It is this piece of information that has led me to this most recent attempt to get a literary agent, even though everyone (apart from fucking Jonny B) knows that the whole publishing-deal-from-blog thing stopped in 2005, i.e. when I started blogging. Still, I will not be deterred. Writing books is the best job in the world because a) you have to do it by yourself, i.e. you don't have to talk to anyone; b) it is portable, i.e. you can do it anywhere; c) a lot of the things and people that have happened to me you couldn't invent if you tried, so I will just 're-hash' those (but with some name changes to avoid legal issues) to make my books, making it less difficult than it would appear at first sight.
Steve Jobs, Vanessa Feltz and Mark Zuckerberg all made their fortunes by putting photographs of cats on their websites. Also, many international best-selling writers (not including fucking Jonny B) were discovered because they put pictures of cats on their websites, knowing (as do I) about the whole literary agent/cat-snap dynamic.
For example:
Dan Brown, before writing books about nuns etc, wrote a blog about seahorses. One day, he posted a picture of his cat, Doctor Truffles, looking at a seahorse. Heide Lange from Sanford J Greenburger Associates found him that way.
Jilly Cooper had a blog about jam. One day, she put a picture of her cat, Feral, at a polo match eating a strawberry jam sandwich on her blog. That is how Desmond Elliott found her.
Cecelia Aherne had a blog about what it is like living with a brain made of feathers and crumbs. One day, she put a picture on her blog of her cat, Jizzbiscuit, looking inside her ear, wondering how come he could see out of the other side of her head. In this way, she was discovered by Marianne Gunn O'Connor and now earns millions of pounds a year writing books that have been proven to decrease your IQ.
I have therefore not given up hope. If I put a lot of pictures of cats up on this blog, there is a chance that a cat-loving literary agent may find me and offer me a) an idea; b) some hope. Until then, I can merely sit back, relax, and say to you: enjoy my Gallery of Cat. (You may enjoy, as an additional challenge, working out which of these cats I have shared a house with.)
Maurice of Kennington (pronounced with a French accent, i.e. Maur-eece, not Morris. You may pronounce Kennington as you wish).
A cat of Amsterdam, thwarted in his attempt to go to the local discoteca
Second Cat of Amsterdam, interrupted whilst playing online poker
Flirt of Kennington
Jane of Seymour and her cat, Geoffroy
Monster of Brixton
Also Monster of Brixton
Le Chat du Lac, "qui aime se frotter contre les fruits" - particularly the soft downy peach. NB: he was interrupted in mid-frotte with this plum, which he had pulled from the bowl himself. "He has no name ... sometimes it is ... Chat." I cannot comment on the cat's haircut; suffice to say Sometimes Chat was not happy to have his undercarriage mown, and that the original haircut revealed strips of pink catskin.
Corndog of St-Joseph-du-Lac (and Montreal) I have known some cats in my time (see above), but this one takes the biscuit. Corndog was adopted at six months, just after she had had her first litter. She was found protecting a Bush of Kittens, for Corndog had committed her one and only intelligent act: hiding her kittens in a bush to protect them from marauding coyotes. Since then, her main activities have included lying down, looking at imaginary moths with her mouth open and getting her head stuck inside yoghurt pots.
If this Visual Cat Fiesta doesn't get me the attention I so richly deserve, I will give up right now!!!
Pip pip!
NWM
13 comments:
Fucking Jonny B. He is nowhere near as good as you, obviously, and never puts pictures of cats on his blog. But he's been foolish enought to generate a second baby human, so he will be suffering Big Time while you mop up all the book deals.
DID YOU SHARE A FLAT WITH THE ONE SHOWING HER BIFTA?
Shit this blog just hit the BIG TIME. It's cat central. You've come a long way. But you have a little way still to go I think
Lola - I am sick to the back teeth of Jonny B Chat. Books, children, etc. I have none of either, despite being the 98th most popular Mommy Blogger in Arkansas.
Anon - Is that you, Mark Garnier MP?
Katy Newton - I AM UNABLE TO BREATHE so sharp and deep is my joy!!
Grph. As I just spent the entire night being woken by:
a) a cat thundering down the very thundery hall and then LEAPING onto the bed - specifically my soft, pink under-belly [thud*WHOOF!*@#$#@]
b) a cat treading across the bed with particular attention to all bits occupied by softish human flesh
c) a cat doing boxer training with a pleated, unexpectedly noisy shade
d) a cat discovering another cat outside the (unfortunately open) window and beginning an intellectual discourse consisting mostly of YOOOWWWWWWLLLL!
e) infinite loop of above
I am not pleased with the new cattish tone of this previously exceptionally fine and uplifting blog. Also? Not all ladies like cats. Not at all.
I did not even have to use cats. It was raw talent - just raw fucking talent, girlie. But you know what? Once you needed to be a proper writer to be discovered and published. Now all you need is a pretty cat and any idiot can get a deal. Which is what is destroying the industry - it breaks my fucking heart. Got the notes back from the publisher with regards to the latest... dear JonnyB... respect your talent blah blah... great plot... blah... strong characters blah blah... unfortunately in today's cat-orientated climate blah - fucking destroying me, the whole cat thing, destroying me - they get the deals, the cat people - but will we still be reading them in ten years? A hundred years? Fucking no, is the answer.. their so-called 'literature' will be as dead and buried as their fucking cats. I could have been a contender, you slags, a fucking contender; the fucking world at my feet, I had, so fuck off cat people, fuck off, you have all this shit on your conscience and you have to live with it so deal with it this is my lot that is it the end the end goodbye.
Last year, I had to put my cat to "sleep". These pictures brought all the good times flooding back. Me and Puds were inseparable. Sometimes she comes into my dreams at night, where we dance, laugh, frolic. I even kept her litterbox with some pooh still inside; a shrine if you will.
I am scared to ask what a 'frotte' might be. Not something you should do in front of your maiden aunt Mildred, I suspect.....
ali x
We have a mystery: Jonny B is not allowed to post his comments on my web-blog. It is not my choice; it is the choice of Blogger and /or Google. Does anyone know what's going on?
Maybe he's been reported and barred from posting?
Ali x
Ha HA! In point if fact, I have taught Satan-Feline-Form to use the toilet instead of the litter box. I will stop writing about my atrocious dates and write about that instead. Who needs love when you've got a book deal?
p.s. You lived with Jane of Seymour?
I came looking for monkeys, but found the cat snaps to be quite entertaining as well. Alas, I am no literary agent.
Re Mr B: What kind of message does he get when he tries?
Re cats: Monster! Monster of Brixton! I remember that pic, and it was taken in your flat, which you shared with him. I don't know about the rest.
Re writing books: It is nowhere near as fun as it sounds. Here is a brilliant article (not by me) explaining why: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/sep/10/romance-reality-writing.
(Here is a direct link, just in case your comments will allow it).
Post a Comment