Operation Postcard

So, I’ve been hard at work on Book Deux and on the last few things before the birth of The Dating Detox. The lovely people at Harper Collins and Midas PR are doing lots of stellar publicity things, and – probably because I’m a copywriter, so thinking up this stuff is my gluten-free bread and low-fat spread – I’m trying to think of extra ways to tell the above-average gal on the street about the book...

I'm starting a postcard campaign that will 1) create intrigue / interest (“Great Scott! A daring statement about dating that approaches it like ‘twere a health issue!”) 2) make people laugh (“Goodness, if THIS makes me laugh then by jiminy, that BOOK will make me laugh too”) 3) tell them a little about the book on the back blurb (“Dating is a dangerous sport, you say?” 4) invite people to order the book (“Amazon, I must go there forthwith”) 5) have an element of showoff/keepability (“I must show Jennifer/Jessica/June and then pin it to my armoire”).

I have a soft spot for natty postcards. I’ve always kept ones that make me laugh, and pinned them on to my computer monitor at work. Though perhaps I’m just that sort of dork.

The problem, of course, is how to get the postcards in the hands of the right people, without resorting to storming the TopShop online order delivery centre and thrusting one into each and every delivery box, which would be the ideal solution… But let me worry about that. (Or, email me with ideas. That works too. A few brilliant and beautiful friends have come up with seriously ace suggestions, so we’re on the right track.)

The postcards are attached. Let me know what you think. Or email me if you’d like me to send you the whole set, (send them on to your friends! I know, unlikely, unless, again, you are a dork like moi).

The front on is the back, which is the same across all the postcards, the rest are the different covers.

Oh, and if you think it’s a seriously stupid idea, and it’s one of those things that I find hilarious and no one else does – more than possible – than let me know. Very, very gently.

The Dating Detox cover

I’ve been meaning to post the cover for ages! Voila. The Dating Detox, in all its nutritious detoxy glory.

Book snobs

Was in NY last week, and spent some time skipping in and out of bookstores researching the chicklit - apologies, 'contemporary women's fiction' market.

Best reaction: a mouth-breathing Barnes&Noble assistant who blinked slowly and said 'I wouldn't know. I don't read that kind of book'.

I laughed out loud.

Then, later on, I thought, poor her.

Because here's the thing.

I eat burgers. I also eat kobe beef, rare. I like French fries and potatoes Dauphinoise. I love Dairy Milk chocolate and handmade truffles from l’Artisan du Chocolat. I like the Twilight series and Tolstoy. It is perfectly possible to enjoy so-called low-brow and high-brow things, you know. The point is you should make your own mind up by trying it.

So when someone asks ‘what kind of book is it?’ and I say ‘romantic comedy, you know. Shallow as a pedicure bath,’ and they frown and say sorrowfully ‘oh, I did a degree in English literature you see. I’m a terrible literature snob, I can’t possibly enjoy chick lit’, I just grin and shake my head.

I did a degree in English literature too. And I read everything I can get my hands on. (I started listing my favourite authors here, but started to feel like a prat, I also wrote a blog post on Hardy last week and didn't post it for the same reason.) So big whoopdy-doo for me. Who cares? I don’t define myself by what I read. Every great book fits in a different way – some offer comfort, some excitement, some philisophy, some make me feel introspective, some just make me laugh, some make me cry, and some, like Tolstoy, are like stepping into the literary equivalent of a Porsche.

Now, The Dating Detox isn’t a Porsche. It’s a shiny pushbike with streamers on the handlebars. If you like it, wonderful. If you don’t, tant pis. Which, as Nick Hornby says, is French for tough shit.

I have no problem being called a chicklit author, by the way. I'm happy to be called an author at all. I could start a feminist diatribe now about how we don't say dicklit and there are hundreds of thousands of books about love and life and families and sex and it's only the ones with ovaries that we softly denigrate with the chicklit tag. But why bother?

The point is: people that define themselves by the so-called high-falutin’ things they enjoy probably have a pretty tenuous and frankly, shallow sense of self. And they're also missing out on an awful lot of fun.

The First Post

Blog fright. That’s what I’ve got.

This is the first post, and it all seems a bit silly to be posting to no one, since the book isn’t published and no one’s going to look for me, are they? Exactly.

Except – ooh, new thought – people I know. What are you doing looking for me on the internet, you big dorks? Sheesh. Go read a real blog, for goodness’ sake. Or email me. Let's go out for a drink.

I suppose the point of a blog is to say what I’m doing/thinking/eating/etc. I'm working at the moment and trying to work out the second book. Title TBC. (Suggestions welcome.) The Dating Detox comes out in the UK and English-speaking world (except the USA which is special and gets its very own version at some point in the future) in January.

I don’t know what else the sweet betsy to write here. How bizarre to be unable to think of what to say. All I fricking do is write.

Okay. I’m done. Stick a fork in me. If anyone ever comes to this site, or if I get some kind of blog-groove or even a groove-ette, I’ll write some more.