You May Ask Yourself

why no Ice Child marketing

2nd December marked publication day for Ice Child, and yet my marketing and pushing was non-existent. That hadn’t been the plan, not at all. I’d been all set to plaster myself and the book all over my socials, to write a substack post explaining exactly why I’d decided to lanuch the book now (this is the 150th year since Shackleton was born is the short explanation), and to go into depth about my Antarctic obsession and my reason for making Shackleton’s 1909 expedition the core of the piece.

And then something blew up at home with one of the kids which I believed at the time was something existential. Two weeks later it as proven not to be, but we can only ever live in the now and react to the clear and present dangers we believe exist. And this brief exposition is not meant to expose anyone to guilt or reproach; it’s a simple statement of fact. Added to which came the reality that my day job became exponentially more busy because of the time of year (there are some folk who believe that this time of year short circuits established processes in the charity sector, although it really doesn’t, because processes are there for the simple reason that everyone has to be treated equitably - anfd that’s the most I’ll ever say about my day job in the public domain).

So here I am, almost 2 weeks later, looking at the wreckage that is my desk (my whole office, in fact), trying to claw time back from the rushing days and nights, looking for 5-minute segments here and there, 1-hour parts of a day somewhere, which might be usefully employed to catch up, to scribble, to put together my annual list of the best songs of the year, to manage situations which I wish had never arisen, all those things we have to do to keep the everyday somehow in balance with our dreams.

I do realise that this thing, this substack, this blog, this newsletter (call it what you will) might no longer be about me doubting the strength and quality of my writing and plotting, and more about the frustrations of the author struggling with how the publishing world (and maybe the world at large) stands so broadly against new writers, undiscovered and underrated talents (and I don’t just primarily mean myself), and cannot and will not adapt to a change from celebrity bios and ghost-written novels.

Perhaps this is an age where we, the small writers, the shameless pluggers, the other-day-job creatives, should perhaps see sense and give it all up, the dream of being critically and economically appreciated. Just put away that part of ourselves which we actrually value the most, and which appears to be least valued by the world around us. But that would be akin to saying the right-wing won and there’s no point standing up against it anymore. So, no, giving up is not going to happen.

It’s still better to try to have your voice heard than not to use it at all.