Legend has it that the KGB came for you at four in the morning. You were woken up. Your brain was foggy. You accepted your fate. Scratched your name on the wall of the Lubyanka…
You know what I’ve always wondered?
Did they let you have a wee before they hauled you off?
Sadly that’s the only thing I want at four in the morning.
That’s what I needed last Monday. And that’s when the KGB came knocking on my door.
Or their 2020 successors.
Like all authors I have a love/hate relationship with Amazon.
They’re just like Angela Miller.
All my teenage years spent asking her out. All the pain, the rejection, the hoops I had to jump through…
Yep, Amazon are exactly the same.
Four in the morning and foolishly – very, very foolishly – I open my e-mails.
‘The paperback will be published by now,’ I think. The paperback of my first novel. ‘Whoop’ will be a significant understatement.
No, it’s not published. Instead of a little box inviting you to ‘buy now’ there’s a dash. And two lines of deathly prose from Amazon. This product is currently unavailable. We don’t know when – or if – it will be available.
The KGB may as well be hammering on the door. I’m wide awake.
What on earth have Amazon done? I need to get in touch with them.
I could sit up in bed – yes, next to my gently sleeping wife – and dictate an e-mail straight into my phone.
“Hey, Siri! Open e-mail!”
I could do that, but the life insurance wouldn’t pay out. They’d say it was a ‘stupid and reckless act, knowingly endangering my own life.’
And they’d be right.
So I stumble downstairs.
The next few days are stressful. I send e-mails. I make phone calls. The paperback is available to me if I want to buy an ‘author copy.’ But the mighty ’Zon refuse to make it available to anyone else. To the queue of people – alright, we’re not talking Harrods on Boxing Day, but still a few – who want to buy it.
Amazon are unfailingly polite. They hope I’m keeping well. They hope I ‘stay safe in these difficult times.’
They ‘remain in the best of dispositions for any future enquiries’ I may have.
But nothing happens. And there’s nothing I can do. They have me over a barrel. Between a rock and a hard place. By the short and curlies.
Wednesday. I check my e-mail again – my bladder is nothing if not punctual.
And I finally go mad.
Four in the morning and I’m in full rant mode.
‘I understand how you feel’ one of the Amazon team carelessly types.
No, you do not understand how I feel.
Writing a book is supposedly the closest a man ever gets to giving birth…
And I’ve delivered a bouncing baby. But the midwife is refusing to let me see it.
I understand how you feel? That’s like me looking solicitously as my wife when she’s eight months pregnant. ‘You can’t sleep lying down and you can’t sleep sitting up, darling? Your boobs are hurting and you’re fed up to the back teeth? And at the end of it all you’re going to have to give birth which everyone says stings a little bit? Yes, I’ve got a bad back so I understand exactly how you feel…’
‘You’re going through the menopause? You’re getting forgetful and you’re not sure if it’s the menopause or dementia? And you’re having random, violent hot flushes? Yes, the heater in the car was too high this afternoon. So of course, sweetheart. I understand exactly how you feel…’
I’m delighted to say that the battle with Amazon was eventually won. You can buy the paperback and the Kindle version of ‘Salt in the Wounds’ right here.