Hello!

This won't be our last newsletter before Christmas – but it is pretty much the last before the big shopping frenzy. Which is pretty much the best excuse I can make for this missive being a big selling frenzy. That and the fact that we've been working on lots of superb new books that I hope I can make interesting for you…

…But before we hit the books, something slightly more amorphous, but crucial to making those books possible. Friendship. Not alas, the Joe and Chandler kind. No, I'm talking about the kind you pay for.

Hang on!

Good god. One day I'll get better at marketing. In the meantime, the thing to grasp before I undermine myself with more *attempts at* humour is that becoming a friend of Galley Beggar is a good thing. It is something that will help us keep producing books and finding new talent for years to come. We'll help you in the meantime by giving you a whole bunch of goodies, perfect presents and, you know, serious literary fiction goodness. Please do click your mouse on Jack Kerouac's lovely face to be taken through to the relevant section of our website where you'll learn more. There, please let is be so, we'll shake some of your hard-earned cash out of you. (£50 to be precise. Or maybe £30. Anyway, we hope you think these are two very good offers. You get a bunch of stuff.)

Just 100 subscribers will pretty much fund a book from soup to nuts, from signing the author through to sending out publicity proofs and printing the final book.

If we get a 1,000 subscribers, meanwhile, we'll be able to employ someone. And I'll be able focus my energies more fixedly on mayhem and revenge.

So please do think about it!

Right. There's a lot more news to put in this newsletter. First up: new classics.

Fortunately, you can be spared my usual adjective frenzy, because all I need to do to advertise this book is to point out that it's only got an introduction from PENELOPE LIVELY (and everyone who has read Moon Tiger, will KNOW why I hit caps lock) ---- and to cut and past some of the original reviews:

‘Elspeth Barker’s is a wholly original literary voice. … In O Caledonia the reader finds unalloyed joy, and occasional winces, on every page.’ -- The Independent

‘Barker’s love of the classics, her focus on mothers and daughters, and her remarkable evocation of landscape, should mark her out as one of Scotland’s principal writers.’ -- The Financial Times

‘A poetic and passionate description of adolescence. The words sing in their sentences. A world is evoked that has shades of the Bronte sisters and of Poe – the misunderstood and brilliant child with secret and unseen companions, a misfit who develops into a brooding young woman – and so provokes her own fate. O Caledonia sets dreams and longing against Scottish righteousness and judgement, and the resolution is the blade of a skinning knife.’ -- The Times

‘O Caledonia is like a bunch of flowers. Vivid images are handed to the reader one after the other and the colours are often freakish.’ -- The Guardian

‘Beautifully written… a remarkable debut, in a long and fertile tradition of Scottish writing.’ -- The Times Literary Supplement

This is a book that really matters. It will matter to you, it matters to us and damn it, it matters to the world. Please read it.

Next up:

Simon Crump. I can't tell you how much I love his writing. And I know it's quite cheeky to put a book that's barely five years old into the classic category. But – and here's the important thing – it's that good. It's that great. It's that unlike anything else. I will fight anyone who denies its right to be called classic.

Okay, actually, that's not entirely true. I'm a lover not a fighter. Plus, I'm a publisher and a book journalist. Most of the prejudices you have about how tasty I won't be in a scrap are almost certainly bound to be correct. The fact is, I'd lose. But perhaps I could take you on more equal terms? Although, God knows what publishers are supposed to be good at. Words? Perhaps we could shout Shakesperean insults at each other, you cream faced loon! You whoreson knave. You scullion! You rampallian! You fustilarian! You starvelling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish– O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!

Sorry.

I've got ahead of myself. You haven't disputed the classic status yet, have you? And how could you? Crump is wonderful. He is – dread word – a genius. Please buy his book. Not for me. For you. For humankind. For the good of our collective culture. We need this crazy bastard.

Oh yes! The book's about Michael Jackson and a unicorn and Uri Geller. And it's got an introduction from JOHN SELF. (Regular readers of this website will also know why I hit caps lock.)

Onwards!

It's now time for smug review corner. Paul Ewen and Jonathan Gibbs have both been getting the praise they deserve over the past few weeks and it has been making us very happy. I've put a selection of the reviews on each of their book pages on our website in case you want to peruse them in more detail. And also in order to save this letter getting yet longer. Not least because I haven't yet hit the big announcement about our forthcoming event in Waterstones Piccadilly and about our next Singles Club release. Just before I get there: uur wonderful writer Andrew Lovett has also just had a glowing review for Everlasting Lane in the USA. And 3AM author Joanna Walsh has been soaking up the good reviews too.

Right. This:

First, the blurb:

Last night CJ and I heard that Lilly OD’d. Lilly was a girl we knew from the methadone clinic, a whore and a petty thief. Her regular guy was a crazy Puerto Rican called Gordo, who operated down by Pico-Union. Hearing that he had sold her some shit strong enough to kill her, we immediately set up a buy. My days with CJ have followed a similar pattern ever since we hooked up at the clinic: long, languid Los Angeles afternoons, both of us relentlessly pursuing temporary oblivion. CJ is my only friend in the whole world.

CJ is Joe's only friend. So Joe isn't happy when Death visits CJ's house.

Tony O'Neill once more digs down into the dirt and brings up gems.

Now, the hard sell. Tony is amazing. We love him. We've done three Singles with him and it just doesn't seem like enough. We want more Tony. Which is why I'm happy to tell you he's just released a novel which, if there's any justice, will set the world ablaze. It's called Black Neon and it's being released by our friends at Bluemoose and I for one can't wait to read it. And as soon as I finish this letter, I'm going to do what I'm always asking you to do and go straight out and buy it direct from the publisher.

The other thing to know about Tony is that he's a goddamn rock star. Don't believe me? Go and see him in Waterstones Piccadilly on 27 November. He'll be signing copies of Black Neon there and looking like the coolest man you ever met. Or go and see him in Hebden Bridge. Or Manchester. Full tour details here.

Meanwhile, on the subject of bookshops, we're going to be in Waterstones Piccadilly ourselves with a whole mess of exciting writers and speakers on 26 November. Paul and Jonathan will be signing their books. Please come and see us. Events kick off around 6pm.

Meanwhile, those who follow Galley Beggar (or me personally) on Twitter will have seen that – perhaps unsurprisingly – I've signed up to the Amazon challenge. Click the link too if you think you can pledge to have an Amazon-free Christmas.

You know the alternative don't you?

That's right. Christmas-free Christmas.

No stockings on the mantelpiece. No fire in the grate. No Father Christmas coming down the chimney. No glow in Rudolph's nose. No oats in Blixen's manger. In fact, Blixen, after working three years on minimum wage on a zero hours contract, has been replaced with a drone and given no severance pay. She heaves her thin skeletal frame back to the barn to discover a letter from the government telling her she's been evicted because of the "spare" stall that's been there since Blitzen walked out into a snowstorm muttering something about going for a short walk… Cupid's been hitting the Buckfast again and wants to start a fight with Vixen. Comet's picked up some pasta from the foodbank, but can't afford to heat it, so he's crunching it up raw. I'm not going to tell you what happened to Dancer and Prancer, it's too sad. And as for the big man in the red coat. Let's just say he's not laughing any more. And you know who is laughing, don't you?

Jeff Bezos.

And when Jeff Bezos laughs, angels cry, flowers die and writers don't want to know why.

Damn me! I'm a poet!

Who said writing was hard?!

Fondly,

Sam

PS

You have to click that Bezos laugh link.

PPS

Just in case you missed them last week. Christmas. Ghosts. Look at these beautiful things:

They're in our store now. They cost £3.50, they look beautiful and the stories are just superb. PG Wodehouse! AL Barker! Edith Wharton! Robert Louis Stevenson! If anyone deserves exclamation marks it's them. You can get four for the bargain price of £12.

PPPS

As usual, I'm also going to use the end of the newsletter for a few more adverts, where you can safely ignore them, or kindly indulge me, depending on your fancy:

Firstly, please join The Singles Club so we can pay writers to write. Here's the blurb:

We have a fantastic new subscription system set up for our Singles Club so that you now only have to make one payment to get hold of 12 stories. But how to go through the ins and outs of paypal payment systems without boring the dirtbox off you, I don't know. Probably the best thing to do is to head over to the relevant page on our site, where I've tried to give a brief, but to the point explanation, and to take it from there. The important things to know are that:

(1) Subscribing saves you the trouble of going to the site every month to get your fix of superb ebook literature – we'll just email you the files every month.
(2) Subscribing (so long as enough people do it) will enable us to start giving our authors money up front on for each story. Yes! We are going to pay people to write short stories. It's like the golden days of the 1920s. Only  they'll be in electronic book format instead of Strand magazine… Anyway! You get the idea. This is a mighty fine way to keep authors doing what they do best – entertaining you.
(3) It costs £12 a year, or £1 a month, or less than a meal in Pizza Express. Unless you have a voucher.

Secondly, our website is here. It's had that revamp I was promising. It's slick.

Thirdly, to donate to Galley Beggar Press and earn yet more of our gratitude, click here.

Fourthly, go on, buy a postcard set. They're lovely:

Fifthly, thanks for reading write down to the bottom. There's no prize, but I sure do like you.

Oh and I have to mention the Ride reunion! YEAH!