I've fallen off the face of the earth this month due to an all but doomed attempt to finish a final pass on the as yet nameless novel from the MA before I go to visit my grandfather. Summer is always shorter than it looks. But I've touched down for a moment to make sure said grandfather is actually expecting me (he's a bit of a recluse; the last time he allowed someone to visit him a Bush was in the White House) and I realised that things are going on.
The Shore has (somehow, inexplicably) been nominated for Not The Booker, which is a bit of fun run by the Guardian that has for the past six years or so determined The People's Choice for book of the year in democratic fashion. Which means that anyone who wants to can mosey on over and put in their two votes for any of the 70 books on the list. It may be the final bastion of true democracy in the universe, so take advantage.
On Friday the 21st of August at 3.30 in the afternoon I'm going to be at the Edinburgh Book Festival chatting with Michael F Russell about freaky communities. Ok, I'll be at the book festival for most of that week, but if you want to heckle or sling tomatoes, that's the best time to do it. Edinburgh, as it happens, also runs a democracy-based award for first books, with the added bonus that everyone who votes gets entered in a drawing to win the entire 56 book longlist. Go and vote, because everyone likes free books. And if you don't like books they'd probably make a charming fortress.
And finally, I've been asked to natter on about the last thing I read that lit my fire for #30Authors, which is an event run by The Book Wheel where thirty writers write about their favourite recent reads on thirty book blogs over the thirty days of September. I hear there's a good chance that this could involve giveaways...
And now, back to the noveling!
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