Or so I thought*… Hey, hey, Mr Postman, what you got in your sack for me? Not something I actually say to the bloke who delivers our mail, just in case he thinks I’m sexually harassing him. Today Mr Postman had a big green plastic bag, about the size of a large pillowcase, bound at the neck with cable ties. The bag said ‘Sweden Post’, the address label said ‘Stuart MacBride’ and the postman said, “It’s probably Futtrets**.” But it wasn’t. It was books.
For a minute I though it was something in from Forum – the lovely people who’re bringing Cold Granite out in Sweden next year – but as they’re only just on the translation at the moment what could it be? Oh… It’s not from Forum at all. In fact it’s not really from Sweden. It’s a consignment of Cold Granites from St Martin’s Press – including one which has been signed by the team at Minotaur. Hurrah!
I started doing this in Norway, at a fine eatery called Ylajali, where I got the lovely Ingeborg, Monica and Lasse (he’s more manly than lovely, but it’s the thought that counts) to sign a copy of the Norwegian edition for me. Then, at the launch party in Aberdeen I forced the HarperCollins all stars to do the same. And now I have US versions too.
It’s a hobby.
*You see that? That’s your dramatic tension, right there. Is I a write-ist, or what?
** Futtret, n. A weasel-like, carnivorous mammal (Mustela putorius furo) related to the polecat and often trained to hunt rabbits, or stick down one’s trousers for a bit of a laugh. Apparently Sylvester McCoy holds the world record for this (at least according to Russel he does).