March 2009 Archives

I just got back from running the Cranleigh 21-mile Race, down in a particularly beautiful bit of Surrey.  I reached the 21-mile point at 2:59:47, and then they sort of hide the finish line and you slow down a bit trying to find it (I'm not actually making this up).  So I therefore finised the 21.11 mile race in 3:00:35, which I'm very very pleased with, truly.  Twenty-one miles is a bloody long way, let me tell ya.

A really nice course and a well-run club race (except for the finish line problem).  Kudos all round.  But especially to me, as I set new PBs at the half-marathon and the 20-mile points.  I'm going to be sooooooo tired by the time the Marathon finishes.

But there's still time to sponsor me!  I'm nearly at £2000; are you the one who'll put me over the top?  It's www.justgiving.com/patrickness.  No pressure, but I did run 21.11 miles today.  Did you?

Just real quick to say that I've posted a new entry on the Booktrust Writer in Residence site, and I've got a review of the new Maggie Gee novel My Driver in today's Guardian.  And now to bed to battle this stupid summer time change (why do we still do this?).

Despite my lengthy last post, the various devoted "fans" from around the world keep asking for "autographs for me and my friends Sandra & Britte & Detlef".  Quick, Britte, what's the name of the dog?

Lots of culture lately.  Despite my heavy disapproval that they gave out a free greatest hits CD in the Mail on Sunday (I even sent an email to their website about it; perhaps I shouldn't have asked for autographs for myself and 9 friends), the new Pet Shop Boys album is excellent. 

Even better, though, and a real discovery, is the new Decemberists album The Hazards of Love.  It's mad as a bag of cats and anything I could say to describe it would only put you off in the wrong way.  Give it a listen, though.  Most excellent.

And I also saw a very stern Athol Fugard play (is there any other kind?) at the Donmar last night called Dimetos.  A lot of it is great, if astringent and anti-crowd-pleasing (there were a number of empty seats after the interval), but it does veer off badly into Actorly territory at the end.  It'll never be a hit, but you'll have lots to talk to your friends about after.

Right, so a few days ago, I received a lovely email from some very polite Germans called Annika, Bodo, Denis and Silke asking politely for autographed photos of yours truly.

Now, the book's been out in Germany for a month, and I've had a terrific response from German readers (I truly have, and I thank those who've written in), so naturally, feeling flattered, I sent off some signed bookplates to the vier Deutschlanders and felt good about things.

Not twenty-four hours later, I get another request, also from Germany, from Guenter, asking the same thing.  I thought, oh, what a curious coincidence.  And then in quick succession, I got the same request from Bjorn and Monika, also in Germany, Brian from Denmark, Piotr from Poland, and just today, Gao Wei from China.

This seemed such a bizarre concentration of requests that I did a bit of web searching...  and disocovered that Annika, Bodo, Denis, Monika, Piotr and Gao Wei are also fans of everyone from American children's writers to a New Orleans jazz singer to a Russian woman whose job remains a mystery, all writing exactly the same email (verbatim except for our names), requesting signatures.

Now, I'm assuming these are probably autograph vendors who see something in one of their rivals' stocks and then send out an email requesting the same, but just these five or six?  And just in the past couple weeks? No one quite seems to know what's going on, just that it's a mysterious, sudden phenomena.

Anyone have any ideas?  Needless to say, I've not sent any since I realised things might be fishy (and if you're you-know-who that I spoke to Weds in Yorkshire, don't worry, that's still fine), but how very strange...

Just a quick note to say I've updated the blog and the writing tips page for my writer in residency at Booktrust.  Enjoy.  Or don't, really, it's a free interweb.

Just got back from running the Hastings Half-Marathon.  It's a very well-run half with a good crowd, but jee crikey they downplay the fact that the first 7.2 miles are pretty much all uphill, including one soul-destroying 2-mile uninterrupted stretch through brown grassland.

But I still managed a personal best time of 1:51:37, which is very pleasing, four minutes off my previous (and only other) half, the disastrous Run-to-the-Beat, where it poured rain the entire day.  Not a problem this morning; hottest day of the year.  I'm quite sunburnt.

Once again, here's an opportunity to help the homeless and sponsor me for the Marathon.

Gus Levy, a friend of mine from my running club (we were on the committee together for a couple years) and a lovelier guy you'd never meet, died very unexpectedly a few weekends ago aged just 32.  Shock is an understatement.

Gus volunteered for Chance UK, which provides mentoring for children with behavioural difficulties, and Gus' partner Mike and Gus' family have set up a justgiving page to donate money in Gus' memory to Chance UK.  It's already up to £1000 in three days, so you can just imagine how badly people are missing him. 

I've asked for a lot of donations these past days for my marathon training, so not asking anything here, but do feel free to check it out.  A good way to remember a friend and a terrific guy.

Good grief, it's been busy lately.  Not only have I been doing the Writer In Residence gig at Booktrust (look for new stuff there sometime next week, by the way, including new tips on first thoughts about structure), I wrote a blog about it for the Guardian, which has prompted some nice discussion.

I've also been working long, pleasurable hours on the rewrite for book three of Chaos Walking (Book two, The Ask and the Answer is out in about six weeks or so, of course), and keeping up with my marathon training.

I've been receiving my first emails from German readers, too, which is great.  The German version is called Die Flucht and special kudos to the translator, Petra Koob-Pawis, because it's getting some great notices.

Finally, big shout out to my dad, who turned 70 this week and took with his usual good grace (not sarcastic that, real actual good grace).

Yes, that's the big announcment:  I am the new and very first online Writer In Residence for Booktrust, the very excellent reading charity.

The website is snazzy, has a nice broody picture of yours truly, and includes a regularly updated blog (so I'll have to juggle two) and tips for writers on the whole process of writing a book.  I'll also be writing an exclusive short story and having a video Q&A with some young writers at a local school.  It runs for six months, and I'm very, very pleased to have been asked.  Check it out, good stuff.

To celebrate, I ran 20 miles this morning in under three hours.  Honestly, people, what do I have to do get you to sponsor me for the marathon?  Just click here.  It's easy. 

Ugh!  I've been so busy lately that there's barely been time to write my own book much less this diary.  All good things, though.  Yesterday, for example, I did an event for an excellent group of students at St Christopher's School, Hove, especially the young man who volunteered and proved a very good sport (you know who you are).

I've also been working on something which I can announce next week (but not before), and I've seen three average to mediocre plays this week (England People Very Nice at the National, Plague Over England on the West End, and Duet For One at the Almeida), none of which bear much further comment.

But most importantly, I've picked up the first press copies of The Ask and the Answer.  It's beautiful.  Wait 'til you see it (on 4 May, when it comes out).  More, much more, anon.

Had a review in the Guardian yesterday of Frances Hardinge's very charming Gullstruck Island for young readers, though since the gist of the review is defending it against potential accusations (levelled at a number of children's books) that it might be too long, I feel compelled to say that when the Guardian edited the review for space, they took out a self-deprecating sentence where I fully acknowledged that my own books "are hardly Penelope Fitzgerald miniatures".

Doesn't mean they're not good, though, eh?  He said hopefully.