Uxbridge report.

Had a great evening in Uxbridge Library last night meeting with members of the Uxbridge Writers' group, and I think a few other people from other local writing groups who turned out.

Uxbridge library is huge, by the way: four storeys (and lots more stories, no doubt). There are lifts and everything, plus a spacious atrium with a glass roof. I was impressed. I'd like to say I filled the place, but hey, I'm not Neil Gaiman. I was very pleased with the turn-out, and it seems that some people even had to travel by tube to see me. I'm not sure I'd travel by tube to see me, so the fact that others did was, well, frankly, astonishing.

Of course, it's always daunting, not to say terrifying, to be confronted by rows of expectant faces. And yes there were rows, though I'm not saying exactly how many. This public performance aspect of having a book out is all very strange to me. It's weird hearing my own voice burble on, and realise that people are listening to me. I do have this urge to subvert my own efforts, which usually comes out in self-putdowns. It's an English trait, I think. And, to paraphrase Borges*, I can do a much better job of undermining myself than anyone else could.

Thankfully, Siobhan Curham was on hand to say wonderful things about the book. And Clare Harris, the Hillingdon Libraries Literature Officer, was also very generous in her comments. Immeasurable thanks to both of you.

I chose to read this bit.

I've never read it before to an audience and I have to admit I was very uncomfortable about reading out Rob's sexual preoccupations but I felt I had to do it, somehow. If there was an audience I could read material like this to, it had to be one made up of other writers, I felt.

Exhausted, drained, buzzing, elated, hungry afterwards. And today, knackered. Bit of a headache too.

No more readings on the horizon. The book enters its tailspin phase. Who knows if I'll be able to pull out of it...


*Thanks to Jeff Haas for bringing this wonderful Borges' quote to my attention: "Any time something is written against me, I not only share the sentiment but feel I could do the job far better myself. Perhaps I should advise would-be enemies to send me their grievances beforehand, with full assurance that they will receive my every aid and support. I have even secretly longed to write, under a pen name, a merciless tirade against myself."