I returned to Turkey in November on a three month tourist visa. I’d known from the moment I set foot on Turkish soil that I had to sort out another visa which would allow me to stay longer and come and go as I please, or else I’d be having to get out of the country soon and not be able to return for three months. That would mean three months I’d have to spend on my own in the UK or travelling, pleasing myself, doing what I wanted, when I wanted, with no responsibilities and no one to nag me about the washing up and… Why is this not seeming like a bad option? Oh yes, three months without my son. Unthinkable.

So, after checking things out, the family residence visa seemed the way to go. Forms were filled, documents gathered, photocopies made, blood and bribes given, statements sworn and an appointment was made. I had that yesterday. And I got a glimpse of something I’m glad I’m not part of – the refugee crisis that Turkey is currently embroiled in. (Technically, perhaps I am part of the problem.)

As soon as we turned up I knew it was going to be challenging just to get through the gate of the government building compound. My garden gate back home is wider than the barbed-wire-festooned opening that gives access to the consulate. And I’ve never tried to get 300 refugees through it in two minutes. (Mind you with the way things are going at home I wouldn’t be surprised next time I’m back to look out of the window and see the odd ethnic gentleman in the back garden looking lost.)

The gate was locked for lunch. The heavens chose that moment to shower me and my brothers in the struggle for legal status with freezing sleet. Unlike most of those gathered looking miserable, downtrodden, filthy and destitute I had a laptop bag that I was able to hold on top of my head to keep the worst of it off my suit and the perm I’d invested in to impress the interrogators. I got some admiring and some envious glances from my fellows.

If only I’d remembered to do up the zip on my bag.

I ignored the first few taps on my shoulder – I’m used to being accosted by brazen beggars in the street. But I couldn’t ignore them for ever. I whirled around prepared to impale some swine on the end of my umbrella (why hadn’t I used my umbrella to shelter me from the elements?). The poker was now pointing at the ground. There were pieces of paper in handwriting that I recognised. And passport photographs… of me sailing away in the gutter. Most of my visa application documentation had slipped out of my open bag and was littered about the soaking pavement being trampled on by the dirty boots of illegal immigrants. Scrambling about on my hands and knees ruined my suit trousers and cost me my place in the queue as the machine-gun-toting guards chose that moment to throw back the bolt on the gate. Human stampede.

The act of gaining access brought back memories of the film World War Z, where the wall is breached and hundreds of zombies pour though it like so many gallons of liquid humanity. My cries of excuse me, please and I beg your pardon, but that’s my foot you’re standing on and no, sir, that’s my pocket your hand is in were lost among the clamouring cries for sanctuary and alms and visas… in Syrian and other tongues I am less familiar with.

But we were in. Then it became more like a jumble sale in the village hall back home. Elbows, knees, shoving and shouting. We fought on against the odds. My furled umbrella became a thrusting weapon, my briefcase containing my sodden and filth-smeared documents my shield.

We got our number from the desk and joined the others in tearing up and down the four flights of stairs looking for the room we needed to be in. It had turned into an episode of The Crystal Maze. A sign or two would have been helpful. But maybe too easy. I can only imagine the fun it must be to sit in front of the CCTV camera screens in that building watching the headless chickens all day.

Exhausted, cold, filthy and wet we found the offices that were our destination. Another queue. But at least the waiting gave me time to dry off and sort out my documentation. The paper of one of my passport photographs had become so saturated that my image was distorted. I was staring at me with Bell’s palsy. Would it matter to the rubber stampers? There was little I could do about it then.

My name was called. I was escorted by armed guard to a smoke filled interview room. My interviewer was waiting under harsh lighting. A woman. She looked me up and down and I could read the resentment for my comfortable western life in her eyes. I asked if we could crack a window because of my asthma. Rather ominously she said they didn’t open.

My gaze strayed around the room as she scrutinized my documents. I saw blood (on the ceiling?!?) traces of vomit, urine, whole finger nails, teeth. And the stench. No wonder she was chain-smoking.

Her: So Englishman (she broke off to spit on the floor, narrowly missing my shoe) you are seeking the poetical asylum in my country, yes?

Me: Little laugh Some of my writing is quite… lyrical. Nothing. No. And it’s ‘political’.

Her: What isn’t these days?

Me: My application.

Her: That’s what they all say. Your papers seem… in order. But I have questions.

Me: Fine. Shoot. Noticing she was armed I hastily rephrased. Ask away.

Her: You have seen the film with the big-nosed ugly Frenchman?

Me: Aren’t they all. Little laugh.

Her: My husband is French. No little laugh.

Me: You mean Green Card with Gérard Depardieu?

Her: Whatever. I will ask you the questions and I will ask your Roddy MacDowell the same questions.

Me: Andie.

Her: What?

Me: It was Andie MacDowell. Roddy McDowall was the ugly monkey in Planet of the… actually, never mind.

Her: And you’d better be singing from the same menu, capiche?

I thought she’d been watching too many old Bogart films.

Me: I think you mean hymn sheet.

Her: This is Muslim country – no hymns.

Me: Why not just ask us the questions together? Save time.

Her: Because, Englishman, people lie to get visa.

Me: Understood. Shall we get started?

Her: What is your wife’s full-name?

Me: Can’t we start with something a little easier? I’ve never been very good with names. Especially good old Johnny foreigner’s.

Her: WHAT IS HER NAME!

It went on like this for half an hour. Her asking things like my wife’s birthday (Me: soon, I think) her eye colour (Me: the real one or the glass one?) the date we were married (I couldn’t even remember the year. How the hell am I supposed to retain this information?) her favourite dessert (that was an easy one and rather a long list).The Spanish Inquisition would have nothing on this lot. At one point she asked what was the last film we saw together at the cinema. I said we’d never been to the cinema. Together. She asked what was the last book we’d both read. Another awkward explanation about cultural differences from me. She asked me what we had for dinner the previous evening. I had to confess that we didn’t actually eat together. She threw down her pen and asked the question with her eyes. I answered with a shrug and raised eyebrows. And then I remembered something.

Me: We have a child.

Her: At last! Something. Why the hell you not say so already?

She concluded her business with me. I was ordered out. My wife was frog-marched in. I sat outside,  laptop bag on my knees, with all the other asylum seekers, listening to the shouting, the screaming, the sobbing coming from inside. I received some withering stares from the women. A few of the men nodded their approval. My upper lip remained stiff. I tried to read but water had got into my Kindle. I watched the second hand of the clock behind the iron grill make its tortuous way around and around and around.

The bolts were shot on the other side of the door. My wife emerged, mascara-smudged and red-eyed. She and our interrogator embraced warmly. Over my wife’s shoulder the armed woman sent me daggers.

As we left the building I risked saying to my partner in crime, ‘How did it go in there?’

Her: ‘Not now.’

*

In other writing related news this week I was bitten by yet another writing idea last Friday, which encouraged me to put B&C#4 on the back burner while I devoted time and energy to it. A week later and I’m 25,000 words in and looking good. What is it? It is going to be my best book ever. It is going to be the first of a trilogy. It is going to be my first foray into Young Adult dystopian fiction. What did I say about change of direction?

It’s traditional to reflect upon the year when we come to the end of it. So for posterity and my CWAP diary here goes for my thoughts on 2016.

I put four books out this year:

It’s possible that with A White-Knuckle Christmas and Deep State I’ve written my last Romney and Marsh File and the last Acer Sansom story respectively. Possible, not definite. I want to have a bash at some other writing projects. I’ll see how I feel about things after that. Booker & Cash is a series I can see myself writing more in.

Deep State was selected by an Amazon epublishing imprint. It was certainly something worth trying because on the face of it… well it’s Amazon and you’d expect them to really get behind anything they’ve selected because they will make money out of every sale twice – as publisher a fifty percent cut of the book price and as sales outlet a percentage of the sale as commision. So I’ve been hugely disappointed with their apparent lack of interest in anything to do with Deep State after it went live. No communication, no promotions. It’s been left to fend for itself. I would not recommend going the Kindle Press route to anyone. Live and learn.

I’ve written three short stories. I’m intending to write a few more so that I might produce a collection for self-publication. I like the short story format.

The first draft of Poor Hands (Booker & Cash #3) is finished at last.

I’m 25,000 words into Death Wish (Booker & Cash #4).

I’ve added to and then shelved a couple of other rainy day projects and I’m continually generating ideas.

Cold Kills is the first step in trying something different to my usual and I thoroughly enjoyed the change of direction. It’s only been out a week but initial feedback is encouraging.

On the writing front, then, not too shabby considering I was ‘Out of Order’ from April to October working on this:

and this:

Who said letting kids watch telly all day was bad for them? All those Bob the Builder DVDs certainly paid off.

Like 2016, 2017 is going to be a mix of writing and building work, time in Ankara at my desk and time in the UK up a ladder. I enjoyed that variety in 2016. It was nice to have a physically demanding break from sitting on my backside all day making up stories.

Writing related aspirations for 2017?

Get out B&C #3 & #4 for starters.

Finish that short story collection.

Crack on with another change of direction and genre that’s burning a hole in my head.

That should keep me going until I return to the UK in the spring.

I’d like to wish all my readers a happy and healthy 2017 and my sincere and heartfelt thanks for your ongoing support of and interest in my writing.

Whoever made this yummy looking cake must have been thinking of Cold Kills when they decorated it.

Cold Kills is out tomorrow – Christmas Day. Given the time of year, I don’t expect anyone to read it anytime soon. And I wouldn’t advise anyone to read it before they’ve had their Christmas dinner.

Cold Kills is my fifteenth book. The other fourteen have all been associated with my three series. Those three series each have established reader bases. I’ve been very fortunate that many readers who’ve read their way through one of my series have gone on to try another and in some cases another. There are some readers who have read everything I’ve written. For that level of support I am sincerely grateful.

I know many of my readers have downloaded Cold Kills on the strength of enjoying some of my other books, even though it is far removed from the usual stuff I write about. That’s such an encouraging thing for a CWAP. My thanks to you all. I can only hope you find something in it to enjoy. I believe the book has the potential to be a more thought provoking read than anything I’ve released to date.

It’s not going to appeal to everyone who picks it up. It’s quite possible that because it is so far removed my usual writing that feedback will be a good deal less positive than if I’d stuck closer to ‘home’. I’m prepared for that. That’s the chance you take when you offer something outside of the norm. I intend spending more time out of my comfort zone in 2017.

I’m back working on Poor Hands B&C#3. I’ve ordered the cover. I had a week away from it because while looking for something in my documents folder I came across another writing project I started a couple of years ago. I made the mistake of opening it and then reading it. I liked it. (So maybe it wasn’t a mistake.) I couldn’t remember why I’d shelved it and I couldn’t resist spending a few days on it. It’s now up to nearly 20,000 words. And I’m shelving it again. It’s a book that needs a plan, not my usual approach of making it up as I go along. (Maybe that’s why I shelved it before.) It’s the second time this has happened in recent months with forgotten documents in my ‘False Starts’ folder . Still, it’s nice to have a couple of projects in the bank for rainy days.

I’d like to take this opportunity to wish all my readers a healthy and happy Christmas with their loved ones.

Cold Kills is available to order from these links :

Amazon UK and Amazon US

Looking to lose weight this Christmas? Cold Kills is available for pre-order now and out Christmas Day – guaranteed to put you off your food.

Amazon UK and Amazon US

A celebratory breakfast at my local simit shop.

How hard it is to find a title for a book these days that hasn’t already been done. I want to be original with titles where possible. It’s nice to be original (I don’t think I’ll ever top Particular Stupidities) but it’s not easy. Example: Booker & Cash #3. Working title has been Waifs and Strays. It’s a good fit. But there must be at least a million books on Amazon called Waifs and Strays. So I always knew eventually I was going to have to change it. (Also it’s too many letters.) But to what?

Honestly, I’ve agonised over the title of this book the last few days. Literally agonised. Problems I have with a title are: it’s got to reflect the content of the book, it’s got to be original and it’s got to fit in with the other two titles already in the series. By that I mean… well look here:

You can see the titles occupy one line only. I want to continue this theme. That gives me 7,8 or 9 letters at a pinch to play with. I wanted two words, two four letter words (not like that) so the white and mustard contrast would be even. Can you see I’m painting myself into a corner over this? Narrowing my options?

I looked and looked and looked for inspiration. I Googled four letter words and trawled through thousands searching for a four letter word that would make me stop and think. There were a few. But every bloody thing they suggested to me has been done before. I really was becoming quite desperate.

It’s sorted now. The flash of inspiration will always come, given time. Poor Hands. It might not be the catchiest thing out there but (a) it reflects the story (b) it’s original and (c) at 9 letters over two words I’ll get that colour contrast on one line effect.

And it provoded me an opportunity right at the end of the book for a bit of ‘funny’ interaction between David and Jo. I think a laugh is as nice a way to finish a story as anything. Blimey, I nearly forgot to mention this week’s big news in my Diary of a CWAP – the first draft of Poor Hands (Booker & Cash #3) is completed, hence the celebratory breakfast.

The ‘funny’ thing this week is that after I’d sketched this blog post and before having another read through Poor Hands I thought to take a look at B&C#4. (I started this with an idea about nine months ago and I wrote 10000 words before putting that on hold to finish B&C#3.) I had another inappropriate working title for it and after reading through it once the perfect title hit me. It fits most of criteria except it’s been used many times before. Booker & Cash #4 will be called Death Wish. I think it’s the best B&C opening I’ve written. Can’t wait to crack on.

I might have finished with Romney & Marsh. (I said might.) Acer may have come to the end of his story. (I said may have.) But Booker & Cash will likely go on a while yet.

With Cold Kills off my hands earlier this week I’m back working on B&C#3 – working title Waifs and Strays (I might need to change that because there are so many Waifs & Strays titles on Amazon 😦 ). I was 85,000 words into it when I abandoned it to run with the idea of Cold Kills and then I went home for the summer. A mistake? Yes and no. Yes, I should have finished it while I was into it. No, because it’s going to be better for the seven month break from it. Seven months!

My memory is that bad I’d forgotten a great deal of this story. I was quite excited at the prospect of going through it. At the time of writing I’m three-quarters of the way in and I’m loving it. Why the hell didn’t I finish it? I know I didn’t finish it. But I don’t know how I left it. I’m actually excited to see what happens next and I wrote the bloody thing.

I’m sitting at my desk in one of the greyest cities in the world. Inches beyond my computer screen is a plain coloured wall. No visual distractions. (I also can’t write with music playing, so it’s quiet.) And then I get into B&C#3 and I’m back on Romney Marsh with such vivid recollections it’s like a waking dream. Have I ever mentioned the building Bookers coffee shop is based in and where David and Jo live is a property I lived in for several years before coming to Turkey. Reading this story is like watching a home movie at times. In fact it doesn’t feel like reading. It feels like watching the story. Of course, there is the danger that because so much of it is familiar to me I’m not including enough description for readers with no experience of the setting to fully visualise it. It’s a difficult one.

Jo and David are perfect for each other. I adore the way they interact. I’ve remembered one thing – a reason I was happy to put this aside where it was. I was wrestling with the nature of David’s and Jo’s relationship. They are getting on well. Would it be a bad idea or a good idea for them to take their relationship further, beyond sometimes business partners, housemates and friends? If they were to become phyiscally intimate how would that affect the dynamic of their working relationship and how would such a thing impact on future books? I could not decide for a long time. It’s the toughest decision I’ve had to make for any of my characters. I remember being back in the UK and on one of my rare trips to London, a day out in the capital in the summer sunshine. I was standing in the middle of the Millennium bridge, leaning on the steel rail, staring along the Thames thinking about what would be best for these two. And I still couldn’t decide. It’s only going through it now that I think I know. For that reason alone seven months away from it has been worth it.

In other news Cold Kills went live for pre-order last week . My heartfelt and sincere thanks to all my loyal readers who have taken a chance on ordering a book that might not, at first glance, be in their usual line of reading country. I really do appricate that level of support and faith that my writing, whatever I’m writing, is going to appeal.

Here is the blurb and the Amazon links. Release date is Christmas day.

When a plane crash lands in the Alaskan wilderness the survivors must battle harsh elements, hostile geography, a hungry wolf pack and horrifying moral dilemmas if they are to live to be rescued.

Amazon UK & Amazon US

Amazon don’t hang about these days. Maybe it’s because I’m a regular. I did the necessary and submitted Cold Kills for pre-order this morning. Within an hour it was available on both UK and US sites.

Release date is Christmas day.

Here’s the blurb: When a plane crash lands in the Alaskan wilderness the survivors must battle harsh elements, hostile geography, a hungry wolf pack and horrifying moral dilemmas if they are to live to be rescued.

Here are the links: Amazon UK & Amazon US

Any sharing of this link is greatly appreciated. 🙂

After another couple of weeks in the UK I’m back in Turkey for the foreseeable future. That should mean a bit of extended stability for the vitals of my writing life. Good. I need it. Two projects I’ve got to get to grips with. First, I need to make Cold Kills available for preorder – it’s ready for that stage. Second, Booker & Cash #3, working title Waifs & Strays, needs finishing and releasing. I’ll need a couple of months for that.

If I were motivated in that direction I would probably be considering some pre-release marketing strategies for Cold Kills: blog tours, online book launches, spending money I haven’t got on giving away the book for free through Net Galley in the hope of gaining some favourable reviews, give aways of my underwear – signed, soiled, delivered, complete with a COA – and …er… whatever else writers are doing in the area of self-promotion these days. It won’t surprise anyone who knows me to learn that currently I’m not. Possibly a crap attitude for a CWAP? Well, I do wonder just how much practical good all of the above and other tricks of the self-promoting trade actually does. By practical good, I’m talking about download figures – that is, surely, the bottom line for anyone who goes to all that trouble. Is it ultimately worth the time and effort invested? I’ve dipped a toe in those murky waters, invested time and a sometimes a little money in self-promotion but I can’t say I ever saw much of a return, unless it was a Bookbub promotion – worth every cent. And there’s something about all that drum beating I find distatsteful. This idea that what ‘I’ve’ written is so brilliant that it warrants all this attention. Fundamentally I don’t like this face of self-publishing. This idea that we write something and then we have to force our way into people’s virtual lives, shouting in their faces, demanding they sit up and take notice. And everyone’s doing it. It’s not easy to be heard when everyone shouts. Maybe one day I’ll drop through the trap door of my moral high ground and join in. I’m not in the mood, right now.

I like to write. I like to self-publish. I like to keep a writer’s diary and then link my blog posts to my social media sites. I enjoy interacting with readers who get in touch through social media sites. And that’s it for me. Still, each to their own as Grandma Tidy used to say, usually before she did something disgusting or morally bankrupt.

This week my conscience encouraged me to visit my local church to make confession, to seek absolution for my misdeeds. It just feels so right that my priest is a world-weary Irishman with a fondness for the drink.

Welcome, my son. What brings you to church today?

I come to seek forgiveness father, for I have sinned.

I see. And what form did this sin take, my son? Is this about the sheep again because…?

No father. I’m over her.

I’m glad to hear it, my son. God does not approve of…. Anyway, go on.

I’m a CWAP.

Don’t be so hard on yourself.

A Crime Writing Author Publisher, father.

Oh. That’s not sinful. Unless you write shite. But that’s not for me to judge. That’s up to the readers.

I haven’t finished, father. I’m a CWAP. One of the cardinal rules of being a CWAP is never get shirty with a reader.

And you did?

Yes, father.

Perhaps you should tell me all about it and we will see what is to be done.

This week I received a comment on my blog…

What’s a blog?

It’s like a little plot of virtual land in cyber space, father.

I have no idea what you’re talking about. (The sound of glass touching glass followed by the gentle trickle of liquid leaving a bottle filtered through the dividing screen.) You were saying, my son?

I received a comment from a reader of one of my books that went like this:

I love books of all kinds … but your book was poorly written. I quit after 3 pages but the book did receive a first for me … it was the first book I have ever deleted from my quite full kindle list. Please try again but this time hire a brilliant editor and you just might have a chance.

I tried to ignore it father. I didn’t approve it. I deleted it and marked it as spam. I know the world is full of bastard trolls who hide behind their computer screens spewing out their virtual puke with no thought for the injury and pain they cause. But I couldn’t forget it. It gnawed away at me. What was the book? What was her problem with it? Who the fuck does she think she is to leave a nasty, spiteful comment like that on my fucking blog?

Language, my son, and God thanks you to keep your voice down. That’ll cost you three Hail Marys.

Sorry father.

What happened?

I replied, father. I always reply to comments on my blog.

Was that wise? What form did your reply take, my son?

You recently commented on my blog about one of my books (you didn’t mention the title). I was wondering, are you a real person or was it just malicious spam? You see, I just can’t believe that anyone would seriously take the time and trouble to write such a nasty, mean-spirited comment. Unless that person was a total bitch, of course. Anyway, I look forward to hearing from you.

PS Just in case you are a real person, perhaps you could let me know the title of the book and exactly what it was about it that bothered you enough to feedback so spitefully. 🙂

That is indeed sinful for a CWAP. But fair play to you for standing up for yourself. Did she respond, at all?

She did

Nope, not a robot.  And this is the first time I’ve complained about a book on a blog.  

The book was “Dirty Business”.  What I didn’t like was the ambiguous (as in “not expressed clearly” definition of the word) introduction.  Instead of catching my attention and wanting me to continue reading it left me with such a blah feeling that I honestly couldn’t make it past the first few pages.  Which is why I suggested some good editing so that the introduction … and possibly the rest of the book, though I cannot judge the rest as I didn’t read it … would be a compelling read.  

Consider me a bitch, or consider it constructive criticism, it really doesn’t matter to me either way.  But if you take it as constructive criticism remember that you only get one chance to make a first impression with a book, as with all things in life, so make the introduction pop.  That is why the tv shows that start with a well crafted gory scene and then go from there last for numerous seasons (i.e. CSI shows).  They capture the audience and make it so they have to stay to the end to find out what happened.

Peace out.

Did you respond?

I did

Thank you for your reply. I’m glad of it. And a little perplexed. What I now don’t understand is why you couldn’t have made that constructive and focussed criticism in your original comment on my blog. If you had said the things that you have in your email I would have happily approved your comment. Here is what you did write:

I love books of all kinds … but your book was poorly written. I quit after 3 pages but the book did receive a first for me … it was the first book I have ever deleted from my quite full kindle list. Please try again but this time hire a brilliant editor and you just might have a chance.

If you had nothing better to do with your time than to trawl through the comments on the blog you would see that I always welcome constructive criticism and I always respond positively. In fact, may I share something with you from the back of my books? (You wouldn’t have seen it as you didn’t get to the end.) I invite readers to give me constructive feedback.

Hello,

Firstly, thank you for taking a chance on downloading this book. I hope you found something in it to enjoy.

Secondly, I invite you to visit me at olivertidy.wordpress.com where you can find out more about other books I’ve written. You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter .

Thirdly, if you enjoyed the read, please leave a comment to that effect with the retailer you obtained it from. That sort of thing is really important for an indie author/publisher. Readers’ comments are all we’ve got to go by. Alternatively, I would be genuinely pleased to receive any comments, corrections or suggestions regarding any aspect of this book and my writing at the web address above where I have made a page available for feedback.

Best wishes

Oliver Tidy

I’ve been writing for long enough now to understand that one simply cannot please all the readers all the time. It doesn’t matter who you are. I accept that. I also accept that if a reader tries one of my books, even something they downloaded for free, then that entitles the reader to have their say on it. But, I do think that readers should not abuse or take lightly this right. Hating the read is fine. However, if you must pass negative comment can I suggest that it is done in a way that is fair, constructive, focussed and helpful. It’s much nicer than the alternative. And the world needs more nice.

Regards

Oliver

Did she respond?

She didn’t.

Nothing?

Not a word, father, and I’m sorry for that because I believe we could have mended fences. Am I to be absolved, father?

Let me think a moment. For getting shirty with a reader, three Our Fathers and a couple of Hail Marys ought to do it. In future try to rise above it. And just remember for every shit bag in the world there are a hundred good people. Next…