Not long now until ‘P-day’. That’s ‘P’ for ‘publishing’, or maybe ‘Peculiars’.
A couple of weeks ago I went to the Chickenhouse ‘Big Breakfast’ event, where Freaks got its first bit of public exposure. There were lots of copies on display, along with all the other new Chickenhouse treats, and they had all been snaffled up by the end. Hopefully people are reading and enjoying them, not just using them to prop up wonky tables or as toilet paper substitutes.
After the event I filmed a couple of bits for the new Chickenhouse website. It was painful to do, and even worse to watch, but in case you want to hear me waffle on about the book, here’s the link:
After four and a half years of writing, re-writing, re-re-writing and a massive case of Repetitive Strain Injury from all that typing… I received a printed copy of my book last week. Here it is:
It was a very strange moment, holding a ‘proper’ book in my hands and seeing my words inside. A week later and it still doesn’t seem quite real.
I was taking a photo for the Freaks facebook page, and thought the book would look good nestled among some of the many drafts, notes, plans and scribbles that had gone into it. It wasn’t until I had spread some of it out over the bed that I actually realised just how much time and effort I had put into this thing. Although it weighs in at just 242 pages, I must easily have written two or three times that amount in total. I dread to think how many hours and sleepless nights I’ve sunk into it as well. Just goes to show that plodding along, even when it sometimes seems pointless, can be worth it in the end.
In doing research for the book, I’ve come across a whole load of examples of Victorian criminal slang (also known as the Cant). It’s become a minor obsession of mine, and I’ve started building up a collection. Here are a few of my favourites:
Bang-up: very fine
Bludger: A violent criminal; one who is apt to use a bludgeon.
Bulldog with six teeth: a revolver
Cocker: mate, pal
Cove: A man
Cracksman: A Burgler, a safecracker.
Crusher: A policeman
Davy’s Dust: Gunpowder
Devil’s claws: The broad arrows on a convict’s prison uniform.
Dipper: Pickpocket
Fakement: a forgery
Flat: A person who is easily deceived.
Flying the Blue Pigeon: Stealing roof lead.
Gospel grinder: city missionary
Hook it: to leave quickly (let’s hook it!)
Kidsman: An organizer of child thieves
London Particular: Thick London “Pea Soup” fog
Lushington: A drunkard
Maltooler: A pickpocket who steals while riding an omnibus
Monkey (on the): begging (“he’s been on the monkey”)
Nibsome: good
Noisy dog racket: stealing knockers from front doors
Onion hunter: one who steals fobs from watch chains
Scaldrum dodge: Begging by means of feigned, or self-inflicted wounds
Shinscraper: The Treadmill (used in workhouses)
Snoozer: A thief that specializes in robbing hotel rooms with sleeping guests.
Starring the glaze: breaking a square of glass
Trotter cases: boots
If you’ve read the front page of this website, or if you found your way here from the Chicken House, you’ll know that I won this year’s competition with my novel Plumpscuttle’s Peculiars and the Case of the Mudlark Muncher.
I’m still not quite sure how it happened. Part of me thinks there has been some mistake, or that it’s an elaborate wind up by some twisted evil genius whose cat I inadvertently ran over. Or something like that. I guess I’m going to feel that way until I’m actually holding a copy of it in my sweaty little hands.
I really, honestly had no conception that I might actually win the thing. My cunning plan, after yet another rejection from an agent, was to enter and somehow scrape my way onto the longlist- or, by some miracle, the shortlist- so that when I sent it off again there would be something impressive to put on my covering letter. (If you are in the process of sending work off to agents, then I cannot stress how important your covering letter is. In fact, you’re probably better off spending more time writing that than the book itself).
So when I did make the longlist, and then the shortlist, I thought that was as far as it would go. When Barry Cunningham phoned me after the judges had met, I was all prepared with my gracious ‘thanks for the opportunity’ speech. When he told me I’d won, my entire nervous system almost imploded with shock.
Anyway, since then I’ve been trying to accept the reality that I’m actually going to have something published. Like a proper, real, grown-up writer-type-person. I also had a lovely lady called Amanda Craig from the Times phone me up for an interview. And there was even a bit about me in the local paper.
Now it’s all gone a bit quiet- too quiet- as I wait for my first meeting with my editor next week. I have a horrible feeling she’s going to ask me to rewrite the entire thing, starting from page one, and that I’m going to have to stay awake from now until next April to get it done, but we shall see…
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