Robert Partridge's Blog

So, here it is - the last post. I can never hear the phrase without thinking of the bugle being played at the WW1 Remembrance service at my school. As schoolboys we used to giggle at the old boys' names as they were read out but I remember, at about the age of 14, suddenly not finding it funny any more, and being struck by the poetry of "At the going down of the sun". We grow up, and then we grow old.

The detective novel is gathering a few reviews now, and averaging 4.5. Sales are not high at all but do prove the theory that writing in a more recognisable genre gets more downloads. My protagonist is now halfway through his next case - sorry if I've said this before - and seems to have plenty of life left in him but I don't know if I could write a long series of anything. Some readers seem to want the same thing over and over again but that must be mind-numbing to write.

Some welcome brightness in the sky this afternoon and hopefully the strong winds will begin to abate. Dennis Potter said that all he wanted to see was another spring, and today I feel the same. Hopefully I'll be luckier than he was.

I am leaving these posts on here for a while, and will check them occasionally, just in case anyone feels moved enough to comment!

Yes, this is the 19th post. As an experiment in communication, blogging has failed dismally if one views communication as a two-way process. Although the 'Spectacles' post has now reached 50 reads, inexplicably, still no-one has commented or replied to any of the posts, ever. For all I know this is normal. I have never blogged anywhere else and probably never will again. This is not in anger or peevishness; it's simply a matter of seeing it as a failed experiment. And it takes up a little time that could be used in writing fiction (everything in the blogs being true...)

So I think I will end these blogs at number 20 - one more to go. I'm looking forward to it in one way - I can title it 'The Last Post'.

December was a unique month in sales of the books, in that for the first time I had all four titles mentioned in a sales report. This looked impressive but wasn't really, when I add up the royalties! Still, that isn't why I write. The most rewarding thing is when someone takes the trouble to write a thoughtful review - the two-way communication thing again. The number of stars is irrelevant - I want to know what they think of it, and why.

Wild and windy weather outside again, that has been the nature of this winter so far. By no means my favourite conditions, high winds have always bothered me, but I don't mind if we have a winter without frost and snow. The old hands get cold now and I sometimes wear fingerless gloves as I type. There's an idea for another pen-name if I need one... somebody Cratchit, maybe.

A merry Christmas, God bless us one and all.

Looking at the detailed weather forecast this morning, I saw that deep blue air mass hovering to the north of us, and listened as we were told that it is sinking south, that by the end of the week winter proper will have arrived. Every season is special and I cannot imagine living somewhere without them, even though my wife has dreams of constant summer. Still, I do feel the cold more these days...

But it is impossible to imagine English Literature without its seasons. How crucial these are for settings and themes and characters; how could we have the pathetic fallacy without spring at Talbot hays in Hardy's 'Tess'. for example?

The mystery of how these posts are read continues. The last but one, 'Spectacles', has reached 37 views, the highest ever, but the subsequent one, 'Spectacles 2' has only ever been read once, by me! What is the explanation? Someone must know.

Jenna has arrived - a new rescue dog. She has immediately caused a restructuring of the reading and writing day. I'm sure that her many neuroses can be sorted out over the next few years! A more immediate problem is where to put my feet, as she has decided to sleep in the desk-well whenever I am writing. The trials of life...

They have never turned up - I expected them to appear as soon as I ordered a new pair, which have also not arrived yet. I remain in limbo, able to read, minus all glasses, but unable to write at the screen for more than a few minutes - hence this post.

I finished Graham Greene's 'The Human Factor' though. One of my favourite writers, his protagonists display a kind of defeated tragic heroism better than anyone else that I have read. To me, the prose itself is invisible and yet beautiful, and something to which one should aspire.

One of the forums has debated the merits of advertising and marketing one's books. As a reader, I pay absolutely no attention to advertisements; in fact, if I took any notice at all, they might actually deter me from buying. But, as we always say, it must work or people would not spend good money on it. Goodreads itself carries some ads, and it also has advice pages about how to promote what one has written. But there is something rather un-English about self-promotion, isn't there? I'm quite English, so that's just one more reason for not doing it.

First frost this morning (reminding me of a fine poem of the same name by Andrei Voznesensky that I used to teach) telling us that winter is on its way even though it is still officially autumn. It's curious how as a species we have named and mentally categorised all natural phenomena. DNA studies are now de-stabilising the concept of species itself but the fact is that all of these ideas are simply temporary constructs that we have imposed upon the natural world. When we are gone, they will cease to exist.

A strange thing happened a few days ago. I lost my reading glasses, somewhere in the house. Extensive searches have failed to reveal them - I even went through the rubbish and recycling bins but they have disappeared. I suppose these things happen to everyone (if they don't I'd probably rather not know) but one effect has been that I haven't written anything but this post for some days. My varifocals are out of date and I depend on those reading glasses for looking at the screen.

A new pair have been ordered and will be here next week - but I've had an unexpected break from writing. I have found other things to do with the time, and I've realised just how much time writing takes up. It isn't just the actual typing time - it's the hours you spend thinking about what you wrote yesterday and what you might write tomorrow. Eventually, inevitably, one ends by asking the question - is it worth it?

The answer, as usual, is - it depends. But it depends on what? I'm going to use the next few writing-free days to think about that.

Meanwhile, outside there is beautiful autumn sunshine at half past eight in the morning. The wild swans have arrived on the flooded washes and at night I can hear them as I lie in bed. They have come from Iceland and Siberia to this mild, moist corner of England. They live for many years and travel unimaginable distances in their lifetimes, have close family ties and are loyal to both nesting and wintering sites. And, as far as we know, they never ask themselves whether it's all worth it.

My fifteenth post in this blog. I think I am supposed to link this up to all sorts of other things as part of a promotions strategy but have no idea how to do that. However, no more of writing today.

Over the past year I have read quite a lot of books but only a few have made it onto my reading record here. Why is that? Time? I don't really have that as an excuse. Effort? Possibly, because I find that I cannot write quick reviews. I always have to think about why I enjoyed or did not enjoy a novel (most are novels). I have to make some comment on the writer's techniques and ideas...does this all go back to my time as a teacher? Probably. Even so, surely a writer deserves more than 'I loved this book'. If anyone says that about any of mine, I immediately want to ask 'Really? Why?' And it's just the same if they say they didn't like it.

I don't think this is vanity - I actually do want to know what it is about fiction that fascinates us or disappoints us. And so I have a pile of books, read but not yet reviewed because I still haven't been able to explain to myself why I feel about them as I do. I suppose some people would find that rather sad, in the modern sense of the word if not the original one. But I'd rather say nothing than be superficial about a writer's work, especially now that I know what goes into every page!

As I reported higher than usual numbers for what is the now last post but one, all the readers have conspired not to read the last post at all! Not really, I'm sure - there must be a logical explanation...

Amazon's new discount price scheme has generally been welcomed by authors, who felt that the huge volume of 'free' material every day was distorting the market and - let's face it - robbing them of sales. It remains to be seen whether 'free' will eventually disappear but writers who hope to make money out of the e-books are increasingly likely to be disappointed, I fear. Those days didn't last long and are probably gone forever.

Periodically one has to wonder why one writes, then. My current explanation is that I enjoy it, despite the frustrations, and when even one person says "I liked that" it feels like a good thing to have done.

The last but one post reached 18 views which is the record so far. I'm wondering whether to start a group for little-read bloggers on this site just so we can compare...

In contrast, the last post has stayed stubbornly at 5. I've already speculated that the 5 figure results from some automated reading of posts, as it always appears soon after posting. So this might mean that no real person has read it at all. My only reader might be a software program. Could be a story in that.

Been following the fuss on Kindle authors because Amazon and some other platforms have had a clear out of 'erotic' stories, aka pornography. While not in favour of much censorship, I cannot get wound up about this - the spectacle of LOTS of people writing this material to get money was not very inspiring. I've just said as much in a forum and expect to get lambasted for it.

The detective novel has sold 6 copies without promotion, including 3 in America - unusual for me. If I now reveal my true identity, will there be a Rowling effect? What do you think, my software companion?

Or should that be just 'forum'? Not sure. But it is a good place to discuss all things book-related. The thread that I began about whether the dark, dysfunctional and damaged detective has become a cliche has run on for some time, and produced a number on interesting points. I don't suppose that any of the participants also read this blog but thanks again to them if they happen to do so.

Not surprisingly, my overly analytical, not to say pedantic, approach to language eventually worried one contributor - I have duly apologised and explained myself. But it's good that there are a few places where we can have serious discussions about literature, where we can disagree without falling out and insulting each other, as happens on so many other forums. Or should that be fora?

Howling winds, spatterings of rain and wicked thoughts about turning on the central heating this morning...

There is an interesting discussion on one of the forums about the importance of covers on e-novels. Many authors clearly spend more money on getting their covers done professionally than they do on having the work edited or proof-read. Do readers really take that much notice? Are we really now judging books by their covers? At this point, then, I will apologise for mine - no-one else is to blame for them.

The question of free books is also exercising the minds of more and more Kindle authors. Once a useful marketing ploy, is it now actually destroying the platform? As ever, a comment would be most welcome. How many Goodreads folk get most or even all of their e-books for free?