Forgive me! I suddenly realised I'd left you hanging in mid-air, desperate to know what my other brilliant idea was. Well, it's this; I'm going to make a podcast!
(Does one 'make' a podcast? Whatever one does I'm going to be doing it.)
I know you're thinking, 'What on earth can Alison be planning to podcast about?' Then again perhaps you're like me and not entirely sure what a podcast is. That should read 'like I was': I know all about them now.
They're like a radio show but different. I won't go into technicalities here - I don't want to bore you and anyway I've forgotten a lot of what I found out - so let me just explain what my podcast is going to involve.
As I mentioned in a previous post I am currently writing a sequel to my best-selling memoir, This Time Next Year. In order to prepare the ground, so to speak, and to start building a potential customer base, I am going to serialise This Time Next Year and podcast it.
Do you like the way I talk about 'building a potential customer base'? Can you tell I'm trying to learn about marketing and promotion? I'm supposed to be building my online presence but I'm not being awfully successful at that. Trouble is I keep getting distracted.
But to get back to my podcast. I think I will break it down into fifteen minute episodes and broadcast them once a week, maybe?
The recording itself seems simple enough. I just have to borrow Adam's microphone and read. Broadcasting is said to be simple. But then most things on the internet are said to be simple yet I struggle with them. Maybe I should wait until Adam is home from uni so he can help me.
In the meantime I can start breaking my diary down into episodes.
I am an intelligent woman. How hard can this be?
P.S. In case anyone should accuse me of false pretences the definition of best-selling is subjective. What counts as best-selling to me may not be what counts as best-selling in a more traditional view.
It occurred to me when I was in the shower this morning. I leapt out and bumped into David on the landing.
'I've had a marvellous idea!' I said.
He has an unfortunate tendency to groan when I say things like that but this time he just grunted and hurried on down the stairs. I followed him.
'Don't you want to know what it is?' I asked as he opened the front door. 'What are you doing? Are you leaving me?'
'I wouldn't,' said the postman, looking me up and down and grinning as he handed a parcel to David.
'Oh. Um, thank you.'
It was quite a compliment actually considering I was dripping wet, in a skimpy towel, and rather fetching flowery shower cap. Come to think of it it was probably the skimpiness of said towel rather than my innate gorgeousness that did it.
How many towels can children use at any one time? Have they not heard of leaving towels to dry in between use? And why do they use my best towels? Not to mention global warming and the environment crisis.
David had closed the door, and taken his parcel into the kitchen while I pondered these things. I shook myself and followed myself.
'Why did you let me do that?'
'Do what?' he asked.
'Expose myself to the postman.'
'Oh that,' he said as if it were an everyday occurrence. 'I assumed you'd heard the knock on the door. Do you want coffee?' He glanced at me. 'Or do you want to get dressed first?'
I stomped back up the stairs. He can wait to hear about my brilliant idea if that's his attitude.
Many many apologies for the huge gap in writing this blog only because I keep a proper diary as well - although Chloe says a blog is a proper diary - it means I'd be spending most of my time writing and I still have to work, yes, even though ... oh wait, let's stop and start again.
Deep breath, Aliss. There, that's better. I have some exciting news!
I've decided to publish the next volume of my diary! As a book I mean. Like This Time Next Year. How exciting is that?
Bev nearly wet herself when I told her. (A problem we all have these days truth be told.) And good old Dad said, 'I'm delighted, Alison. I can't wait to find out what happens to me next.'
Mum gave him a strange look and then said, 'You shouldn't encourage her, Bill. You know I couldn't look Monica from the golf club in the eye after the last one.'
Dad and I exchanged looks. I could tell we were both thinking the same thing i.e. with her nose stuck up in the air it was almost impossible to look Monica in the eye at any time. But we kept quiet.
David thinks it's a wonderful idea. His exact words were: oh good, it'll keep you out of trouble for a bit. When he saw my face he quickly changed it to, 'I mean it'll keep you busy though, won't it?'
'Yes,' I agreed. 'But I can't let my fans down.'
'Your fans?'
'All the people who've asked me, nay, begged me, to write more.'
'Oh,' David said, 'I didn't realise, I'm sorry.'
I hoped he'd leave it at that but he had to go on. 'Exactly how many?'
I shrugged. 'Oh you know, lots.'
'More than one hundred?'
'Now you're just being silly,' I said.
'Well, how many is it then?' he persisted.
'At least ... three. If you include Dad and Bev.'
David tried very hard to keep a straight face as he pulled me towards him and hugged me. 'You can't let them down then.'
'No, quite, and I've a story to tell. Not just our love story but the universal story of ageing women and the difficulties they encounter as they weave their way through the modern world.'
'Have you been in the Self Help section in the library again?'
'No, it was something I heard someone on Woman's Hour say.'
We both laughed and then I said, 'But seriously, you're okay with me doing this?'
'Of course. I want to know where our story goes too.'
And that dear reader is what you will find out. Eventually. This is very early notice of publication as I haven't actually written the book yet. My diaries will take quite a bit of editing. But I'll try to keep you up-dated here.
So laters, folks. As the young people say these days.
