“If I’d learnt one thing from travelling, it was that the way to get things done was to go ahead and do them. Don’t talk about going to Borneo. Book a ticket, get a visa, pack a bag, and it just happens.”― Alex Garland, The Beach (more…)
Honest Publishing Blog
Articles, news and latest writings from alternative, original voices.
To be presented with the skeleton
when you were expecting
a living breathing beast
can be disconcerting
but it makes an impression
brings with it a stripped-down stylishness
of thrill and immediacy
with repetition and your own aging
after you reach a certain point
the bones of a beast
the bones of a beast
they do not provide a full feast for all the senses (more…)
I have a cracking new idea for you. No, you don’t need to write Harry Potter: The Wasted Years.
First off, here’s a name: Robert Galbraith. This is now your name. And here’s a small independent publisher that’s totally unrelated to Little, Brown for you: Sphere. They will publish your detective novel. I hear Sherlock is back in fashion.
I know what you’re thinking, but let me reassure you that the millions of Harry fans, and those random other millions who happen to have heard your name or seen your picture, will love the intrigue. Why did Jo hide as Rob? What could the book be about? Etc etc they’ll buy it, Jo, they’ll talk about you, and the shitty little authors out there will bite their collective purple tongue.
How are the rabbits?
The building is old. It smells a little musty from every aspect, every corner. Dust settles on vertical windows and mould creeps into not-quite-right-angled corners. It creaks and sighs. The building is split into flats. Doors face forwards and sideways and backwards. Letters are put in holes. Fragile connective strands hang, taut in the air. Two, three, four, five, six flats. One is underneath. One is forgotten. Inhabited by silence, except the odd mouse you hear if you go to check the gas meter in the basement and put your ear to the letterbox. Maybe two mice. No point in one mouse squeaking alone; everyone needs someone to communicate with.
I may sound like a grumpy paranoid loon, but there’s no decency left in the world. None. To illustrate my point, I will list one hundred and seventeen thousand examples.
A survey has revealed 9 out of 10 British tennis fans don’t have a fucking clue who the world’s best tennis players are.