Ventiak
an island somewhere in the brain
Those fine people at Unity Books have really got behind the novel. I am told that they had it advertised on a blackboard outside the shop last week and that it also featured in their ad on the book page of the Dominion Post - 'a beach book with brains' is the tag line they're using. It all feels a bit strange. And gratifying, of course. Even Amanda can't scoff at something like this. Whatever she might say about the Australian Woman's Weekly, she can't deny that the Unity people ought to know what they are doing. And having one of the country's best bookshops on your side is not only a mark of faith, it also ought to result in real says, which is more than you can guarantee from a review, good or otherwise.
Another thing that's disconcerted me is Felix's reaction to all this. Instead of being insanely jealous, he has suddenly got strangely enthusiastic and supportive. Perhaps he sees an opportunity for success by association. Or perhaps its just the good wishes of a friend. Either way I'm feeling a bit guilty about teasing him and about what I said the other day. And, of course, I'm going to need all the friends I can get if this little house of cards comes tumbling down - which may very well happen at 10.30am Monday when BE/WB gets reviewed on the radio.
Barbara has reminded me that this blog is supposed to be about promoting my book. Absolutely and quite right. I need to keep my focus, indeed I do. In a fever of business-like determination, I therefore have to report that the launch last week went very well. My very fine publisher, Harriet Allan, and the superbly talented Marilyn Duckworth both made excellent speeches and I mumbled my through my bit without managing to insult anyone (I think). There was not a vast crowd but the percentage of those present who bought books was notably high. A number of examples of the species pelecanus ventiakus were in evidence of course, gorging theselves on the food, the wine and the gossip, as is their wont. And for those of them that didn't by copies, don't worry, I know who you are.
Another curious development (I don't want to say this too loud in case Amanda hears) is that I have received a very good review in the Australian Woman's Weekly. God knows how this happened but it seems that while certain reviewers with critical pretensions find the novel puzzling, the good old AWW knows 'a good read' when it sees it. I hate that phrase, I have to say - it annoys me almost as much as 'scotch whiskey' - but I manage to tolerate it when it's applied to something I've written.
And finally (and this is very old news now, given that it goes back to Sunday 4th February, the very day I lost control of the blog) it seems that the interview with the highly discerning Lynn Freeman went very well, too. A pelican of my acquaintance said that I read 'eloquently'. Hmm. I better stop before the grandiosity overwhelms me. I think I'll go and annoy Felix by boasting of my success. (Felix is very useful for this purpose. He yearns for fame so much and fails so miserably that even the tiniest (justified) boast reduces him to sulks.)
McEgg's timely and judicious posting has reminded me of my all too brief career in chess. As a result of our almost daily games in 1964 at the Bradford Street Numismatic Society (we had little else to do because we were waiting for the issue of the decimal coinage, not due until 1967) I became keen enough to join the Auckland Chess Centre, where I progressed quite rapidly through the ranks to somewhere near my peak ability. My apotheosis came when I beat a member of the NZ Olympic Chess Team in the first round of the club's Easter tournament (I was so astonished that I promptly lost all my other games for fear I had committed an act of hubris) and followed this fine achievement with a win in a telegraphic match with the Wellington Chess Club. The result of these two victories was that I made it onto the list of the 100 best chess players in New Zealand. I was 99th, a position I held for several weeks. Sic transit gloria mundi.
I was oddly proud of this achievement and a few years later recounted it to a lover who I hoped would be duly impressed by it. Somewhat to my dismay, she found it highly amusing. She laughed so much, in fact, that she almost fell out of bed. I couldn't say I was offended by this reaction but I was bemused and puzzled. Even to this day, I cannot understand what was so funny. Needless to say the relationship did not progress much beyond this point. Lucky, really. I fear she had a lot in common with Amanda.
Not that Amanda and I have ever been lovers, I hasten to add. Nor are ever likely to be. By that, of course, I don't mean to suggest that Amanda is not entirely lovable. Well, I do mean to suggest that although... Oh shit, I fear I am digging myself rather a large hole. And I haven't exactly sorted things out with Barbara yet.
At last! I have managed to wrest back control. I found the password they were using and now I've locked them out. (Well, actually, it was Janice that gave me the password, to be honest. I think she felt sorry for me.)
I have no idea how all this happened. My original password was a good one, I thought. '462Pacific' is exactly the sort of thing they recommend you use - more than eight characters and a combination of letters and numbers - but somehow they guessed. I'm not sure which of them it was. Trevor is sometimes capable of inspired flights of intuition and Rupert, of course, has the logic to figure things out so I assume it was one of them. They won't get this new password, though. I'm sure of that.
And no real harm's been done except, that is, for yesterday's entry. Which of them could have been so malicious as to post Barbara's private email to me, especially when she specifically requested that it not be put up here? I have my suspicions but I'll keep quiet about them for now..
The result, however, is that I have a domestic on my hands. I'm not at all sure what I can do about it. Given that it's Valentine's Day, a dozen red roses would do the trick except for the fact that we have three bushes covered in red roses in the garden. It seems rather mean to pick those but, on the other hand, it also seems a bit odd to go out and buy more. Another option would be a box of chocolates but Barbara tends to get a bit hyper on the cocoa so I fear it might be counterproductive. I guess I'll think of something.
Erubesco ergo sum (or something like that).
Hi, darling - it's a relief to have a sweet note of reason from McEgg. Even when he's angry, he's a lovely gentle man, a gentleman indeed though for some reason you don't let me meet him very often. I've been very cross with some of the newer friends - dear friends they are, but they have their idiosyncrasies (which is why we like them of course) and, usually, good senses of humour. But surely you must see that they're taking themselves a mite (in Janice's case, a hefty elephantine mite) too seriously now you've let them up there in the blog.
Hey ho. Those idiosyncrasies will be endearing again, I hope, once all this has passed. This is all supposed to be about you and the new book, after all. Not about them. And certainly not about me. So I have decided not to dignify any of their comments with a response.
Which is of course a response in itself. But they won't notice.
I'm not at all sure that I should add to the blog, although there is an awful lot that I could say.
Chris, if you publish this private email there will be domestic consequences. We really do have to talk about it all a lot more.