The Agenda of Secrecy

This is one of those odd ones top be posting about, but Kelly Ragland (the lovely lady who edits the US version of Cold Granite for St. Martin’s Press) has been lurking – anonymously reading this blog safe in the knowledge that nobody know (till now) – and wanted to know how the whole secrecy thing is going.

You see, I’ve been kinda circumspect about the whole three book deal thing. In fact, I’ve not told anyone about it. Not a soul. Well, three souls: the good lady wife (Fiona), my line manager (and I had to tell him so I could arrange to go part time for the writing of book II) and my best friend James. Other than that – no one. Not even my family know about this. Which is a bit odd, considering that you’re currently reading this on the internet, where any old sausage can dial up and take a browse around. So basically you could say that I’m only not telling the people who I know and might actually be interested. Sounds a bit odd now I come to think about it, but hey-ho.

The problem was that I signed up with HC back in March this year – 14 months before the thing was due to be published in the UK. This I felt was WAY too long to have people pestering me about when it was coming out and could they read it and blah, blah, blah… This did not fit with my hermit-like image. So I came to the decision that I wasn’t going to tell anyone at all until the end of Feb 2005 (at some sort of birthday party). This was as long as Fiona would agree to keep the secret. Any longer, she said, and she’d explode, splattering the landscape with tattered bits of her head. And mine if I didn’t get out of the way fast enough. To be honest, I’d be happier just not telling any of the family / workmates / people until after the fact. You know, drop; it into casual conversation like. “What? Oh, no sorry: I can’t come to tea on the twelfth, I’ve got to go to this launch party thing for my internationally published novel.” Very smooth, no?

I often wonder what other writers do with the news: scream it from the rooftops, or bury it under a rock?

It’s not really that weird, is it?