I self published 'This heat, it's hell closing in on me' through Grosvenor and I also paid for a 2 week promotion package through them (now just about coming to an end) which involves press releases, library promotion, reading and writing groups, and, circulation around the big retailers. I am hoping this will get my book out there and garner reviews (good or bad) and sales.
It's been available on Amazon (paperback and Kindle) for close to 3 months now and although there has been some sales of it...it hasn't been the best start. Not that the whole purpose of writing a book is to get money from it. My first book 'Love or Suicide and the Life In-Between' was absolutely written for myself and in fact, any royalties I were to receive, I donate to The Samaritans. And yes, the second book 'This heat...' was again written for myself...but, I feel like it should also be an investment in which it sells and I get money for said sales. At the end of the day, we all have to pay the bills!
So, for those of you who don't know, 'This heat...' is a collection of poetry, (very) short stories and observations based around my own life from mid 2013 to the end of 2014. It is split into 2 parts: part 1 deals with identity and how are parents shape our lives whilst also looking at the subject matter of Life and Death. Part 2 is a yearly diary (2014) written using poetry, feelings and statements with both parts dealing with subjects such as depression, self-harm and counselling as well as family, work life and how we feel about our homes. It is raw, honest, uncompromising, harsh, beautiful, deep, whimsical, brutal and very personal book. It does overstep the line on many occasions with regards to its subject matter and delivery, but, it also gives a very real look into a persons mind.
So, below I have attached some pieces as little snippets for you to enjoy (or not).
When beauty dies
A sultry sway,
a sexy tilt.
Daring whispers
slay the night,
bring dark eyes
lord of light.
A slender neck,
curves of sex.
That innocent way.
But a broken heart.
But an abused body.
But a shattered mind.
But a battered soul.
When beauty dies,
death’s cold touch
now a warm shoulder,
helps on as such.
Is the gentleman,
is the lost love.
Death the sonnet,
death the brave,
death the guide,
death the save.
Sing
And on your last
breath,
and on your final
grasp,
and on your remaining
beat,
and on your fixed
stare...
...a distant song draws
you away,
a distant sight catches
your eye,
a distant reach pulls
you closer,
a distant voice calls
you on...
...you glance back once
more,
you miss those you
leave behind,
you feel their despair,
you know you will see
them again...
...the light surrounds
your soul,
the infinity completes
your journey,
the day has only just
begun,
the song only just to
be sang.
7th November
saucerful
Menacing vibrations
eerie and dark,
creeping plinks and plonks,
their air of strain encompassing.
A drone inside my head
switches moods; swinging madness,
danger, danger…flashing pain
and a whimpering paleness lost and sharp.
Is it this way or is it that way?
the noise clasps my head with vice claws
screeching down my throat,
there is nowhere to run
from the beating,
from the drumming failure
that emanates from my whole being.
Wavering limbs crumble,
the piano lid comes down
crashing and crushing,
slice after slice after slice…
…and the carpet stains red.
But for this, a sense of peace rumbles in,
a lone chord plays out like a funeral march
as complete loneliness settles over quiet death,
(no more secrets left)
my path now set by a procession…on and on,
the world drifts away…going, going, gone,
angels morn the victory of my weakness and weep,
reaching as my soul is dragged downwards,
the glee of suicide has claimed another,
the sadness of despair has won…
