You know how they always tell you that it doesn’t matter how much your family and friends like your work because they are your family and friends and so, will usually rave about your books and, if not, they will at the very least give you the benefit of the doubt?
Well; they lie.
I have a friend who downloaded one of my books and read it. I say “read”; he didn’t finish it because, as he told me, he lost it during a file transfer and couldn’t recover it. I said not to worry, I would send him a gift voucher and he could download it again.
‘Oh, no need,’ he told me, ‘I’m sure it’ll turn up in some folder or other.’
‘No trouble,’ said I, ‘I’d really like to know what you think of it. I’ll e-mail it to you later tonight.’
The smile froze on his face and he said that it was O.K. Really. Don’t bother.
It was then (because I’m fairly quick on the uptake as you can tell) that I said, ‘So, you weren’t enjoying it then, ha ha?’
There was still a part of me that hoped I’d misread the signs and was waiting for him to say something along the lines of, ‘Oh no! I didn’t mean that! I mean, I’ll gladly pay for another download. Gosh it’s so gripping.’ I waited in vain.
‘Frankly,’ he told me, ‘I just couldn’t get into it. Your sentences are too long with so many clauses that I got completely lost and had to re-read them several times.’
‘There are too many commas, aren’t there?’ SAID MY WIFE!!
‘Exactly!’ said my friend, with a triumphant jab of his finger. As I stared open-mouthed at my very own Agrippina, my pal warmed to his theme. ‘I couldn’t follow the story,’ he announced. ‘And, is it meant to be contemporary? Because if it is, it’s very archaic. For one thing, I’ve never heard a journalist referred to by their last name for about thirty years. You use far too many unnecessary words, as well and there are an awful lot of descriptive passages.’
Eventually, I found my voice. ‘Ha ha, Please don’t hold back. Say what you really think. Ha ha.’
On the motivation behind my wife’s putting the boot in, I cannot speculate but on the reasons for my friend’s candour, I may hazard a view.
He is a fellow writer so I could convince myself that it was simply professional jealousy that made him so… honest. I could imagine that he wants to stall a great rival talent that threatens to overwhelm his meagre offerings with its immense scope and power; his Salieri to my Mozart; his Gaugin to my Van Gogh.
I must accept, however, that it’s probably his Beatles to my Gerry and the Pacemakers…
(sings “Ferry Across the Mersey” ad lib to fade out…)
Well; they lie.
I have a friend who downloaded one of my books and read it. I say “read”; he didn’t finish it because, as he told me, he lost it during a file transfer and couldn’t recover it. I said not to worry, I would send him a gift voucher and he could download it again.
‘Oh, no need,’ he told me, ‘I’m sure it’ll turn up in some folder or other.’
‘No trouble,’ said I, ‘I’d really like to know what you think of it. I’ll e-mail it to you later tonight.’
The smile froze on his face and he said that it was O.K. Really. Don’t bother.
It was then (because I’m fairly quick on the uptake as you can tell) that I said, ‘So, you weren’t enjoying it then, ha ha?’
There was still a part of me that hoped I’d misread the signs and was waiting for him to say something along the lines of, ‘Oh no! I didn’t mean that! I mean, I’ll gladly pay for another download. Gosh it’s so gripping.’ I waited in vain.
‘Frankly,’ he told me, ‘I just couldn’t get into it. Your sentences are too long with so many clauses that I got completely lost and had to re-read them several times.’
‘There are too many commas, aren’t there?’ SAID MY WIFE!!
‘Exactly!’ said my friend, with a triumphant jab of his finger. As I stared open-mouthed at my very own Agrippina, my pal warmed to his theme. ‘I couldn’t follow the story,’ he announced. ‘And, is it meant to be contemporary? Because if it is, it’s very archaic. For one thing, I’ve never heard a journalist referred to by their last name for about thirty years. You use far too many unnecessary words, as well and there are an awful lot of descriptive passages.’
Eventually, I found my voice. ‘Ha ha, Please don’t hold back. Say what you really think. Ha ha.’
On the motivation behind my wife’s putting the boot in, I cannot speculate but on the reasons for my friend’s candour, I may hazard a view.
He is a fellow writer so I could convince myself that it was simply professional jealousy that made him so… honest. I could imagine that he wants to stall a great rival talent that threatens to overwhelm his meagre offerings with its immense scope and power; his Salieri to my Mozart; his Gaugin to my Van Gogh.
I must accept, however, that it’s probably his Beatles to my Gerry and the Pacemakers…
(sings “Ferry Across the Mersey” ad lib to fade out…)
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