Billy and the Devil will soon be out of print. But, this end will be a beginning. I will continue to make what I make, and what I make is what I want to make. One morning, a few months ago, I woke to an understanding that whatever path I was walking, wasn’t the way that I wanted to go. Behind me, was a trick of the light. This has nothing to do with anything else but me. It’s been a warm jibe between my friends that what gets me into trouble more often than not is that I find it very difficult to fib things in real life, and that I should learn to do so when the occasion asks. For politeness. For less turbulence. For peace of mind after the fact. Well, I can’t. So here’s what I know. I don’t like selling myself. I don’t like trying to appeal for the sake of selling books. I don’t like taking off my teeth and claws and colours and moods and me in the possibility of wider acceptance. Because, the thing is, what I make doesn’t fit into any of that anyway. Never will. So. Here’s what’ll be happening. In the very near future Billy and the Devil will be available to read, in full, on this website. And, it will be the version I want it to be. This will see the inclusion of chapters not previously published, chapters held back because. Then, because what I know of myself, of what suits me, of what doesn’t, Billy and the Devil will be published in print within a new DIY venture put together by my friends, because this is the way I want to do things. There will be no knocking on doors. No tap-tap into someone else’s party for the sake of what I am supposed to do as a writer. The most repeated sentiment I have had from self-appointed gate-keepers is this: strong stuff, but don’t know how we could market it. And there’s the truth. But, here’s mine: fuck marketing. I don’t write in genre. I don’t write for audience. I write for myself. And I will continue to do so. It’s far too easy to measure yourself against your favourite makers, to fall into a subconscious trap of measured achievement. But, the trap is a handmade snare, set for your own footstep. And it was on that morning a few months ago that I saw this. And what I also saw was why I liked the makers I like. And it’s this: they stay, and stayed, true to their makings, of themselves, for themselves, and that most important of self-compass trust: don’t, give, a fuck. Billy couldn’t love himself. This took him to a dark wood, with no way back. Albert Camus: I love life too much not to be selfish. Billie Holiday: If I’m going to sing like someone else, then I don’t need to sing at all. Me: Right now I am making a home from an old house, I am taking it back to its beginnings, taking away the cover ups, finding the otherwise hidden truth of the house behind false walls and reshapes, and the further I go, the more I strip back, the more beautiful it feels. Billy and the Devil will be back in print sometime next year. Other things will be happening too. This is not the end. Me and my friends will be doing it ourselves, for ourselves, in the way we want to do it. One turn around the wheel. The question I ask myself every morning: what makes me happy? This is a beginning. Everything else follows. Teeth, claws, colours, moods, makings from the real. Trouble. Everything starts with trouble. It’s up to you how you use it. And I will.
More to come.
