It’s raining cats and dogs, but that’s not my cup of tea

Book updates, including my daughter’s brilliant marketing plan, cover versions and royalties, misophonia, and moving the goalposts

“If you are asked why you favour a particular [pub], it would seem natural to put the beer first, but the thing that most appeals to me about the Moon Under Water is what people call its ‘atmosphere’.”
George Orwell, review of The Pub and the People by Mass-Observation (The Listener, 1943)

Some teachers – not me, of course – are sadistic in the way they correct students’ mistakes. A student might feel proud of herself for saying, “Hey, teacher, look at the weather outside, it’s raining cats and dogs!” The teacher then inwardly cringes and barks at the student, “No, don’t say that, nobody really says that!” And then the poor student feels miserable and demotivated, thinking to herself, “But my teacher in school taught me that cool idiom…”

The truth is, some people do actually say it – but not many, and they tend to be a bit more, shall we say, ‘old school’ (a polite way of saying that only old farts say it, no one under the age of 65 would). Teachers are correcting you from the heart, even if it doesn’t really seem like it. Our reaction is only because we want you to remember your ‘mistake’ so it doesn’t happen again (but it probably will).

So stop yourself the next time you’re about to say it and instead say something more natural, like, “It’s pissing it down!” Or a simpler, “It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring!”

Using idioms naturally, within the flow of conversation, isn’t easy. In my book, I talk about common overused idioms and suggest a few more natural ones. For me, a natural idiom is one that slides right in automatically. You should never have to force it, otherwise it’s noticeably obvious (surely there’s an idiom for ‘noticeably obvious’, no?).

Readers, pay attention – your task for today is to spot the idioms and the idiomatic, colloquial language. They should all blend in and sound natural. I should hope none of them stick out like a sore thumb.

Why is my book taking so long?

Mainly, because I love having a long, messy and unruly beard so much and I’ve decided I’m no longer in any rush to get it done. That would mean shaving this beautiful, glorious facial hair, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint my family, who all love it so much.

No, really, why is it taking so damn long? What’s the holdup?

A few reasons, one of which is that I keep moving the goalposts on myself. I’m not sure if most people would do this to themselves. In the beginning, my goals for my book were modest. It was a project I’d been wanting to do, and I wrote when I could in between teaching and other obligations.

Then things got more serious. My editors, all so helpful, had some excellent suggestions. One in particular, who shall remain nameless for now, was especially harsh on me. “Tough love,” he called it. He’s a journalist and a dear friend, so I trust[ed] him. At one point, he was so exasperated with me that he said, “Oh Christ, sorry Daniel, but…” in response to another one of my terrible ideas.

I kept going back and forth. One day I’d tidy things up, rewrite some chunks, the next I would write more, then delete more, then get sloppy and start [over]writing again, telling too many bad jokes (that could get me into trouble), waffling on and on…I couldn’t decide on what I wanted the book to be. Who, after all, is/was my target audience?

And the longer I was unemployed, the more pressure I was putting on myself. It went from a modest goal to a project where I said, “I need to justify all this time away from work, without a salary, so I’d better really make this book something that people will actually want to pay for, and something I can market and try to appeal to a wider audience.”

That meant I kept editing, deleting, rewriting. Around mid-November, I was done. Or so I thought. It was time for formatting. And that was a steep learning curve. At times I was ready to throw in the towel and call it quits. There were technical problems. The software was glitchy (and still is). I thought I was way out of my depth. Eventually I got the hang of it.

But as I was formatting, I saw things. And so there was more editing. And more. And more rewriting – it was endless.

My cover was ready. But then it wasn’t. I got some mixed feedback. Some people loved it, some…didn’t. At all. So I scrapped it and I almost have a new one (which is a funny tale to share later).

Mid-December, it was definitely done. I’d reread the damn thing a thousand times. I sent it to my Kindle to read one last time, just to see how it looked…

…and found so many things to fix.

Will this ever end?

These past few months haven’t just been writing. It’s been lots of research, mainly figuring out how to list it, where to list it, royalties, getting reviews, marketing, etc. I haven’t been just a writer in this process. I’ve had to be so many things.

But that’s okay. The more I figure out now, the easier it will be for my next book (and the one after that, and then after that…). I have so many ideas for the future, and although I don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch, I’m feeling [cautiously] optimistic about my future projects and turning this into a living. But I’m not making any concrete plans just yet – we’ll play it by ear and see how it goes.

What about this Substack, can I make money from this?

In theory, yes, but in actuality, no. Because I don’t want to – that’s not my intention. I don’t know how many of my readers subscribe to other newsletters on Substack, but I get a few. All of mine have a free and a paid option. The paid version gives you more features, more posts and one or two other things, but my intention from the get-go has always been to keep this free. I don’t pay for any, though funnily enough, there is one journalist I’d be happy to pay for, but she doesn’t have a Substack and the publication where she works, Puck, is expensive, and I’m not interested in much of their other stuff. That was one big reason why Substack was started, so writers like her could branch out on their own and get their own direct sources of revenue. Some big name writers make great money from this, but come on, I’m small fry in comparison.

Having said that, I am flattered that a couple of readers have pledged subscriptions and said they were happy to pay for this content (thank you, that’s so kind). Money is always a delicate topic, but if anyone wants to support me, then buy my book[s]. And spread the word.

But this newsletter – though feel free to call it a blog – is always going to be free. Too many people these days suffer from ‘subscription overload’ and I’d hate to put pressure on anyone. Let’s face it – when you pay for something, you feel more pressure to get your money’s worth. Let’s keep this low pressure. Your time is limited and precious, and the choices out there are endless.

Okay, so when will this ever end?

Just after I told myself that I was definitely done writing, I thought of two more points. Those two sections are some of the strongest parts of the book. So strong, in fact, that I can’t believe I overlooked them the first time. I hope that means all these ‘delays’ have been worth it, if it makes the book better.

You, dear readers, will have no idea what parts of the book they are. That’s the way it should be. History is littered with countless examples of last-minute, previously unthought-of decisions or additions to speeches that proved to be the best part.

Anything else? Yes, the issue of royalties (damn you, Amazon!)

Back to that sensitive issue of money. First, a brief story, revisiting my last post of 2023, where I shared my feelings on Wham’s “Last Christmas” (I hate it, if you’d forgotten).

I was in a lovely café – see the picture at the start of this post – over the Christmas holidays reading my book on my Kindle. The coffee was excellent, and I was focused and productive in my editing.

And then “Last Christmas” came on. That’s bad enough, but even worse? It was a dire cover version. I did my best to block it and focus on my book. And made it through the song without having any conniptions.

The next song was a different Christmas tune. And after that?

Another cover version of “Last Christmas!” A different one, even worse than the previous. What was this café doing to me? How did they know?

I struggled but got through it. And then there was another innocent Christmas song after that.

And guess what – you’ll never believe this, but then came a third cover version of that wretched song. I was about to go ape shit at this point. I was even thinking that the original version wasn’t nearly as bad in comparison.

Now is the time when I should tell you that I suffer from misophonia. Certain sounds drive me crazy in an anxiety-inducing way. Most misophonia sufferers struggle with the sound of people eating and chewing, as do I. In fact, the list of things that trigger my misophonia is long. Bad, insipid songs are on the list (there are many that get my heart racing and my blood boiling). And these cover versions were getting under my skin and causing me to squirm and sending my heart rate into the stratosphere.

I was ready to leave but thankfully, that third cover version was the last, and after that, it was back to the usual standard Christmas tunes, which are relatively harmless.

Most will be aware of this, but I’ll remind/inform you just in case – so many shops and cafés play cover versions so they can avoid paying royalties, which is why I wrote parts of my book in Starbucks. Criticise me all you want, but the big reason wasn’t so much that they don’t play cover versions, but because for the first few months I was here, I didn’t have a good place where I could write, and the general hum of conversation and background noise doesn’t trigger my misophonia at all. Starbucks is also cheaper, the chairs are comfortable, and there’s no pressure to drink and leave (like in many Viennese cafés). The coffee is decent – I only get filter coffee black – but as we say, better the devil you know, right?

“In the Moon Under Water it is always quiet enough to talk. The house possesses neither a radio nor a piano, and even on Christmas Eve and such occasions the singing that happens is of a decorous kind.”

This pub that George Orwell was writing about didn’t actually exist. In his fictional review, he was talking about all the things he loved in pubs, with a quiet atmosphere being one of them. The old fart that I am, I’ve always appreciated quieter pubs or cafés, especially those rare places that don’t play music at all. I used to frequent a bar in Kyiv called Kupidon, and what I loved most of all was that they never played music. It was always packed, the buzz of lively conversation enough of a soundtrack to create a great atmosphere. My kind of place.

What the hell does this have to do with your book?

Thanks for bearing with me. Dealing with getting my book listed and royalties – I’m new to all this, and though I’ve received some good advice, I’m still figuring a lot of this out as I go. To make a long story short, I know a lot of my audience and loyal readers are in Ukraine, and I am trying to make the book as accessible as possible to them. I’m hoping still to find a way to get a Ukrainian bookshop or publisher to help me with it, but for the time being, I have to deal with one particular devil I know, and that’s Amazon. And Amazon have some silly policies, to put it mildly, which amounts to them screwing me when it comes to royalties for Ukraine-based buyers. And they won’t budge. I won’t bore you with details, but I’m working on it, and I have a decent solution that I think will work. It boils down to wildly different royalty rates around the world, which seems odd and totally unfair, especially considering that the extra money they’re ‘taking’ from me isn’t going to help Ukraine. It’s going to line Amazon’s already fat coffers. Swines!

Alright, this is getting long, what else is there?

Last thing, I promise: marketing. I’ve mentioned before that I’m hopeless with this, and this is where I face my steepest learning curve. A good friend who’s experienced in marketing (and who makes an unflattering appearance in my book) has all sorts of hare-brained ideas, one being a YouTube channel where, for my book launch, I shave my beard and drink scotch as I tell my audience about the book. I mean, hell, what do I know? Maybe that’s a splendid idea – you tell me.

My daughter – she’s five – is a sweetheart and she has a brilliant marketing idea. Two, in fact. One of them is absolutely disgusting and I won’t share it with you here. But I have found a way to sneak it into the book so when (if?) you read that, you’ll see her idea and say to yourself, “Thank goodness he didn’t listen!”

The other day she was eating her Honey Nut Cheerios at breakfast, reading the front and back of the box, and she asked me if it was good for her. I said, it’s okay, not great, not too bad. And she said, “No, no, daddy, look it’s really good, it says it’s really good for you.”

So I tried to explain how marketing works. “Sweetheart, this is just marketing and advertising, these companies try to manipulate and trick people, they’ll say anything to get people to buy it, you can’t always trust them.”

“Okay,” she responded. “So why don’t you do that for your book, say that it’s the best book in the world, that it’s really good, that people should buy it, so that everyone buys it and you can make lots of money and then not work so you can play with me every day!”

The dear girl, bless her heart. She’s looking after my best interests. Would that it were so easy though (she’ll soon be demanding a 10% cut of any royalties).

Why are you writing this post? Shouldn’t you be focusing on your book?

Yes, I should be, I’m just taking a break, so that’s it for now, bye bye, until next time.

But wait, it’s your final task

In the editing process, I said to myself a couple of times, how could I possibly forget that? This is some of my best stuff, but my readers will never know what that was – you’ll think, “wow, great point” without even realising that I only thought of it at the last minute. Or maybe it will be so obvious that it will…

A stick out like the sore thumb

B stick up like a sore thumb

C stick out like a sore thumb

D stick out like sore thumbs

Idioms are almost always fixed expressions where you can’t change the articles or make things plural. Remember the idiom and don’t go saying something like “we’ll play it by the ear.” It sounds odd (but well done for trying, it’s not the end of the world).

If you’d like to read George Orwell’s review of the Moon Under Water:

https://www.orwellfoundation.com/the-orwell-foundation/orwell/essays-and-other-works/the-moon-under-water/

Trust me - you don’t want to see the hair on my head (what little there is).