Thursday, 19 August 2010

The Story So Far...

I've had an interesting (and when I say interesting I mean of course oddly disappointing) couple of weeks; it's contained family drama of almost epic soap-opera proportions - the details of which I'm not going to share with you (this isn't after all Jerry Springer’s infamous show or Jeremy Kyle’s for that matter). It doesn't look like I've been successful in securing that bookshop job or any of the others that I’ve applied for recently. To top this all off our local bookshop chain have just hosted a signing by Katie Price AKA Jordan. This left me feeling both disappointed at the poor taste and general lack of class shown by the hoi polloi of Plymouth, and disappointed in myself - the reasons for the latter I will examine in a moment but first a small rant.

Fucking Jordan!
What the Fuck!
I wouldn’t, not even with yours… The talent-less plastic faced harpy!
Five fucking books (and yes I know they’re ghostwritten)!
What’s that you say? I’m only jealous… Well who wouldn’t be; she’s worth approximately forty fucking million. Not bad at all, and all she’s had to do is drag her miserable shabby (not-at-all-bling) sordid family/personal/tragic little life through the tabloids and/or any other media platform her very clever publicity machine can conjure up.

…and breathe!

Only a few months ago, Ms Price’s latest book (Paradise, Part three of the Angel saga) was reduced to bargain bin prices at launch by many of the major retailers (fearing the worst, I guessed) and now it’s a Sunday Times best seller. Rebecca Farnworth (the ghostwriter) unlike Ms Price is (and I only have her website '' to help build this flimsy opinion) a beautiful intelligent woman. She must be very happy to have penned such a best seller. No doubt she hopes her own novels will have sales equal to ‘Paradise’. My guess is she won’t have those sales because her own books will be bought by people who can actually read (and maybe just maybe will have hit puberty) and not by the mindless masses.

This poses another question: is it better to have a worthwhile intelligent readership, or just hundreds of thousands of mindless sheep willing to pay you money. I know that right now I’m still unpublished, not to mention skint, so I would love the chance to ghostwrite for a Z-list celebrity straight out of the Big Brother house while I struggle on with my own work. Why? For one simple reason, it would allow me to get paid for something I love to do – write.

Does all this make me a hypocrite for slating celebrity ghostwritten best sellers in one breath and then saying I would do the work – you bet your sweet ass it does.

But the sad truth is, I’m most likely not talented enough or capable enough to get the gig. Well not yet, I still have much to learn and more to write… Unless you happen to be a Z-list celebrity and fancy giving the Aubster (me) a break, I’m cheap – well ish…

Until next time…

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