Hello. I'm here because I have a book coming out later this year and my publishers are very keen on the idea of me having a "social media presence" and a "platform" and so on, which is something I've never really had before and don't exactly relish the idea of. Obviously my publishers want you to read my book, and I suppose I do too. That way we both make money, even if it's only a little bit of money a couple of years from now.
Maybe I should tell you a bit about myself? Well I'm in my mid-fifties now. I started writing when I was a teenager. That was never the only thing I was doing, but it is fair to say that at certain points in my life at least, it's been the most important. I live in Cheshire, in the Northwest of England. I have never really had anything One might describe as a Career with a straight face, though I have been in almost continuous full time employment since 1985, and I remain unmarried and childless.
Clearly, I am not my job. And neither am I somebody else's +One. I have ploughed a series of lone furrows through life because I haven't really had much choice. I am kind of multi-faceted. People generally find me hard work. Or difficult. Some say I have an attitude problem. But that's because I don't really feel completely comfortable or safe unless I'm on my own, out of the way of prying eyes and questions I can't answer. The social sphere is where I'm most out of my depth. You might call this "social media", but to me it's just typing. Or at least it is until somebody tries to interact with me (and frankly I'm not even sure whether that's possible on here).
One of the reasons I started writing and kept it up for so long was that I felt I had things to say and nobody wanted to listen. Maybe I'm wrong, but it's always seemed to me that writing my words down was the only way to get people to take them seriously. Later on I felt compelled to write. And at the same time I felt it was my duty to use the talent that luck, fate, or perhaps The Almighty had blessed me with.
I don't really write anymore. I haven't given up or retired or anything, but I rarely feel compelled or inspired or guilty for not writing these days. I do feel that I have nothing left to say, but I've felt that way on several previous occasions and then started writing again, so I am not discounting any possibilities. I am in the unusual position of feeling that my writer's journey has come to an end just when most writers feel it is beginning. Hey! I have a book coming out! But it's composed of material that has haunted me for most of my adult life. I have an enormous legacy of unpublished work, the lion's share of which evolved into a magnum opus I finally walked away from in 2014. After filling approximately 3,000 pages I had to admit to myself that I had set the bar way too high and I was never, ever going to get over it. Late in 2018 I finally decided the time was right to slaughter the sacred cow, try, one last time, to "give my masterpiece to the world", in a brand new, cherry-picked, more streamlined format the world might not necessarily choke on.
"Man Struggling With Umbrella" is only the first in a series of five books I have planned out in some detail, all drawn from the same source material, ie the trilogy I called "Killing Time On The Other Side", which dominated my life, off and on, from 1996 to 2014, and ultimately included material written as early as 1988.
This work is very important to me. In some inexplicable sense it actually is me. Much more so than flesh and blood could ever hope to be. I genuinely feel that my heart and soul live within its pages, ergo I have mixed feelings about making it available for the amusement of strangers, quite possibly in their millions. But really.... Who can say "No!" when the publisher says "Yes"? Even I couldn't do that.
My most beloved child is leaving home this year, intent on making its own way in the world. Please be kind to it.
PJ MacNamara
Ides Of March, 2020
Maybe I should tell you a bit about myself? Well I'm in my mid-fifties now. I started writing when I was a teenager. That was never the only thing I was doing, but it is fair to say that at certain points in my life at least, it's been the most important. I live in Cheshire, in the Northwest of England. I have never really had anything One might describe as a Career with a straight face, though I have been in almost continuous full time employment since 1985, and I remain unmarried and childless.
Clearly, I am not my job. And neither am I somebody else's +One. I have ploughed a series of lone furrows through life because I haven't really had much choice. I am kind of multi-faceted. People generally find me hard work. Or difficult. Some say I have an attitude problem. But that's because I don't really feel completely comfortable or safe unless I'm on my own, out of the way of prying eyes and questions I can't answer. The social sphere is where I'm most out of my depth. You might call this "social media", but to me it's just typing. Or at least it is until somebody tries to interact with me (and frankly I'm not even sure whether that's possible on here).
One of the reasons I started writing and kept it up for so long was that I felt I had things to say and nobody wanted to listen. Maybe I'm wrong, but it's always seemed to me that writing my words down was the only way to get people to take them seriously. Later on I felt compelled to write. And at the same time I felt it was my duty to use the talent that luck, fate, or perhaps The Almighty had blessed me with.
I don't really write anymore. I haven't given up or retired or anything, but I rarely feel compelled or inspired or guilty for not writing these days. I do feel that I have nothing left to say, but I've felt that way on several previous occasions and then started writing again, so I am not discounting any possibilities. I am in the unusual position of feeling that my writer's journey has come to an end just when most writers feel it is beginning. Hey! I have a book coming out! But it's composed of material that has haunted me for most of my adult life. I have an enormous legacy of unpublished work, the lion's share of which evolved into a magnum opus I finally walked away from in 2014. After filling approximately 3,000 pages I had to admit to myself that I had set the bar way too high and I was never, ever going to get over it. Late in 2018 I finally decided the time was right to slaughter the sacred cow, try, one last time, to "give my masterpiece to the world", in a brand new, cherry-picked, more streamlined format the world might not necessarily choke on.
"Man Struggling With Umbrella" is only the first in a series of five books I have planned out in some detail, all drawn from the same source material, ie the trilogy I called "Killing Time On The Other Side", which dominated my life, off and on, from 1996 to 2014, and ultimately included material written as early as 1988.
This work is very important to me. In some inexplicable sense it actually is me. Much more so than flesh and blood could ever hope to be. I genuinely feel that my heart and soul live within its pages, ergo I have mixed feelings about making it available for the amusement of strangers, quite possibly in their millions. But really.... Who can say "No!" when the publisher says "Yes"? Even I couldn't do that.
My most beloved child is leaving home this year, intent on making its own way in the world. Please be kind to it.
PJ MacNamara
Ides Of March, 2020
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