Hello!

It's very nearly the end of December and I'm tempted to write a review of 2014. It's been a great year. But I fear that if I do start recapping all the things that have happened, this letter may just turn into a triumphalist diatribe about how great our authors are. Even worse, I may start on some pathetic whinge about all the hard work we've been doing. Or, still worse, an unfortunate combination of the two. A pathetic triumphalist whinging diatribe. And who would want to read that? I don't even want to write it - even though it would mainly be about Elly, me and my massive ego.

Don't worry though! I'll still endeavour to make this last newsletter of the year just a little bit longer than you can comfortably read in one sitting. I have two other big topics to hit. First, next year, and second, you.

Did I say I was going to hit you? That's not right! Far from it. The truth is I want to kiss you. But before we get all smoochy, let me briefly look into the future.

Next year, we're releasing more books. Oh yes! What's more, we think they're pretty damn awesome. There's one about two guys going to India to buy an anti-gravity machine, and one with a premise I can't even begin to explain because it's so out there - and damn me we nearly chickened out of publishing it for precisely for that reason before we remembered that we're here to publish the books that wouldn't otherwise get through the filter - and we also thought again about just how incredible this thing is…

But I'll give you the full frontal propaganda assault relating to both of those titles when the time comes in the New Year.

In the meantime, I want to tell you about our next print book, Wrote For Luck by D.J. Taylor.

This is a slight departure for us because DJ Taylor is, as you probably already know, "a writer of formidable accomplishments" (and that's a quote from no less than The Washington Post). He doesn't need us to make his name - but what he does need is someone to release this beautiful, delicate, melancholy and also hilarious short collection. One of our hopes for the next few years is to help prove that people do enjoy reading short stories, that they are more than worth reading and that the best are just as important as good novels. This collection is the first note in what will hopefully become a loud and mighty chorus. It's also a book we love for itself. If you grab a copy from our store we'll whizz you one out in publication week (around 22 January) and you'll hopefully get to share the pleasure.

In the meantime, as a taster, we've made a story from this collection our next Singles Club release. It's called Birthday Lunch and oh Norfolk, it will make you happy and sad and then you'll know why we went to all the trouble of making this wonderful book…

Okay, that's the future. Now for the present. We're still here! Thank goodness. Thank you, in fact. Because without our readers, we wouldn't be a publisher at all. We'd just be people reading stories and then throwing huge amounts of money away. Okay, that's also what publishers do. But my point is that you make it all worthwhile. We've had a tremendous year, we've had incredible support and - best of all - people have read our writers' books. So thank you.

And that's it for 2014. Almost. Because, there is one other person I'd like to thank. That's right, where would we be without Amazon and Jeff Bezos? We'd all live in a fairer, more just world where writers earn more money, independent bookshops stay open --- and who wants that?! Where would the story be? It would be like the Lord Of The Rings without Sauron, Harry Potter without either Voldemort or Slitherin House, British Politics without the Tory party. It would be like medicine without disease. And okay, you're maybe thinking that would be a good thing - but think of all the researchers who would suddenly have nothing to do. Think of all the drug companies suddenly making less money. Think of all the extra doctors on golf courses. As I say, who wants that? That's why we need Amazon just like we need the unstoppable trots, warts on our nethers and giant pulsating buboes on our hooters.

Have a very Happy Christmas.

Fondly,

Sam

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.

And hey! Slowdive tonight at the Forum in London. We're winning!