Look…no hands

Many years ago I witnessed two Yorkshire men come to blows in a row over whether or not it was possible to over-egg a pudding. ‘Surely a hundred eggs in one pudding is too many eggs?’ one finally contested before being unceremoniously belted in the face by the other. Recently a literary agent told me that in the last 30 years the number of different books published annually has increased by 40,000…at the risk of re-ignition…too many eggs. It’s partly down to publishing being a lot easier now, but equally attributable to people just wanting to tell their story. Not to stand in judgment, I’m probably more guilty than anyone. At any one time I’ll have so many tales kicking around my head, I can’t get them down on paper fast enough. However, it’s a bit like how every waiter in New York is an out of work actor – touting your wears is hard work… …Which I don’t mind at all. This week brought a few more sales and a number of avenues with reading groups. What I do mind is the glut at ghost-written celebrity novels currently bobbing around on a ocean of mediocrity. There I become unashamedly judgemental. For example – a few weeks back I went to Waterstones and found it packed to bursting point. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked the man nearest to me. ‘Jordan and Peter Andre are doing a book signing,’ he replied. How I wept…


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