Readers' questions: Bonus round
Readers' questions: Bonus round
Following up on recent posts – now with added Larkin
Hello readers! I’m back for a fresh round of your questions, much sooner than expected – though as you’ll see, it’s more due to blatant omissions from recent posts than popular demand.
The blog has been a touch quieter than usual lately, as I’ve spent much of the past few weeks entertaining my son during a school holiday … though it might be more accurate to say he has been entertaining me during a publishing holiday (which coincided with my 36th birthday). There were whole strings of days where I forgot I had any responsibilities involving books whatsoever, beyond reading them aloud!
I think you all know how devoted I am to Valley Press, and when you have a rewarding, creative profession that puts food on the table, but doesn’t come with set hours, it’s far too easy to let it seep into every waking minute. This recent period has been a reminder that to really, properly get away from all that is beneficial for me and, in a roundabout way, the business too. (I’m writing this down mainly so I will remember it in future – but I’m sure I’m not the only one who needs to hear the value of taking proper breaks.)
Alas, the school bell is about to ring us back to our respective desks; but before I completely return to the world of adults…
Re: Children and aliens, March 13th: Did your son ever finish his drawing?
Yes he did, starting over from scratch, and he’s keen for the final version to be filed here for posterity. It really is something! (I let the spelling error slide – I was on holiday, after all.)
Later in that post, I discussed our crowdfunding efforts for children's book series The Late Crew, to give the world an extra nudge about it. I was delighted – beside myself with glee, really – to see the total rise from £606 at the time of that post to £1,347 as I write today. We’re practically home and dry now, and as such, I have been able to officially register the two books for a trade release at the start of September.
Pre-orderers will get theirs much earlier, of course, and some offers connected to the crowdfunding – like signed copies and discount bundles – are likely to be retired soon after we reach our total of £1,500. So the shoe is now somewhat on the other foot: get in there quick or miss out, is the new message!
Re: Down to business, March 19th: What was the brainwave?
In my last paywalled post, I alluded to a brilliant new “publishing brainwave” I’d had – but didn’t expand or give even the slightest hint as to what it involved. Some of you are anxious to find out more ASAP, which is understandable in the current climate. (The UK lost another small literary publisher, Holland Park, last week, due to declining sales and stubborn Covid-era debt – both of which I’m battling here too.)
Unfortunately, I must ask you to hang on a little longer: I need to run the concept past my forthcoming authors before describing it here, and even then, do a few test runs before prescribing it with any confidence. What I will say is that it is not a new idea to the publishing industry, by any means, just to me and Valley Press – so don’t expect a ray of genius beaming down through the clouds to save everyone. It will likely end up as just another dish in my tapas of ideas (that was a whole other post!)
Re: Surviving Larkin, March 30th: Does the title refer to Philip Larkin, the poet? If so, how is he involved in Will Kemp’s book?
This question seems like a great opportunity to further discuss Vini Reilly and The Durutti Column…
No, no, just kidding, I promise – though when I emailed Will saying a follow-up post might be needed, he essentially said: “Oh good, you can include the correct live version of ‘Bordeaux’, it’s on the second disc of the reissue of their sixth album”, adding “Quite incredible to think that the sound is someone actually playing guitar. If they’re not playing this track in heaven, I don’t want to go there!”
Anyway – yes, the title of Will’s collection refers to Philip Larkin, the late, formidable Hull-based poet. He doesn’t play a significant role in the book, but reading the interview now, it seems slightly laughable how thoroughly we avoided any discussion on that subject. I can imagine some of you 2,000 words into the post, yelling at your screens: “But what about Larkin?!”
He does feature in the title story, of course, so I shall wrap up today’s blog with an extract from it. As ever, thank you for reading, send in more questions if you have them, and look out for details of our next poetry competition in your inboxes soon.
from ‘Surviving Larkin’ by Will Kemp
first published in Sarasvati magazine, issue no. 069, March 2023
It was a cold grey morning on campus when I spotted his bald pate and black-rimmed glasses in the distance. His walk along the deserted concourse was a shuffle of caterpillar footsteps beneath a dark overcoat, head bent towards the ground, suggesting he was about to topple over at any moment.
I knew it was him because of an encounter in the library, after that night out. Boo went there to keep warm between lectures, so I’d often try and lure her to the stairwell for a snog. One afternoon I’d succeeded in prising her out to the circular balustrade on the second floor, when I noticed a large, bald man on the floor below.
He was wearing a plain sixties jacket and tie, as if waiting for them to come back into fashion. His podgy white face had a hangdog expression, eyes bulging behind the thick glasses. He looked up at us, waiting for Boo to stop tittering, then raised a reverential finger to his lips before turning away.
“That’s him,” she noted.
“Who?”
“Your mate. Larkin.”
Strange. He looked more like a monk than a poet. Not a flowing shirt or strand of long hair in sight.
—
I stayed put by the library entrance, knowing he must be headed there.
I still hadn’t read any of his poems, which now seemed like a schoolboy error as I began to search for something to say. I could have at least checked out that they-f*ck-you-up poem; it was bound to be in the library somewhere, and probably wasn’t as bad as I’d assumed.
As he drew nearer, I walked up to him, ready to whip out some drafts from my rucksack.
“Excuse me,” I started, “I understand you’re a poet. I wonder if you could help – ”
He carried on without even looking up.
“No,” he grouched in a deep voice, the fat under his chin wobbling as he shook his head. “Very depressed today.”
I looked on in shock at the back of his undertaker’s coat walking away. I was a student, he was staff, I only wanted two minutes of his time. I wasn’t going to read any of his poems now, that was for sure.
“Well, f*ck you then!” I barked after him. “Miserable bastard.”
It was hardly the laying-on-of-hands exchange I’d hoped for, and immediately I regretted the outburst – he could be ill, a relative might have died – but the words were already travelling up into the grey air, beyond anyone’s reach to take them back.
Larkin carried on a few paces, as if propelled forward by the momentum of his top-heaviness, then stopped. He turned his head to the right, nodded slowly, then continued towards the library door.