Little paper pieces
A new technique inspired by something in the Guardian at the weekend. Write all your tasks and worries on tiny pieces of torn paper, select today's ones to be dealt with, and bin the rest. Not sure if it made any difference, but I did all the ones I hadn't thrown away.
This meant more Skelton manuscripts off to agents -- I am persisting in this but am beginning to think that traditional routes to market are futile. Many agents are not considering new clients at this time, and just to be one of many envelopes slewing through their portals is not the right way to go about things, even if what they contain is wonderfully written and presented.
Also have been reading articles by at least one agent who talks about how traditional publishing is dead in the water. I have some good ideas now about alternative approaches to readers. And on this note I am going into a local school next month to do a show and tell about Skelton, which will prove educational for me, and possibly for the nippers too. It stands to reason in difficult times that publishers only want a proven concept, to feel sure that what they publish has an audience. When Mex published her book on the underground, its content was based on her amazingly popular London Underground website, with over 100,000 visits a year, which proved the concept. I also need to prove my concept first.
Heard from my old agency who have decided that as they are imposing a freeze on freelancers, they don't want me to write some specialist healthcare newsletters. I pity the poor copywriter who has to try to get up to speed on degenerative arthritis, and plough through the research. But looking on the bright side, at least I won't have to think deeply about malaises for weeks on end. Am working tomorrow on a French construction project however, so that door-troubling wolf is being kept at arms length.
Another long walk by the rough grey sea. I plodded along dwelling on worst case scenarios, but then gradually optimism returned. Exercise, even just a walk for an hour and a half, can make a big difference in how you look at the world.
In the evening Lorraine came around and we repaired to the Batty for a chat, a glass of beer and a packet of Twiglets. Then an early night.
A new technique inspired by something in the Guardian at the weekend. Write all your tasks and worries on tiny pieces of torn paper, select today's ones to be dealt with, and bin the rest. Not sure if it made any difference, but I did all the ones I hadn't thrown away.
This meant more Skelton manuscripts off to agents -- I am persisting in this but am beginning to think that traditional routes to market are futile. Many agents are not considering new clients at this time, and just to be one of many envelopes slewing through their portals is not the right way to go about things, even if what they contain is wonderfully written and presented.
Also have been reading articles by at least one agent who talks about how traditional publishing is dead in the water. I have some good ideas now about alternative approaches to readers. And on this note I am going into a local school next month to do a show and tell about Skelton, which will prove educational for me, and possibly for the nippers too. It stands to reason in difficult times that publishers only want a proven concept, to feel sure that what they publish has an audience. When Mex published her book on the underground, its content was based on her amazingly popular London Underground website, with over 100,000 visits a year, which proved the concept. I also need to prove my concept first.
Heard from my old agency who have decided that as they are imposing a freeze on freelancers, they don't want me to write some specialist healthcare newsletters. I pity the poor copywriter who has to try to get up to speed on degenerative arthritis, and plough through the research. But looking on the bright side, at least I won't have to think deeply about malaises for weeks on end. Am working tomorrow on a French construction project however, so that door-troubling wolf is being kept at arms length.
Another long walk by the rough grey sea. I plodded along dwelling on worst case scenarios, but then gradually optimism returned. Exercise, even just a walk for an hour and a half, can make a big difference in how you look at the world.
In the evening Lorraine came around and we repaired to the Batty for a chat, a glass of beer and a packet of Twiglets. Then an early night.
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