Tomorrow (Sat 4th February) is National Libraries Day, a day when people up and down the country are being urged to get down to their local library and be reminded of just how flippin’ brilliant it is.

Because libraries are brilliant, and right now they really need your help, with countless branches being closed across the UK, and hundreds of library staff losing their jobs. National Libraries Day is a day when book lovers everywhere can stand up and show how much they value the services their local library – and libraries in general – provide.

But I’m not going to dwell too much on the politics of it all. Other people are much more qualified to do that than I am. (If you’re interested, though, it’s well worth checking out the blog of Alan Gibbons, a leading library campaigner and fab author to boot). What I’m going to talk about is what my first local library meant to me.

Caol Library was – and thankfully still is – a small but well-stocked building attached to Caol Primary School near Fort William, Scotland. Growing up I went to Caol School, and once a week we’d go to the library to choose a book. Even then, aged 5,  I considered books to be magical things. Walking into a library or bookshop always made my heart beat a little faster and my head race as I imagined the countless possibilities sitting spine-out on those shelves. The visit to Caol Library would always be the highlight of my school week.

I can still remember the smell of it – it was a comforting smell, a smell that said “here be fun and awe and terror and wonder. And some Mills & Boon, but ignore those”. From the moment you walked in the door it was a mild-mannered and oh-so-polite assault on your senses. The books, so many different colours, so many different sizes, so many different shapes. They were lined up neatly on shelves, spread out across tables, stacked on the desk patiently waiting to be checked back in.

And the silence! Oh, the glorious silence. I was never a fan of a noisy, rowdy classroom, and we were all under strict instructions to behave ourselves in the library. Amazingly, everyone did as they were told, and the thirty minutes we spent in near silence as we picked our books felt like a special time, when the world had been put on pause while I browsed through other worlds I might wish to visit.

Being a small library, there was only one member of staff. Mrs White was the librarian during my first few years at primary school, and then Mrs McAllister took over. Both of them were lovely. Both of them I still remember, long after I’ve forgotten half of the classmates I had at the time. Mrs McAllister let me stamp my own books and put the ticket into my little folder in her impeccably organised filing system. I was allowed to check out my own books! For a book-loving 9 year old, it was like being handed the key to the Universe.

There was also a monster in the store cupboard. I know this because both Mrs White and Mrs McAllister told us so. They would go into the store cupboard to fetch some books and scold the monster for misbehaving, or become locked in battle with it, their head popping around the door frame after a few seconds to assure us they’d soon have things under control.

It’s no longer my local library, but whenever I do go to Caol Library I know the monster is still in there, because the librarians – my librarians – made me believe all those years ago.

Shortly after my first visit with the school I became a regular visitor to the library outwith school hours. I’d spend whole days there sometimes browsing the shelves, reading, chatting to the librarian or just praying for a glimpse of the monster in the cupboard. Other days I’d go in, grab the first book I saw and take it home to devour it in an afternoon.

I estimate I was probably taking out aroud 100 books a year by the time I was 10, and reading dozens more in the library itself. My parents could not possibly have afforded to buy that many books, and so without the library my world would have been a lot smaller, a lot duller, and I doubt I’d be doing the job I do today.

A world without libraries – without luxurious silences, Mrs McAllisters and monsters in the store cupboards – would be a world with a little less magic floating around in it. I don’t know about you, but I think we need as much magic these days as we can get.

Nostalgia and magic aside, libraries are also a vital resource to so many communities, acting as everything from a social gathering place to an informal advice centre. I read a quote recently that said if you ask Google a question it will help you find a million answers. If you ask a librarian the same question, she (or he) will help you find one, but it’ll be the right one.

So whatever you’ve got planned tomorrow, make time to go visit your nearest library. If you’re not a member, sign up. If you are a member, bring a friend with you who isn’t. Browse the shelves. Chat to the librarians. Get to know the place, and in no time at all you’ll love it, and you’ll be doing your bit to help libraries stay open and stay around.

And when you’re there, if you happen to come across the store room and notice that the door is ever so slightly ajar, whatever you do don’t go inside…

For more information on National Libraries Day, check out the official website.

I’ve been clearing out an old external hard drive tonight as I attempt to get myself organised for the new year ahead. While doing so I came across this rough cover design for the first Invisible Fiends book, Mr Mumbles. The art, as ever, is by the brilliant Jonny Duddle.

Which cover do you think is best – this one, or the one that actually appeared on the final book?

Concept cover for Mr Mumbles

As if that’s not scary enough, I also came across a photograph I took at the house we lived in until very recently. It was an old farm house and prone to the odd spider infestation. I saw this ‘un clinging to a net curtain one day and had to take a photograph. Shortly afterwards I killed it by luring it outside then hitting it with the car. Make sure you click the image to see it in its full hairy-kneed horror…

Run! Run for your very lives!

Frickin’ horrible, isn’t it? No wonder we left.

And that’s it for today. No blog tomorrow, but be back here on Monday when I’ll be posting some new advice for writers. Assuming the spiders don’t get me.

Tomorrow (5th of January) is the official publication day for the penultimate Invisible Fiends book The Beast. I’ve decided against doing blog tours of any of that stuff for this book and will instead be posting a lot of content here on the blog that you’ll hopefully find interesting.

I’m going to start by talking about the evolution of the character of the Beast, and in doing so talk about the evolution of the Invisible Fiends series as a whole. My hope is it will not only reveal a bit about this book, but about my writing process in general.

Still, before we get to that, let’s take a look at the official blurb for the book:

Kyle is having trouble with the neighbours. They’ve turned into black-eyed, flesh-eating zombies. Now would be a good time to leave town but out there, on the snow covered streets, something far worse is lurking.

There is a beast in the shadows and the only way for Kyle to fight it is to use his powers. But every time Kyle uses them, he weakens the barrier between this world, and the terrifying, world of the Darkest Corners. If the barrier breaks there will be more killers on the streets.

And here’s the front cover to give you an idea of what the Beast itself looks like:

Quite the charmer, eh? This is the Beast’s first appearance in the Invisible Fiends series, but that wasn’t always going to be the case. In the first draft of Mr Mumbles (then called “Imaginary Friends Reunited”, or “Project IFR” to long time blog readers) there was a character with the same name who looked just as monstrous as the creature above.

That Beast arrived somewhere near the end of the book. Below you’ll find an extract taken from that first draft which shows the Beast’s first appearance. Before you read that, though, I should set the scene…

The first draft of the book that would eventually become Mr Mumbles was written over a period of about a year. I was working full time and juggling a young family (not literally, that would be dangerous and probably illegal) and dreaming that one day I might be able to call myself a writer.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the book was short. Way too short for the age group, in fact, as just under 20,000 words. The finished final draft would be 44,000 words long, but that wouldn’t happen until about a year down the line, and the full details of that process will be a story for another day.

Not only was it short, it was a bit naff in places, too. Don’t get me wrong, it had plenty of strong points, but there were a fair few clunkers of ideas in there, too. The biggest of all the duffers was the ideas that the imaginary friends could be hurt by “factual” things. Because they were imaginary – or fictional – anything containing factual information was like Kryptonite to them. At one point in the story Kyle fashioned himself a shield using pages from a dictionary, while swiping at Mr Mumbles with a rolled up world map. As you’ll see in the extract below, he also used his birth certificate to somewhat devastating effect.

And I think the point I’m trying to make – if there is one – is that it’s OK to write some naff bits in your book. As I always say, a first draft doesn’t have to be right, it has to be written. I’ve spoken about that in a bit more detail in this post (warning: contains sandwiches). The first draft of Mr Mumbles was far from perfect. It took another year to get it as close to perfect as I was able to get it, and then the time came for me to leave it alone and move on to book 2.

With unlimited time I would almost certainly have edited and tinkered forever more, but I had to leave it be and let it stand on its own two feet and do you know what? I’m damn proud of it. I’m proud of the nightmares it has given people. I’m proud of the emails I’ve received from parents and teachers telling me ol’ Mumbles turned a previously reluctant reader on to the joy of books. I’m also proud I gave one kid a raging phobia of hats and, presumably, people who wear them.

The final draft of Mr Mumbles was many times stronger than the draft the extract comes from. I like to think that’s because I improved as a writer while working on it, and I hope I’ve continued to improve since then. As I say in my workshops, writing is exactly like anything else in this world – the more you do it, the better you get. If you’ve pitched a book recently and had a rejection, don’t be disheartened. Understand that it means you’re one step closer to being published. The next book you write will be better. The one after that, better still. If you truly want it, you won’t give up – you’ll never give up – and all the practice will pay off in the end.

Anyway, The Beast, then. Um… it’s a big monster thing and it sort of always ways, so I don’t suppose it has really evolved at all. Apologies for the vastly misleading blog title. It was in the first draft, I took it out, but realised it would lend itself to a story much later in the series. So that’s what I did. Did I mention it’s out tomorrow?

Here’s that extract I promised. Enjoy.

Extract from Invisible Fiends: Mr Mumbles – draft 1

Now obviously you know I’ve got a blog, or how else would you be reading this? But did you know you can also find me on Facebook? Oh aye, I’m dead up to date with technology an’ that.

If you enjoy my books then hurry up and become an official fan over on the Facebook page. The link below will take you to the page, then all you have to do is click “Like”. Simple as that. I’m going to be running some exclusive Facebook competitions in January so now’s the perfect time to declare your undying love and devotion.

YES! I Wish to Declare Myself an Official Fan of Barry Hutchison. Because He’s Ace.

This will probably be my last post before the New Year, but one of my (many) resolutions is to do more with the blog, so expect a flurry of activity in early January gradually fading to nothing by early February, followed by ten months of stutteringly irregular updates whenever I can be arsed find time in my busy schedule.

All the best for the bells, then, and I’ll meet you back here in 2012, muchachos.

One of my New Year’s Resolutions for 2012 is to learn to be more assertive when it comes to promoting my books. I’ve always been wary of coming over as pushy, but what the Hell, I don’t write the things so no-one can read them.

I’m not even going to wait for New Year to put the resolution into practice either. I’m starting right now. Here then are 7 Reasons to Read Invisible Fiends.

1. The first book in the series, Mr Mumbles, won the Royal Mail Award for Children’s Books, which was voted on by thousands of children across the country. It was also nominated for some other awards, too, but didn’t win. Which, quite frankly, was a bloody outrage.

2. Caddie, the evil antagonist of book 2, Raggy Maggie, was described in one review as “one of the greatest ever creations in children’s horror literature”. You can read that full review here.

3. This man owns copies:

Plonker: Nicholas Lyndhurst

4. The series is available across a number of formats. You can find it in paperback, audiobook, ebook and in large print and braille. If you pay me enough money I will also come round your house and read it aloud to you in my lovely Scottish accent. If you own an Amazon Kindle you can currently buy Mr Mumbles for just 99p.

5. Horror legend Darren Shan described the series as “deliciously nightmarish”. Coming from a mind as twisted as his, that’s really saying something.

6. The fourth book in the series, Doc Mortis, was too scary to be published in Germany. Which is also really saying something when you think about it.

7. The books are funny, too! They have been described as “the funniest horror stories you’ll ever read” and reviewers have pointed out that “you won’t know whether to laugh or scream”. Ideally you’ll do both. At the same time. And so hard that a little bit of wee comes out.

So there you have it. Hopefully you’re now brainwashed convinced to invest in one or more of the books in the series. If so, pop out and visit your local bookshop or go place your order at LoveReading4Kids.

Next on my self-promo assault: Five Prestigious Awards I Didn’t Win but Very Clearly Should Have

Tomorrow sees the beginning of what is destined to be the greatest battle in the history of all mankind. A thousand years hence, citizens of what shall by then be known as “Baztopia” (currently “Earth”) will look back and say “ooh, that was quite exciting, wasn’t it?”, before returning to their blissful, joy-filled lives.

Because tomorrow, my friends, sees the start of the final of Book Cover Wars 2011! My lovely, lovely new book, THE 13TH HORSEMAN, is in the final four, and what better way to celebrate than by the ruthless character assassination of one of my opponents?

So, in case you’d temporarily taken leave of your senses and were considering voting for his book, here are five things you probably didn’t know about WEREWORLD author, Curtis Jobling…

1. Curtis designed and developed the character models for Bob the Builder. Over a period of several months he painstakingly fashioned each of the characters by hand using his patented mix of dog hearts, asbestos and babies’ tears.

2. The character of Pilchard the cat was added to the show in tribute to all the kittens Curtis has microwaved over the years. The stripes on Pilchard’s back and tail represent the age at which Curtis commited his first kitchen-related kitten atrocity (7).

3. The concept for Curtis’ WEREWORLD books was actually the brainchild of eighty-six year old homeless man, Alfie Thompson. Curtis bought the idea from the crippled WWII veteran for seventeen pence and half a sandwich he found in a bin outside the Leicester branch of Marks & Spencer. Shortly afterwards Mr Thompson reportedly died of acute sadness.

4. The stories themselves are hand-written by teams of children in the poverty-stricken Chinese city of Shenzhen, who work up to eighteen hours a day writing paragraph after paragraph of material. At the end of each week, Curtis selects the paragraphs which will be included in the finished books. Those children whose efforts don’t merit inclusion are summarily executed under Jobling’s watchful eye.

5. Curtis is the creator of the animated show, Frankenstein’s Cat. The show features a feline protagonist who was pieced together  by a deranged madman from the ruined remains of other cats. The entire premise is actually a biographical account of Jobling’s teenage years. See point 2, above.

So, dear friends, is this really the type of person you want to give your vote to? A man who executes sweat shop workers, breaks the hearts of pensioners and harvests baby tears for his own personal use?

Actually, knowing my readership, the answer to that question is probably “yes”. Damn. I really didn’t think this through.

Ah well, I don’t suppose it really matters who you vote for, just vote for your favourite, and may the best cover win!

You may remember that last year, The Crowmaster was one of the finalists in the Book Cover Wars event held over at Mr Ripley’s Enchanted Books. I asked you to vote and you voted in your tens! Sadly, The Crowmaster was beaten by… someone else. I forget who. That pesky Shan, probably.

Anyway, that was last year. This year it isn’t the Crowmaster who needs your help, it’s the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse because The 13th Horseman is in this week’s heat, and it’s up against some very stiff competition. What’s more, two of the other three covers belong to books written by fellow Trapped By Monsters writers – namely Andy Briggs and Tommy Donbavand – so this is the round voted most likely to collapse into petty bickering and squabling before the week’s half out.

The Horsemen of the Apocalypse have asked me to request that you vote for their cover. Especially Famine, who has never won anything in his life. He and the others would dearly love to win this, so go cast your vote now!

Utterly fab author, Gillian Philip, sent me a message on Twitter to say that her son, Jamie, was going to dress up as Mr Mumbles for Halloween. Jamie has been a fan of the Invisible Fiends series since he, his twin sister, Lucy, and the rest of their class came along to see me at the Get Moray Reading festival in Elgin. He knew exactly how he wanted his outfit to look, and so he put his mum to work…

And what a result. Check out the photos below. Jamie looks every bit as grotesque and hideous as I imagine Mr Mumbles does, and I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Shockingly, Jamie didn’t win the school fancy dress competition, but I think he deserves to, so I’m going to send him a signed copy of Doc Mortis as a consolation prize.

Jamie and his twin sister Lucy. Not looking much like twins, to be fair.

A truly horrifying close-up.

Let's see that nose in profile...

Top work Jamie. And, to a lesser extent, Jamie’s mum, Gillian. Without doubt the best Mr Mumbles costume I have seen, and the scowl is perfect, too.

If anyone else has photos of themselves dressed up as a character from Invisible Fiends, I’d love to see it. Send it along to barry@barryhutchison.com and I’ll put them up here on the site.

The final book in me old mucker, Tommy Donbavand’s SCREAM STREET series has recently been published, and to mark the occasion Tommy has written an exclusive thirteen part story which is running over a whole load of blogs. When Tommy asked if I’d be happy to host a chapter of the story here I jumped at the chance. Tommy and I chatted about his idea for a street full of haunted houses when it only existed in his head, so it’s fantastic to be involved at the end of the series, too.

Of course, while the books are over, you haven’t heard the last of Scream Street, but to find out about what’s next for Luke and the others, check out Tommy’s blog. To read the story from the start, which is strongly advised, check out the first post on the Scream Street website.

And without any further ado, I give you the next episode of Shiver of the Phantom.

Chapter Four

The Glasses

“What did you do that for?” cried Resus, rubbing the back of his head.

Cleo looked up from her notebook. “Do what?”

“I didn’t laugh at your stupid story. There’s no need to throw stuff at me!”

“I didn’t throw anything at you,” Cleo retorted. “I haven’t moved from this chair.”

Luke jumped off the bed and began to collect up the bits of model ship. “My dad built that with me a couple of weeks before we moved.” He groaned. “Took us ages to get it right!” He ran his hand back and forth over the wooden floor. “Where’s the little plastic pilot gone?”

“Is this him?” asked Resus, pulling a tiny figure from his hair.

Luke threw Cleo an angry look. “His head’s snapped off!”

“Don’t blame me,” said Cleo. “I’ve told you, I didn’t throw it.”

“You didn’t need to,” said Resus. “One wave of your magic wand and you can get one of your characters to do it for you.”

“I haven’t touched my wand,” said the mummy. “I was just sitting—” She stopped as the game controller lifted out of Resus’s hands and rose into the air. It hovered there for a second, then shot across the room and bounced off Cleo’s shoulder.

“It could be a poltergeist attack,” suggested Resus. “Like the ones we used to have when you first moved here.”

“I don’t think so,” said Luke. “When those attacks started, everything flew round the room at once. This is happening one item at a time. If this is a poltergeist, it’s not a very good one.”

“But who’s ‘it’?” asked Cleo. “Who’s doing this?”

Luke shrugged. “Could it be a ghost?”

“We’d be able to see a ghost, wouldn’t we?” said Resus.

“It depends what type of ghost it is,” answered Cleo. “It could be a ghoul, a phantom or a spectre. Phantoms in particular find it difficult to appear solid…”

“But there must be a way to see them,” Luke pointed out. “Otherwise no one would know they exist.”

“There’s a spell that allows you to communicate with them,” said Cleo. “And sometimes you can see them at dawn or dusk, when the sky looks red. ‘Red sky at morn, a phantom will haunt. Red sky at night, you’re in for a fright.’”

Luke grabbed the computer games magazine from the bed and pulled a pair of cardboard glasses from the cover. “These are 3D glasses,” he said. “This issue had an article all about a new 3D console that was coming out. You could use the glasses to see what some of the games would look like.”

“We can already see in 3D,” said Resus. “And we still can’t see anyone here.”

“But Cleo said you can sometimes see phantoms in red light,” Luke reminded him. He put the glasses on, closed the eye behind the blue lens and gasped.

Standing right in front of them was a ghost.

__________________________________________

Ooh! Good, eh? He can write, that Donbavand. For the next part of the story, just follow this link.

Last night, I met a hero of mine. It was in a crypt below a church with the thunder of drums hanging heavy and ominous in the air. And a right cracking night it was, too.

You might not have heard of Neil Gaiman. At least, you might not have heard of him if you’re deaf and blind, and have spent the last 20 years living in a ditch. On the moon. Just in case this describes you, here’s a quick summary of his career. Much more detailed information can be found on Wikipedia. You can also read Neil’s blog.

Neil Gaiman is very busy man. He has written adult novels, children’s novels, graphic novels, short stories and picture books. He has also written movie screenplays and scripts for TV programmes, most notably BABYLON 5 and DOCTOR WHO, as well as his own original series, NEVERWHERE, for the BBC.

He has won several awards for his work, including the prestigious Carnegie Medal. In fact, his children’s novel, THE GRAVEYARD BOOK, was the first book ever to win both the Carnegie and the Newberry medal. And well deserved they were, too.

I’ve been a huge fan of Neil’s work since reading the collected editions of his SANDMAN comics back in the early 90s. Since then, I’ve read pretty much everything he has put out, and I’ve always admired the way he can jump between genres without any apparent difficulty. With a Neil Gaiman book, you never quite know what you’re going to get, but you can be pretty much assured that it’s going to be great.

And last night I listened to him talking in that crypt I mentioned in Edinburgh. And then I met him. But I’ll get back to that in a minute.

Me and Neil Gaiman. That's me on the right, looking like I've just excreted an owl.

First, let me set the scene. I’d driven for over 3 hours to get to Edinburgh for the event, which was being organised by the ever-excellent Edinburgh Bookshop. I had packed my hefty hardback copy of THE ABSOLUTE SANDMAN for him to sign, and secured it safely in the boot of the car before setting out.

The event started at 7:30pm, so at around 6:45pm I walked the length of Princes Street and arrived at the crypt. At which point, I realised I had left the book in the car, which was parked at the opposite end of Princes Street, behind Waverley Station. I was scared I would miss the start of the event if I ran back to get the book, but Cat, a friend of mine who works at the bookshop, had faith that I would make it back.

So, abandoning my bag with her, I began to race back through the packed streets, shouldering pensioners out of my way as I hurtled back towards Waverley Station. Half way there, I realised my car keys were in my bag, so I about-turned, ran back to the crypt, then tried again.

My plan was to run to the car, get the book, jump in a taxi and arrive with ten minutes to spare. Unfortunately, there were no taxis waiting at Waverley Station, and I had no choice but to run back along the street, lugging the enormous tome with me. It had started to rain by this point, and when I finally arrived back at the crypt, my hair was matted down over my face, my white shirt was semi-transparent, and I was breathing heavily.

At this point, Neil Gaiman walked in. His eyes briefly met mine, and for a moment I think he suspected I might be a dangerously obsessive fan, there to bludgeon him to death with his own book. Of course, I wouldn’t dream of doing something like that. That book cost a bloody fortune.

The event started soon after. Neil kicked off with a reading of CHIVALRY, a short story from his book, SMOKE AND MIRRORS, which had the audience laughing out loud. He then sat down for a Q&A with Vanessa from the bookshop and spoke about his career so far, from his early days as journalist through BATMAN and DOCTOR WHO, and right up to what he is working on at the moment.

If I could pick a career to use as a blueprint for my own, it would be Gaiman’s. He has deliberately avoided being pigeon-holed into any specific category. No-one really knows if he’s a horror writer or a fantasy writer or a science-fiction writer. He’s all of the above, and at the same time he’s none of them. In many way his work defies categorisation. He is a genre all to himself.

After the Q&A, I got the opportunity to meet him and have my books signed. At this point, things become difficult to recall in any great detail. I’ve met dozens of authors over the last few years and haven’t batted an eyelid, but here I was about to speak to Neil Gaiman and, I’ll be honest, I panicked. The conversation went a bit like this:

‘Hello,’ says Neil Gaiman.

‘Mumble-mumble-mumble,’ I reply.

Neil spots my Sandman book and nods approvingly.

‘I think I’ll use the silver pen on this,’ he says.

‘Pen. Yes,’ I say, a little too loudly.

‘What’s your name?’ asks Neil.

I hesitate. Christ. What is my name? I knew it a minute ago. Neil looks at me expectantly. I flash him an awkward smile. A bead of sweat trickles along the length of my nose. Name. Name! What the hell’s my-?

‘Just put…’ I begin. Name, name, come on man, think!

‘Yes?’

‘Just put…’

Neil has the pen poised over the page. I can hear people murmuring behind me, growing impatient. I decide just to tell him any name. I can always change mine by deed poll later to match what he writes.

‘Just put Barry,’ I blurt, then I laugh sharply when I realise I’ve given him the right one. He gets that look again like I might be about to kill him, but signs the book and draws a little picture to go with it. He then signs another book for my son, Kyle.

My signed Absolute Sandman Volume 1. In silver pen.

I had thought about mentioning my own books to him, but by this point I just want to get the hell out of there before he really starts becoming concerned for his personal safety. I’m about to flee when Cat turns up with a camera to take a photo of Neil and me, two authors together. Me and Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman and me.

Awkwardly, I sit down beside him. I somehow manage to fashion the strap of my bag into a garotte with which I almost strangle myself to death. Neil says something to me. I reply ‘YES,’ too loudly again, then grin like a maniac. The camera flashes, we shake hands, and then I finally let the poor people queuing behind me get their turn.

Cat leads me off to a corner of the room to recover. I stop short of hyperventilating into a brown paper bag, but only just. Cat asks if I gave him a copy of THE 13th HORSEMAN. I tell her I didn’t, and she immediately swings into action. She gets me to sign a copy of the book, which she then brings over to him and which – get this – he later takes home with him!

Neil Gaiman has a copy of my book. Neil Gaiman. My Book. Gaiman. Book. Gaiman-book. Gaimook. Gk.

Sorry, not quite sure why I wrote that. Let us never speak of it again.

It was only during the three hour drive home that I realised I’d made a mess of the little message I’d written to him inside the book. I thanked him for inspiring me to become an author myself. At least, that’s what I meant to write, but I’m pretty sure in my semi-coherent state I actually thanked him for ‘encouraging’ me to become an author, as if he himself had popped round my house back in the late 80s/early 90s and personally egged me on. After reading that, I’ll be surprised if he bothers going any further.

And that, I think, is why they say you should never meet your heroes. You’ll only end up making a dick of yourself if you do.

UPDATE: Neil himself has RT’d the link to this post on Twitter, and I’m now getting more traffic than I’ve seen in my entire life to date. Which is nice. On the off-chance that any of you new people are interested in finding out a little more about me, may I suggest you start with this post – An Open Letter to Me, Aged 10.