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Paperbooks is moving!

The Paperbooks website is moving to sister company Legend Press's website www.legendpress.co.uk. We enjoy blogging on both sites but want to make a central blog that everyone who is interested in what we are up to can visit - a mega website some may say!

We are currently in the process of updating the Legend Press website - making it easier to navigate, updating the online shop across the lists and making it generally nicer to use! If you have any suggestions please email info@legend-paperbooks.co.uk.

Lucy

Author Blog - Mo Foster

ON SMILING

I spent a lot of my life snarling in public. There are, or were, photographs of me at weddings, an angry little girl, tummy and bottom lip protruding into the world. Knees clamped together - all charkas closed down if you believe in such things - always with a bow in my hair and wearing some very feminine confection made by mum. To be fair there were also pictures of me in happy disarray on a donkey at the seaside or up a tree. At school I glared out of formal photos, yet I was a clown in the classroom, a smart arse sniggerer and disruptor of lessons that bored me - a swat at the ones I liked.

Really the seventies were a very good time for me, I became a feminist and it seemed quite acceptable to hit the world with a nice grim face, in public anyway, because we were aware of vast unfairnesses. In fact it was the time of the anti nazi league and blatant racism so a grim visage was appropriate. It was also a time of great liberation for me and I probably laughed more then than I ever had before. I enjoyed the company of women enormously.

I grew up wanting to be a boy - mainly for the clothes and for the sheer convenience of peeing upright - which I tried with messy results. My brother got a better deal in both liberty and pocket money, I felt cheated. But somehow it was a given that going out with a male was preferable to going out with your mates, so if your friend got a date with a boy and dumped you that was ok.

Things have changed in this department and I have taken up smiling big time. Partly I think because I live in an area where few women speak English and smiling is my main communication, I limit my smiling, mainly to the female population and I hardly snarl at all. I enjoy being smiled at and partly because I have a dog. In an area where the only other dogs are large grim creatures so people cower at my small terrier- and she reciprocates by running in terror from squealing kids - so a reassuring smile is part of my equipment.

Anyway I take my smile everywhere with me. In Moscow it was received with stony lack of comprehension, in Berlin I got unwarranted smiles from most people and in London a mixed reaction. It pleases me to smile and though it could be seen as sign of weakness, I don't care. I shall smile with vigour but if you don't reciprocate I shan't mind, and don't be fooled, the snarl is still intact and fully operational!

Ps. This week I have much to smile about because my 1st novel 'a blues for shindig' has been chosen as part of the new Exclusively Independent list. I am delighted and look forward to blagging and putting myself about to promote my book - along with the other writers I hope!

Author post: Mo Foster

My friend is in moscow where women's day is a public holiday and women are given flowers. I was feeling a mild chagrin about our neglect in Britain and the fact that I was supposed to be reading in Berlin and I had cancelled due to the thought of jetsave one armed terrifying me. But then BBC4 came up trumps with programmes about the women's movement in the seventies (omitting much). Then a play about evil bankers (wankers?) with the divine Sarah Parish who has the most gorgeous gob in the business - then greenham common was 'done' , (with the ubiquitous Fay Weldon putting in her 2 pennorth irritating as ever bless 'er)then grunwick. Oh frabjous day! None of these programmes was perfect from my point of view, nothing ever is but until I make my own progs I will shut up!

I went to grunwick once and amid the usual fear of being trampled underfoot, it was inspiring to a serial protestor like me. I went to greenham many times on large protests to embrace the base and with a mate who camped there every weekend - I would slope off home, I was never a camping kind of gal. The only time I stayed for longer than a night - 3 days at green gate - nobody spoke to us (2 women a child and my dog in a 2 man tent) except to say that my dog was unacceptable as he was intact in the balls department. I offered to cut em off but mercifully nobody took me up on it. The soldiers chucked stones at our tent all night to wake the dog who woke us. On the third night people spoke to us and we succumbed to the blandishments of the boozer. Then a trudge back in thick mud and not a taxi in sight. I always found greenham horribly oppressive - the vibes y'know. But I admire the women who stuck it out and I believe that it was a successful campaign BECAUSE it was women only. It did change many women's lives too.

I digress yet again back to TV: then, late, a programme about the first African woman president in Liberia, it looked like she had her work cut out but, having stayed riveted all evening ( I usually kip as soon as I sit ) me and the dog went to bed, I expect it will be repeated, I hope so.

I reckon that's my licence fee well covered.

http://loudwomen.blogspot.com/

Mo

Author Post: Mo Foster

HOME FOR THE ONE ARMED NON HERO

http://loudwomen.blogspot.com/2010/03/home-for-one-armed-non-hero.html

So here I am in splendid isolation the better to write, with my dog for company - though she is a late riser and doesn't show until after 9. I am still one armed though doing my physio and have slung the sling except when I go out,. 4 the sympathy factor - has not yet worked but am hopeful. I discovered a djebella that I got in tangier, adjusting trousers is another thing hard to do with one hand a, along with cutting up food, putting on a beret, picking up dog turds, hanging out washing, peeling spuds and typing. I was very disappointed nobody noticed, was reduced to drawing attention to my exotic wear - somebody mentioned cultural imperialism so I shut up,but I will not be put off.. I have also recycled a few skirts that fit - unfortunately I seem to have become completely tubular so they tend to descend -very slowly but with the inexorable power of gravity, inducing the most godawful feelings of insecurity...so either I buy braces or dump them. I do intend to return to finish my previous WHOOPEE blog and tell about the marvellous meeting I began to speak of. been tuned in to radio 4, it murmurs in the background a lot of stuff about venables the 10 year old killer, emotive stuff too. I think it would be very surprising if, after years of incarceration he had emerged intact - but what do I know....however I was in prison in the 60s and though I met some lovely women I can't say it equipped me for a glittering or dull career, on the contrary I was scared of traffic and institutionalised after 4 months so imagine how traumatised a child would be after many years!!!

Hurray my first exclamation marks for weeks!!!

Mo

Author Blog - Mo Foster

ONE ARM BANDIT

I have not deserted my post but, after having a plastic shoulder inserted, I have been ejected back into the world the very next day armed with enough pain killers to finish off a shire horse. I am depleted somewhat in energy. I expect grumpiness to see me through the minor annoyance of being totally dependent on my friend for nearly everything from cutting up my food to adjusting my knickers. It is embarrassing, after yelling vigorously at somebody, to have to ask them to please put your socks on. And I can't do exclamation marks; even with my elbow because it is all strapped into a complex sling which I have to wear for six weeks. So woe is me and my friend has taken to playing extended games of solitaire and gnashing her teeth.... what can this mean. Also manic laughter and deep exasperated sighs have been heard by me along with curses. Is this paranoia I ask myself? I shall watch those painkillers.

Mo

Mo Foster is the author of the fantastic A Blues for Shindig

Author blog - Mo Foster

ON BLOGGING

I have been threatening myself with blogging for years now - in fact my original publisher set me up with a blog some five years ago. I evaded it. I must explain my relationship with my computer: to me it is a beloved enemy, one that I have little control over but one that I have this love/hate relationship with. I use it as a sort of word processing tool with email facility. I love my emails and Google, I am happy to download maps, even though I have a problem reading maps.

My computer is the one I scuttle to every morning with a fervour that could be seen as unhealthy. I like to get my words down and in fact I can hardly write in longhand any more. However, my brain does not absorb computer knowledge, it closes down like an obstinate clam at the sight or sound of computer speak. The simplest instruction is lost on me and I feel my mind going off whistling into the distance like an errant teenager - 'I don't care to hear you!' it whistles. 'This is not for me' it sings. It puts it hands over its ears and scuttles off.

This week I decided that I must do a sneaky move on my mind, come upon it from a new angle, so I got a very efficient, competent woman in to 'teach' me how to blog. We were startled, my brain and me but some knowledge seeped through. As soon as she left I panicked, went onto overdrive or underdrive and was sure I could never do this. All the stuff she had told me just flew away and I was back at school in a maths class, baffled with brain in flummox mode and a tantrum building up. Then I would draw cartoons of women, hand them round and disrupt the class. (I got a result, I was allowed to cut maths and do art instead - a result for the teacher too)

Now, I could hardly stage a one-woman rebellion, there was nobody about to witness it. I badly wanted to hold my teacher responsible but common sense walked in and prevailed and I got a grip. I telephoned my teacher' and she was patience incarnate, not engaging in my confusion and with humour and kindness sent me emails that I could refer to. In fact I am quite capable of looking at a piece of paper with exceedingly clear instructions and my panic doesn't allow me to see them. I squeak in terror and have reduced my Internet provider to near tears when she tried to explain how to get my router organised. I am sure there is a word for this malaise and I refuse to believe it is STUPID,

I shall continue with this process!!

Mo

Mo Foster is the author of the brilliant 'A Blues for Shindig'.

New Exclusively Independent Titles Announced!

Into a new cycle for Exclusively Independent, and we're excited to see both a Legend Press, and Paperbooks title in there. Here's the full list:

Hajj (Garnet Publishing)
London Deep by Robin Price and Paul McGrory (Mogzilla)
Roy the Eagle by Kate O'Sullivan and David Harfield (Loose Chippings Books)
London Plaques (Shire)
Sticklers, Sideburns and Bikini's by Graeme Donald (Osprey)
City-lit Berlin (Oxygen Books)
A Blues for Shindig by Mo Foster (Paperbooks)
The Cheesemonger's Tales by Arthur Cunynghame (Loose Chippings Books)
How to Paint the Masters: Van Gogh by Michael Sanders (Search Press)
In Dependence by Sarah Ladipo Manyika (Legend Press)

A great new selection, due to be in shops 10 March.

Lauren

Author Blog: Gary Davison

Paperbooks author Gary Davison has been busy over the last week helping to promote Legend Press novel If I Never by fellow North-east author Gary Murning. He has related his busy day in a brilliant blog on his website http://gary-davison.com/ so we thought we would share it with you today. Thanks Gary for your help, you are a star!

I’ve been slinking around town buying dodgy looking golf swag and giving fliers out for my writing pal, Gary Murning.

Gazza is always up to some promotional activity and I’m on his team this week and have the job of dishing out fliers around Newcastle.

First up was the cookie shop in Monument Mal. ‘No bother, love, stick a couple on there.’ ‘You’re a gem, cheers.’

Next up on the hit list was the earring place at the end of Monument Mal. No one around, so I slipped a few on the counter, and made my escape, feeling very Bansky like.

After that, I thought I best get some in a book shop, like he told me to do. This was a secret mission and I was improvising - leaflet dropper on the edge.

Into waterstone at the heart of the books in Newcastle centre, where I was met with open arms, showed through to the executive lounge and given a cup of coffee, meal, signed autographs, and the New York girls were in, so… Hardly. Here’s how it went,

‘Hiya, you alright?’

‘Very well, thanks. How can I help you?’

Out come the leaflets. ‘My mate’s wrote a book, you stock it here, and he’s after a bit of promotion, is there any chance…’

Shakes her little head and it drops off. I hand her her head back and she continues. ‘Sorry, I don’t think we’re aloud..’

‘Read it. It’s a good story, and he can’t get around the stores himself. It’s only five or six copies.’

Over to the manager, who I recognise from when we launched Streakers and took over the place. Does he recognise me? What do you think? YES! It’s that twat that keeps turning his books face out over every time he comes in. Yip, it’s me, and I’m not leaving until I drop these leaflets.

‘I’m sorry, we can only put stuff out produced by Waterstones.’

‘Five copies. Come on, have a look at it.’

We settled on having them spread about the staff room, and I daringly left one on top of the 3for2 pile. Absolute rebel.

Next stop, TK Max. The security guard stops me at the door. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I’m going in there.’

Grabs me by the scruff of the neck. ‘You’re neither two foot one or seven foot, and from what I can see your arms are the same length. Therefore there is nothing in here for you.’

I sneaked back in and tried some well dodgy t-shirts on for my golf trip to Portugal. Colour blind doesn’t come into it. I keep telling everyone, forget the fact it’s purple or illuminous, it’s the texture of the cloth on the skin. That’s what counts. Looking a twat, means nothing.

I left a leaflet in the changing room.

Finally, with my trump card, I thought: Big Issue Seller. At this rate I could be on the next episode of The Apprentice. Get to the seller, slip him an extra 50p when I buy a copy and give him some fliers. Bought the copy, reached in my pocket - no fliers left.

Not to worry, it wasn’t  too shabby.

Oh, I nearly forgot. The wide-boy trying to get me to sign up to giving a monthly donation to charity for kids. What a laugh. He was giving me his leaflet and I was trying to give him mine and he was moving his hand away like I was handing him a piece of shit. In the end he took mine and i took his and we went our separate ways. He was git, I could tell.

Have a nice weekend everyone and get Gazza’s book bought if you haven’t already done so, it’s a sound read.

Lucy