attitude and do your best to impress.

So I put on a proper shirt. That should do it.

Catie came to give me a hug in the kitchen (suspicious) and wish me luck. She told me I looked nice (something was going on) and then (here it comes) told me that if I was going to a meeting where I wanted to impress someone I should really brush the back of my hair (I knew all this niceness had to be leading to something). Apparently the back of my hair was messy, presumably where I'd slept on it.

I was resistant to the idea of brushing my hair. Partly because my hair is who I am and I never brush it. Sure it might occasionally make me look like I have no idea how to take care of myself and certainly not the kind of person that a publisher wants to take a risk of sinking a few thousand pounds into, but on the other hand, I can't really think of a counter argument.

Surely I'd be OK as long as I never turned my back on the person I was meeting. That'd be easier than having to go upstairs, open a drawer and find a brush and then use it.

Wait, surely loads of genius authors are so wrapped up in their work they don't realise what a state they're in. They might have egg in their beard and crusted phlegm in the corner of their mouth and animal fur all over their cardigan, but they deliver the goods on the page. If they could look after themselves they'd look nice, get a partner, have sex and never write anything again.

Catie quietly (and also noisily) despairs about the person she has been foolish enough to marry and was insistent that I brushed my hair. I told her I wouldn't compromise my integrity or allow her to win an argument.

She rolled her eyes and went to the gym. I got ready to go out. Why should I listen to Catie? What did she know? Why would I care about the opinion of someone who has put up with me for 18 years and is an award winning author? I went upstairs and brushed my hair - not just the back, the front as well, hoping that would read as sarcastic revolt. I needed a win here.

The meeting went pretty well. The editor I met seemed impressed with me. Did I see her looking at the back of my head and pulling an impressed face? No I didn't see that. But doesn't mean it didn't happen.

If I get a commission it will entirely be down to Catie. Brush your hair fellas. It might be all that's holding you back.

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As if to illustrate yesterday's blog about the knock backs you get in this job, I got an email today. Back in March I'd gone somewhere for a secret meeting with someone looking for ideas. It turned out that he was a big fan of my work and even of my play "I Killed Rasputin" (which sank without trace and lost me £45,000) and we had a chat about what he was looking for now and I left the meeting inspired and hopeful. It wasn't going to be a project that would make me lots of money, but it might mean something I had written got workshopped and made. It felt like it might be a turning point.

I sent him three ideas, all needing some work, but that was part of the deal with this. Were they any good? I didn't know, but fingers crossed.

Today he emailed me to tell me that he didn't feel any of the ideas were what they were looking for. It wasn't a total rejection and there were compliments amongst the bad news plus the potential of trying again, but of course it was disappointing. I thanked him for his time and for considering my stuff and he in turn remarked about how gracious I was. Of course. I have a lot of experience of rejection (professional and personal) and it's water off a duck's back. Though some of the water is the duck's own tears.

I can't imagine a writer not being used to rejection - it seems such a huge part of the job. It's a painful rejection. Creativity involves fully opening your heart, putting yourself out there in a very one-sided way and waiting to see if you get hugged or punched.

It makes you wonder how other writers react to being told their stuff isn't suitable if just being basically polite is seen as being gracious. I suspect some of them act like dicks who can't believe their genius has been rebuffed. I can believe it. And don't think I am a genius.

It's likely that people who think they are geniuses are not actual geniuses, but it doesn't follow that people who don't think they are geniuses are geniuses. But they might be. That's what I'm holding on to. Too much of a genius to be recognised by the foolish people of my own time. But Shakespeare to the mutants who rule this planet in 2324.

It's not the end of the road and I hadn't been pinning a lot on this opportunity, but I was surprised how much the knock-back got me down. It's a positive that this guy, who I respect and like, backed me as much as he did. I guess that's also why it feels like more of a negative.

I realise now that I didn't brush my hair before the meeting. This explains so much about my career it turns out.

On the other hand, the editor I met yesterday seems to be making positive moods and we worked on a document explaining one of the ideas today. So that's a project that is one step closer. But what is it one step closer to?

Success or failure or seeming success followed by failure or seeming success followed by death making all earthly achievements meaningless.

Dull blog but the duck joke was good and that's all a writer can hope for.

And a bonus podcast ep where Ally my dummy asks me some emergency questions.

Listen here.